đ° Capital systematically dissects the inner workings of the capitalist mode of production, revealing how surplus value is extracted from labor and how this fundamental exploitation drives the entire economic system
đ Marx's analysis exposes how the commodity form functions as the "economic cell-form" of bourgeois society, with the value-form ultimately developing into the money-form through which capital accumulates
đ· The text meticulously documents the exploitation of workers in industrial England, using factory reports and government investigations to demonstrate how capitalism necessarily produces social antagonisms and class struggle
đ Rather than merely describing English conditions, Marx presents them as the inevitable future for all industrializing nations, arguing that these economic laws operate with "iron necessity" regardless of national context
đ The work reveals capitalism as not a "solid crystal" but an evolving organism with internal contradictions, laying bare the economic laws of motion that drive society toward revolutionary transformation
đ§ Marx employs a rigorous scientific method that requires readers to think deeply and climb the "steep paths" of analysis, treating economic formations as processes of natural history rather than eternal arrangements
Capital A Critique of Political Economy Volume I Book One: The Process of Production of Capital First published: in German in 1867, English edition first published in 1887; Source: First English edition of 1887 (4th German edition changes included as indicated) with some modernisation of spelling; Publisher: Progress Publishers, Moscow, USSR; Translated: Samuel Moore and Edward Aveling, edited by Frederick Engels; Transcribed: Zodiac, Hinrich Kuhls, Allan Thurrott, Bill McDorman, Bert Schultz and Martha Gimenez (1995- 1996); Proofed: by Andy Blunden and Chris Clayton (2008), Mark Harris (2010), Dave Allinson (2015). Table of Contents Preface to the First German Edition (Marx, 1867) ...................................................................... 5 Preface to the French Edition (Marx, 1872) ................................................................................ 8 Afterword to the Second German Edition (1873) ........................................................................ 9 Afterword to the French Edition (1875) .................................................................................... 15 Preface to the Third German Edition (1883) ............................................................................. 16 Preface to the English Edition (Engels, 1886) ........................................................................... 18 Preface to the Fourth German Edition (Engels, 1890) .............................................................. 21 Part 1: Commodities and Money ............................................................................................... 25 Chapter 1: Commodities ............................................................................................................ 26 Section 1: The Two Factors of a Commodity: Use -Value and Value (The Substance of Value and the Magnitud e of Value) ................................................................................................. 26 Section 2: The Two- fold Character of the Labour Embodied in Commodities ..................... 29 Section 3: The Form of Value or Exchange -Value ............................................................... 32 Section 4: The Fetishism of Commodities and the Secret Thereof ....................................... 46 Chapter 2: Exchange .................................................................................................................. 59 Chapter 3: Money, Or the Circulation of Commodities ............................................................ 66 Section 1: The Measure of Values ......................................................................................... 66 Section 2: The Medium of Circulation .................................................................................. 70 Section 3: Money ................................................................................................................... 83 Part 2: Transformation of Money into Capital ....................................................................... 102 Chapter 4: The General Formula for Capital ........................................................................... 103 Chapter 5: Contradictions in the General Formula of Capital ................................................. 110 Chapter 6: The Buying and Selling of Labour -Power ............................................................. 118 Part 3: The Production of Absolute Surplus -Value ............................................................... 125 Chapter 7: The Labour -Process and the Process of Producing Surplus- Value ........................ 126 Section 1: The Labour -Process or the Production of Use -Values ....................................... 126 Section 2: The Production of Surplus -Value ....................................................................... 130 Chapter 8: Constant Capital and Variable Capital ................................................................... 141 Chapter 9: The Rate of Surplus -Value .................................................................................... 149 Section 1: The Degree of Exploitation of Labour -Power .................................................... 149 Section 2: The Representation of the Components of the Value of the Product by Corresponding Proportional Parts of the Product Itself ....................................................... 153 Section 3: Seniorâs âLast Hourâ .......................................................................................... 155 Section 4: Surplus -Produce ................................................................................................. 158 Chapter 10: The Working Day ................................................................................................ 161 Section 1: The Limits of the Working Day ......................................................................... 161 Section 2: The Greed for Surplus -Labour. Manufacturer and Boyard ................................ 163 Section 3: Branches of English Industry Without Legal Limits to Exploitation ................. 167 Section 4: Day and Night Work. The Relay System ........................................................... 174 Section 5: The Struggle for a Normal Working Day. Compulsory Laws for the Extension of the Working Day from the Middle of the 14th to the End of the 17th Century ................. 177 Section 6: The Struggle for a Normal Working Day. Compulsory Limitation by Law of the Working -Time. English Factory Acts, 1833 ...................................................................... 183 Section 7: The Struggle for a Normal Working Day. Reaction of the English Factory Acts on Other Countries .............................................................................................................. 193 Chapter 11: Rate and Mass of Surplus -Value ......................................................................... 212 Part 4: Production of Relativ e Surplus -Value ........................................................................ 218 Chapter 12: The Concept of Relative Surplus -Value .............................................................. 219 Chapter 13: Co- operation ........................................................................................................ 226 Chapter 14: Division of Labour and Manufacture ................................................................... 236 Section 1: Two- Fold Origin of Manufacture ....................................................................... 236 Section 2: The Detail Labourer and his Implements ........................................................... 237 Section 3: The Two Fundamental Forms of Manufacture: Heterogeneous Manufacture, Serial Manufacture .............................................................................................................. 239 Section 4: Division of Labour in Manufacture, and Division of Labour in Society ............ 243 Section 5: The Capitalistic Character of Manufacture ........................................................ 247 Chapter 15: Machinery and Modern Industry ......................................................................... 259 Section 1 : The Development of Machinery ........................................................................ 259 Section 2: The Value Transferred by Machinery to the Product ........................................ 266 Section 3: The Proximate Effects of Machinery on the Workman ..................................... 269 Section 4: The Factory ......................................................................................................... 282 Section 5: The Strife Between Workman and Machine ...................................................... 285 Section 6: The Theory of Compensation as Regards the Workpeople Displaced by Machinery ............................................................................................................................ 291 Section 7: Repulsion and Attraction of Work people by the Factory System. Crises in the Cotton Trade ........................................................................................................................ 296 Section 8: Revolution Effected in Manufacture, Handicrafts, and Domes tic Industry by Modern Industry .................................................................................................................. 302 Section 9: The Factory Acts. Sanitary and Educational Clauses of the same. Their General Extension in England ........................................................................................................... 313 Section 10: Moder n Industry and Agriculture ..................................................................... 327 Part 5: Production of Absolute and Relative Surplus -Value ................................................. 355 Chapter 16: Absolute and Relative Surplus -Value .................................................................. 356 Chapter 17: Changes of Magnitude in the Price of Labour -Power and in Surplus -Value ....... 364 Section 1: Length of the Working day and Intensity of Labour Constant. Productiveness of Labour Variable ................................................................................................................... 364 Section 2: Working day Constant. Productiveness of Labour Constant. Intensity of Labour Variable ............................................................................................................................... 367 Section 3: Productiveness and Intensity of Labour Constant. Length of the Working day Variable ............................................................................................................................... 367 Section 4: Simultaneous Variations in the Duration, Productiveness, and Intensity of Labour ............................................................................................................................................. 369 Chapter 18: Various Formula for the Rate of Surplus -Value .................................................. 372 Part 6: Wages ............................................................................................................................. 375 Chapter 19: The Transformation of the Value (and Respective Price) of Labour -Power into Wages ...................................................................................................................................... 376 Chapter 20: Time -Wages ......................................................................................................... 381 Chapter 21: Piece Wages ......................................................................................................... 387 Chapter 22: National Differen ces of Wages ............................................................................ 393 Part 7: The Accumulation of Capital ....................................................................................... 397 Chapter 23: Simple Reproduction ........................................................................................... 398 Chapter 24: Conversion of Surplus -Value into Capital ........................................................... 407 Section 1: Capitalist Production on a Progressively Increasing Scale. Transition of the Laws of Property that Characterise Production of Commodities into Laws of Capitalist Appropriation ...................................................................................................................... 407 Section 2: Erroneous Conception, by Political Economy, of Reproduction on a Progressively Increasing Scale ................................................................................................................... 412 Section 3: Separation of Surplus -Value into Capital and Revenue. The Abstinence Theory ............................................................................................................................................. 414 Section 4: Circumstances that, Independently of the Proportional Division of Surplus -Value into Capital and Revenue, Determine the Amount of Accumulation. Degree of Exploitation of La bour-Power. Productivity of Labour. Growing Difference in Amount Between Capital Employed and Capital Consumed. Magnitude of Capital Advanced .................................. 418 Section 5: The So- Called Labour Fund ............................................................................... 423 Chapter 25: The General Law of Capitalist Accumulation ..................................................... 431 Section 1: The Increased Demand for labour power that Accompanies Accumulation, the Composition of Capital Remaining the same ...................................................................... 431 Section 2: Relative Diminution of the Variable Part of Capital Simultaneously with the Progress of Accumulation and of the Concentration that Accompanies it .......................... 435 Section 3: Progressive Production of a Relative surplus population or Industrial Reserve Army .................................................................................................................................... 439 Section 4: Different Forms of the Relative surplus population. The General Law of Capitalistic Accumulation ................................................................................................... 446 Section 5: Illustrations of the General Law of Capitalist Accumulation ............................. 450 Part 8: Primitive Accumulation ............................................................................................... 503 Chapter 26: The Secret of Primitive Accumulation ................................................................ 504 Chapter 27: Expropriation of the Agricultural Population From the Land .............................. 507 Chapter 28: Bloody Legislation Against the Expropriated, from the End of the 15th Century. Forcing Down of Wages by Acts of Parliament ...................................................................... 519 Chapter 29: Genesis of the Capitalist Farmer .......................................................................... 525 Chapter 30: Reaction of the Agricultural Revolution on Industry. Creation of the Home -Market for Industrial Capital ................................................................................................................ 527 Chapter 31: The Genesis of the Industrial Capitalist ............................................................... 530 Chapter 32: Historical Tendency of Capitalist Accumulation ................................................. 538 Chapter 33: The Modern Theory of Colonisation1 ................................................................ 540 Preface to the First German Edition (Marx, 1867) The work, the first volume of which I now submit to the public, forms the continuation of my Zur Kritik der Politisch en Oekonomie (A Contribution to the Criticism of Political Economy ) published in 1859. The long pause between the first part and the continuation is due to an illness of many yearsâ duration that again and again interrupted my work. The substance of that earlier work is summarised in the first three chapters of this volume. This is done not merely for the sake of connexion and completeness. The presentation of the subject matter is improved. As far as circumstances in any way permit, many points only hinted at in the earlier book are here worked out more fully, whilst, conversely, points worked out fully there are only touched upon in this volume. The sections on the history of the theories of value and of money are now, of course, left out altogether. The reader of the earlier work will find, however, in the notes to the first chapter additional sources of reference relative to the history of those theories. Every beginning is difficult, holds in all sciences. To understand the first chapter, especially the section that contains the analysis of commodities, will, therefore, present the greatest difficulty. That which concerns more especially the analysis of the substance of value and the magnitude of value, I have, as much as it was possible, popularised. 1 The value -form, whose fully developed shape is the money -form, is very elementary and simple. Nevertheless, the human mind has for more than 2,000 years sought in vain to get to the bottom of it all, whilst on the other hand, to the successful analysis of much more composite and complex forms, there has been at least an approximation. Why? Because the body, as an organic whole, is more easy of study than are the cells of that body. In the analysis of economic forms, moreover, neither microscopes nor chemical reagents are of use. The force of abstraction must replace both. But in bourgeois society, the commodity- form of the product of labour â or value -form of the commodity â is the economic cell-form. To the superficial observer, the analysis of these forms seems to turn upon minutiae. It does in fact deal with minutiae, but they are of the same order as those dealt with in microscopic anatomy. With the exception of the section on value -form, therefore, this volume cannot stand accused on the score of diffic ulty. I presuppose, of course, a reader who is willing to learn something new and therefore to think for himself. The physicist either observes physical phenomena where they occur in their most typical form and most free from disturbing influence, or, wherever possible, he makes experiments under conditions that assure the occurrence of the phenomenon in its normality. In this work I have to examine the capitalist mode of production, and the conditions of production and exchange corresponding to that mode. Up to the present time, their classic ground is England. That is the reason why England is used as the chief illustration in the development of my theoretical ideas. If, however, the German reader shrugs his shoulders at the condition of the English industrial and agricultural labourers, or in optimist fashion comforts himself with the thought that in Germany things are not nearly so bad; I must plainly tell him, â De te fabula narratur! â [It is of you that the story is told. â Horace] Intrinsically, it is not a question of the higher or lower degree of development of the social antagonisms that result from the natural laws of capitalist production. It is a question of these laws themselves, of these tendencies working with iron necessity towards inevita ble results. The 7 Preface to the First German Edition (Marx 1867) country that is more developed industrially only shows, to the less developed, the image of its own future. But apart from this. Where capitalist production is fully naturalised among the Germans (for instance, in the factories proper) th e condition of things is much worse than in England, because the counterpoise of the Factory Acts is wanting. In all other spheres, we, like all the rest of Continental Western Europe, suffer not only from the development of capitalist production, but also from the incompleteness of that development. Alongside the modern evils, a whole series of inherited evils oppress us, arising from the passive survival of antiquated modes of production, with their inevitable train of social and political anachronisms. We suffer not only from the living, but from the dead. Le mort saisit le vif! [The dead holds the living in his grasp. â formula of French common law] The social statistics of Germany and the rest of Continental Western Europe are, in comparison with those of England, wretchedly compiled. But they raise the veil just enough to let us catch a glimpse of the Medusa head behind it. We should be appalled at the state of things at home, if, as in England, our governments and parliaments appointed periodically commissions of inquiry into economic conditions; if these commissions were armed with the same plenary powers to get at the truth; if it was possible to find for this purpose men as competent, as free from partisanship and respect of persons as are the English factory -inspectors, her medical reporters on public health, her commissioners of inquiry into the exploitation of women and children, into housing and food. Perseus wore a magic cap down over his eyes and ears as a make -believe that there are no monsters. Let us not deceive ourselves on this. As in the 18th century, the American war of independence sounded the tocsin for the European middle class, so that in the 19th century, the American Civil War sounded it for the European working class. In England the process of social disintegration is palpable. When it has reached a certain point, it must react on the Continent. There it will take a form more br utal or more humane, according to the degree of development of the working class itself. Apart from higher motives, therefore, their own most important interests dictate to the classes that are for the nonce the ruling ones, the removal of all legally remo vable hindrances to the free development of the working class. For this reason, as well as others, I have given so large a space in this volume to the history, the details, and the results of English factory legislation. One nation can and should learn from others. And even when a society has got upon the right track for the discovery of the natural laws of its movement â and it is the ultimate aim of this work, to lay bare the economic law of motion of modern society â it can neither clear by bold leaps, n or remove by legal enactments, the obstacles offered by the successive phases of its normal development. But it can shorten and lessen the birth- pangs. To prevent possible misunderstanding, a word. I paint the capitalist and the landlord in no sense coule ur de rose [i.e., seen through rose -tinted glasses] . But here individuals are dealt with only in so far as they are the personifications of economic categories, embodiments of particular class- relations and class- interests. My standpoint, from which the ev olution of the economic formation of society is viewed as a process of natural history, can less than any other make the individual responsible for relations whose creature he socially remains, however much he may subjectively raise himself above them. In the domain of Political Economy, free scientific inquiry meets not merely the same enemies as in all other domains. The peculiar nature of the materials it deals with, summons as foes into the field of battle the most violent, mean and malignant passions of the human breast, the Furies of private interest. The English Established Church, e.g., will more readily pardon an attack on 38 of its 39 articles than on 1/39 of its income. Now -a-days atheism is culpa levis [a relatively slight 8 Preface to the First German Edition (Marx 1867) sin, c.f. mortal sin] , as compared with criticism of existing property relations. Nevertheless, there is an unmistakable advance. I refer, e.g., to the Blue book published within the last few weeks: âCorrespondence with Her Majestyâs Missions Abroad, regarding Industrial Questi ons and Tradesâ Unions.â The representatives of the English Crown in foreign countries there declare in so many words that in Germany, in France, to be brief, in all the civilised states of the European Continent, radical change in the existing relations b etween capital and labour is as evident and inevitable as in England. At the same time, on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, Mr. Wade, vice-president of the United States, declared in public meetings that, after the abolition of slavery, a radical chan ge of the relations of capital and of property in land is next upon the order of the day. These are signs of the times, not to be hidden by purple mantles or black cassocks. They do not signify that tomorrow a miracle will happen. They show that, within the ruling classes themselves, a foreboding is dawning, that the present society is no solid crystal, but an organism capable of change, and is constantly changing. The second volume of this book will treat of the process of the circulation of capital (Book II.), and of the varied forms assumed by capital in the course of its development (Book III.), the third and last volume (Book IV.), the history of the theory. Every opinion based on scientific criticism I welcome. As to prejudices of so- called public opinion, to which I have never made concessions, now as aforetime the maxim of the great Florentine is mine: âSegui il tuo corso, e lascia dir le genti.â [Follow your own course, and let people talk â paraphrased from Dante] Karl Marx London July 25, 1867 1 This is the more necessary, as even the section of Ferdinand Lassalleâs work against Schulze- Delitzsch, in which he professes to give âthe intellectual quintessenceâ of my explanations on these subjects, contains important mistakes. If Ferdinand Lassalle has borrowed almost literally from my writings, and without any acknowledgement, all the general theoretical propositions in his economic works, e.g., those on the historical character of capital, on the connexion between the conditions of production and t he mode of production, &c., &c., even to the terminology created by me, this may perhaps be due to purposes of propaganda. I am here, of course, not speaking of his detailed working out and application of these propositions, with which I have nothing to do. Preface to the French Edition (Marx, 1872) To the citizen Maurice LachĂątre Dear Citizen, I applaud your idea of publishing the translation of âDas Kapitalâ as a serial. In this form the book will be more accessible to the working class, a consideration which to me outweighs everything else. That is the good side of your suggestion, but here is the reverse of the medal: the method of analysis which I have employed, and which had not previously been applied to economic subjects, makes the reading of the first chapters rather arduous, and it is to be feared that the French public, always impatient to come to a concl usion, eager to know the connexion between general principles and the immediate questions that have aroused their passions, may be disheartened because they will be unable to move on at once. That is a disadvantage I am powerless to overcome, unless it be by forewarning and forearming those readers who zealously seek the truth. There is no royal road to science, and only those who do not dread the fatiguing climb of its steep paths have a chance of gaining its luminous summits. Believe me, dear citizen, Your devoted, Karl Marx London March 18, 1872 Afterword to the Second German Edition (1873) I must start by informing the readers of the first edition about the alterations made in the second edition. One is struck at once by the clearer arrangement of the book. Additional notes are everywhere marked as notes to the second edition. The following are the most important points with regard to the text itself: In Chapter I, Section 1, the derivation of value from an analysis of the equations by which every exchange -value is expressed has been carried out with greater scientific strictness; likewise t he connexion between the substance of value and the determination of the magnitude of value by socially necessary labour -time, which was only alluded to in the first edition, is now expressly emphasised. Chapter I, Section 3 (the Form of Value), has been c ompletely revised, a task which was made necessary by the double exposition in the first edition, if nothing else. â Let me remark, in passing, that that double exposition had been occasioned by my friend, Dr. L , Kugelmann in Hanover. I was visiting him in the spring of 1867 when the first proof -sheets arrived from Hamburg, and he convinced me that most readers needed a supplementary, more didactic explanation of the form of value. â The last section of the first chapter, âThe Fetishism of Commodities, etc.,â has largely been altered. Chapter III, Section 1 (The Measure of Value), has been carefully revised, because in the first edition this section had been treated negligently, the reader having been referred to the explanation already given in âZur Kritik der Politischen Oekonomie,â Berlin , 1859. Chapter VII, particularly Part 2 [Eng. ed., Chapter IX, Section 2], has been re -written to a great extent. It would be a waste of time to go into all the partial textual changes, which were often purely stylistic. They occur throughout the book. Nevertheless I find now, on revising the French translation appearing in Paris, that several parts of the German original stand in need of rather thorough remoulding, other parts require rather heavy stylistic editing, and still others painstaking elimination of occasional slips. But there was no time for that. For I had been informed only in the autumn of 1871, when in the midst of other urgent work, that the book was sold out and that the printing of the second edition was to begin in January of 1872. The appreciation which âDas Kapitalâ rapidly gained in wide circles of the German working class is the best reward of my labours. Herr Mayer, a Vienna manufacturer, who in economic matters represents the bourgeois point of vi ew, in a pamphlet published during the Franco- German War aptly expounded the idea that the great capacity for theory, which used to be considered a hereditary German possession, had almost completely disappeared amongst the so -called educated classes in Germany, but that amongst its working class, on the contrary, that capacity was celebrating its revival. To the present moment Political Economy, in Germany, is a foreign science. Gustav von G ĂŒlich in his âHistorical description of Commerce, Industry,â &c., 1 especially in the two first volumes published in 1830, has examined at length the historical circumstances that prevented, in Germany, the development of the capitalist mode of production, and consequently the development, in that country, of modern bourgeois society. Thus the soil whence Political Economy springs was wanting. This âscienceâ had to be imported from England and France as a ready -made article; its German professors remained schoolboys. The theoretical expression of a foreign reality was tu rned, in their hands, into a collection of dogmas, interpreted by them in terms of the petty trading world around them, and therefore misinterpreted. The feeling of scientific impotence, a feeling not wholly to be repressed, and the uneasy consciousness of having 11 Afterword to the Second German Edition (1873) to touch a subject in reality foreign to them, was but imperfectly concealed, either under a parade of literary and historical erudition, or by an admixture of extraneous material, borrowed from the so-called âKameralâ sciences, a medley of smatter ings, through whose purgatory the hopeful candidate for the German bureaucracy has to pass. Since 1848
đ° Capitalism's Scientific Paradox
đ Political Economy remains scientific only when class struggle is latent, but becomes mere apologetics when capitalism's contradictions intensify and threaten the established order
đïž England's economic thought evolved from Ricardo's honest analysis to hired prize fighters defending capital's interests after the bourgeoisie gained political power in 1830
đ Germany's peculiar historical development prevented original bourgeois economic thought but created fertile ground for critical analysis from the proletarian perspective
đ§ Marx's dialectical method approaches economic systems as evolving social organisms with specific historical laws, not static entities governed by universal principles
đ The rational dialectic recognizes both the existing state of things and its inevitable transformation, making it inherently critical and revolutionary
âïž Bourgeois economists attacked Marx's work first with silence, then with superficial criticism, revealing their inability to confront its scientific challenge to capitalism
đ Quotation practices in Marx's Capital serve dual purposes: providing documentary evidence for factual claims and tracing the historical development of economic ideas through precise attribution
đ The translation process involved multiple collaborators (Moore, Aveling, Eleanor Marx) who meticulously preserved Marx's original intent while navigating complex terminology across languages and measurement systems
âïž A significant controversy erupted over Marx's quotation of Gladstone's 1863 speech, with critics claiming falsification while newspaper evidence validated Marx's version against the edited parliamentary record (Hansard)
đ Marx's approach to economic terminology deliberately broke from conventional usage, recognizing that revolutionary scientific concepts require new language to transcend the limitations of existing commercial vocabulary
đ Engels positioned Capital as increasingly relevant to England's economic situation, noting how the "Bible of the working class" was gaining recognition across Europe as industrial expansion reached its limits
đ§ Marx's credibility faced challenge when accused of making "lying insertions" in Gladstone's speech, sparking a scholarly controversy spanning decades and countries
đ Eleanor Marx successfully defended her father by proving he had merely "rescued from oblivion" a genuine sentence from Gladstone's speech that had disappeared from Hansard records
đïž The Brentano-Taylor accusations collapsed under scrutiny, revealing the dangers of relying on single sources (like Hansard) as infallible when examining historical texts
đŒ The controversy ultimately vindicated Marx's literary honesty, with no one daring to cast further aspersions on his academic integrity after this thorough debunking
đ This episode demonstrates how scholarly disputes about textual accuracy can become proxies for deeper ideological battles about the credibility of influential thinkers
context is rightly inte rpreted, i.e., in the Gladstonian Liberal sense, it shows what Mr. Gladstone meant to say. (To- day, March, 1884.) The most comic point here is that our little Cambridge man now insists upon quoting the speech not from Hansard, as, according to the anonymous Brentano, it is âcustomaryâ to do, but from The Times report, which the same Brentano had characterised as ânecessarily bungling.â Naturally so, for in Hansard the vexatious sentence is missing. Eleanor Marx had no difficulty (in the same issue of To- day) in dissolving all this argumentation into thin air. Either Mr. Taylor had read the controversy of 1872, in which case he was now making not only âlying insertionsâ but also âlyingâ suppressions; or he had not read it and ought 25 Preface to the Fourth German Edition (Engels 1890) to remain silent. In either case it was certain that he did not dare to maintain for a moment the accusation of his friend Brentano that Marx had made a âlyingâ addition. On the contrary, Marx, it now seems, had not lyingly added but suppressed an important sentence. But this same s entence is quoted on page 5 of the Inaugural Address, a few lines before the alleged âlying insertion.â And as to the âcontrarietyâ in Gladstoneâs speech, is it not Marx himself, who in âCapital,â p. 618 (3rd edition, p. 672), note 105 [present edition, p. 611, Note 1], refers to âthe continual crying contradictions in Gladstoneâs Budget speeches of 1863 and 1864"? Only he does not presume Ă la Mr. Sedley Taylor to resolve them into complacent Liberal sentiments. Eleanor Marx, in concluding her reply, final ly sums up as follows: âMarx has not suppressed anything worth quoting, neither has he âlyinglyâ added anything. But he has restored, rescued from oblivion, a particular sentence of one of Mr. Gladstoneâs speeches, a sentence which had indubitably been pronounced, but which somehow or other had found its way â out of Hansard.â With that Mr. Sedley Taylor too had had enough, and the result of this whole professorial cobweb, spun out over two decades and two great countries, is that nobody has since dared to cast any other aspersion upon Marxâs literary honesty; whilst Mr. Sedley Taylor, no doubt, will hereafter put as little confidence in the literary war bulletins of Herr Brentano as Herr Brentano will in the papal infallibility of Hansard. Frederick Engels London. June 25. 1890 i In the English edition of 1887 this addition was made by Engels himself. â Ed. 2 In the present edition they are put into square brackets and marked with the initials 3 Marx was not mistaken in the title of the book but in the page. He put down 36 instead of 37. (See pp. 560- 61 of the present edition.) â Ed. Part 1: Commodities and Money 27 Chapter 1 Chapter 1: Commodities Section 1: The Two Factors of a Commodity: Use-Value and Value (The Substance of Value and the Magnitude of Value) The wealth of those societies in which the capitalist mode of production prevails, presents itself as âan immense accumulation of commodities,â1 its unit being a single commodity. Our investigation must therefore begin with the anal ysis of a commodity. A commodity is, in the first place, an object outside us, a thing that by its properties satisfies human wants of some sort or another. The nature of such wants, whether, for instance, they spring from the stomach or from fancy, makes no difference.2 Neither are we here concerned to know how the object satisfies these wants, whether directly as means of subsistence, or indirectly as means of production. Every useful thing, as iron, paper, &c., may be looked at from the two points of v iew of quality and quantity. It is an assemblage of many properties, and may therefore be of use in various ways. To discover the various uses of things is the work of history. 3 So also is the establishment of socially -recognized standards of measure for t he quantities of these useful objects. The diversity of these measures has its origin partly in the diverse nature of the objects to be measured, partly in convention. The utility of a thing makes it a use value.4 But this utility is not a thing of air. B eing limited by the physical properties of the commodity, it has no existence apart from that commodity. A commodity, such as iron, corn, or a diamond, is therefore, so far as it is a material thing, a use value, something useful. This property of a commodity is independent of the amount of labour required to appropriate its useful qualities. When treating of use value, we always assume to be dealing with definite quantities, such as dozens of watches, yards of linen, or tons of iron. The use values of comm odities furnish the material for a special study, that of the commercial knowledge of commodities.5 Use values become a reality only by use or consumption: they also constitute the substance of all wealth, whatever may be the social form of that wealth. In the form of society we are about to consider, they are, in addition, the material depositories of exchange value. Exchange value, at first sight, presents itself as a quantitative relation, as the proportion in which values in use of one sort are exchang ed for those of another sort,6 a relation constantly changing with time and place. Hence exchange value appears to be something accidental and purely relative, and consequently an intrinsic value, i.e. , an exchange value that is inseparably connected with, inherent in commodities, seems a contradiction in terms.7 Let us consider the matter a little more closely. A given commodity, e.g., a quarter of wheat is exchanged for x blacking, y silk, or z gold, & c. â in short, for other commodities in the most different proportions. Instead of one exchange value, the wheat has, therefore, a great many. But since x blacking, y silk, or z gold &c., each represents the exchange value of one quarter of wheat, x blacki ng, y silk, z gold, &c., must, as exchange values, be replaceable by each other, or equal to each other. Therefore, first: the valid exchange values of a given commodity express something equal; secondly, exchange value, generally, is only the mode of expr ession, the phenomenal form, of something contained in it, yet distinguishable from it. 28 Chapter 1 Let us take two commodities, e.g., corn and iron. The proportions in which they are exchangeable, whatever those proportions may be, can always be represented by an eq uation in which a given quantity of corn is equated to some quantity of iron: e.g., 1 quarter corn = x cwt. iron. What does this equation tell us? It tells us that in two different things â in 1 quarter of corn and x cwt. of iron, there exists in equal qua ntities something common to both. The two things must therefore be equal to a third, which in itself is neither the one nor the other. Each of them, so far as it is exchange value, must therefore be reducible to this third. A simple geometrical illustrati on will make this clear. In order to calculate and compare the areas of rectilinear figures, we decompose them into triangles. But the area of the triangle itself is expressed by something totally different from its visible figure, namely, by half the prod uct of the base multiplied by the altitude. In the same way the exchange values of commodities must be capable of being expressed in terms of something common to them all, of which thing they represent a greater or less quantity. This common âsomethingâ c annot be either a geometrical, a chemical, or any other natural property of commodities. Such properties claim our attention only in so far as they affect the utility of those commodities, make them use values. But the exchange of commodities is evidently an act characterised by a total abstraction from use value. Then one use value is just as good as another, provided only it be present in sufficient quantity. Or, as old Barbon says, âone sort of wares are as good as another, if the values be equal. There is no difference or distinction in things of equal value ... An hundred poundsâ worth of lead or iron, is of as great value as one hundred poundsâ worth of silver or gold.â 8 As use values, commodities are, above all, of different qualities, but as exchange values they are merely different quantities, and consequently do not contain an atom of use value. If then we leave out of consideration the use value of commodities, they have only one common property left, that of being products of labour. But even the product of labour itself has undergone a change in our hands. If we make abstraction from its use value, we make abstraction at the same time from the material elements and shapes that make the product a use value; we see in it no longer a table, a house, yarn, or any other useful thing. Its existence as a material thing is put out of sight. Neither can it any longer be regarded as the product of the labour of the joiner, the mason, the spinner, or of any other definite kind of productive labour. Along wit h the useful qualities of the products themselves, we put out of sight both the useful character of the various kinds of labour embodied in them, and the concrete forms of that labour; there is nothing left but what is common to them all; all are reduced t o one and the same sort of labour, human labour in the abstract. Let us now consider the residue of each of these products; it consists of the same unsubstantial reality in each, a mere congelation of homogeneous human labour, of labour power expended without regard to the mode of its expenditure. All that these things now tell us is, that human labour power has been expended in their production, that human labour is embodied in them. When looked at as crystals of this social substance, common to them all, they are â Values. We have seen that when commodities are exchanged, their exchange value manifests itself as something totally independent of their use value. But if we abstract from their use value, there remains their Value as defined above. Therefore, the common substance that manifests itself in the exchange value of commodities, whenever they are exchanged, is their value. The progress of our investigation will show that exchange value is the only form in which the value of commodities can manifest itself or be expressed. For the present, however, we have to consider the nature of value independently of this, its form. 29 Chapter 1 A use value, or useful article, therefore, has value only because human labour in the abstract has been embodied or materialised in it. How, then, is the magnitude of this value to be measured? Plainly, by the quantity of the value -creating substance, the labour, contained in the article. The quantity of labour, however, is measured by its duration, and labour time in its turn finds it s standard in weeks, days, and hours. Some people might think that if the value of a commodity is determined by the quantity of labour spent on it, the more idle and unskilful the labourer, the more valuable would his commodity be, because more time would be required in its production. The labour, however, that forms the substance of value, is homogeneous human labour, expenditure of one uniform labour power. The total labour power of society, which is embodied in the sum total of the values of all commodi ties produced by that society, counts here as one homogeneous mass of human labour power, composed though it be of innumerable individual units. Each of these units is the same as any other, so far as it has the character of the average labour power of soc iety, and takes effect as such; that is, so far as it requires for producing a commodity, no more time than is needed on an average, no more than is socially necessary. The labour time socially necessary is that required to produce an article under the nor mal conditions of production, and with the average degree of skill and intensity prevalent at the time. The introduction of power -looms into England probably reduced by one -half the labour required to weave a given quantity of yarn into cloth. The hand- loom weavers, as a matter of fact, continued to require the same time as before; but for all that, the product of one hour of their labour represented after the change only half an hourâs social labour, and consequently fell to one -half its former value. We see then that that which determines the magnitude of the value of any article is the amount of labour socially necessary, or the labour time socially necessary for its production.9 Each individual commodity, in this connexion, is to be considered as an ave rage sample of its class.10 Commodities, therefore, in which equal quantities of labour are embodied, or which can be produced in the same time, have the same value. The value of one commodity is to the value of any other, as the labour time necessary for the production of the one is to that necessary for the production of the other. âAs values, all commodities are only definite masses of congealed labour time.â 11 The value of a commodity would therefore remain constant, if the labour time required for its production also remained constant. But the latter changes with every variation in the productiveness of labour. This productiveness is determined by various circumstances, amongst others, by the average amount of skill of the workmen, the state of science, and the degree of its practical application, the social organisation of production, the extent and capabilities of the means of production, and by physical conditions. For example, the same amount of labour in favourable seasons is embodied in 8 bushels o f corn, and in unfavourable, only in four. The same labour extracts from rich mines more metal than from poor mines. Diamonds are of very rare occurrence on the earthâs surface, and hence their discovery costs, on an average, a great deal of labour time. C onsequently much labour is represented in a small compass. Jacob doubts whether gold has ever been paid for at its full value. This applies still more to diamonds. According to Eschwege, the total produce of the Brazilian diamond mines for the eighty years , ending in 1823, had not realised the price of one -and-a-half yearsâ average produce of the sugar and coffee plantations of the same country, although the diamonds cost much more labour, and therefore represented more value. With richer mines, the same qu antity of labour would embody itself in more diamonds, and their value would fall. If we could succeed at a small expenditure of labour, in converting carbon into diamonds, their value might fall below that of bricks. In general, the greater the productive ness of labour, the less is the labour time required for the production of an 30 Chapter 1 article, the less is the amount of labour crystallised in that article, and the less is its value; and vice versĂą , the less the productiveness of labour, the greater is the labou r time required for the production of an article, and the greater is its value. The value of a commodity, therefore, varies directly as the quantity, and inversely as the productiveness, of the labour incorporated in it. * A thing can be a use value, witho ut having value. This is the case whenever its utility to man is not due to labour. Such are air, virgin soil, natural meadows, &c. A thing can be useful, and the product of human labour, without being a commodity. Whoever directly satisfies his wants with the produce of his own labour, creates, indeed, use values, but not commodities. In order to produce the latter, he must not only produce use values, but use values for others, social use values. (And not only for others, without more. The mediaeval peasa nt produced quit -rent-corn for his feudal lord and tithe -corn for his parson. But neither the quit -rent-corn nor the tithe -corn became commodities by reason of the fact that they had been produced for others. To become a commodity a product must be transfe rred to another, whom it will serve as a use value, by means of an exchange.)12 Lastly nothing can have value, without being an object of utility. If the thing is useless, so is the labour contained in it; the labour does not count as labour, and therefore creates no value. Section 2: The Two -fold Character of the Labour Embodied in Commodities At first sight a commodity presented itself to us as a complex of two things â use value and exchange value. Later on, we saw also that labour, too, possesses the same two -fold nature; for, so far as it finds expression in value, it does not possess the same characteristics that belong to it as a creator of use values. I was the first to point out and to examine critically this two -fold nature of the labour contained in commodities. As this point is the pivot on which a clear comprehension of political economy turns, we must go more into detail. Let us take two commodities such as a coat and 10 yards of linen, and let the former be double the value of the latter, so that, if 10 yards of linen = W, the coat = 2W. The coat is a use value that satisfies a particular want. Its existence is the result of a special sort of productive activity, the nature of which is determined by its aim, mode of operation, subject, means, and result. The labour, whose utility is thus represented by the value in use of its product, or which manifests itself by making its product a use value, we call useful labour. In this connection we consider only its useful effect. As the coat and the l inen are two qualitatively different use values, so also are the two forms of labour that produce them, tailoring and weaving. Were these two objects not qualitatively different, not produced respectively by labour of different quality, they could not stand to each other in the relation of commodities. Coats are not exchanged for coats, one use value is not exchanged for another of the same kind. To all the different varieties of values in use there correspond as many different kinds of useful labour, clas sified according to the order, genus, species, and variety to which they belong in the social division of labour. This division of labour is a necessary condition for the production of commodities, but it does not follow, conversely, that the production of commodities is a necessary condition for the division of labour. In the primitive Indian community there is social division of labour, without production of commodities. Or, to take an example nearer home, in every factory the labour is divided according to a system, but this division is not brought about by the operatives mutually exchanging their individual products. Only such products can become 31 Chapter 1 commodities with regard to each other, as result from different kinds of labour, each kind being carried on i ndependently and for the account of private individuals. To resume, then: In the use value of each commodity there is contained useful labour, i.e., productive activity of a definite kind and exercised with a definite aim. Use values cannot confront each other as commodities, unless the useful labour embodied in them is qualitatively different in each of them. In a community, the produce of which in general takes the form of commodities, i.e., in a community of commodity producers, this qualitative differe nce between the useful forms of labour that are carried on independently by individual producers, each on their own account, develops into a complex system, a social division of labour. Anyhow, whether the coat be worn by the tailor or by his customer, in either case it operates as a use value. Nor is the relation between the coat and the labour that produced it altered by the circumstance that tailoring may have become a special trade, an independent branch of the social division of labour. Wherever the w ant of clothing forced them to it, the human race made clothes for thousands of years, without a single man becoming a tailor. But coats and linen, like every other element of material wealth that is not the spontaneous produce of Nature, must invariably owe their existence to a special productive activity, exercised with a definite aim, an activity that appropriates particular nature- given materials to particular human wants. So far therefore as labour is a creator of use value, is useful labour, it is a n ecessary condition, independent of all forms of society, for the existence of the human race; it is an eternal nature -imposed necessity, without which there can be no material exchanges between man and Nature, and therefore no life. The use values, coat, linen, &c., i.e., the bodies of commodities, are combinations of two elements â matter and labour. If we take away the useful labour expended upon them, a material substratum is always left, which is furnished by Nature without the help of man. The latter can work only as Nature does, that is by changing the form of matter. 13 Nay more, in this work of changing the form he is constantly helped by natural forces. We see, then, that labour is not the only source of material wealth, of use values produced by la bour. As William Petty puts it, labour is its father and the earth its mother. Let us now pass from the commodity considered as a use value to the value of commodities. By our assumption, the coat is worth twice as much as the linen. But this is a mere q uantitative difference, which for the present does not concern us. We bear in mind, however, that if the value of the coat is double that of 10 yds of linen, 20 yds of linen must have the same value as one coat. So far as they are values, the coat and the linen are things of a like substance, objective expressions of essentially identical labour. But tailoring and weaving are, qualitatively, different kinds of labour. There are, however, states of society in which one and the same man does tailoring and wea ving alternately, in which case these two forms of labour are mere modifications of the labour of the same individual, and not special and fixed functions of different persons, just as the coat which our tailor makes one day, and the trousers which he makes another day, imply only a variation in the labour of one and the same individual. Moreover, we see at a glance that, in our capitalist society, a given portion of human labour is, in accordance with the varying demand, at one time supplied in the form of tailoring, at another in the form of weaving. This change may possibly not take place without friction, but take place it must. Productive activity, if we leave out of sight its special form, viz., the useful character of the labour, is nothing but the e xpenditure of human labour power. Tailoring and weaving, though qualitatively different productive activities, are each a productive expenditure of human brains, nerves, and muscles, and in this sense are human labour. They are but two different modes of expending human labour power. Of course, this labour power, which remains
đ± Labor Theory of Value
đ§ Human labor forms the foundation of commodity value, with all labor ultimately reducible to simple labor regardless of skill level through a social process that operates "behind the backs of producers"
đ The two-fold character of labor creates an inherent tension: concrete labor produces use-values (physical utility), while abstract labor creates exchange-value (social worth)
âïž Value expression requires a relationship between commodities, with one commodity (relative form) expressing its value through another (equivalent form) in a polar relationship where each plays mutually exclusive roles
đ§ź Changes in productive power inversely affect valueâincreased productivity yields more use-values but potentially less total value if less labor time is required
đ The elementary form of value (x commodity A = y commodity B) contains the entire "mystery" of value, revealing how abstract human labor becomes objectified in material goods
đč Relative value fluctuates according to precise mathematical relationships: it rises directly with changes in the value of the expressing commodity and inversely with changes in the equivalent commodity
the same under all its modifications, must have attained a certain pitch of development before it can be expended in 32 Chapter 1 a multiplicity of modes. But the value of a commodity represents human labour in the abstract, the expenditure of human labour in general. And just as in society, a general or a banker plays a great part, but mere man, on the other hand, a very shabby part,14 so here with mere human labour. It is the expenditure of simpl e labour power, i.e., of the labour power which, on an average, apart from any special development, exists in the organism of every ordinary individual. Simple average labour, it is true, varies in character in different countries and at different times, but in a particular society it is given. Skilled labour counts only as simple labour intensified, or rather, as multiplied simple labour, a given quantity of skilled being considered equal to a greater quantity of simple labour. Experience shows that this r eduction is constantly being made. A commodity may be the product of the most skilled labour, but its value, by equating it to the product of simple unskilled labour, represents a definite quantity of the latter labour alone.15 The different proportions in which different sorts of labour are reduced to unskilled labour as their standard, are established by a social process that goes on behind the backs of the producers, and, consequently, appear to be fixed by custom. For simplicityâs sake we shall hencefor th account every kind of labour to be unskilled, simple labour; by this we do no more than save ourselves the trouble of making the reduction. Just as, therefore, in viewing the coat and linen as values, we abstract from their different use values, so it is with the labour represented by those values: we disregard the difference between its useful forms, weaving and tailoring. As the use values, coat and linen, are combinations of special productive activities with cloth and yarn, while the values, coat an d linen, are, on the other hand, mere homogeneous congelations of undifferentiated labour, so the labour embodied in these latter values does not count by virtue of its productive relation to cloth and yarn, but only as being expenditure of human labour power. Tailoring and weaving are necessary factors in the creation of the use values, coat and linen, precisely because these two kinds of labour are of different qualities; but only in so far as abstraction is made from their special qualities, only in so f ar as both possess the same quality of being human labour, do tailoring and weaving form the substance of the values of the same articles. Coats and linen, however, are not merely values, but values of definite magnitude, and according to our assumption, the coat is worth twice as much as the ten yards of linen. Whence this difference in their values? It is owing to the fact that the linen contains only half as much labour as the coat, and consequently, that in the production of the latter, labour power must have been expended during twice the time necessary for the production of the former. While, therefore, with reference to use value, the labour contained in a commodity counts only qualitatively, with reference to value it counts only quantitatively, an d must first be reduced to human labour pure and simple. In the former case, it is a question of How and What, in the latter of How much? How long a time? Since the magnitude of the value of a commodity represents only the quantity of labour embodied in it , it follows that all commodities, when taken in certain proportions, must be equal in value. If the productive power of all the different sorts of useful labour required for the production of a coat remains unchanged, the sum of the values of the coats p roduced increases with their number. If one coat represents x daysâ labour, two coats represent 2x daysâ labour, and so on. But assume that the duration of the labour necessary for the production of a coat becomes doubled or halved. In the first case one coat is worth as much as two coats were before; in the second case, two coats are only worth as much as one was before, although in both cases one coat renders the same service as before, and the useful labour embodied in it remains of the same quality. But the quantity of labour spent on its production has altered. 33 Chapter 1 An increase in the quantity of use values is an increase of material wealth. With two coats two men can be clothed, with one coat only one man. Nevertheless, an increased quantity of material wealth may correspond to a simultaneous fall in the magnitude of its value. This antagonistic movement has its origin in the two -fold character of labour. Productive power has reference, of course, only to labour of some useful concrete form, the efficacy of any special productive activity during a given time being dependent on its productiveness. Useful labour becomes, therefore, a more or less abundant source of products, in proportion to the rise or fall of its productiveness. On the other hand, no change in this productiveness affects the labour represented by value. Since productive power is an attribute of the concrete useful forms of labour, of course it can no longer have any bearing on that labour, so soon as we make abstraction from those concrete us eful forms. However then productive power may vary, the same labour, exercised during equal periods of time, always yields equal amounts of value. But it will yield, during equal periods of time, different quantities of values in use; more, if the producti ve power rise, fewer, if it fall. The same change in productive power, which increases the fruitfulness of labour, and, in consequence, the quantity of use values produced by that labour, will diminish the total value of this increased quantity of use valu es, provided such change shorten the total labour time necessary for their production; and vice versĂą . On the one hand all labour is, speaking physiologically, an expenditure of human labour power, and in its character of identical abstract human labour, it creates and forms the value of commodities. On the other hand, all labour is the expenditure of human labour power in a special form and with a definite aim, and in this, its character of concrete useful labour, it produces use values. 16 Section 3: The Form of Value or Exchange -Value Commodities come into the world in the shape of use values, articles, or goods, such as iron, linen, corn, & c. This is their plain, homely, bodily form. They are, however, commodities, only because they are something two -fold, both objects of utility, and, at the same time, depositories of value. They manifest themselves therefore as commodities, or have the for m of commodities, only in so far as they have two forms, a physical or natural form, and a value form. The reality of the value of commodities differs in this respect from Dame Quickly, that we donât know âwhere to have it.â The value of commodities is th e very opposite of the coarse materiality of their substance, not an atom of matter enters into its composition. Turn and examine a single commodity, by itself, as we will, yet in so far as it remains an object of value, it seems impossible to grasp it. If , however, we bear in mind that the value of commodities has a purely social reality, and that they acquire this reality only in so far as they are expressions or embodiments of one identical social substance, viz., human labour, it follows as a matter of course, that value can only manifest itself in the social relation of commodity to commodity. In fact we started from exchange value, or the exchange relation of commodities, in order to get at the value that lies hidden behind it. We must now return to this form under which value first appeared to us. Every one knows, if he knows nothing else, that commodities have a value form common to them all, and presenting a marked contrast with the varied bodily forms of their use values. I mean their money form. H ere, however, a task is set us, the performance of which has never yet even been attempted by bourgeois economy, the task of tracing the genesis of this money form, of developing the expression of value implied in the value relation of commodities, from it s simplest, almost imperceptible outline, to the dazzling money- form. By doing this we shall, at the same time, solve the riddle presented by money. 34 Chapter 1 The simplest value -relation is evidently that of one commodity to some one other commodity of a different kind. Hence the relation between the values of two commodities supplies us with the simplest expression of the value of a single commodity. A. Elementary or Accidental Form Of Value x commodity A = y commodity B, or x commodity A is worth y commodity B. 20 yards of linen = 1 coat, or 20 Yards of linen are worth 1 coat. 1. The two poles of the expression of value. Relative form and Equivalent form The whole mystery of the form of value lies hidden in this elementary form. Its analysis, therefore, is our real difficulty. Here two different kinds of commodities (in our example the linen and the coat), evidently play two different parts. The linen expresses its value in the coat; the coat serves as the material in which that value is expressed. The form er plays an active, the latter a passive, part. The value of the linen is represented as relative value, or appears in relative form. The coat officiates as equivalent, or appears in equivalent form. The relative form and the equivalent form are two intim ately connected, mutually dependent and inseparable elements of the expression of value; but, at the same time, are mutually exclusive, antagonistic extremes â i.e., poles of the same expression. They are allotted respectively to the two different commodit ies brought into relation by that expression. It is not possible to express the value of linen in linen. 20 yards of linen = 20 yards of linen is no expression of value. On the contrary, such an equation merely says that 20 yards of linen are nothing else than 20 yards of linen, a definite quantity of the use value linen. The value of the linen can therefore be expressed only relatively â i.e., in some other commodity. The relative form of the value of the linen presupposes, therefore, the presence of some other commodity â here the coat â under the form of an equivalent. On the other hand, the commodity that figures as the equivalent cannot at the same time assume the relative form. That second commodity is not the one whose value is expressed. Its function is merely to serve as the material in which the value of the first commodity is expressed. No doubt, the expression 20 yards of linen = 1 coat, or 20 yards of linen are worth 1 coat, implies the opposite relation. 1 coat = 20 yards of linen, or 1 coat is worth 20 yards of linen. But, in that case, I must reverse the equation, in order to express the value of the coat relatively; and so soon as I do that the linen becomes the equivalent instead of the coat. A single commodity cannot, therefore, simultaneou sly assume, in the same expression of value, both forms. The very polarity of these forms makes them mutually exclusive. Whether, then, a commodity assumes the relative form, or the opposite equivalent form, depends entirely upon its accidental position i n the expression of value â that is, upon whether it is the commodity whose value is being expressed or the commodity in which value is being expressed. 2. The Relative Form of value (a.) The nature and import of this form In order to discover how the e lementary expression of the value of a commodity lies hidden in the value relation of two commodities, we must, in the first place, consider the latter entirely apart from its quantitative aspect. The usual mode of procedure is generally the reverse, and i n the 35 Chapter 1 value relation nothing is seen but the proportion between definite quantities of two different sorts of commodities that are considered equal to each other. It is apt to be forgotten that the magnitudes of different things can be compared quantitativ ely, only when those magnitudes are expressed in terms of the same unit. It is only as expressions of such a unit that they are of the same denomination, and therefore commensurable.17 Whether 20 yards of linen = 1 coat or = 20 coats or = x coats â that is , whether a given quantity of linen is worth few or many coats, every such statement implies that the linen and coats, as magnitudes of value, are expressions of the same unit, things of the same kind. Linen = coat is the basis of the equation. But the tw o commodities whose identity of quality is thus assumed, do not play the same part. It is only the value of the linen that is expressed. And how? By its reference to the coat as its equivalent, as something that can be exchanged for it. In this relation th e coat is the mode of existence of value, is value embodied, for only as such is it the same as the linen. On the other hand, the linenâs own value comes to the front, receives independent expression, for it is only as being value that it is comparable wit h the coat as a thing of equal value, or exchangeable with the coat. To borrow an illustration from chemistry, butyric acid is a different substance from propyl formate. Yet both are made up of the same chemical substances, carbon (C), hydrogen (H), and oxygen (O), and that, too, in like proportions â namely, C 4H8O2. If now we equate butyric acid to propyl formate, then, in the first place, propyl formate would be, in this relation, merely a form of existence of C 4H8O2; and in the second place, we should be stating that butyric acid also consists of C 4H8O2. Therefore, by thus equating the two substances, expression would be given to their chemical composition, while their different physical forms would be neglected. If we say that, as values, commodities ar e mere congelations of human labour, we reduce them by our analysis, it is true, to the abstraction, value; but we ascribe to this value no form apart from their bodily form. It is otherwise in the value relation of one commodity to another. Here, the one stands forth in its character of value by reason of its relation to the other. By making the coat the equivalent of the linen, we equate the labour embodied in the former to that in the latter. Now, it is true that the tailoring, which makes the coat, is concrete labour of a different sort from the weaving which makes the linen. But the act of equating it to the weaving, reduces the tailoring to that which is really equal in the two kinds of labour, to their common character of human labour. In this rounda bout way, then, the fact is expressed, that weaving also, in so far as it weaves value, has nothing to distinguish it from tailoring, and, consequently, is abstract human labour. It is the expression of equivalence between different sorts of commodities that alone brings into relief the specific character of value- creating labour, and this it does by actually reducing the different varieties of labour embodied in the different kinds of commodities to their common quality of human labour in the abstract. 18 There is, however, something else required beyond the expression of the specific character of the labour of which the value of the linen consists. Human labour power in motion, or human labour, creates value, but is not itself value. It becomes value only i n its congealed state, when embodied in the form of some object. In order to express the value of the linen as a congelation of human labour, that value must be expressed as having objective existence, as being a something materially different from the lin en itself, and yet a something common to the linen and all other commodities. The problem is already solved. When occupying the position of equivalent in the equation of value, the coat ranks qualitatively as the equal of the linen, as something of the sa me kind, because it is value. In this position it is a thing in which we see nothing but value, or whose palpable bodily form represents value. Yet the coat itself, the body of the commodity, coat, is a mere use value. A coat as such no more tells us it 36 Chapter 1 is value, than does the first piece of linen we take hold of. This shows that when placed in value- relation to the linen, the coat signifies more than when out of that relation, just as many a man strutting about in a gorgeous uniform counts for more than when in mufti. In the production of the coat, human labour power, in the shape of tailoring, must have been actually expended. Human labour is therefore accumulated in it. In this aspect the coat is a depository of value, but though worn to a thread, it doe s not let this fact show through. And as equivalent of the linen in the value equation, it exists under this aspect alone, counts therefore as embodied value, as a body that is value. A, for instance, cannot be âyour majestyâ to B, unless at the same time majesty in Bâs eyes assumes the bodily form of A, and, what is more, with every new father of the people, changes its features, hair, and many other things besides. Hence, in the value equation, in which the coat is the equivalent of the linen, the coat o fficiates as the form of value. The value of the commodity linen is expressed by the bodily form of the commodity coat, the value of one by the use value of the other. As a use value, the linen is something palpably different from the coat; as value, it is the same as the coat, and now has the appearance of a coat. Thus the linen acquires a value form different from its physical form. The fact that it is value, is made manifest by its equality with the coat, just as the sheepâs nature of a Christian is show n in his resemblance to the Lamb of God. We see, then, all that our analysis of the value of commodities has already told us, is told us by the linen itself, so soon as it comes into communication with another commodity, the coat. Only it betrays its thou ghts in that language with which alone it is familiar, the language of commodities. In order to tell us that its own value is created by labour in its abstract character of human labour, it says that the coat, in so far as it is worth as much as the linen, and therefore is value, consists of the same labour as the linen. In order to inform us that its sublime reality as value is not the same as its buckram body, it says that value has the appearance of a coat, and consequently that so far as the linen is value, it and the coat are as like as two peas. We may here remark, that the language of commodities has, besides Hebrew, many other more or less correct dialects. The German âWertsein,â to be worth, for instance, expresses in a less striking manner than the Romance verbs âvalere,â âvaler,â âvaloir,â that the equating of commodity B to commodity A, is commodity Aâs own mode of expressing its value. Paris vaut bien une messe. [Paris is certainly worth a mass] By means, therefore, of the value -relation express ed in our equation, the bodily form of commodity B becomes the value form of commodity A, or the body of commodity B acts as a mirror to the value of commodity A. 19 By putting itself in relation with commodity B, as value in propriĂą personĂą, as the matter of which human labour is made up, the commodity A converts the value in use, B, into the substance in which to express its, Aâs, own value. The value of A, thus expressed in the use value of B, has taken the form of relative value. (b.) Quantitative deter mination of Relative value Every commodity, whose value it is intended to express, is a useful object of given quantity, as 15 bushels of corn, or 100 lbs of coffee. And a given quantity of any commodity contains a definite quantity of human labour. The v alue form must therefore not only express value generally, but also value in definite quantity. Therefore, in the value relation of commodity A to commodity B, of the linen to the coat, not only is the latter, as value in general, made the equal in quality of the linen, but a definite quantity of coat (1 coat) is made the equivalent of a definite quantity (20 yards) of linen. The equation, 20 yards of linen = 1 coat, or 20 yards of linen are worth one coat, implies that the same quantity of value substance (congealed labour) is embodied in both; that the two 37 Chapter 1 commodities have each cost the same amount of labour of the same quant ity of labour time. But the labour time necessary for the production of 20 yards of linen or 1 coat varies with every change in the productiveness of weaving or tailoring. We have now to consider the influence of such changes on the quantitative aspect of the relative expression of value. I. Let the value of the linen vary,20 that of the coat remaining constant. If, say in consequence of the exhaustion of flax- growing soil, the labour time necessary for the production of the linen be doubled, the value of the linen will also be doubled. Instead of the equation, 20 yards of linen = 1 coat, we should have 20 yards of linen = 2 coats, since 1 coat would now contain only half the labour time embodied in 20 yards of linen. If, on the other hand, in consequence, say, of improved looms, this labour time be reduced by one -half, the value of the linen would fall by one-half. Consequently, we should have 20 yards of linen = œ coat. The relative value of commodity A, i.e., its value expressed in commodity B, rises and falls directly as the value of A, the value of B being supposed constant. II. Let the value of the linen remain constant, while the value of the coat varies. If, under these circumstances, in consequence, for instance, of a poor crop of wool, the labour t ime necessary for the production of a coat becomes doubled, we have instead of 20 yards of linen = 1 coat, 20 yards of linen = œ coat. If, on the other hand, the value of the coat sinks by one -half, then 20 yards of linen = 2 coats. Hence, if the value of commodity A remain constant, its relative value expressed in commodity B rises and falls inversely as the value of B. If we compare the different cases in I and II, we see that the same change of magnitude in relative value may arise from totally
đ± Value Relationships Explained
đ Relative value changes when comparing two commodities (like linen and coats) through four possible scenarios: value changes in one commodity, opposite changes in both, equal proportional changes, or unequal/opposite changes
đ§„ The equivalent form transforms a commodity's use-value into a direct expression of valueâmaking it "directly exchangeable" with other commodities without expressing its own quantitative value
đ Three peculiarities emerge in the equivalent form: use-value becomes the manifestation of value, concrete labor represents abstract human labor, and private labor appears as directly social labor
đ§ Aristotle nearly discovered the concept of value but was limited by Greek slave society, which prevented him from seeing all labor as equal human labor
đ The elementary form of value (20 yards linen = 1 coat) evolves into the expanded form where a commodity's value is expressed through countless other commodities, revealing value as "undifferentiated human labor"
đ Through the expanded form, commodities transcend accidental exchange relationships and enter a social relation with "the whole world of commodities," demonstrating that value magnitude controls exchange proportions, not vice versa
opposite causes. Thus, the equation, 20 yards of linen = 1 coat, becomes 20 yards of linen = 2 coats, either, because the value of the linen has doubled, or because the value of the coat has fallen by one- half; and it becomes 20 yards of linen = œ coat, either, be cause the value of the linen has fallen by one -half, or because the value of the coat has doubled. III. Let the quantities of labour time respectively necessary for the production of the linen and the coat vary simultaneously in the same direction and in the same proportion. In this case 20 yards of linen continue equal to 1 coat, however much their values may have altered. Their change of value is seen as soon as they are compared with a third commodity, whose value has remained constant. If the values of all commodities rose or fell simultaneously, and in the same proportion, their relative values would remain unaltered. Their real change of value would appear from the diminished or increased quantity of commodities produced in a given time. IV. The labour time respectively necessary for the production of the linen and the coat, and therefore the value of these commodities may simultaneously vary in the same direction, but at unequal rates or in opposite directions, or in other ways. The effect of all the se possible different variations, on the relative value of a commodity, may be deduced from the results of I, II, and III. Thus real changes in the magnitude of value are neither unequivocally nor exhaustively reflected in their relative expression, that is, in the equation expressing the magnitude of relative value. The relative value of a commodity may vary, although its value remains constant. Its relative value may remain constant, although its value varies; and finally, simultaneous variations in the magnitude of value and in that of its relative expression by no means necessarily correspond in amount. 21 3. The Equivalent form of value We have seen that commodity A (the linen), by expressing its value in the use value of a commodity differing in kind ( the coat), at the same time impresses upon the latter a specific form 38 Chapter 1 of value, namely that of the equivalent. The commodity linen manifests its quality of having a value by the fact that the coat, without having assumed a value form different from its bod ily form, is equated to the linen. The fact that the latter therefore has a value is expressed by saying that the coat is directly exchangeable with it. Therefore, when we say that a commodity is in the equivalent form, we express the fact that it is directly exchangeable with other commodities. When one commodity, such as a coat, serves as the equivalent of another, such as linen, and coats consequently acquire the characteristic property of being directly exchangeable with linen, we are far from knowing in what proportion the two are exchangeable. The value of the linen being given in magnitude, that proportion depends on the value of the coat. Whether the coat serves as the equivalent and the linen as relative value, or the linen as the equivalent and th e coat as relative value, the magnitude of the coatâs value is determined, independently of its value form, by the labour time necessary for its production. But whenever the coat assumes in the equation of value, the position of equivalent, its value acqui res no quantitative expression; on the contrary, the commodity coat now figures only as a definite quantity of some article. For instance, 40 yards of linen are worth â what? 2 coats. Because the commodity coat here plays the part of equivalent, because t he use -value coat, as opposed to the linen, figures as an embodiment of value, therefore a definite number of coats suffices to express the definite quantity of value in the linen. Two coats may therefore express the quantity of value of 40 yards of linen, but they can never express the quantity of their own value. A superficial observation of this fact, namely, that in the equation of value, the equivalent figures exclusively as a simple quantity of some article, of some use value, has misled Bailey, as al so many others, both before and after him, into seeing, in the expression of value, merely a quantitative relation. The truth being, that when a commodity acts as equivalent, no quantitative determination of its value is expressed. The first peculiarity that strikes us, in considering the form of the equivalent, is this: use value becomes the form of manifestation, the phenomenal form of its opposite, value. The bodily form of the commodity becomes its value form. But, mark well, that this quid pro quo exists in the case of any commodity B, only when some other commodity A enters into a value relation with it, and then only within the limits of this relation. Since no commodity can stand in the relation of equivalent to itself, and t hus turn its own bodily shape into the expression of its own value, every commodity is compelled to choose some other commodity for its equivalent, and to accept the use value, that is to say, the bodily shape of that other commodity as the form of its own value. One of the measures that we apply to commodities as material substances, as use values, will serve to illustrate this point. A sugar -loaf being a body, is heavy, and therefore has weight: but we can neither see nor touch this weight. We then take various pieces of iron, whose weight has been determined beforehand. The iron, as iron, is no more the form of manifestation of weight, than is the sugar -loaf. Nevertheless, in order to express the sugar -loaf as so much weight, we put it into a weight -relation with the iron. In this relation, the iron officiates as a body representing nothing but weight. A certain quantity of iron therefore serves as the measure of the weight of the sugar, and represents, in relation to the sugar -loaf, weight embodied, the form of manifestation of weight. This part is played by the iron only within this relation, into which the sugar or any other body, whose weight has to be determined, enters with the iron. Were they not both heavy, they could not enter into this relation, and the one could therefore not serve as the expression of the weight of the other. When we throw both into the scales, we see in reality, that as weight they are both the same, and that, therefore, when taken in proper proportions, they have the same weig ht. Just as the substance iron, as a measure of weight, represents in relation to the sugar -loaf weight 39 Chapter 1 alone, so, in our expression of value, the material object, coat, in relation to the linen, represents value alone. Here, however, the analogy ceases. The iron, in the expression of the weight of the sugar -loaf, represents a natural property common to both bodies, namely their weight; but the coat, in the expression of value of the linen, represents a non- natural property of both, something purely social , namely, their value. Since the relative form of value of a commodity â the linen, for example â expresses the value of that commodity, as being something wholly different from its substance and properties, as being, for instance, coat -like, we see that this expression itself indicates that some social relation lies at the bottom of it. With the equivalent form it is just the contrary. The very essence of this form is that the material commodity itself â the coat â just as it is, expresses value, and is endowed with the form of value by Nature itself. Of course this holds good only so long as the value relation exists, in which the coat stands in the position of equivalent to the linen. 22 Since, however, the properties of a thing are not the result of its relations to other things, but only manifest themselves in such relations, the coat seems to be endowed with its equivalent form, its property of being directly exchangeable, just as much by Nature as it is endowed with the property of being heavy, or the capacity to keep us warm. Hence the enigmatical character of the equivalent form which escapes the notice of the bourgeois political economist, until this form, completely developed, confronts him in the shape of money. He then seeks to explain away the my stical character of gold and silver, by substituting for them less dazzling commodities, and by reciting, with ever renewed satisfaction, the catalogue of all possible commodities which at one time or another have played the part of equivalent. He has not the least suspicion that the most simple expression of value, such as 20 yds of linen = 1 coat, already propounds the riddle of the equivalent form for our solution. The body of the commodity that serves as the equivalent, figures as the materialisation o f human labour in the abstract, and is at the same time the product of some specifically useful concrete labour. This concrete labour becomes, therefore, the medium for expressing abstract human labour. If on the one hand the coat ranks as nothing but the embodiment of abstract human labour, so, on the other hand, the tailoring which is actually embodied in it, counts as nothing but the form under which that abstract labour is realised. In the expression of value of the linen, the utility of the tailoring c onsists, not in making clothes, but in making an object, which we at once recognise to be Value, and therefore to be a congelation of labour, but of labour indistinguishable from that realised in the value of the linen. In order to act as such a mirror of value, the labour of tailoring must reflect nothing besides its own abstract quality of being human labour generally. In tailoring, as well as in weaving, human labour power is expended. Both, therefore, possess the general property of being human labour, and may, therefore, in certain cases, such as in the production of value, have to be considered under this aspect alone. There is nothing mysterious in this. But in the expression of value there is a complete turn of the tables. For instance, how is the fact to be expressed that weaving creates the value of the linen, not by virtue of being weaving, as such, but by reason of its general property of being human labour? Simply by opposing to weaving that other particular form of concrete labour (in this inst ance tailoring), which produces the equivalent of the product of weaving. Just as the coat in its bodily form became a direct expression of value, so now does tailoring, a concrete form of labour, appear as the direct and palpable embodiment of human labour generally. Hence, the second peculiarity of the equivalent form is, that concrete labour becomes the form under which its opposite, abstract human labour, manifests itself. 40 Chapter 1 But because this concrete labour, tailoring in our case, ranks as, and is direc tly identified with, undifferentiated human labour, it also ranks as identical with any other sort of labour, and therefore with that embodied in the linen. Consequently, although, like all other commodity- producing labour, it is the labour of private indi viduals, yet, at the same time, it ranks as labour directly social in its character. This is the reason why it results in a product directly exchangeable with other commodities. We have then a third peculiarity of the equivalent form, namely, that the labour of private individuals takes the form of its opposite, labour directly social in its form. The two latter peculiarities of the equivalent form will become more intelligible if we go back to the great thinker who was the first to analyse so many forms, whether of thought, society, or Nature, and amongst them also the form of value. I mean Aristotle. In the first place, he clearly enunciates that the money form of commodities is only the further development of the simple form of value â i.e., of the expr ession of the value of one commodity in some other commodity taken at random; for he says: 5 beds = 1 house ( ÎșλáżÎœÎ±Îč ÏÎΜÏΔ áŒÎœÏ᜶ ÎżáŒ°ÎșÎŻÎ±Ï ) is not to be distinguished from 5 beds = so much money. ( ÎșλáżÎœÎ±Îč ÏÎΜÏΔ áŒÎœÏ᜶ ... ᜠÏÎżÏ Î±áŒ± ÏÎΜÏΔ ÎșλáżÎœÎ±Îč ) He further sees th at the value relation which gives rise to this expression makes it necessary that the house should qualitatively be made the equal of the bed, and that, without such an equalisation, these two clearly different things could not be compared with each other as commensurable quantities. âExchange,â he says, âcannot take place without equality, and equality not without commensurability". ( ÎżáœÏáŸż ጰÏÏÏÎ·Ï ÎŒáœŽ ÎżáœÏÎ·Ï ÏÏ ÎŒÎŒÎ”ÏÏÎŻÎ±Ï ). Here, however, he comes to a stop, and gives up the further analysis of the form of value. âIt is, however, in reality, impossible ( Ïáż ÎŒáœČΜ ÎżáœÎœ áŒÎ»Î·ÎžÎ”ÎŻáŸł áŒÎŽÏΜαÏÎżÎœ ), that such unlike things can be commensurableâ â i.e., qualitatively equal. Such an equalisation can only be something foreign to their real nature, consequently only âa makeshift for p ractical purposes.â Aristotle therefore, himself, tells us what barred the way to his further analysis; it was the absence of any concept of value. What is that equal something, that common substance, which admits of the value of the beds being expressed by a house? Such a thing, in truth, cannot exist, says Aristotle. And why not? Compared with the beds, the house does represent something equal to them, in so far as it represents what is really equal, both in the beds and the house. And that is â human la bour. There was, however, an important fact which prevented Aristotle from seeing that, to attribute value to commodities, is merely a mode of expressing all labour as equal human labour, and consequently as labour of equal quality. Greek society was foun ded upon slavery, and had, therefore, for its natural basis, the inequality of men and of their labour powers. The secret of the expression of value, namely, that all kinds of labour are equal and equivalent, because, and so far as they are human labour in general, cannot be deciphered, until the notion of human equality has already acquired the fixity of a popular prejudice. This, however, is possible only in a society in which the great mass of the produce of labour takes the form of commodities, in which , consequently, the dominant relation between man and man, is that of owners of commodities. The brilliancy of Aristotleâs genius is shown by this alone, that he discovered, in the expression of the value of commodities, a relation of equality. The peculia r conditions of the society in which he lived, alone prevented him from discovering what, âin truth,â was at the bottom of this equality. 4. The Elementary Form of value considered as a whole The elementary form of value of a commodity is contained in the equation, expressing its value relation to another commodity of a different kind, or in its exchange relation to the same. The 41 Chapter 1 value of commodity A, is qualitatively expressed, by the fact tha t commodity B is directly exchangeable with it. Its value is quantitatively expressed by the fact, that a definite quantity of B is exchangeable with a definite quantity of A. In other words, the value of a commodity obtains independent and definite expres sion, by taking the form of exchange value. When, at the beginning of this chapter, we said, in common parlance, that a commodity is both a use value and an exchange value, we were, accurately speaking, wrong. A commodity is a use value or object of utilit y, and a value. It manifests itself as this two -fold thing, that it is, as soon as its value assumes an independent form â viz., the form of exchange value. It never assumes this form when isolated, but only when placed in a value or exchange relation with another commodity of a different kind. When once we know this, such a mode of expression does no harm; it simply serves as an abbreviation. Our analysis has shown, that the form or expression of the value of a commodity originates in the nature of value, and not that value and its magnitude originate in the mode of their expression as exchange value. This, however, is the delusion as well of the mercantilists and their recent revivers, Ferrier, Ganilh, 23 and others, as also of their antipodes, the modern bagmen of Free - trade, such as Bastiat. The mercantilists lay special stress on the qualitative aspect of the expression of value, and consequently on the equivalent form of commodities, which attains its full perfection in money. The modern hawkers of Free -trade, who must get rid of their article at any price, on the other hand, lay most stress on the quantitative aspect of the relative form of value. For them there consequently exists neither value, nor magnitude of value, anywhere except in its expression by means of the exchange relation of commodities, that is, in the daily list of prices current. Macleod, who has taken upon himself to dress up the confused ideas of Lombard Street in the most learned finery, is a successful cross between the superstitiou s mercantilists, and the enlightened Free -trade bagmen. A close scrutiny of the expression of the value of A in terms of B, contained in the equation expressing the value relation of A to B, has shown us that, within that relation, the bodily form of A figures only as a use value, the bodily form of B only as the form or aspect of value. The opposition or contrast existing internally in each commodity between use value and value, is, therefore, made evident externally by two commodities being placed in suc h relation to each other, that the commodity whose value it is sought to express, figures directly as a mere use value, while the commodity in which that value is to be expressed, figures directly as mere exchange value. Hence the elementary form of value of a commodity is the elementary form in which the contrast contained in that commodity, between use value and value, becomes apparent. Every product of labour is, in all states of society, a use value; but it is only at a definite historical epoch in a s ocietyâs development that such a product becomes a commodity, viz., at the epoch when the labour spent on the production of a useful article becomes expressed as one of the objective qualities of that article, i.e. , as its value. It therefore follows that the elementary value form is also the primitive form under which a product of labour appears historically as a commodity, and that the gradual transformation of such products into commodities, proceeds pari passu with the development of the value form. We perceive, at first sight, the deficiencies of the elementary form of value: it is a mere germ, which must undergo a series of metamorphoses before it can ripen into the price form. The expression of the value of commodity A in terms of any other commodit y B, merely distinguishes the value from the use value of A, and therefore places A merely in a relation of exchange with a single different commodity, B; but it is still far from expressing Aâs qualitative equality, and quantitative proportionality, to al l commodities. To the elementary relative value form of a commodity, there corresponds the single equivalent form of one other commodity. 42 Chapter 1 Thus, in the relative expression of value of the linen, the coat assumes the form of equivalent, or of being directly exchangeable, only in relation to a single commodity, the linen. Nevertheless, the elementary form of value passes by an easy transition into a more complete form. It is true that by means of the elementary form, the value of a commodity A, becomes expres sed in terms of one, and only one, other commodity. But that one may be a commodity of any kind, coat, iron, corn, or anything else. Therefore, according as A is placed in relation with one or the other, we get for one and the same commodity, different ele mentary expressions of value.24 The number of such possible expressions is limited only by the number of the different kinds of commodities distinct from it. The isolated expression of Aâs value, is therefore convertible into a series, prolonged to any length, of the different elementary expressions of that value. B. Total or Expanded Form of value z Com. A = u Com. B or = v Com. C or = w Com. D or = Com. E or = &c. (20 yards of linen = 1 coat or = 10 lbs tea or = 40 lbs. coffee or = 1 quarter corn or = 2 ounces gold or = œ ton iron or = &c.) 1. The Expanded Relative form of value The value of a single commodity, the linen, for example, is now expressed in terms of numberless other elements of the world of commodities. Every other commodity now becomes a mirror of the linenâs value.25 It is thus, that for the first time, this value shows itself in its true light as a congelation of undifferentiated human labour. For the labour that creates it, now stands expressly revealed, as labour that ranks equally wit h every other sort of human labour, no matter what its form, whether tailoring, ploughing, mining, &c., and no matter, therefore, whether it is realised in coats, corn, iron, or gold. The linen, by virtue of the form of its value, now stands in a social relation, no longer with only one other kind of commodity, but with the whole world of commodities. As a commodity, it is a citizen of that world. At the same time, the interminable series of value equations implies, that as regards the value of a commodity, it is a matter of indifference under what particular form, or kind, of use value it appears. In the first form, 20 yds of linen = 1 coat, it might, for ought that otherwise appears, be pure accident, that these two commodities are exchangeable in definit e quantities. In the second form, on the contrary, we perceive at once the background that determines, and is essentially different from, this accidental appearance. The value of the linen remains unaltered in magnitude, whether expressed in coats, coffee, or iron, or in numberless different commodities, the property of as many different owners. The accidental relation between two individual commodity- owners disappears. It becomes plain, that it is not the exchange of commodities which regulates the magnitu de of their value; but, on the contrary, that it is the magnitude of their value which controls their exchange proportions. 2. The particular Equivalent form Each commodity, such as, coat, tea, corn, iron, &c., figures in the expression of value of the li nen, as an equivalent, and, consequently, as a thing that is value. The bodily form of each of these commodities figures now as a particular equivalent form, one out of many. In the same way the manifold concrete useful kinds of labour, embodied in these different commodities, rank now as so many different forms of the realisation, or manifestation, of undifferentiated human labour. 3. Defects of the Total or Expanded form of value In the first place, the relative expression of value is incomplete because the series representing it is interminable. The chain of which each equation of value is a link, is liable at any moment to be 43 Chapter 1 lengthened by
đ± Value Forms Evolution
đ Commodity exchange transforms from simple to complex forms, progressing through isolated exchanges, expanded expressions, and finally the universal equivalent form where one commodity (like đ§” linen) becomes the standard against which all others are measured
đ§ź The general form of value creates a unified system where commodities express their worth through a single reference point, enabling meaningful comparison (10 lbs tea = 40 lbs coffee) and establishing social relationships between different types of labor
đ° Money emerges when one commodity (đ„ gold) monopolizes the universal equivalent position, completing the evolution from simple commodity exchange to a standardized measurement system for all economic value
đź Commodity fetishism occurs when social relationships between producers become disguised as relationships between things, creating a mystical character where products appear to have inherent value rather than embodying human labor relations
đ„ The social character of labor becomes hidden behind commodity exchange, causing people to perceive value as an objective property of objects rather than recognizing it as the expression of human productive relationships
đ§ This transformation creates a world where human creations take on independent existence, similar to religious fetishism, as the true social connections between producers become obscured by market mechanisms
đ Value transforms products into social hieroglyphics that conceal their true natureâobjects appear to have inherent worth when their value actually stems from the human labor embedded within them
âïž The quantitative proportions in which commodities exchange appear as natural properties of the products themselves, masking how these proportions actually reflect society's labor requirements and social relations
đ§ People experience their own social actions as external forces governing themâproducers create the value system yet perceive it as an independent power ruling over them, similar to how natural laws operate
đïž Alternative production systems (Robinson Crusoe's island, medieval feudalism, freely associated communities) demonstrate how labor relations can be transparent and intelligible without the mystification inherent in commodity production
âȘ The religious world mirrors economic realityâChristianity's abstract human worship perfectly complements commodity production's abstraction of labor, both veiling actual social relationships
đź This fetishism of commodities persists even after scientific discovery reveals value's true source, as the social character of labor continues appearing as an objective property of products themselves
đ Value emerges not from wages but from the labor time materialized in commodities, creating a fundamental distinction between the qualitative work that produces use-value and the quantitative labor that generates exchange-value
đ§ Adam Smith's analysis contains a crucial contradiction - sometimes defining value through labor quantity expended in production, other times through the value of labor itself, revealing the theoretical tensions in classical economics
đ The exchange relation transforms personal human labor into abstract social relations between things, where commodities appear to have independent value properties while concealing the human activity that created them
đ Classical economists like Ricardo correctly identified labor as the source of value but failed to adequately analyze the form of value - the specific social conditions that transform products of labor into commodities
đïž The commodity exchange process requires owners to mutually recognize each other's property rights, revealing how economic relations determine juridical ones rather than the reverse
đ Exchange value emerges when commodities change hands, transforming objects from non-use-values for their owners into use-values for others through a process that's simultaneously private and social
đ° Money crystallizes naturally from exchange relationships, becoming the universal equivalent that allows diverse commodities to express their values in a common form
đ The precious metals (gold and silver) emerge as ideal money commodities due to their physical propertiesâuniformity, divisibility, and durabilityâmaking them natural embodiments of abstract human labor
đ€ Commodity exchange historically develops first at community boundaries before transforming internal relations, gradually establishing the distinction between use-value and exchange-value
đ The riddle of money is merely the riddle of commodities in its most striking formârevealing how human social relations take on material characteristics independent of conscious control
đ Money functions as both a measure of value and a standard of price, representing commodities' values as comparable magnitudes while serving as a fixed weight of metal for price measurement
đ Gold becomes money not by making commodities commensurable, but because commodities are already commensurable as expressions of human labor, allowing gold to serve as their universal value measure
đ± The price form creates potential discrepancies between a commodity's actual value and its expressed price, enabling market flexibility while sometimes concealing qualitative inconsistencies
đ Price names (pound, dollar, etc.) develop historically through foreign money imports, precious metal substitutions, and government debasement, becoming purely social conventions regulated by law
đ The metamorphosis of commodities through exchange represents a social circulation of matter where products move from hands where they lack utility to hands where they serve as use-values
cose , 1751"; Custodi âParte Moderna,â t. II. In the second part of his work Pagnini directs his polemics especially against the lawyers. 12 âIf a man can bring t o London an ounce of Silver out of the Earth in Peru, in the same time that he can produce a bushel of Corn, then the one is the natural price of the other; now, if by reason of new or more easier mines a man can procure two ounces of silver as easily as h e formerly did one, the corn will be as cheap at ten shillings the bushel as it was before at five shillings, caeteris paribus.â William Petty. âA Treatise of Taxes and Contributions.â Lond., 1667, p. 32. 13 The learned Professor Roscher, after first infor ming us that âthe false definitions of money may be divided into two main groups: those which make it more, and those which make it less, than a commodity,â gives us a long and very mixed catalogue of works on the nature of money, from which it appears tha t he has not the remotest idea of the real history of the theory; and then he moralises thus: 66 Chapter 2 âFor the rest, it is not to be denied that most of the later economists do not bear sufficiently in mind the peculiarities that distinguish money from other commoditiesâ (it is then, after all, either more or less than a commodity!)... âSo far, the semi -mercantilist reaction of Ganilh is not altogether without foundation.â (Wilhelm Roscher: â Die Grundlagen der Nationaloekonomie ,â 3rd Edn. 1858, pp. 207- 210.) More! less! not sufficiently! so far! not altogether! What clearness and precision of ideas and language! And such eclectic professorial twaddle is modestly baptised by Mr. Roscher, âthe anatomico -physiological methodâ of Political Economy! One discovery however , he must have credit for, namely, that money is âa pleasant commodity.â Chapter 3: Money, Or the Circulation of Commodities Section 1: The Measure of Values Throughout this work, I assume, for the sake of simplicity, gold as the money- commodity. The first chief function of money is to supply commodities with the material for the expression of their values, or to represent their values as magnitudes of the same denomination, qualitatively equal, and quantitatively comparable. It thus serves as a universal measure of value. And only by virtue of this function does gold, the equivalent commodity par excellence, become money. It is not money that renders commodities commensurable. Just the contrary. It is because all commodities, as values, are realis ed human labour, and therefore commensurable, that their values can be measured by one and the same special commodity, and the latter be converted into the common measure of their values, i.e., into money. Money as a measure of value, is the phenomenal for m that must of necessity be assumed by that measure of value which is immanent in commodities, labour -time. 1 The expression of the value of a commodity in gold â x commodity A = y money- commodity â is its money- form or price. A single equation, such as 1 t on of iron = 2 ounces of gold, now suffices to express the value of the iron in a socially valid manner. There is no longer any need for this equation to figure as a link in the chain of equations that express the values of all other commodities, because t he equivalent commodity, gold, now has the character of money. The general form of relative value has resumed its original shape of simple or isolated relative value. On the other hand, the expanded expression of relative value, the endless series of equat ions, has now become the form peculiar to the relative value of the money- commodity. The series itself, too, is now given, and has social recognition in the prices of actual commodities. We have only to read the quotations of a price -list backwards, to fin d the magnitude of the value of money expressed in all sorts of commodities. But money itself has no price. In order to put it on an equal footing with all other commodities in this respect, we should be obliged to equate it to itself as its own equivalent . The price or money- form of commodities is, like their form of value generally, a form quite distinct from their palpable bodily form; it is, therefore, a purely ideal or mental form. Although invisible, the value of iron, linen and corn has actual exist ence in these very articles: it is ideally made perceptible by their equality with gold, a relation that, so to say, exists only in their own heads. Their owner must, therefore, lend them his tongue, or hang a ticket on them, before their prices can be com municated to the outside world. 2 Since the expression of the value of commodities in gold is a merely ideal act, we may use for this purpose imaginary or ideal money. Every trader knows, that he is far from having turned his goods into money, when he has expressed their value in a price or in imaginary money, and that it does not require the least bit of real gold, to estimate in that metal millions of poundsâ worth of goods. When, therefore, money serves as a measure of value, it is employed only as imagin ary or ideal money. This circumstance has given rise to the wildest theories. 3 But, although the money that performs the functions of a measure of value is only ideal money, price depends entirely upon the actual substance that is money. The value, or in o ther words, the quantity of human labour contained in a ton of iron, is expressed in imagination by such a quantity of the money- commodity as contains the same amount of labour as the iron. According, therefore, as the measure of value is gold, silver, or 68 Chapter 3 copper, the value of the ton of iron will be expressed by very different prices, or will be represented by very different quantities of those metals respectively. If, therefore, two different commodities, such as gold and silver, are simultaneously measur es of value, all commodities have two prices â one a gold- price, the other a silver -price. These exist quietly side by side, so long as the ratio of the value of silver to that of gold remains unchanged, say, at 15:1. Every change in their ratio disturbs t he ratio which exists between the gold -prices and the silver -prices of commodities, and thus proves, by facts, that a double standard of value is inconsistent with the functions of a standard. 4 Commodities with definite prices present themselves under the form: a commodity A = x gold; b commodity B = z gold; c commodity C = y gold, &c., where a, b, c, represent definite quantities of the commodities A, B, C and x, z, y, definite quantities of gold. The values of these commodities are, therefore, changed in imagination into so many different quantities of gold. Hence, in spite of the confusing variety of the commodities themselves, their values become magnitudes of the same denomination, gold- magnitudes. They are now capable of being compared with each other and measured, and the want becomes technically felt of comparing them with some fixed quantity of gold as a unit measure. This unit, by subsequent division into aliquot parts, becomes itself the standard or scale. Before they become money, gold, silver, a nd copper already possess such standard measures in their standards of weight, so that, for example, a pound weight, while serving as the unit, is, on the one hand, divisible into ounces, and, on the other, may be combined to make up hundredweights. 5 It is owing to this that, in all metallic currencies, the names given to the standards of money or of price were originally taken from the pre-existing names of the standards of weight. As measure of Value , and as standard of price , money has two entirely dist inct functions to perform. It is the measure of value inasmuch as it is the socially recognised incarnation of human labour; it is the standard of price inasmuch as it is a fixed weight of metal. As the measure of value it serves to convert the values of a ll the manifold commodities into prices, into imaginary quantities of gold; as the standard of price it measures those quantities of gold. The measure of values measures commodities considered as values; the standard of price measures, on the contrary, qua ntities of gold by a unit quantity of gold, not the value of one quantity of gold by the weight of another. In order to make gold a standard of price, a certain weight must be fixed upon as the unit. In this case, as in all cases of measuring quantities of the same denomination, the establishment of an unvarying unit of measure is all -important. Hence, the less the unit is subject to variation, so much the better does the standard of price fulfil its office. But only in so far as it is itself a product of l abour, and, therefore, potentially variable in value, can gold serve as a measure of value. 6 It is, in the first place, quite clear that a change in the value of gold does not, in any way, affect its function as a standard of price. No matter how this val ue varies, the proportions between the values of different quantities of the metal remain constant. However great the fall in its value, 12 ounces of gold still have 12 times the value of 1 ounce; and in prices, the only thing considered is the relation be tween different quantities of gold. Since, on the other hand, no rise or fall in the value of an ounce of gold can alter its weight, no alteration can take place in the weight of its aliquot parts. Thus gold always renders the same service as an invariable standard of price, however much its value may vary. In the second place, a change in the value of gold does not interfere with its functions as a measure of value. The change affects all commodities simultaneously, and, therefore, caeteris paribus , leaves their relative values inter se, unaltered, although those values are now expressed in higher or lower gold- prices. 69 Chapter 3 Just as when we estimate the value of any commodity by a definite quantity of the use- value of some other commodity, so in estimating the value of the former in gold, we assume nothing more than that the production of a given quantity of gold costs, at the given period, a given amount of labour. As regards the fluctuations of prices generally, they are subject to the laws of elementary relative value investigated in a former chapter. A general rise in the prices of commodities can result only, either from a rise in their values â the value of money remaining constant â or from a fall in the value of money, the values of commodities remaining constant. On the other hand, a general fall in prices can result only, either from a fall in the values of commodities â the value of money remaining constant â or from a rise in the value of money, the values of commodities remaining constant. It therefore by no means follows, that a rise in the value of money necessarily implies a proportional fall in the prices of commodities; or that a fall in the value of money implies a proportional rise in prices. Such change of price holds good only in the case of commodities whose value remains constant. Wit h those, for example, whose value rises, simultaneously with, and proportionally to, that of money, there is no alteration in price. And if their value rise either slower or faster than that of money, the fall or rise in their prices will be determined by the difference between the change in their value and that of money; and so on. Let us now go back to the consideration of the price -form. By degrees there arises a discrepancy between the current money -names of the various weights of the precious metal figuring as money, and the actual weights which those names originally represented. This discrepancy is the result of historical causes, amon g which the chief are: â (1) The importation of foreign money into an imperfectly developed community. This happened in Rome in its early days, where gold and silver coins circulated at first as foreign commodities. The names of these foreign coins never coincide with those of the indigenous weights. (2) As wealth increases, the less precious metal is thrust out by the more precious from its place as a measure of value, copper by silver, silver by gold, however much this order of sequence may be in contradi ction with poetical chronology. 7The word pound, for instance, was the money- name given to an actual pound weight of silver. When gold replaced silver as a measure of value, the same name was applied according to the ratio between the values of silver and gold, to perhaps 1- 15th of a pound of gold. The word pound, as a money- name, thus becomes differentiated from the same word as a weight -name.8 (3) The debasing of money carried on for centuries by kings and princes to such an extent that, of the original w eights of the coins, nothing in fact remained but the names.9 These historical causes convert the separation of the money -name from the weight -name into an established habit with the community. Since the standard of money is on the one hand purely conventi onal, and must on the other hand find general acceptance, it is in the end regulated by law. A given weight of one of the precious metals, an ounce of gold, for instance, becomes officially divided into aliquot parts, with legally bestowed names, such as pound, dollar, &c. These aliquot parts, which thenceforth serve as units of money, are then subdivided into other aliquot parts with legal names, such as shilling, penny, &c.10 But, both before and after these divisions are made, a definite weight of metal is the standard of metallic money. The sole alteration consists in the subdivision and denomination. The prices, or quantities of gold, into which the values of commodities are ideally changed, are therefore now expressed in the names of coins, or in the legally valid names of the subdivisions of the gold standard. Hence, instead of saying: A quarter of wheat is worth an ounce of gold; we say, it is worth ÂŁ3 17s. 10 1/2d. In this way commodities express by their prices how much they are 70 Chapter 3 worth, and money se rves as money of account whenever it is a question of fixing the value of an article in its money -form. 11 The name of a thing is something distinct from the qualities of that thing. I know nothing of a man, by knowing that his name is Jacob. In the same w ay with regard to money, every trace of a value -relation disappears in the names pound, dollar, franc, ducat, &c. The confusion caused by attributing a hidden meaning to these cabalistic signs is all the greater, because these money - names express both the values of commodities, and, at the same time, aliquot parts of the weight of the metal that is the standard of money.12 On the other hand, it is absolutely necessary that value, in order that it may be distinguished from the varied bodily forms of commodit ies, should assume this material and unmeaning, but, at the same time, purely social form. 13 Price is the money -name of the labour realised in a commodity. Hence the expression of the equivalence of a commodity with the sum of money constituting its price , is a tautology14, just as in general the expression of the relative value of a commodity is a statement of the equivalence of two commodities. But although price, being the exponent of the magnitude of a commodityâs value, is the exponent of its exchang e-ratio with money, it does not follow that the exponent of this exchange- ratio is necessarily the exponent of the magnitude of the commodityâs value. Suppose two equal quantities of socially necessary labour to be respectively represented by 1 quarter of wheat and ÂŁ2 (nearly 1/2 oz. of gold), ÂŁ2 is the expression in money of the magnitude of the value of the quarter of wheat, or is its price. If now circumstances allow of this price being raised to ÂŁ3, or compel it to be reduced to ÂŁ1, then although ÂŁ1 and ÂŁ3 may be too small or too great properly to express the magnitude of the wheatâs value; nevertheless they are its prices, for they are, in the first place, the form under which its value appears, i.e., money; and in the second place, the exponents of its exchange -ratio with money. If the conditions of production, in other words, if the productive power of labour remain constant, the same amount of social labour -time must, both before and after the change in price, be expended in the reproduction of a quar ter of wheat. This circumstance depends, neither on the will of the wheat producer, nor on that of the owners of other commodities. Magnitude of value expresses a relation of social production, it expresses the connexion that necessarily exists between a certain article and the portion of the total labour -time of society required to produce it. As soon as magnitude of value is converted into price, the above necessary relation takes the shape of a more or less accidental exchange- ratio between a single com modity and another, the money- commodity. But this exchange -ratio may express either the real magnitude of that commodityâs value, or the quantity of gold deviating from that value, for which, according to circumstances, it may be parted with. The possibili ty, therefore, of quantitative incongruity between price and magnitude of value, or the deviation of the former from the latter, is inherent in the price -form itself. This is no defect, but, on the contrary, admirably adapts the price- form to a mode of production whose inherent laws impose themselves only as the mean of apparently lawless irregularities that compensate one another. The price -form, however, is not only compatible with the possibility of a quantitative incongruity between magnitude of value and price, i.e ., between the former and its expression in money, but it may also conceal a qualitative inconsistency, so much so, that, although money is nothing but the value -form of commodities, price ceases altogether to express value. Objects that in t hemselves are no commodities, such as conscience, honour, &c., are capable of being offered for sale by their holders, and of thus acquiring, through their price, the form of commodities. Hence an object may have a price without having value. The price in that case is imaginary, like certain quantities in mathematics. On the other hand, the imaginary price -form may sometimes conceal 71 Chapter 3 either a direct or indirect real value- relation; for instance, the price of uncultivated land, which is without value, because no human labour has been incorporated in it. Price, like relative value in general, expresses the value of a commodity (e.g ., a ton of iron), by stating that a given quantity of the equivalent (e.g ., an ounce of gold), is directly exchangeable for iron. But it by no means states the converse, that iron is directly exchangeable for gold. In order, therefore, that a commodity may in practice act effectively as exchange- value, it must quit its bodily shape, must transform itself from mere imaginary into real gold, although to the commodity such transubstantiation may be more difficult than to the Hegelian âconcept,â the transition from ânecessityâ to âfreedom,â or to a lobster the casting of his shell, or to Saint Jerome the putting off of the old Adam.15 Though a commodity may, side by side with its actual form (iron, for instance), take in our imagination the form of gold, yet it cannot at one and the same time actually be both iron and gold. To fix its price, it suffices to equate it to gold in imagination. But to enable it to render to its owner the service of a universal equivalent, it must be actually replaced by gold. If the owner of the iron were to go to the owner of some other commodity offered for exchange, and were to refer him to the price of the i ron as proof that it was already money, he would get the same answer as St. Peter gave in heaven to Dante, when the latter recited the creed â âAssad bene e trascorsa Dâesta moneta gia la lega eâl peso, Ma dimmi se tu lâhai nella tua borsa.â A price th erefore implies both that a commodity is exchangeable for money, and also that it must be so exchanged. On the other hand, gold serves as an ideal measure of value, only because it has already, in the process of exchange, established itself as the money -commodity. Under the ideal measure of values there lurks the hard cash. Section 2: The Medium of Circulation A. The Metamorphosis of Commodities We saw in a former chapter that the exchange of commodities implies contradictory and mutually exclusive conditi ons. The differentiation of commodities into commodities and money does not sweep away these inconsistencies, but develops a modus vivendi , a form in which they can exist side by side. This is generally the way in which real contradictions are reconciled. For instance, it is a contradiction to depict one body as constantly falling towards another, and as, at the same time, constantly flying away from it. The ellipse is a form of motion which, while allowing this contradiction to go on, at the same time reconciles it. In so far as exchange is a process, by which commodities are transferred from hands in which they are non- use-values, to hands in which they become use -values, it is a social circulation of matter. The product of one form of useful labour repla ces that of another. When once a commodity has found a resting -place, where it can serve as a use- value, it falls out of the sphere of exchange into that of consumption. But the former sphere alone interests us at present. We have, therefore, now to consider exchange from a formal point of view; to investigate the change of form or metamorphosis of commodities which effectuates the social circulation of matter. The comprehension of this change of form is, as a rule, very imperfect. The cause of this imperf ection is, apart from indistinct notions of value itself, that every change of form in a commodity results from the exchange of two commodities, an ordinary one and the money- commodity. If we keep in view the material fact alone that a commodity has been exchanged for gold, we overlook the very thing that we ought to observe â namely, what has happened to the 72 Chapter 3 form of the commodity. We overlook the facts that gold, when a mere commodity, is not money, and that when other commodities express their prices in g old, this gold is but the money- form of those commodities themselves. Commodities, first of all, enter into the process of exchange just as they are. The process then differentiates them into commodities and money, and thus produces an external opposition corresponding to the internal opposition inherent in them, as being at once use -values and values. Commodities as use -values now stand opposed to money as exchange -value.
đ± Commodity Metamorphosis
đ Commodities transform through a dual metamorphosis: first into money (C-M, selling) and then from money into another commodity (M-C, buying), creating the complete circuit C-M-C where value changes form while preserving itself
đ° Money functions as the universal equivalent that enables commodities to express their value and overcome the limitations of direct barter, serving as both the end goal of selling and the starting point of buying
đ Market dynamics emerge spontaneously as commodities seek validation through sale, with success depending on whether labor expended was socially necessary and whether market demand existsârevealing how individual producers become dependent on an unplanned social system
đ Circulation networks interweave countless individual metamorphoses, where one person's sale is another's purchase, creating complex economic relationships beyond any individual's control
âïž The apparent equilibrium between buying and selling masks potential crisis points, as the separation of these acts in time and space means sales don't automatically guarantee purchases, introducing instability into the system
đ„ Economic roles shift as individuals transform from sellers to buyers and back again, with money constantly changing hands while enabling commodities to complete their lifecycles through consumption
On the other hand, both opposing sides are commodities, unities of use -value and val ue. But this unity of differences manifests itself at two opposite poles, and at each pole in an opposite way. Being poles they are as necessarily opposite as they are connected. On the one side of the equation we have an ordinary commodity, which is in re ality a use- value. Its value is expressed only ideally in its price, by which it is equated to its opponent, the gold, as to the real embodiment of its value. On the other hand, the gold, in its metallic reality, ranks as the embodiment of value, as money. Gold, as gold, is exchange -value itself. As to its use -value, that has only an ideal existence, represented by the series of expressions of relative value in which it stands face to face with all other commodities, the sum of whose uses makes up the sum o f the various uses of gold. These antagonistic forms of commodities are the real forms in which the process of their exchange moves and takes place. Let us now accompany the owner of some commodity â say, our old friend the weaver of linen â to the scene of action, the market. His 20 yards of linen has a definite price, ÂŁ2. He exchanges it for the ÂŁ2, and then, like a man of the good old stamp that he is, he parts with the ÂŁ2 for a family Bible of the same price. The linen, which in his eyes is a mere comm odity, a depository of value, he alienates in exchange for gold, which is the linenâs value- form, and this form he again parts with for another commodity, the Bible, which is destined to enter his house as an object of utility and of edification to its inm ates. The exchange becomes an accomplished fact by two metamorphoses of opposite yet supplementary character â the conversion of the commodity into money, and the re -conversion of the money into a commodity. 16 The two phases of this metamorphosis are both of them distinct transactions of the weaver â selling, or the exchange of the commodity for money; buying, or the exchange of the money for a commodity; and, the unity of the two acts, selling in order to buy . The result of the whole transaction, as regards the weaver, is this, that instead of being in possession of the linen, he now has the Bible; instead of his original commodity, he now possesses another of the same value but of different utility. In like manner he procures his other means of subsistence and means of production. From his point of view, the whole process effectuates nothing more than the exchange of the product of his labour for the product of some one elseâs, nothing more than an exchange of products. The exchange of commodities is therefore accompanied by the following changes in their form. Commodity â Money â Commodity. Cââââââ M ââââââC. The result of the whole process is, so far as concerns the objects themselves, C â C, the exchange of one commodity for another, the circulation of materialised social labour. When this result is attained, the process is at an end. C â M. First metamorphosis, or sale The leap taken by value from the body of the commodity, into the body of the gold, is, as I have elsewhere called it, the salto mortale of the commodity. If it falls short, then, although the commodity itself is not harmed, its owner decidedly is. The social division of labour causes his 73 Chapter 3 labour to be as one -sided as his wants are many -sided . This is precisely the reason why the product of his labour serves him solely as exchange -value. But it cannot acquire the properties of a socially recognised universal equivalent, except by being converted into money. That money, however, is in some one elseâs pocket. In order to entice the money out of that pocket, our friendâs commodity must, above all things, be a use -value to the owner of the money. For this, it is necessary that the labour expended upon it, be of a kind that is socially useful, of a kind that constitutes a branch of the social division of labour. But division of labour is a system of production which has grown up spontaneously and continues to grow behind the backs of the producers. The commodity to be exchanged may possibly be the pr oduct of some new kind of labour, that pretends to satisfy newly arisen requirements, or even to give rise itself to new requirements. A particular operation, though yesterday, perhaps, forming one out of the many operations conducted by one producer in cr eating a given commodity, may to -day separate itself from this connexion, may establish itself as an independent branch of labour and send its incomplete product to market as an independent commodity. The circumstances may or may not be ripe for such a sep aration. To- day the product satisfies a social want. Tomorrow the article may, either altogether or partially, be superseded by some other appropriate product. Moreover, although our weaverâs labour may be a recognised branch of the social division of labour, yet that fact is by no means sufficient to guarantee the utility of his 20 yards of linen. If the communityâs want of linen, and such a want has a limit like every other want, should already be saturated by the products of rival weavers, our friendâs p roduct is superfluous, redundant, and consequently useless. Although people do not look a gift -horse in the mouth, our friend does not frequent the market for the purpose of making presents. But suppose his product turn out a real use -value, and thereby at tracts money? The question arises, how much will it attract? No doubt the answer is already anticipated in the price of the article, in the exponent of the magnitude of its value. We leave out of consideration here any accidental miscalculation of value by our friend, a mistake that is soon rectified in the market. We suppose him to have spent on his product only that amount of labour -time that is on an average socially necessary. The price then, is merely the money- name of the quantity of social labour rea lised in his commodity. But without the leave, and behind the back, of our weaver, the old- fashioned mode of weaving undergoes a change. The labour -time that yesterday was without doubt socially necessary to the production of a yard of linen, ceases to be so to- day, a fact which the owner of the money is only too eager to prove from the prices quoted by our friendâs competitors. Unluckily for him, weavers are not few and far between. Lastly, suppose that every piece of linen in the market contains no more l abour -time than is socially necessary. In spite of this, all these pieces taken as a whole, may have had superfluous labour -time spent upon them. If the market cannot stomach the whole quantity at the normal price of 2 shillings a yard, this proves that to o great a portion of the total labour of the community has been expended in the form of weaving. The effect is the same as if each individual weaver had expended more labour -time upon his particular product than is socially necessary. Here we may say, with the German proverb: caught together, hung together. All the linen in the market counts but as one article of commerce, of which each piece is only an aliquot part. And as a matter of fact, the value also of each single yard is but the materialised form of the same definite and socially fixed quantity of homogeneous human labour. 17 We see then, commodities are in love with money, but âthe course of true love never did run smooth.â The quantitative division of labour is brought about in exactly the same spontaneous and accidental manner as its qualitative division. The owners of commodities therefore find out, that the same division of labour that turns them into independent private producers, also frees the social process of production and the relations of the individual producers to each other within that process, from all dependence on the will of those producers, and that the seeming mutual 74 Chapter 3 independence of the individuals is supplemented by a system of general and mutual dependence through or by means of the products. The division of labour converts the product of labour into a commodity, and thereby makes necessary its further conversion into money. At the same time it also makes the accomplishment of this transubstantiation quite accidental. Here, howev er, we are only concerned with the phenomenon in its integrity, and we therefore assume its progress to be normal. Moreover, if the conversion take place at all, that is, if the commodity be not absolutely unsaleable, its metamorphosis does take place alth ough the price realised may be abnormally above or below the value. The seller has his commodity replaced by gold, the buyer has his gold replaced by a commodity. The fact which here stares us in the face is, that a commodity and gold, 20 yards of linen a nd ÂŁ2, have changed hands and places, in other words, that they have been exchanged. But for what is the commodity exchanged? For the shape assumed by its own value, for the universal equivalent. And for what is the gold exchanged? For a particular form of its own use -value. Why does gold take the form of money face to face with the linen? Because the linenâs price of ÂŁ2, its denomination in money, has already equated the linen to gold in its character of money. A commodity strips off its original commodity -form on being alienated, i.e., on the instant its use - value actually attracts the gold, that before existed only ideally in its price. The realisation of a commodityâs price, or of its ideal value- form, is therefore at the same time the realisation of the ideal use -value of money; the conversion of a commodity into money, is the simultaneous conversion of money into a commodity. The apparently single process is in reality a double one. From the pole of the commodity -owner it is a sale, from the opposite pole of the money- owner, it is a purchase. In other words, a sale is a purchase, C âM is also M âC. 18 Up to this point we have considered men in only one economic capacity, that of owners of commodities, a capacity in which they appropriate the produce of the labour of others, by alienating that of their own labour. Hence, for one commodity- owner to meet with another who has money, it is necessary, either, that the product of the labour of the latter person, the buyer, should be in itself money, should be gold, the material of which money consists, or that his product should already have changed its skin and have stripped off its original form of a useful object. In order that it may play the part of money, gold must of course enter the market at some point or o ther. This point is to be found at the source of production of the metal, at which place gold is bartered, as the immediate product of labour, for some other product of equal value. From that moment it always represents the realised price of some commodity . 19 Apart from its exchange for other commodities at the source of its production, gold, in whose -so-ever hands it may be, is the transformed shape of some commodity alienated by its owner; it is the product of a sale or of the first metamorphosis C âM.20 Gold, as we saw, became ideal money, or a measure of values, in consequence of all commodities measuring their values by it, and thus contrasting it ideally with their natural shape as useful objects, and making it the shape of their value. It became real money, by the general alienation of commodities, by actually changing places with their natural forms as useful objects, and thus becoming in reality the embodiment of their values. When they assume this money -shape, commodities strip off every trace of th eir natural use- value, and of the particular kind of labour to which they owe their creation, in order to transform themselves into the uniform, socially recognised incarnation of homogeneous human labour. We cannot tell from the mere look of a piece of mo ney, for what particular commodity it has been exchanged. Under their money- form all commodities look alike. Hence, money may be dirt, although dirt is not money. We will assume that the two gold pieces, in consideration of which our weaver has parted with his linen, are the metamorphosed shape of a quarter of wheat. The 75 Chapter 3 sale of the linen, C âM, is at the same time its purchase, MâC. But the sale is the first act of a process that ends with a transaction of an opposite nature, namely, the purchase of a Bible ; the purchase of the linen, on the other hand, ends a movement that began with a transaction of an opposite nature, namely, with the sale of the wheat. C âM (linen âmoney), which is the first phase of CâMâC (linen âmoney âBible), is also M âC (money âlinen), th e last phase of another movement CâMâC (wheat âmoney âlinen). The first metamorphosis of one commodity, its transformation from a commodity into money, is therefore also invariably the second metamorphosis of some other commodity, the retransformation of the latter from money into a commodity.21 MâC, or purchase. The second and concluding metamorphosis of a commodity Because money is the metamorphosed shape of all other commodities, the result of their general alienation, for this reason it is alienable itself without restriction or condition. It reads all prices backwards, and thus, so to say, depicts itself in the bodies of all other commodities, which offer to it the material for the realisation of its own use -value. At the same time the prices, wooing glances cast at money by commodities, define the limits of its convertibility, by pointing to its quantity. Since every commodity, on becoming money, disappears as a commodity, it is impossible to tell from the money itself, how it got into the hands of i ts possessor, or what article has been changed into it. Non olet, from whatever source it may come. Representing on the one hand a sold commodity, it represents on the other a commodity to be bought.22 MâC, a purchase, is, at the same time, C âM, a sale; t he concluding metamorphosis of one commodity is the first metamorphosis of another. With regard to our weaver, the life of his commodity ends with the Bible, into which he has reconverted his ÂŁ2. But suppose the seller of the Bible turns the ÂŁ2 set free by the weaver into brandy M âC, the concluding phase of C âMâC (linen âmoney âBible), is also C âM, the first phase of C âMâC (Bible âmoney âbrandy). The producer of a particular commodity has that one article alone to offer; this he sells very often in large quanti ties, but his many and various wants compel him to split up the price realised, the sum of money set free, into numerous purchases. Hence a sale leads to many purchases of various articles. The concluding metamorphosis of a commodity thus constitutes an ag gregation of first metamorphoses of various other commodities. If we now consider the completed metamorphosis of a commodity, as a whole, it appears in the first place, that it is made up of two opposite and complementary movements, C âM and MâC. These two antithetical transmutations of a commodity are brought about by two antithetical social acts on the part of the owner, and these acts in their turn stamp the character of the economic parts played by him. As the person who makes a sale, he is a seller; as the person who makes a purchase, he is a buyer. But just as, upon every such transmutation of a commodity, its two forms, commodity- form and money- form, exist simultaneously but at opposite poles, so every seller has a buyer opposed to him, and every buye r a seller. While one particular commodity is going through its two transmutations in succession, from a commodity into money and from money into another commodity, the owner of the commodity changes in succession his part from that of seller to that of bu yer. These characters of seller and buyer are therefore not permanent, but attach themselves in turns to the various persons engaged in the circulation of commodities. The complete metamorphosis of a commodity, in its simplest form, implies four extremes, and three dramatic personae. First, a commodity comes face to face with money; the latter is the form taken by the value of the former, and exists in all its hard reality, in the pocket of the buyer. A commodity- owner is thus brought into contact with a possessor of money. So soon, now, as the commodity has been changed into money, the money becomes its transient equivalent -form, the use-value of which equivalent -form is to be found in the bodies of other commodities. Money, the 76 Chapter 3 final term of the first tra nsmutation, is at the same time the starting -point for the second. The person who is a seller in the first transaction thus becomes a buyer in the second, in which a third commodity- owner appears on the scene as a seller.23 The two phases, each inverse to the other, that make up the metamorphosis of a commodity constitute together a circular movement, a circuit: commodity -form, stripping off of this form, and return to the commodity- form. No doubt, the commodity appears here under two different aspects. At the starting -point it is not a use -value to its owner; at the finishing point it is. So, too, the money appears in the first phase as a solid crystal of value, a crystal into which the commodity eagerly solidifies, and in the second, dissolves into the mer e transient equivalent -form destined to be replaced by a use- value. The two metamorphoses constituting the circuit are at the same time two inverse partial metamorphoses of two other commodities. One and the same commodity, the linen, opens the series of its own metamorphoses, and completes the metamorphosis of another (the wheat). In the first phase or sale, the linen plays these two parts in its own person. But, then, changed into gold, it completes its own second and final metamorphosis, and helps at th e same time to accomplish the first metamorphosis of a third commodity. Hence the circuit made by one commodity in the course of its metamorphoses is inextricably mixed up with the circuits of other commodities. The total of all the different circuits cons titutes the circulation of commodities . The circulation of commodities differs from the direct exchange of products (barter), not only in form, but in substance. Only consider the course of events. The weaver has, as a matter of fact, exchanged his linen for a Bible, his own commodity for that of some one else. But this is true only so far as he himself is concerned. The seller of the Bible, who prefers something to warm his inside, no more thought of exchanging his Bible for linen than our weaver knew tha t wheat had been exchanged for his linen. Bâs commodity replaces that of A, but A and B do not mutually exchange those commodities. It may, of course, happen that A and B make simultaneous purchases, the one from the other; but such exceptional transaction s are by no means the necessary result of the general conditions of the circulation of commodities. We see here, on the one hand, how the exchange of commodities breaks through all local and personal bounds inseparable from direct barter, and develops the circulation of the products of social labour; and on the other hand, how it develops a whole network of social relations spontaneous in their growth and entirely beyond the control of the actors. It is only because the farmer has sold his wheat that the weaver is enabled to sell his linen, only because the weaver has sold his linen that our Hotspur is enabled to sell his Bible, and only because the latter has sold the water of everlasting life that the distiller is enabled to sell his eau -de-vie, and so on. The process of circulation, therefore, does not, like direct barter of products, become extinguished upon the use -values changing places and hands. The money does not vanish on dropping out of the circuit of the metamorphosis of a given commodity. It is constantly being precipitated into new places in the arena of circulation vacated by other commodities. In the complete metamorphosis of the linen, for example, linen â money â Bible, the linen first falls out of circulation, and money steps into its place . Then the Bible falls out of circulation, and again money takes its place. When one commodity replaces another, the money- commodity always sticks to the hands of some third person. 24 Circulation sweats money from every pore. Nothing can be more childish than the dogma, that because every sale is a purchase, and every purchase a sale, therefore the circulation of commodities necessarily implies an equilibrium of sales and purchases. If this means that the number of actual sales is equal to the number of purchases, it is mere tautology. But its real purport is to prove that every seller brings his buyer to market with him. Nothing of the kind. The sale and the purchase constitute one identical act, an 77 Chapter 3 exchange between a commodity -owner and an owner of money , between two persons as opposed to each other as the two poles of a magnet. They form two distinct acts, of polar and opposite characters, when performed by one single person. Hence the identity of sale and purchase implies that the commodity is useless, if, on being thrown into the alchemistical retort of circulation, it does not come out again in the shape of money; if, in other words, it cannot be sold by its owner, and therefore be bought by the owner of the money. That identity further implies that th e exchange, if it does take place, constitutes a period of rest, an interval, long or short, in the life of the commodity. Since the first metamorphosis of a commodity is at once a sale and a purchase, it is also an independent process in itself. The purch aser has the commodity, the seller has the money, i.e., a commodity ready to go into circulation at any time. No one can sell unless some one else purchases. But no one is forthwith bound to purchase, because he has just sold. Circulation bursts through al l restrictions as to time, place, and individuals, imposed by direct barter, and this it effects by splitting up, into the antithesis of a sale and a purchase, the direct identity that in barter does exist between the alienation of oneâs own and the acquis ition of some other manâs product. To say that these two independent and antithetical acts have an intrinsic unity, are essentially one, is the same as to say that this intrinsic oneness expresses itself in an external antithesis. If the interval in time b etween the two complementary phases of the complete metamorphosis of a commodity become too great, if the split between the sale and the purchase become too pronounced, the
đ± Metamorphosis of Money
đ Circulation of commodities creates a one-sided movement of money that appears to drive commerce but actually reflects the two-sided metamorphosis (C-M-C) of goods changing forms
đ° The quantity of circulating money equals the sum of commodity prices divided by the velocity of currencyârevealing how money supply, price levels, and transaction speed maintain dynamic equilibrium
đ Velocity of currency embodies the fluidity of economic exchangeâfaster circulation reflects rapid social interchange while slowdowns signal stagnation in the metamorphosis of commodities
đŠ Money functions simultaneously as measure of value and medium of circulation, with its value determined before entering circulation but its quantity adjusting to realize commodity prices
đȘ Coinage represents the state's formalization of money's circulating function, transforming precious metals into standardized denominations that facilitate the movement of commodities
intimate connexion between them, their oneness, asserts itself by producing â a crisis. The antithesis, use -value and value; the contradictions that private labour is bound to manifest itself as direct social labour, that a particularised concrete kind of labour has to pass for abstract human labour; the contradiction between the personi fication of objects and the representation of persons by things; all these antitheses and contradictions, which are immanent in commodities, assert themselves, and develop their modes of motion, in the antithetical phases of the metamorphosis of a commodit y. These modes therefore imply the possibility, and no more than the possibility, of crises. The conversion of this mere possibility into a reality is the result of a long series of relations, that, from our present standpoint of simple circulation, have a s yet no existence. 25 B. The currency 26 of money The change of form, C âMâC, by which the circulation of the material products of labour is brought about, requires that a given value in the shape of a commodity shall begin the process, and shall, also in the shape of a commodity, end it. The movement of the commodity is therefore a circuit. On the other hand, the form of this movement precludes a circuit from being made by the money. The result is not the return of the money, but its continued removal furt her and further away from its starting -point. So long as the seller sticks fast to his money, which is the transformed shape of his commodity, that commodity is still in the first phase of its metamorphosis, and has completed only half its course. But so s oon as he completes the process, so soon as he supplements his sale by a purchase, the money again leaves the hands of its possessor. It is true that if the weaver, after buying the Bible, sell more linen, money comes back into his hands. But this return i s not owing to the circulation of the first 20 yards of linen; that circulation resulted in the money getting into the hands of the seller of the Bible. The return of money into the hands of the weaver is brought about only by the renewal or repetition of the process of circulation with a fresh commodity, which renewed process ends with the same result as its predecessor did. Hence the movement directly imparted to money by the circulation of commodities takes the form of a constant motion away from its starting -point, of a course from the hands of one commodity -owner into those of another. This course constitutes its currency (cours de la monnaie). 78 Chapter 3 The currency of money is the constant and monotonous repetition of the same process. The commodity is always in the hands of the seller; the money, as a means of purchase, always in the hands of the buyer. And money serves as a means of purchase by realising the price of the commodity. This realisation transfers the commodity from the seller to the buyer and removes the money from the hands of the buyer into those of the seller, where it again goes through the same process with another commodity. That this one -sided character of the moneyâs motion arises out of the two- sided character of the commodityâs motion, is a circumstance that is veiled over. The very nature of the circulation of commodities begets the opposite appearance. The first metamorphosis of a commodity is visibly, not only the moneyâs movement, but also that of the commodity itself; in the second me tamorphosis, on the contrary, the movement appears to us as the movement of the money alone. In the first phase of its circulation the commodity changes place with the money. Thereupon the commodity, under its aspect of a useful object, falls out of circul ation into consumption.27 In its stead we have its value -shape â the money. It then goes through the second phase of its circulation, not under its own natural shape, but under the shape of money. The continuity of the movement is therefore kept up by the money alone, and the same movement that as regards the commodity consists of two processes of an antithetical character, is, when considered as the movement of the money, always one and the same process, a continued change of places with ever fresh commodi ties. Hence the result brought about by the circulation of commodities, namely, the replacing of one commodity by another, takes the appearance of having been effected not by means of the change of form of the commodities but rather by the money acting as a medium of circulation, by an action that circulates commodities, to all appearance motionless in themselves, and transfers them from hands in which they are non -use- values, to hands in which they are use -values; and that in a direction constantly opposed to the direction of the money. The latter is continually withdrawing commodities from circulation and stepping into their places, and in thus way continually moving further and further from its starting -point. Hence although the movement of the money is m erely the expression of the circulation of commodities, yet the contrary appears to be the actual fact, and the circulation of commodities seems to be the result of the movement of the money. 28 Again, money functions as a means of circulation only because in it the values of commodities have independent reality. Hence its movement, as the medium of circulation, is, in fact, merely the movement of commodities while changing their forms. This fact must therefore make itself plainly visible in the currency of money. Thus the linen for instance, first of all changes its commodity- form into its money- form. The second term of its first metamorphosis, C âM, the money form, then becomes the first term of its final metamorphosis, M âC, its re -conversion into the Bible. But each of these two changes of form is accomplished by an exchange between commodity and money, by their reciprocal displacement . The same pieces of coin come into the sellerâs hand as the alienated form of the commodity and leave it as the absolutely a lienable form of the commodity . They are displaced twice. The first metamorphosis of the linen puts these coins into the weaverâs pocket, the second draws them out of it. The two inverse changes undergone by the same commodity are reflected in the displacement, twice repeated, but in opposite directions, of the same pieces of coin. If, on the contrary, only one phase of the metamorphosis is gone through, if there are only sales or only purchases, then a given piece of money changes its place only once. Its second change of place always expresses the second metamorphosis of the commodity, its re- conversion from money. The frequent repetition of the displacement of the same coins reflects not only the series of metamorphoses that a single commodity has gone t hrough, but also the intertwining of the innumerable metamorphoses in the world of commodities in general. It is a matter of course, that 79 Chapter 3 all this is applicable to the simple circulation of commodities alone, the only form that we are now considering. Every commodity, when it first steps into circulation, and undergoes its first change of form, does so only to fall out of circulation again and to be replaced by other commodities. Money, on the contrary, as the medium of circulation, keeps continually withi n the sphere of circulation, and moves about in it. The question therefore arises, how much money this sphere constantly absorbs? In a given country there take place every day at the same time, but in different localities, numerous one -sided metamorphoses of commodities, or, in other words, numerous sales and numerous purchases. The commodities are equated beforehand in imagination, by their prices, to definite quantities of money. And since, in the form of circulation now under consideration, money and commodities always come bodily face to face, one at the positive pole of purchase, the other at the negative pole of sale, it is clear that the amount of the means of circulation required, is determined beforehand by the sum of the prices of all these commodities. As a matter of fact, the money in reality represents the quantity or sum of gold ideally expressed beforehand by the sum of the prices of the commodities. The equality of these two sums is therefore self - evident. We know, however, that, the values o f commodities remaining constant, their prices vary with the value of gold (the material of money), rising in proportion as it falls, and falling in proportion as it rises. Now if, in consequence of such a rise or fall in the value of gold, the sum of the prices of commodities fall or rise, the quantity of money in currency must fall or rise to the same extent. The change in the quantity of the circulating medium is, in this case, it is true, caused by the money itself, yet not in virtue of its function as a medium of circulation, but of its function as a measure of value. First, the price of the commodities varies inversely as the value of the money, and then the quantity of the medium of circulation varies directly as the price of the commodities. Exactly the same thing would happen if, for instance, instead of the value of gold falling, gold were replaced by silver as the measure of value, or if, instead of the value of silver rising, gold were to thrust silver out from being the measure of value. In the one case, more silver would be current than gold was before; in the other case, less gold would be current than silver was before. In each case the value of the material of money, i. e., the value of the commodity that serves as the measure of value, would h ave undergone a change, and therefore so, too, would the prices of commodities which express their values in money, and so, too, would the quantity of money current whose function it is to realise those prices. We have already seen, that the sphere of circ ulation has an opening through which gold (or the material of money generally) enters into it as a commodity with a given value. Hence, when money enters on its functions as a measure of value, when it expresses prices, its value is already determined. If now its value fall, this fact is first evidenced by a change in the prices of those commodities that are directly bartered for the precious metals at the sources of their production. The greater part of all other commodities, especially in the imperfectly developed stages of civil society, will continue for a long time to be estimated by the former antiquated and illusory value of the measure of value. Nevertheless, one commodity infects another through their common value -relation, so that their prices, expressed in gold or in silver, gradually settle down into the proportions determined by their comparative values, until finally the values of all commodities are estimated in terms of the new value of the metal that constitutes money. This process is accompanied by the continued increase in the quantity of the precious metals, an increase caused by their streaming in to replace the articles directly bartered for them at their sources of production. In proportion therefore as commodities in general acquire their true prices, in proportion as their values become estimated according to the fallen value of the precious metal, in the same proportion the quantity of that metal necessary 80 Chapter 3 for realising those new prices is provided beforehand. A one -sided observation of the results that followed upon the discovery of fresh supplies of gold and silver, led some economists in the 17th, and particularly in the 18th century, to the false conclusion, that the prices of commodities had gone up in consequence of the increased quantity of gold and silver serving as means of circulation. Henceforth we shall consider the value of gold to be given, as, in fact, it is momentarily, whenever we estimate the price of a commodity. On this supposition then, the quantity of the medium of circulation is determined by the sum of the prices that have to be realised. If now we further suppose the price of each commodity to be given, the sum of the prices clearly depends on the mass of commodities in circulation. It requires but little racking of brains to comprehend that if one quarter of wheat costs ÂŁ2,100 quarters will cost ÂŁ200, 200 quarters ÂŁ400, and so on, that consequently the quantity of money that changes place with the wheat, when sold, must increase with the quantity of that wheat. If the mass of commodities remain constant, the quantity of circulating money varies with the fluctuations in the prices of those commodities. It increases and diminishes because the sum of the prices increases or diminishes in consequence of the change of price. To produce this effect, it is by no means requisite that the prices of all commodities should rise or fall simultaneously. A rise or a fall in the prices of a number of leading articles, is sufficient in the one case to increase, in the other to dim inish, the sum of the prices of all commodities, and, therefore, to put more or less money in circulation. Whether the change in the price correspond to an actual change of value in the commodities, or whether it be the result of mere fluctuations in marke t-prices, the effect on the quantity of the medium of circulation remains the same. Suppose the following articles to be sold or partially metamorphosed simultaneously in different localities: say, one quarter of wheat, 20 yards of linen, one Bible, and 4 gallons of brandy. If the price of each article be ÂŁ2, and the sum of the prices to be realised be consequently ÂŁ8, it follows that ÂŁ8 in money must go into circulation. If, on the other hand, these same articles are links in the following chain of metamor phoses: 1 quarter of wheat â ÂŁ2 â 20 yards of linen â ÂŁ2 â 1 Bible â ÂŁ2 â 4 gallons of brandy â ÂŁ2, a chain that is already well known to us, in that case the ÂŁ2 cause the different commodities to circulate one after the other, and after realising their pr ices successively, and therefore the sum of those prices, ÂŁ8, they come to rest at last in the pocket of the distiller. The ÂŁ2 thus make four moves. This repeated change of place of the same pieces of money corresponds to the double change in form of the c ommodities, to their motion in opposite directions through two stages of circulation. and to the interlacing of the metamorphoses of different commodities. 29 These antithetic and complementary phases, of which the process of metamorphosis consists, are gone through, not simultaneously, but successively. Time is therefore required for the completion of the series. Hence the velocity of the currency of money is measured by the number of moves made by a given piece of money in a given time. Suppose the circulation of the 4 articles takes a day. The sum of the prices to be realised in the day is ÂŁ8, the number of moves of the two pieces of money is four, and the quantity of money circulating is ÂŁ2. Hence, for a given interval of time during the process of circul ation, we have the following relation: the quantity of money functioning as the circulating medium is equal to the sum of the prices of the commodities divided by the number of moves made by coins of the same denomination. This law holds generally. The total circulation of commodities in a given country during a given period is made up on the one hand of numerous isolated and simultaneous partial metamorphoses, sales which are at the same time purchases, in which each coin changes its place only once, or m akes only one move; on the other hand, of numerous distinct series of metamorphoses partly running side by side, and partly coalescing with each other, in each of which series each coin makes a number of moves, 81 Chapter 3 the number being greater or less according to circumstances. The total number of moves made by all the circulating coins of one denomination being given, we can arrive at the average number of moves made by a single coin of that denomination, or at the average velocity of the currency of money. The quantity of money thrown into the circulation at the beginning of each day is of course determined by the sum of the prices of all the commodities circulating simultaneously side by side. But once in circulation, coins are, so to say, made responsible for one another. If the one increase its velocity, the other either retards its own, or altogether falls out of circulation; for the circulation can absorb only such a quantity of gold as when multiplied by the mean number of moves made by one single coin or el ement, is equal to the sum of the prices to be realised. Hence if the number of moves made by the separate pieces increase, the total number of those pieces in circulation diminishes. If the number of the moves diminish, the total number of pieces increase s. Since the quantity of money capable of being absorbed by the circulation is given for a given mean velocity of currency, all that is necessary in order to abstract a given number of sovereigns from the circulation is to throw the same number of one -pound notes into it, a trick well known to all bankers. Just as the currency of money, generally considered, is but a reflex of the circulation of commodities, or of the antithetical metamorphoses they undergo, so, too, the velocity of that currency reflects the rapidity with which commodities change their forms, the continued interlacing of one series of metamorphoses with another, the hurried social interchange of matter, the rapid disappearance of commodities from the sphere of circulation, and the equally rapid substitution of fresh ones in their places. Hence, in the velocity of the currency we have the fluent unity of the antithetical and complementary phases, the unity of the conversion of the useful aspect of commodities into their value -aspect, and the ir re-conversion from the latter aspect to the former, or the unity of the two processes of sale and purchase. On the other hand, the retardation of the currency reflects the separation of these two processes into isolated antithetical phases, reflects the stagnation in the change of form, and therefore, in the social interchange of matter. The circulation itself, of course, gives no clue to the origin of this stagnation; it merely puts in evidence the phenomenon itself. The general public, who, simultaneou sly with the retardation of the currency, see money appear and disappear less frequently at the periphery of circulation, naturally attribute this retardation to a quantitative deficiency in the circulating medium. 30 The total quantity of money functioning during a given period as the circulating medium, is determined, on the one hand, by the sum of the prices of the circulating commodities, and on the other hand, by the rapidity with which the antithetical phases of the metamorphoses follow one another. O n this rapidity depends what proportion of the sum of the prices can, on the average, be realised by each single coin. But the sum of the prices of the circulating commodities depends on the quantity, as well as on the prices, of the commodities. These thr ee factors, however, state of prices, quantity of circulating commodities, and velocity of money- currency, are all variable. Hence, the sum of the prices to be realised, and consequently the quantity of the circulating medium depending on that sum, will va ry with the numerous variations of these three factors in combination. Of these variations we shall consider those alone that have been the most important in the history of prices. While prices remain constant, the quantity of the circulating medium may i ncrease owing to the number of circulating commodities increasing, or to the velocity of currency decreasing, or to a combination of the two. On the other hand the quantity of the circulating medium may decrease with a decreasing number of commodities, or with an increasing rapidity of their circulation. With a general rise in the prices of commodities, the quantity of the circulating medium will remain constant, provided the number of commodities in circulation decrease proportionally to 82 Chapter 3 the increase in t heir prices, or provided the velocity of currency increase at the same rate as prices rise, the number of commodities in circulation remaining constant. The quantity of the circulating medium may decrease, owing to the number of commodities decreasing more rapidly; or to the velocity of currency increasing more rapidly, than prices rise. With a general fall in the prices of commodities, the quantity of the circulating medium will remain constant, provided the number of commodities increase proportionally t o their fall in price, or provided the velocity of currency decrease in the same proportion. The quantity of the circulating medium will increase, provided the number of commodities increase quicker, or the rapidity of circulation decrease quicker, than th e prices fall. The variations of the different factors may mutually compensate each other, so that notwithstanding their continued instability, the sum of the prices to be realised and the quantity of money in circulation remain constant; consequently, we find, especially if we take long periods into consideration, that the deviations from the average level, of the quantity of money current in any country, are much smaller than we should at first sight expect, apart of course from excessive perturbations periodically arising from industrial and commercial crises, or less frequently, from fluctuations in the value of money. The law, that the quantity of the circulating medium is determined by the sum of the prices of the commodities circulating, and the average velocity of currency 31 may also be stated as follows: given the sum of the values of commodities, and the average rapidity of their metamorphoses, the quantity of precious metal current as money depends on the value of that precious metal. The erroneo us opinion that it is, on the contrary, prices that are determined by the quantity of the circulating medium, and that the latter depends on the quantity of the precious metals in a country; 32 this opinion was based by those who first held it, on the absur d hypothesis that commodities are without a price, and money without a value, when they first enter into circulation, and that, once in the circulation, an aliquot part of the medley of commodities is exchanged for an aliquot part of the heap of precious m etals.33 C. Coin and symbols of value That money takes the shape of coin, springs from its function as the circulating medium. The weight of gold represented in imagination by the prices or money- names of commodities, must confront those commodities, within the circulation, in the shape of coins or pieces of gold of a given denomination. Coining, like the establishment of a standard of prices, is the business of the State. The different national uniforms worn at home by gold and silver as coins, and do ffed again in the market of the world, indicate the separation between the internal or national spheres of the circulation of commodities, and their universal sphere. The only difference, therefore, between coin and bullion, is one of shape, and gold can a t any time pass from one form to the other. 34But no sooner does coin leave the mint, than it
đ° Money's Metamorphosis
đȘ Coins gradually separate from their nominal value through wear and tear, creating a distinction between their official weight and actual weight that enables their replacement by symbolic tokens
đ Paper money functions effectively when it represents the actual gold quantity that would circulate, but creates economic distortion when exceeding this natural limit
đŠ Hoarding transforms money from circulation medium to wealth storage, revealing money's dual nature as both facilitator of exchange and object of desire that converts social power into private power
đ The fetishization of gold creates insatiable accumulation as money's qualitative boundlessness (representing all wealth) conflicts with its quantitative limitations (finite amounts)
âł Credit relationships emerge when commodity sales separate from price realization, creating debtor-creditor dynamics that reflect deeper economic class antagonisms
đ The means of payment function reverses the normal circulation sequence, with money becoming the end goal rather than the facilitator of exchange
immediately finds itself on the high -road to the melting pot. During their currency, coins wear away, some more, others less. Name and substance, nominal weight a nd real weight, begin their process of separation. Coins of the same denomination become different in value, because they are different in weight. The weight of gold fixed upon as the standard of prices, deviates from the weight that serves as the circulat ing medium, and the latter thereby ceases any longer to be a real equivalent of the commodities whose prices it realises. The history of coinage during the middle ages and down into the 18th century, records the ever renewed confusion arising from this cau se. The natural tendency of circulation to convert coins into a mere semblance of what they profess to be, into a symbol of the weight of metal they are officially supposed to contain, is recognised 83 Chapter 3 by modern legislation, which fixes the loss of weight suf ficient to demonetise a gold coin, or to make it no longer legal tender. The fact that the currency of coins itself effects a separation between their nominal and their real weight, creating a distinction between them as mere pieces of metal on the one ha nd, and as coins with a definite function on the other â this fact implies the latent possibility of replacing metallic coins by tokens of some other material, by symbols serving the same purposes as coins. The practical difficulties in the way of coining extremely minute quantities of gold or silver, and the circumstance that at first the less precious metal is used as a measure of value instead of the- more precious, copper instead of silver, silver instead of gold, and that the less precious circulates as money until dethroned by the more precious â all these facts explain the parts historically played by silver and copper tokens as substitutes for gold coins. Silver and copper tokens take the place of gold in those regions of the circulation where coins pass from hand to hand most rapidly, and are subject to the maximum amount of wear and tear. This occurs where sales and purchases on a very small scale are continually happening. In order to prevent these satellites from establishing themselves permanently in the place of gold, positive enactments determine the extent to which they must be compulsorily received as payment instead of gold. The particular tracks pursued by the different species of coin in currency, run naturally into each other. The tokens keep company with gold, to pay fractional parts of the smallest gold coin; gold is, on the one hand, constantly pouring into retail circulation, and on the other hand is as constantly being thrown out again by being changed into tokens. 35 The weight of metal in the silver and copper tokens is arbitrarily fixed by law. When in currency, they wear away even more rapidly than gold coins. Hence their functions are totally independent of their weight, and consequently of all value. The function of gold as coin bec omes completely independent of the metallic value of that gold. Therefore things that are relatively without value, such as paper notes, can serve as coins in its place. This purely symbolic character is to a certain extent masked in metal tokens. In paper money it stands out plainly. In fact, ce nâest que le premier pas qui coĂ»te. We allude here only to inconvertible paper money issued by the State and having compulsory circulation. It has its immediate origin in the metallic currency. Money based upon cr edit implies on the other hand conditions, which, from our standpoint of the simple circulation of commodities, are as yet totally unknown to us. But we may affirm this much, that just as true paper money takes its rise in the function of money as the circulating medium, so money based upon credit takes root spontaneously in the function of money as the means of payment. 36 The State puts in circulation bits of paper on which their various denominations, say ÂŁ1, ÂŁ5, &c., are printed. In so far as they actual ly take the place of gold to the same amount, their movement is subject to the laws that regulate the currency of money itself. A law peculiar to the circulation of paper money can spring up only from the proportion in which that paper money represents gol d. Such a law exists; stated simply, it is as follows: the issue of paper money must not exceed in amount the gold (or silver as the case may be) which would actually circulate if not replaced by symbols. Now the quantity of gold which the circulation can absorb, constantly fluctuates about a given level. Still, the mass of the circulating medium in a given country never sinks below a certain minimum easily ascertained by actual experience. The fact that this minimum mass continually undergoes changes in it s constituent parts, or that the pieces of gold of which it consists are being constantly replaced by fresh ones, causes of course no change either in its amount or in the continuity of its circulation. It can therefore be replaced by paper symbols. If, on the other hand, all the conduits of circulation were to- day filled with paper money to the full extent of their capacity for absorbing money, they might to- morrow be overflowing in 84 Chapter 3 consequence of a fluctuation in the circulation of commodities. There woul d no longer be any standard. If the paper money exceed its proper limit, which is the amount in gold coins of the like denomination that can actually be current, it would, apart from the danger of falling into general disrepute, represent only that quantit y of gold, which, in accordance with the laws of the circulation of commodities, is required, and is alone capable of being represented by paper. If the quantity of paper money issued be double what it ought to be, then, as a matter of fact, ÂŁ1 would be the money- name not of 1/4 of an ounce, but of 1/8 of an ounce of gold. The effect would be the same as if an alteration had taken place in the function of gold as a standard of prices. Those values that were previously expressed by the price of ÂŁ1 would now be expressed by the price of ÂŁ2. Paper money is a token representing gold or money. The relation between it and the values of commodities is this, that the latter are ideally expressed in the same quantities of gold that are symbolically represented by th e paper. Only in so far as paper money represents gold, which like all other commodities has value, is it a symbol of value. 37 Finally, some one may ask why gold is capable of being replaced by tokens that have no value? But, as we have already seen, it is capable of being so replaced only in so far as it functions exclusively as coin, or as the circulating medium, and as nothing else. Now, money has other functions besides this one, and the isolated function of serving as the mere circulating medium is not necessarily the only one attached to gold coin, although this is the case with those abraded coins that continue to circulate. Each piece of money is a mere coin, or means of circulation, only so long as it actually circulates. But this is just the case w ith that minimum mass of gold, which is capable of being replaced by paper money. That mass remains constantly within the sphere of circulation, continually functions as a circulating medium, and exists exclusively for that purpose. Its movement therefore represents nothing but the continued alternation of the inverse phases of the metamorphosis C âMâC, phases in which commodities confront their value -forms, only to disappear again immediately. The independent existence of the exchange -value of a commodity i s here a transient apparition, by means of which the commodity is immediately replaced by another commodity. Hence, in this process which continually makes money pass from hand to hand, the mere symbolical existence of money suffices. Its functional existence absorbs, so to say, its material existence. Being a transient and objective reflex of the prices of commodities, it serves only as a symbol of itself, and is therefore capable of being replaced by a token. 38 One thing is, however, requisite; this token must have an objective social validity of its own, and this the paper symbol acquires by its forced currency. This compulsory action of the State can take effect only within that inner sphere of circulation whi ch is coterminous with the territories of the community, but it is also only within that sphere that money completely responds to its function of being the circulating medium, or becomes coin. Section 3: Money The commodity that functions as a measure of v alue, and, either in its own person or by a representative, as the medium of circulation, is money. Gold (or silver) is therefore money. It functions as money, on the one hand, when it has to be present in its own golden person. It is then the money- commod ity, neither merely ideal, as in its function of a measure of value, nor capable of being represented, as in its function of circulating medium. On the other hand, it also functions as money, when by virtue of its function, whether that function be perform ed in person or by representative, it congeals into the sole form of value, the only adequate form of existence of exchange -value, in opposition to use -value, represented by all other commodities. 85 Chapter 3 A. Hoarding The continual movement in circuits of the two antithetical metamorphoses of commodities, or the never ceasing alternation of sale and purchase, is reflected in the restless currency of money, or in the function that money performs of a perpetuum mobile of circulation. But so soon as the series of meta morphoses is interrupted, so soon as sales are not supplemented by subsequent purchases, money ceases to be mobilised; it is transformed, as Boisguillebert says, from âmeubleâ into âimmeuble,â from movable into immovable, from coin into money. With the ve ry earliest development of the circulation of commodities, there is also developed the necessity, and the passionate desire, to hold fast the product of the first metamorphosis. This product is the transformed shape of the commodity, or its gold- chrysalis. 39 Commodities are thus sold not for the purpose of buying others, but in order to replace their commodity- form by their money- form. From being the mere means of effecting the circulation of commodities, this change of form becomes the end and aim. The cha nged form of the commodity is thus prevented from functioning as its unconditionally alienable form, or as its merely transient money- form. The money becomes petrified into a hoard, and the seller becomes a hoarder of money. In the early stages of the circulation of commodities, it is the surplus use -values alone that are converted into money. Gold and silver thus become of themselves social expressions for superfluity or wealth. This naĂŻve form of hoarding becomes perpetuated in those communities in which the traditional mode of production is carried on for the supply of a fixed and limited circle of home wants. It is thus with the people of Asia, and particularly of the East Indies. Vanderlint, who fancies that the prices of commodities in a country are de termined by the quantity of gold and silver to be found in it, asks himself why Indian commodities are so cheap. Answer: Because the Hindus bury their money. From 1602 to 1734, he remarks, they buried 150 millions of pounds sterling of silver, which origin ally came from America to Europe. 40 In the 10 years from 1856 to 1866, England exported to India and China ÂŁ120,000,000 in silver, which had been received in exchange for Australian gold. Most of the silver exported to China makes its way to India. As the production of commodities further develops, every producer of commodities is compelled to make sure of the nexus rerum or the social pledge. 41 His wants are constantly making themselves felt, and necessitate the continual purchase of other peopleâs commod ities, while the production and sale of his own goods require time, and depend upon circumstances. In order then to be able to buy without selling, he must have sold previously without buying. This operation, conducted on a general scale, appears to imply a contradiction. But the precious metals at the sources of their production are directly exchanged for other commodities. And here we have sales (by the owners of commodities) without purchases (by the owners of gold or silver). 42And subsequent sales, by other producers, unfollowed by purchases, merely bring about the distribution of the newly produced precious metals among all the owners of commodities. In this way, all along the line of exchange, hoards of gold and silver of varied extent are accumulated . With the possibility of holding and storing up exchange -value in the shape of a particular commodity, arises also the greed for gold. Along with the extension of circulation, increases the power of money, that absolutely social form of wealth ever ready for use. âGold is a wonderful thing! Whoever possesses it is lord of all he wants. By means of gold one can even get souls into Paradise.â (Columbus in his letter from Jamaica, 1503.) Since gold does not disclose what has been transformed into it, everythi ng, commodity or not, is convertible into gold. Everything becomes saleable and buyable. The circulation becomes the great social retort into which everything is thrown, to come out again as a gold- crystal. Not even are the bones of saints, and still less are more delicate res sacrosanctae, extra commercium hominum able to withstand this alchemy. 43 Just as every qualitative difference between commodities is extinguished in money, 86 Chapter 3 so money, on its side, like the radical leveller that it is, does away with all distinctions.43a But money itself is a commodity, an external object, capable of becoming the private property of any individual. Thus social power becomes the private power of private persons. The ancients therefore denounced money as subversive of the economic and moral order of things.43b Modern society, which, soon after its birth, pulled Plutus by the hair of his head from the bowels of the earth,44 greets gold as its Holy Grail, as the glittering incarnation of the very principle of its own life. A commodity, in its capacity of a use -value, satisfies a particular want, and is a particular element of material wealth. But the value of a commodity measures the degree of its attraction for all other elements of material wealth, and therefore measures t he social wealth of its owner. To a barbarian owner of commodities, and even to a West -European peasant, value is the same as value -form, and therefore, to him the increase in his hoard of gold and silver is an increase in value. It is true that the value of money varies, at one time in consequence of a variation in its own value, at another, in consequence of a change in the values of commodities. But this, on the one hand, does not prevent 200 ounces of gold from still containing more value than 100 ounce s, nor, on the other hand, does it hinder the actual metallic form of this article from continuing to be the universal equivalent form of all other commodities, and the immediate social incarnation of all human labour. The desire after hoarding is in its v ery nature unsatiable. In its qualitative aspect, or formally considered, money has no bounds to its efficacy, i.e., it is the universal representative of material wealth, because it is directly convertible into any other commodity. But, at the same time, every actual sum of money is limited in amount, and, therefore, as a means of purchasing, has only a limited efficacy. This antagonism between the quantitative limits of money and its qualitative boundlessness, continually acts as a spur to the hoarder in his Sisyphus - like labour of accumulating. It is with him as it is with a conqueror who sees in every new country annexed, only a new boundary. In order that gold may be held as money, and made to form a hoard, it must be prevented from circulating, or from transforming itself into a means of enjoyment. The hoarder, therefore, makes a sacrifice of the lusts of the flesh to his gold fetish. He acts in earnest up to the Gospel of abstention. On the other hand, he can withdraw from circulation no more than wha t he has thrown into it in the shape of commodities. The more he produces, the more he is able to sell. Hard work, saving, and avarice are, therefore, his three cardinal virtues, and to sell much and buy little the sum of his political economy. 45 By the si de of the gross form of a hoard, we find also its aesthetic form in the possession of gold and silver articles. This grows with the wealth of civil society. âSoyons riches ou paraissons richesâ (Diderot). In this way there is created, on the one hand, a c onstantly extending market for gold and silver, unconnected with their functions as money, and, on the other hand, a latent source of supply, to which recourse is had principally in times of crisis and social disturbance. Hoarding serves various purposes in the economy of the metallic circulation. Its first function arises out of the conditions to which the currency of gold and silver coins is subject. We have seen how, along with the continual fluctuations in the extent and rapidity of the circulation of commodities and in their prices, the quantity of money current unceasingly ebbs and flows. This mass must, therefore, be capable of expansion and contraction. At one time money must be attracted in order to act as circulating coin, at another, circulating coin must be repelled in order to act again as more or less stagnant money. In order that the mass of money, actually current, may constantly saturate the absorbing power of the circulation, it is necessary that the quantity of gold and silver in a country be greater than the quantity required to function as coin. This 87 Chapter 3 condition is fulfilled by money taking the form of hoards. These reserves serve as conduits for the supply or withdrawal of money to or from the circulation, which in this way never overflows its banks.46 B. Means of Payment In the simple form of the circulation of commodities hitherto considered, we found a given value always presented to us in a double shape, as a commodity at one pole, as money at the opposite pole. The owners of commoditi es came therefore into contact as the respective representatives of what were already equivalents. But with the development of circulation, conditions arise under which the alienation of commodities becomes separated, by an interval of time, from the realisation of their prices. It will be sufficient to indicate the most simple of these conditions. One sort of article requires a longer, another a shorter time for its production. Again, the production of different commodities depends on different seasons of the year. One sort of commodity may be born on its own market place, another has to make a long journey to market. Commodity- owner No. 1, may therefore be ready to sell, before No. 2 is ready to buy. When the same transactions are continually repeated betw een the same persons, the conditions of sale are regulated in accordance with the conditions of production. On the other hand, the use of a given commodity, of a house, for instance, is sold (in common parlance, let) for a definite period. Here, it is only at the end of the term that the buyer has actually received the use -value of the commodity. He therefore buys it before he pays for it. The vendor sells an existing commodity, the purchaser buys as the mere representative of money, or rather of future mon ey. The vendor becomes a creditor, the purchaser becomes a debtor. Since the metamorphosis of commodities, or the development of their value -form, appears here under a new aspect, money also acquires a fresh function; it becomes the means of payment. The character of creditor, or of debtor, results here from the simple circulation. The change in the form of that circulation stamps buyer and seller with this new die. At first, therefore, these new parts are just as transient and alternating as those of sell er and buyer, and are in turns played by the same actors. But the opposition is not nearly so pleasant, and is far more capable of crystallisation. 47 The same characters can, however, be assumed independently of the circulation of commodities. The class -struggles of the ancient world took the form chiefly of a contest between debtors and creditors, which in Rome ended in the ruin of the plebeian debtors. They were displaced by slaves. In the middle ages the contest ended with the ruin of the feudal debtors, who lost their political power together with the economic basis on which it was established. Nevertheless, the money relation of debtor and creditor that existed at these two periods reflected only the deeper -lying antagonism between the general economic conditions of existence of the classes in question. Let us return to the circulation of commodities. The appearance of the two equivalents, commodities and money, at the two poles of the process of sale, has ceased to be simultaneous. The money functions now, first as a measure of value in the determination of the price of the commodity sold; the price fixed by the contract measures the obligation of the debtor, or the sum of money that he has to pay at a fixed date. Secondly, it serves as an ideal means o f purchase. Although existing only in the promise of the buyer to pay, it causes the commodity to change hands. It is not before the day fixed for payment that the means of payment actually steps into circulation, leaves the hand of the buyer for that of t he seller. The circulating medium was transformed into a hoard, because the process stopped short after the first phase, because the converted shape of the commodity, viz., the money, was withdrawn from circulation. The means of payment enters the circulat ion, but only after the commodity has left it. The money is no longer the means that brings about the process. It only brings it to a close, by stepping in as the 88 Chapter 3 absolute form of existence of exchange -value, or as the universal commodity. The seller turne d his commodity into money, in order thereby to satisfy some want, the hoarder did the same in order to keep his commodity in its money- shape, and the debtor in order to be able to pay; if he do not pay, his goods will be sold by the sheriff. The value -form of commodities, money, is therefore now the end and aim of a sale, and that owing to a social necessity springing out of the process of circulation itself. The buyer converts money back into commodities before he has turned commodities into money: in ot her words, he achieves the second metamorphosis of commodities before the first. The sellerâs commodity circulates, and realises its price, but only in the shape of a legal claim upon money. It is converted into a use -value before it has been converted int o money. The completion of its first metamorphosis follows only at a later period.48 The obligations falling due within a
đ° Money as Payment Medium
đ Payment chains form when A receives money from B and immediately passes it to C, creating a social relation that exists beyond mere circulation of commodities
đŠ Payment concentration enables sophisticated settlement systems like medieval virements where multiple debts can cancel each other out, reducing the actual money needed
â ïž Monetary crises emerge from the contradiction in money's payment functionâduring economic disturbances, money transforms from ideal accounting form to demanded hard cash as commodities lose perceived value
đ Universal money (gold and silver) strips away local forms when entering world markets, functioning as international payment medium, purchasing power, and wealth transfer vehicle
đïž Credit-money develops directly from money's payment function, with debt certificates circulating to transfer obligations, expanding beyond commodity circulation into contracts, taxes, and rents
đ Hoarding evolves from wealth accumulation to strategic reserves against payment dates, with quantity needs inversely proportional to payment period length
đ° Money functions beyond mere commodity exchange, serving as a measure of value, medium of circulation, and store of wealth that transforms social relationships between producers and consumers
đ The circulation of commodities creates a complex dance where money and goods move in opposite directions, with money constantly changing hands while maintaining its role as the universal equivalent
đ Debates about whether quantity of money determines prices or whether prices determine the necessary quantity of money reveal fundamental tensions in economic theory that persist across different economic systems
đŠ Hoarding and credit systems emerge naturally from circulation, allowing money to function as both a symbol of wealth and a means to bridge temporal gaps between purchases and sales
đ Money's power extends beyond economics into social and political realms, transforming human relationships and values as captured in literary references to its corrupting influence
đ Money circulation operates in two distinct patterns: C-M-C (commodity-money-commodity) where goods are sold to buy other goods, and M-C-M (money-commodity-money) where money is used to buy goods only to sell them and recover more money
đč The M-C-M circuit represents capital in action, fundamentally different from simple commodity exchange because money returns to its starting point not by accident but by designâit's not spent but merely advanced
đŠ World money functions beyond national boundaries, serving as universal payment method, purchase medium, and wealth transfer vehicle, enabling international trade and debt settlement without disrupting domestic currency systems
đ The historical emergence of capital coincides with 16th century global commerce, appearing first as merchant wealth and money-lending before evolving into its modern forms
đ While simple commodity exchange (C-M-C) aims at obtaining useful items for consumption, capital circulation (M-C-M) pursues the endless accumulation of exchange value, making the process potentially limitless
đ Banking systems manipulate currency availability to create artificial scarcity, as evidenced by historical accounts of bankers deliberately withholding notes to "make money tight" for financial gain
đ M-C-M' represents capital's distinctive circulation pattern, where money buys commodities only to sell them for more money, creating surplus value (âM) that distinguishes it from simple commodity exchange (C-M-C)
đŠ Unlike simple circulation (which aims at obtaining use-values), capital's circulation is an end in itself - a perpetual motion machine where value constantly expands through its own movement, transforming between money and commodity forms
đ§ The capitalist personifies this process, functioning as the conscious representative of capital's endless self-expansion, rationally pursuing profit-making as the sole objective rather than use-values or consumption
⥠Capital possesses an almost magical quality - value that creates more value, "bringing forth living offspring" through a self-generating process where money becomes more money (M-M')
đ This circulation has no limits - each completed circuit forms the starting point for a new one, as the original value and surplus value merge into a single sum ready to begin the expansion process again
đ Though appearing as a formal inversion of buying and selling, this transformation fundamentally alters the nature of exchange, creating a mechanism for extracting surplus value that cannot be explained by the laws of simple commodity circulation
đ Circulation of commodities involves transforming value from one form to another (commodity â money â different commodity) without changing the magnitude of value itself
đ€ When equivalents are exchanged, no surplus-value can be createdâboth parties receive equal value regardless of potential differences in use-value
đïž Even attempts to sell above value or buy below value cannot generate true surplus-value across an economic system, as gains by one party represent equivalent losses by another
đ The paradox emerges: capital must originate both within and outside circulation simultaneouslyâit cannot be produced by circulation alone, yet cannot exist apart from it
đ§ Aristotle's insight remains relevant: interest-bearing capital (money creating more money) appears most unnatural because it bypasses the commodity exchange process entirely
đ Exchange of equivalents forms the foundation of market transactions, yet paradoxically cannot explain the creation of profit or capital formation
đ° Capital formation requires finding a unique commodity whose consumption creates more value than its purchase priceâthis commodity is đ§ labor-power
đšâđ§ Labor-power represents the mental and physical capabilities of humans, valued by the cost of producing and maintaining the worker (food, shelter, education, reproduction)
đ The relationship between capitalist and worker appears as equal exchange but depends on specific historical conditionsânot natural lawâwhere workers own nothing but their capacity to labor
đ°ïž Unlike other commodities, labor-power involves a time gap between purchase and consumption, with workers essentially providing credit to capitalists
đ The true nature of profit-making is revealed only by leaving the "noisy sphere" of circulation and entering the "hidden abode of production"
produitsâ [âProducts can only be bought with products.â](l.c., t. II. p. 441.) runs as follows in the original physiocratic work: âLes productions ne se paient quâavec des productions.â [âProducts can only be paid for with products.â] (Le Trosne, l.c., p. 899.) 19 âExchange confers no value at all upon products.â (F. Wayland: âThe Elements of Political Economy.â Boston, 1843, p. 169.) 20 Under the rule of invariable equivalents commerce would be impossible. (G. Opdyke: âA Treat ise on Polit. Economy.â New York, 1851, pp. 66- 69.) âThe difference between real value and exchange- value is based upon this fact, namely, that the value of a thing is different from the so -called equivalent given for it in trade, i.e. , that this equivalen t is no equivalent.â (F. Engels, l.c., p. 96). 118 Chapter 5 21 Benjamin Franklin: Works, Vol. II, edit. Sparks in âPositions to be examined concerning National Wealth,â p. 376. 22 Aristotle, I. c., c. 10. 23 âProfit, in the usual condition of the market, is not made by exchanging. Had it not existed before, neither could it after that transaction.â (Ramsay, l.c., p. 184.) 24 From the foregoing investigation, the reader will see that this statement only means that the formation of capital must be possible even though the price and value of a commodity be the same; for its formation cannot be attributed to any deviation of the one from the other. If prices actually differ from values, we must, first of all, redu ce the former to the latter, in other words, treat the difference as accidental in order that the phenomena may be observed in their purity, and our observations not interfered with by disturbing circumstances that have nothing to do with the process in question. We know, moreover, that this reduction is no mere scientific process. The continual oscillations in prices, their rising and falling, compensate each other, and reduce themselves to an average price, which is their hidden regulator. It forms the guiding star of the merchant or the manufacturer in every undertaking that requires time. He knows that when a long period of time is taken, commodities are sold neither over nor under, but at their average price. If therefore he thought about the matter at all, he would formulate the problem of the formation of capital as follows: How can we account for the origin of capital on the supposition that prices are regulated by the average price, i. e., ultimately by the value of the commodities? I say âultimately ,â because average prices do not directly coincide with the values of commodities, as Adam Smith, Ricardo, and others believe. 25 âHic Rhodus, hic saltus!â â Latin, usually translated: âRhodes is here, here is where you jump!â Originates from the tradition al Latin translation of the punch line from Aesopâs fable The Boastful Athlete which has been the subject of some mistranslations. In Greek, the maxim reads: âÎčÎŽÎżÏ Î· ÏÏÎŽÎżÏ, ÎčÎŽÎżÏ ÎșαÎč ÏÎż ÏÎźÎŽÎ·ÎŒÎ±â The story is that an athlete boasts that when in Rhodes, he pe rformed a stupendous jump, and that there were witnesses who could back up his story. A bystander then remarked, âAlright! Letâs say this is Rhodes, demonstrate the jump here and now.â The fable shows that people must be known by their deeds, not by their own claims for themselves. In the context in which Hegel used it in the Philosophy of Right , this could be taken to mean that the philosophy of right must have to do with the actuality of modern society, not the theories and ideals that societies create fo r themselves, nor, as Hegel goes on to say, to âteach the world what it ought to be.â The epigram is given by Hegel first in Greek, then in Latin (in the form â Hic Rhodus, hic saltusâ), and he then says: âWith little change, the above saying would read (in German): â Hier ist die Rose, hier tanzeâ: âHere is the rose, dance hereâ This is taken to be an allusion to the ârose in the crossâ of the Rosicrucians (who claimed to possess esoteric knowledge with which they could transform social life), implying that the material for understanding and changing society is given in society itself, not in some other -worldly theory, punning first on the Greek ( Rhodos = Rhodes, rhodon = rose), then on the Latin ( saltus = jump [noun], salta = dance [imperative]). [MIA Editor s.] Chapter 6: The Buying and Selling of Labour- Power The change of value that occurs in the case of money intended to be converted into capital, cannot take place in the money itself, since in its function of means of purchase and of payment, it does no more than realise the price of the commodity it buys or pays for; and, as hard cash, it is value petrified, never varying.1 Just as little can it originate in the second act of circulation, the re- sale of the commodity, which does no more than transform the article from its bodily form back again into its money- form. The change must, therefore, take place in the commodity bought by the first act, MâC, but not in its value, for equivalents are exchanged, and the commodity is paid for at its full value. We are, therefore, forced to the conclusion that the change originates in the use-value, as such, of the commodity, i.e. , in its consumption. I n order to be able to extract value from the consumption of a commodity, our friend, Moneybags, must be so lucky as to find, within the sphere of circulation, in the market, a commodity, whose use -value possesses the peculiar property of being a source of value, whose actual consumption, therefore, is itself an embodiment of labour, and, consequently, a creation of value. The possessor of money does find on the market such a special commodity in capacity for labour or labour -power. By labour -power or capac ity for labour is to be understood the aggregate of those mental and physical capabilities existing in a human being, which he exercises whenever he produces a use- value of any description. But in order that our owner of money may be able to find labour -power offered for sale as a commodity, various conditions must first be fulfilled. The exchange of commodities of itself implies no other relations of dependence than those which result from its own nature. On this assumption, labour -power can appear upon t he market as a commodity, only if, and so far as, its possessor, the individual whose labour -power it is, offers it for sale, or sells it, as a commodity. In order that he may be able to do this, he must have it at his disposal, must be the untrammelled owner of his capacity for labour, i.e., of his person. 2 He and the owner of money meet in the market, and deal with each other as on the basis of equal rights, with this difference alone, that one is buyer, the other seller; both, therefore, equal in the eye s of the law. The continuance of this relation demands that the owner of the labour -power should sell it only for a definite period, for if he were to sell it rump and stump, once for all, he would be selling himself, converting himself from a free man int o a slave, from an owner of a commodity into a commodity. He must constantly look upon his labour -power as his own property, his own commodity, and this he can only do by placing it at the disposal of the buyer temporarily, for a definite period of time. B y this means alone can he avoid renouncing his rights of ownership over it. 3 The second essential condition to the owner of money finding labour -power in the market as a commodity is this â that the labourer instead of being in the position to sell commodities in which his labour is incorporated, must be obliged to offer for sale as a commodity that very labour - power, which exists only in his living self. In order that a man may be able to sell commodities other than labour -power, he must of course have t he means of production, as raw material, implements, &c. No boots can be made without leather. He requires also the means of subsistence. Nobody â not even âa musician of the futureâ â can live upon future products, or upon use -values in an unfinished stat e; and ever since the first moment of his appearance on the worldâs stage, man always has been, and must still be a consumer, both before and while he is producing. In a society where all products assume the form 120 Chapter 6 of commodities, these commodities must be s old after they have been produced, it is only after their sale that they can serve in satisfying the requirements of their producer. The time necessary for their sale is superadded to that necessary for their production. For the conversion of his money into capital, therefore, the owner of money must meet in the market with the free labourer, free in the double sense, that as a free man he can dispose of his labour -power as his own commodity, and that on the other hand he has no other commodity for sale, i s short of everything necessary for the realisation of his labour -power. The question why this free labourer confronts him in the market, has no interest for the owner of money, who regards the labour -market as a branch of the general market for commoditi es. And for the present it interests us just as little. We cling to the fact theoretically, as he does practically. One thing, however, is clear â Nature does not produce on the one side owners of money or commodities, and on the other men possessing nothi ng but their own labour -power. This relation has no natural basis, neither is its social basis one that is common to all historical periods. It is clearly the result of a past historical development, the product of many economic revolutions, of the extinct ion of a whole series of older forms of social production. So, too, the economic categories, already discussed by us, bear the stamp of history. Definite historical conditions are necessary that a product may become a commodity. It must not be produced as the immediate means of subsistence of the producer himself. Had we gone further, and inquired under what circumstances all, or even the majority of products take the form of commodities, we should have found that this can only happen with production of a very specific kind, capitalist production. Such an inquiry, however, would have been foreign to the analysis of commodities. Production and circulation of commodities can take place, although the great mass of the objects produced are intended for the imme diate requirements of their producers, are not turned into commodities, and consequently social production is not yet by a long way dominated in its length and breadth by exchange -value. The appearance of products as commodities pre- supposes such a development of the social division of labour, that the separation of use -value from exchange -value, a separation which first begins with barter, must already have been completed. But such a degree of development is common to many forms of society, which in other respects present the most varying historical features. On the other hand, if we consider money, its existence implies a definite stage in the exchange of commodities. The particular functions of money which it performs, either as the mere equivalent of com modities, or as means of circulation, or means of payment, as hoard or as universal money, point, according to the extent and relative preponderance of the one function or the other, to very different stages in the process of social production. Yet we know by experience that a circulation of commodities relatively primitive, suffices for the production of all these forms. Otherwise with capital. The historical conditions of its existence are by no means given with the mere circulation of money and commoditi es. It can spring into life, only when the owner of the means of production and subsistence meets in the market with the free labourer selling his labour -power. And this one historical condition comprises a worldâs history. Capital, therefore, announces fr om its first appearance a new epoch in the process of social production.4 We must now examine more closely this peculiar commodity, labour -power. Like all others it has a value.5 How is that value determined? The value of labour -power is determined, as i n the case of every other commodity, by the labour - time necessary for the production, and consequently also the reproduction, of this special article. So far as it has value, it represents no more than a definite quantity of the average labour of society i ncorporated in it. Labour -power exists only as a capacity, or power of the living individual. Its production consequently pre -supposes his existence. Given the individual, the 121 Chapter 6 production of labour -power consists in his reproduction of himself or his mainte nance. For his maintenance he requires a given quantity of the means of subsistence. Therefore the labour -time requisite for the production of labour -power reduces itself to that necessary for the production of those means of subsistence; in other words, t he value of labour -power is the value of the means of subsistence necessary for the maintenance of the labourer. Labour -power, however, becomes a reality only by its exercise; it sets itself in action only by working. But thereby a definite quantity of hum an muscle, nerve, brain, &c., is wasted, and these require to be restored. This increased expenditure demands a larger income.6 If the owner of labour -power works to- day, to -morrow he must again be able to repeat the same process in the same conditions as regards health and strength. His means of subsistence must therefore be sufficient to maintain him in his normal state as a labouring individual. His natural wants, such as food, clothing, fuel, and housing, vary according to the climatic and other physica l conditions of his country. On the other hand, the number and extent of his so- called necessary wants, as also the modes of satisfying them, are themselves the product of historical development, and depend therefore to a great extent on the degree of civi lisation of a country, more particularly on the conditions under which, and consequently on the habits and degree of comfort in which, the class of free labourers has been formed.7 In contradistinction therefore to the case of other commodities, there ente rs into the determination of the value of labour -power a historical and moral element. Nevertheless, in a given country, at a given period, the average quantity of the means of subsistence necessary for the labourer is practically known. The owner of labo ur-power is mortal. If then his appearance in the market is to be continuous, and the continuous conversion of money into capital assumes this, the seller of labour -power must perpetuate himself, âin the way that every living individual perpetuates himself , by procreation.â8 The labour -power withdrawn from the market by wear and tear and death, must be continually replaced by, at the very least, an equal amount of fresh labour -power. Hence the sum of the means of subsistence necessary for the production of labour -power must include the means necessary for the labourerâs substitutes, i.e., his children, in order that this race of peculiar commodity- owners may perpetuate its appearance in the market.9 In order to modify the human organism, so that it may acquire skill and handiness in a given branch of industry, and become labour -power of a special kind, a special education or training is requisite, and this, on its part, costs an equivalent in commodities of a greater or less amount. This amount varies accord ing to the more or less complicated character of the labour -power. The expenses of this education (excessively small in the case of ordinary labour -power), enter pro tanto into the total value spent in its production. The value of labour -power resolves it self into the value of a definite quantity of the means of subsistence. It therefore varies with the value of these means or with the quantity of labour requisite for their production. Some of the means of subsistence, such as food and fuel, are consumed daily, and a fresh supply must be provided daily. Others such as clothes and furniture last for longer periods and require to be replaced only at longer intervals. One article must be bought or paid for daily, another weekly, another quarterly, and so on. But in whatever way the sum total of these outlays may be spread over the year, they must be covered by the average income, taking one day with another. If the total of the commodities required daily for the production of labour -power = A, and those requir ed weekly = B, and those required quarterly = C, and so on, the daily average of these commodities = (365A + 52B + 4C + &c) / 365. Suppose that in this mass of commodities requisite for the average day there are embodied 6 hours of social labour, then ther e is incorporated daily in labour -power half a dayâs average social labour, in other words, half a dayâs 122 Chapter 6 labour is requisite for the daily production of labour -power. This quantity of labour forms the value of a dayâs labour -power or the value of the labour -power daily reproduced. If half a dayâs average social labour is incorporated in three shillings, then three shillings is the price corresponding to the value of a dayâs labour -power. If its owner therefore offers it for sale at three shillings a day, it s selling price is equal to its value, and according to our supposition, our friend Moneybags, who is intent upon converting his three shillings into capital, pays this value. The minimum limit of the value of labour -power is determined by the value of the commodities, without the daily supply of which the labourer cannot renew his vital energy, consequently by the value of those means of subsistence that are physically indispensable. If the price of labour -power fall to this minimum, it falls below its va lue, since under such circumstances it can be maintained and developed only in a crippled state. But the value of every commodity is determined by the labour -time requisite to turn it out so as to be of normal quality. It is a very cheap sort of sentiment ality which declares this method of determining the value of labour -power, a method prescribed by the very nature of the case, to be a brutal method, and which wails with Rossi that, âTo comprehend capacity for labour (puissance de travail) at the same tim e that we make abstraction from the means of subsistence of the labourers during the process of production, is to comprehend a phantom (ĂȘtre de raison). When we speak of labour, or capacity for labour, we speak at the same time of the labourer and his mean s of subsistence, of labourer and wages.â 10 When we speak of capacity for labour, we do not speak of labour, any more than when we speak of capacity for digestion, we speak of digestion. The latter process requires something more than a good stomach. When we speak of capacity for labour, we do not abstract from the necessary means of subsistence. On the contrary, their value is expressed in its value. If his capacity for labour remains unsold, the labourer derives no benefit from it, but rather he will feel it to be a cruel nature- imposed necessity that this capacity has cost for its production a definite amount of the means of subsistence and that it will continue to do so for its reproduction. He will then agree with Sismondi: âthat capacity for labour ... is nothing unless it is sold.â 11 One consequence of the peculiar nature of labour -power as a commodity is, that its use- value does not, on the conclusion of the contract between the buyer and seller, immediately pass into the hands of the former. Its val ue, like that of every other commodity, is already fixed before it goes into circulation, since a definite quantity of social labour has been spent upon it; but its use - value consists in the subsequent exercise of its force. The alienation of labour -power and its actual appropriation by the buyer, its employment as a use -value, are separated by an interval of time. But in those cases in which the formal alienation by sale of the use- value of a commodity, is not simultaneous with its actual delivery to the b uyer, the money of the latter usually functions as means of payment.12 In every country in which the capitalist mode of production reigns, it is the custom not to pay for labour -power before it has been exercised for the period fixed by the contract, as fo r example, the end of each week. In all cases, therefore, the use- value of the labour - power is advanced to the capitalist: the labourer allows the buyer to consume it before he receives payment of the price; he everywhere gives credit to the capitalist. Th at this credit is no mere fiction, is shown not only by the occasional loss of wages on the bankruptcy of the capitalist, 13 but also by a series of more enduring consequences.14 Nevertheless, whether money serves as a means of purchase or as a means of pay ment, this makes no alteration in the nature of the exchange of commodities. The price of the labour -power is fixed by the contract, although it is not realised till later, like the rent of a house. The labour -power is sold, although it is only paid for at a later period. It will, therefore, be useful, for a clear comprehension of the relation of the parties, to assume provisionally, that the possessor of labour -power, on the occasion of each sale, immediately receives the price stipulated to be paid for it . 123 Chapter 6 We now know how the value paid by the purchaser to the possessor of this peculiar commodity, labour -power, is determined. The use -value which the former gets in exchange, manifests itself only in the actual utilisation, in the consumption of the labour -power. The money- owner buys everything necessary for this purpose, such as raw material, in the market, and pays for it at its full value. The consumption of labour -power is at one and the same time the production of commodities and of surplus -value. The cons umption of labour -power is completed, as in the case of every other commodity, outside the limits of the market or of the sphere of circulation. Accompanied by Mr. Moneybags and by the possessor of labour -power, we therefore take leave for a time of this noisy sphere, where everything takes place on the surface and in view of all men, and follow them both into the hidden abode of production, on whose threshold there stares us in the face âNo admittance except on business.â Here we shall see, not only how capital produces, but how capital is produced. We shall at last force the secret of profit making. This sphere that we are deserting, within whose boundaries the sale and purchase of labour -power goes on, is in fact a very Eden of the innate rights of man. There alone rule Freedom, Equality, Property and Bentham. Freedom, because both
đŒ Capital and Labor Power
đ Free market exchange masks profound power imbalances between capitalists and laborers, where both parties appear as equal commodity traders but experience radically different outcomes
đ° The capitalist transforms money into productive capital by purchasing labor-power, controlling the labor process while appearing "smirking, intent on business"
đ· Workers sell their labor-power as a commodity, becoming "timid and holding back, like one bringing his own hide to market," forced into credit arrangements that further exploit them
đ§ Human labor uniquely involves conscious purpose - unlike animals, humans "raise structures in imagination before erecting them in reality," transforming both nature and themselves
đ ïž The labor process combines three elements: human activity, subjects of labor (materials), and instruments of labor (tools), with products of previous labor becoming means for new production
đ Instruments of labor serve as crucial historical markers, providing "indicators of the social conditions under which labor is carried on" and revealing economic development stages
đ Labor consumes materials and instruments to create new products, distinguishing productive consumption from individual consumption through its transformation of resources into new use-values
đ When the capitalist enters the equation, the labor process fundamentally changesâworkers no longer own their labor-power or its products, operating instead under capitalist control and supervision
đ° The capitalist's goal isn't merely to produce use-values but to create surplus-valueâvalue exceeding the combined costs of materials, tools, and labor-power purchased in the market
â±ïž Only socially necessary labor time counts in value creation, with the final product's value representing the crystallized labor contained in materials, tools, and the new labor added during production
đ§ź The capitalist faces a dilemma when the product's value merely equals input costs (materials + tools + labor-power) with no surplus-value generatedâchallenging the very purpose of capitalist production
đ This transformation reveals the fundamental nature of capitalist relations: the purchase of labor-power as a commodity whose use-value (actual labor) belongs entirely to the purchaser
of production for some new labour -process. If then, on the one hand, finished products are not only results, but also necessary conditions, of the labour -process, on the other hand, their assumption i nto that process, their contact with living labour, is the sole means by which they can be made to retain their character of use- values, and be utilised. Labour uses up its material factors, its subject and its instruments, consumes them, and is therefore a process of consumption. Such productive consumption is distinguished from individual consumption by this, that the latter uses up products, as means of subsistence for the living individual; the former, as means whereby alone, labour, the labour -power o f the living individual, is enabled to act. The product, therefore, of individual consumption, is the consumer himself; the result of productive consumption, is a product distinct from the consumer. In so far then, as its instruments and subjects are themselves products, labour consumes products in order to create products, or in other words, consumes one set of products by turning them into means of production for another set. But, just as in the beg inning, the only participators in the labour -process were man and the earth, which latter exists independently of man, so even now we still employ in the process many means of production, provided directly by Nature, that do not represent any combination of natural substances with human labour. The labour -process, resolved as above into its simple elementary factors, is human action with a view to the production of use -values, appropriation of natural substances to human requirements; it is the necessary condition for effecting exchange of matter between man and Nature; it is the everlasting Nature- imposed condition of human existence, and therefore is independent of every social phase of that existence, or rather, is common to every such phase. It was, the refore, not necessary to represent our labourer in connexion with other labourers; man and his labour on one side, Nature and its materials on the other, sufficed. As the taste of the porridge does not tell you who grew the oats, no more does this simple process tell you of itself what are the social conditions under which it is taking place, whether under the slave -ownerâs brutal lash, or the anxious eye of the capitalist, whether Cincinnatus carries it on in tilling his modest farm or a savage in killing wild animals with stones. 9 Let us now return to our would- be capitalist. We left him just after he had purchased, in the open market, all the necessary factors of the labour process; its objective factors, the means of production, as well as its subjectiv e factor, labour -power. With the keen eye of an expert, he has 131 Chapter 7 selected the means of production and the kind of labour -power best adapted to his particular trade, be it spinning, bootmaking, or any other kind. He then proceeds to consume the commodity, the labour -power that he has just bought, by causing the labourer, the impersonation of that labour -power, to consume the means of production by his labour. The general character of the labour -process is evidently not changed by the fact, that the labourer wo rks for the capitalist instead of for himself; moreover, the particular methods and operations employed in bootmaking or spinning are not immediately changed by the intervention of the capitalist. He must begin by taking the labour -power as he finds it in the market, and consequently be satisfied with labour of such a kind as would be found in the period immediately preceding the rise of capitalists. Changes in the methods of production by the subordination of labour to capital, can take place only at a later period, and therefore will have to be treated of in a later chapter. The labour -process, turned into the process by which the capitalist consumes labour -power, exhibits two characteristic phenomena. First, the labourer works under the control of the capitalist to whom his labour belongs; the capitalist taking good care that the work is done in a proper manner, and that the means of production are used with intelligence, so that there is no unnecessary waste of raw material, and no wear and tear of the implements beyond what is necessarily caused by the work. Secondly, the p roduct is the property of the capitalist and not that of the labourer, its immediate producer. Suppose that a capitalist pays for a dayâs labour -power at its value; then the right to use that power for a day belongs to him, just as much as the right to use any other commodity, such as a horse that he has hired for the day. To the purchaser of a commodity belongs its use, and the seller of labour -power, by giving his labour, does no more, in reality, than part with the use -value that he has sold. From the instant he steps into the workshop, the use -value of his labour -power, and therefore also its use, which is labour, belongs to the capitalist. By the purchase of labour - power, the capitalist incorporates labour, as a living ferment, with the lifeless constit uents of the product. From his point of view, the labour -process is nothing more than the consumption of the commodity purchased, i. e., of labour -power; but this consumption cannot be effected except by supplying the labour -power with the means of product ion. The labour -process is a process between things that the capitalist has purchased, things that have become his property. The product of this process belongs, therefore, to him, just as much as does the wine which is the product of a process of fermenta tion completed in his cellar. 10 Section 2: The Production of Surplus -Value The product appropriated by the capitalist is a use -value, as yarn, for example, or boots. But, although boots are, in one sense, the basis of all social progress, and our capitali st is a decided âprogressist,â yet he does not manufacture boots for their own sake. Use -value is, by no means, the thing âquâon aime pour lui -mĂȘmeâ in the production of commodities. Use -values are only produced by capitalists, because, and in so far as, t hey are the material substratum, the depositories of exchange -value. Our capitalist has two objects in view: in the first place, he wants to produce a use -value that has a value in exchange, that is to say, an article destined to be sold, a commodity; and secondly, he desires to produce a commodity whose value shall be greater than the sum of the values of the commodities used in its production, that is, of the means of production and the labour -power, that he purchased with his good money in the open marke t. His aim is to produce not only a use -value, but a commodity also; not only use -value, but value; not only value, but at the same time surplus- value. It must be borne in mind, that we are now dealing with the production of commodities, and that, up to t his point, we have only considered one aspect of the process. Just as commodities are, at 132 Chapter 7 the same time, use- values and values, so the process of producing them must be a labour -process, and at the same time, a process of creating value.11 Let us now exam ine production as a creation of value. We know that the value of each commodity is determined by the quantity of labour expended on and materialised in it, by the working -time necessary, under given social conditions, for its production. This rule also holds good in the case of the product that accrued to our capitalist, as the result of the labour -process carried on for him. Assuming this product to be 10 lbs. of yarn, our first step is to calculate the quantity of labour realised in it. For spinning the yarn, raw material is required; suppose in this case 10 lbs. of cotton. We have no need at present to investigate the value of this cotton, for our capitalist has, we will assume, bought it at its full value, say of ten shillings. In this price the labour required for the production of the cotton is already expressed in terms of the average labour of society. We will further assume that the wear and tear of the spindle, which, for our present purpose, may represent all other instruments of labour employed, amounts to the value of 2s. If, then, twenty -four hoursâ labour, or two working days, are required to produce the quantity of gold represented by twelve shillings, we have here, to begin with, two daysâ labour already incorporated in the yarn. We must no t let ourselves be misled by the circumstance that the cotton has taken a new shape while the substance of the spindle has to a certain extent been used up. By the general law of value, if the value of 40 lbs. of yarn = the value of 40 lbs. of cotton + the value of a whole spindle, i. e., if the same working -time is required to produce the commodities on either side of this equation, then 10 lbs. of yarn are an equivalent for 10 lbs. of cotton, together with one -fourth of a spindle. In the case we are consi dering the same working- time is materialised in the 10 lbs. of yarn on the one hand, and in the 10 lbs. of cotton and the fraction of a spindle on the other. Therefore, whether value appears in cotton, in a spindle, or in yarn, makes no difference in the amount of that value. The spindle and cotton, instead of resting quietly side by side, join together in the process, their forms are altered, and they are turned into yarn; but their value is no more affected by this fact than it would be if they had been simply exchanged for their equivalent in yarn. The labour required for the production of the cotton, the raw material of the yarn, is part of the labour necessary to produce the yarn, and is therefore contained in the yarn. The same applies to the labour e mbodied in the spindle, without whose wear and tear the cotton could not be spun. Hence, in determining the value of the yarn, or the labour -time required for its production, all the special processes carried on at various times and in different places, w hich were necessary, first to produce the cotton and the wasted portion of the spindle, and then with the cotton and spindle to spin the yarn, may together be looked on as different and successive phases of one and the same process. The whole of the labour in the yarn is past labour; and it is a matter of no importance that the operations necessary for the production of its constituent elements were carried on at times which, referred to the present, are more remote than the final operation of spinning. If a definite quantity of labour, say thirty days, is requisite to build a house, the total amount of labour incorporated in it is not altered by the fact that the work of the last day is done twenty -nine days later than that of the first. Therefore the labou r contained in the raw material and the instruments of labour can be treated just as if it were labour expended in an earlier stage of the spinning process, before the labour of actual spinning commenced. The values of the means of production, i. e., the cotton and the spindle, which values are expressed in the price of twelve shillings, are therefore constituent parts of the value of the yarn, or, in other words, of the value of the product. 133 Chapter 7 Two conditions must nevertheless be fulfilled. First, the cotton and spindle must concur in the production of a use -value; they must in the present case become yarn. Value is independent of the particular use -value by which it is borne, but it must be embodied in a use -value of some kind. Secondly, the time occupied i n the labour of production must not exceed the time really necessary under the given social conditions of the case. Therefore, if no more than 1 lb. of cotton be requisite to spin 1 lb. of yarn, care must be taken that no more than this weight of cotton is consumed in the production of 1 lb. of yarn; and similarly with regard to the spindle. Though the capitalist have a hobby, and use a gold instead of a steel spindle, yet the only labour that counts for anything in the value of the yarn is that which would be required to produce a steel spindle, because no more is necessary under the given social conditions. We now know what portion of the value of the yarn is owing to the cotton and the spindle. It amounts to twelve shillings or the value of two daysâ wor k. The next point for our consideration is, what portion of the value of the yarn is added to the cotton by the labour of the spinner. We have now to consider this labour under a very different aspect from that which it had during the labour -process; ther e, we viewed it solely as that particular kind of human activity which changes cotton into yarn; there, the more the labour was suited to the work, the better the yarn, other circumstances remaining the same. The labour of the spinner was then viewed as specifically different from other kinds of productive labour, different on the one hand in its special aim, viz., spinning, different, on the other hand, in the special character of its operations, in the special nature of its means of production and in the special use- value of its product. For the operation of spinning, cotton and spindles are a necessity, but for making rifled cannon they would be of no use whatever. Here, on the contrary, where we consider the labour of the spinner only so far as it is val ue-creating, i.e., a source of value, his labour differs in no respect from the labour of the man who bores cannon, or (what here more nearly concerns us), from the labour of the cotton -planter and spindle -maker incorporated in the means of production. It is solely by reason of this identity, that cotton planting, spindle making and spinning, are capable of forming the component parts differing only quantitatively from each other, of one whole, namely, the value of the yarn. Here, we have nothing more to do with the quality, the nature and the specific character of the labour, but merely with its quantity. And this simply requires to be calculated. We proceed upon the assumption that spinning is simple, unskilled labour, the average labour of a given state o f society. Hereafter we shall see that the contrary assumption would make no difference. While the labourer is at work, his labour constantly undergoes a transformation: from being motion, it becomes an object without motion; from being the labourer worki ng, it becomes the thing produced. At the end of one hourâs spinning, that act is represented by a definite quantity of yarn; in other words, a definite quantity of labour, namely that of one hour, has become embodied in the cotton. We say labour, i.e ., the expenditure of his vital force by the spinner, and not spinning labour, because the special work of spinning counts here, only so far as it is the expenditure of labour -power in general, and not in so far as it is the specific work of the spinner. In th e process we are now considering it is of extreme importance, that no more time be consumed in the work of transforming the cotton into yarn than is necessary under the given social conditions. If under normal, i.e ., average social conditions of production, a pounds of cotton ought to be made into b pounds of yarn by one hourâs labour, then a dayâs labour does not count as 12 hoursâ labour unless 12 a pounds of cotton have been made into 12 b pounds of yarn; for in the creation of value, the time that is so cially necessary alone counts. Not only the labour, but also the raw material and the product now appear in quite a new light, very different from that in which we viewed them in the labour -process pure and simple. The raw 134 Chapter 7 material serves now merely as an absorbent of a definite quantity of labour. By this absorption it is in fact changed into yarn, because it is spun, because labour -power in the form of spinning is added to it; but the product, the yarn, is now nothing more than a measure of the labour ab sorbed by the cotton. If in one hour 1 2/3 lbs. of cotton can be spun into 1 2/3 lbs. of yarn, then 10 lbs. of yarn indicate the absorption of 6 hoursâ labour. Definite quantities of product, these quantities being determined by experience, now represent nothing but definite quantities of labour, definite masses of crystallised labour -time. They are nothing more than the materialisation of so many hours or so many days of social labour. We are here no more concerned about the facts, that the labour is the specific work of spinning, that its subject is cotton and its product yarn, than we are about the fact that the subject itself is already a product and therefore raw material. If the spinner, instead of spinning, were working in a coal mine, the subject of his labour, the coal, would be supplied by Nature; nevertheless, a definite quantity of extracted coal, a hundredweight for example, would represent a definite quantity of absorbed labour. We assumed, on the occasion of its sale, that the value of a dayâ s labour -power is three shillings, and that six hoursâ labour is incorporated in that sum; and consequently that this amount of labour is requisite to produce the necessaries of life daily required on an average by the labourer. If now our spinner by worki ng for one hour, can convert 1 2/3 lbs. of cotton into 1 2/3 lbs. of yarn, 12it follows that in six hours he will convert 10 lbs. of cotton into 10 lbs. of yarn. Hence, during the spinning process, the cotton absorbs six hoursâ labour. The same quantity of labour is also embodied in a piece of gold of the value of three shillings. Consequently by the mere labour of spinning, a value of three shillings is added to the cotton. Let us now consider the total value of the product, the 10 lbs. of yarn. Two and a half daysâ labour has been embodied in it, of which two days were contained in the cotton and in the substance of the spindle worn away, and half a day was absorbed during the process of spinning. This two and a half daysâ labour is also represented by a piece of gold of the value of fifteen shillings. Hence, fifteen shillings is an adequate price for the 10 lbs. of yarn, or the price of one pound is eighteenpence. Our capitalist stares in astonishment. The value of the product is exactly equal to the val ue of the capital advanced. The value so advanced has not expanded, no surplus -value has been created, and consequently money has not been converted into capital. The price of the yarn is fifteen shillings, and fifteen shillings were spent in the open mark et upon the constituent elements of the product, or, what amounts to the same thing, upon the factors of the labour -process; ten shillings were paid for the cotton, two shillings for the substance of the spindle worn away, and three shillings for the labou r-power. The swollen value of the yarn is of no avail, for it is merely the sum of the values formerly existing in the cotton, the spindle, and the labour -power: out of such a simple addition of existing values, no surplus -value can possibly arise. 13 These separate values are now all concentrated in one thing; but so they were also in the sum of fifteen shillings, before it was split up into three parts, by the purchase of the commodities. There is in reality nothing very strange in this result. The value of one pound of yarn being eighteenpence, if our capitalist buys 10 lbs. of yarn in the market, he must pay fifteen shillings for them. It is clear that, whether a man buys his house ready built, or gets it built for him, in neither case will the mode of a cquisition increase the amount of money laid out on the house. Our capitalist, who is at home in his vulgar economy, exclaims: âOh! but I advanced my money for the express purpose of making more money.â The way to Hell is paved with good intentions, and he might just as easily have intended to make money, without producing at all. 14 He threatens all sorts of things. He wonât be caught napping again. In future he will buy the commodities in the 135 Chapter 7 market, in stead of manufacturing them himself. But if all his brother capitalists were to do the same, where would he find his commodities in the market? And his money he cannot eat. He tries persuasion. âConsider my abstinence; I might have played ducks and drakes with the 15 shillings; but instead of that I consumed it productively, and made yarn with it.â Very well, and by way of reward he is now in possession of good yarn instead of a bad conscience; and as for playing the part of a miser, it would never do for h im to relapse into such bad ways as that; we have seen before to what results such asceticism leads. Besides, where nothing is, the king has lost his rights; whatever may be the merit of his abstinence, there is nothing wherewith specially to remunerate it , because the value of the product is merely the sum of the values of the commodities that were thrown into the process of production. Let him therefore console himself with the reflection that virtue is its own reward. But no, he becomes importunate. He s ays: âThe yarn is of no use to me: I produced it for sale.â In that case let him sell it, or, still better, let him for the future produce only things for satisfying his personal wants, a remedy that his physician MacCulloch has already prescribed as infal lible against an epidemic of over -production. He now gets obstinate. âCan the labourer,â he asks, âmerely with his arms and legs, produce commodities out of nothing? Did I not supply him with the materials, by means of which, and in which alone, his labour could be embodied? And as the greater part of society consists of such neâer -do-wells, have I not rendered society incalculable service by my instruments of production, my cotton and my spindle, and not only society, but the labourer also, whom in addition I have provided with the necessaries of life? And am I to be allowed nothing in return for all this service?â Well, but has not the labourer rendered him the equivalent service of changing his cotton and spindle into yarn? Moreover, there is here no question of service.15 A service is nothing more than the useful effect of a use -value, be it of a commodity, or be it of labour.16 But here we are dealing with exchange - value. The capitalist paid to
đ° Capital's Hidden Mechanism
đ Labor-power creates both use-value and exchange-value, but the capitalist pays only for the exchange-value while extracting the full use-valueâa fundamental asymmetry that generates profit
â±ïž The surplus-value emerges when workers continue laboring beyond the time needed to reproduce their wages, transforming 27 shillings of input into 30 shillings of output without violating exchange laws
đ The production process functions as both a labor-process (creating useful objects) and a value-creation process (generating surplus), with the capitalist strictly controlling efficiency and quality
đ§ź All labor ultimately reduces to quantities of social average labor-time, making different types of skilled work comparable through their relative durations rather than their specific qualities
đïž The capitalist meticulously oversees the entire operation, ensuring no wasted materials, enforcing discipline, and extracting maximum productivity from each paid hour
đ§± Skilled vs. unskilled labor constitutes a critical economic distinction, with unskilled workers forming the overwhelming majority (11.3 million people) in England according to Laing's analysis, representing the "great bulk of the people"
đ Workers simultaneously perform two value functions: creating new value through their labor while preserving the existing value of production means (materials, tools) by transferring it to the final product
đ The preservation of value occurs not through additional labor but through the specific useful character of workâspinning transfers cotton's value to yarn while adding new value through human effort
â±ïž Labor time directly determines new value creation, while the amount of value preserved depends on the quantity of materials processedâa more productive spinner adds less new value per pound but preserves more total value by processing more cotton
đ° Means of production can never transfer more value than they originally possess, while labor-power uniquely creates additional value beyond its own costâthis surplus value represents the difference between product value and production costs
đ Labor's ability to preserve existing capital value while adding new value is a "gift of Nature" that costs workers nothing but greatly benefits capitalists, especially during prosperous business periods
of unskilled labour. Take as an example the labour of a bricklayer, which i n England occupies a much higher level than that of a damask -weaver. Again, although the labour of a fustian cutter demands great bodily exertion, and is at the same time unhealthy, yet it counts only as unskilled labour. And then, we must not forget, that the so -called skilled labour does not occupy a large space in the field of national labour. Laing estimates that in England (and Wales) the livelihood of 11,300,000 people depends on unskilled labour. If from the total population of 18,000,000 living at t he time when he wrote, we deduct 1,000,000 for the âgenteel population,â and 1,500,000 for paupers, vagrants, criminals, prostitutes, &c., and 4,650,000 who compose the middle -class, there remain the above mentioned 11,000,000. But in his middle -class he i ncludes people that live on the interest of small investments, officials, men of letters, artists, schoolmasters and the like, and in order to swell the number he also includes in these 4,650,000 the better paid portion of the factory operatives! The brick layers, too, figure amongst them. (S. Laing: âNational Distress,â &c., London, 1844). âThe great class who have nothing to give for food but ordinary labour, are the great bulk of the people.â (James Mill, in art.: âColony,â Supplement to the Encyclop. Bri t., 1831.) 141 Chapter 7 19 âWhere reference is made to labour as a measure of value, it necessarily implies labour of one particular kind ... the proportion which the other kinds bear to it being easily ascertained.â (âOutlines of Pol. Econ.,â Lond., 1832, pp. 22 and 2 3.) Chapter 8: Constant Capital and Variable Capital The various factors of the labour -process play different parts in forming the value of the product. The labourer adds fresh value to the subject of his labour by expending upon it a given amount of additional labour, no matter what the specific character and utility of that labour may be. On the other hand, the values of the means of production used up i n the process are preserved, and present themselves afresh as constituent parts of the value of the product; the values of the cotton and the spindle, for instance, re -appear again in the value of the yarn. The value of the means of production is therefore preserved, by being transferred to the product. This transfer takes place during the conversion of those means into a product, or in other words, during the labour -process. It is brought about by labour; but how? The labourer does not perform two operati ons at once, one in order to add value to the cotton, the other in order to preserve the value of the means of production, or, what amounts to the same thing, to transfer to the yarn, to the product, the value of the cotton on which he works, and part of the value of the spindle with which he works. But, by the very act of adding new value, he preserves their former values. Since, however, the addition of new value to the subject of his labour, and the preservation of its former value, are two entirely dist inct results, produced simultaneously by the labourer, during one operation, it is plain that this two- fold nature of the result can be explained only by the two- fold nature of his labour; at one and the same time, it must in one character create value, an d in another character preserve or transfer value. Now, in what manner does every labourer add new labour and consequently new value? Evidently, only by labouring productively in a particular way; the spinner by spinning, the weaver by weaving, the smith by forging. But, while thus incorporating labour generally, that is value, it is by the particular form alone of the labour, by the spinning, the weaving and the forging respectively, that the means of production, the cotton and spindle, the yarn and loom, and the iron and anvil become constituent elements of the product, of a new use -value. 1 Each use- value disappears, but only to re -appear under a new form in a new use -value. Now, we saw, when we were considering the process of creating value, that, if a use- value be effectively consumed in the production of a new use -value, the quantity of labour expended in the production of the consumed article, forms a portion of the quantity of labour necessary to produce the new use -value; this portion is therefore la bour transferred from the means of production to the new product. Hence, the labourer preserves the values of the consumed means of production, or transfers them as portions of its value to the product, not by virtue of his additional labour, abstractedly considered, but by virtue of the particular useful character of that labour, by virtue of its special productive form. In so far then as labour is such specific productive activity, in so far as it is spinning, weaving, or forging, it raises, by mere conta ct, the means of production from the dead, makes them living factors of the labour -process, and combines with them to form the new products. If the special productive labour of the workman were not spinning, he could not convert the cotton into yarn, and t herefore could not transfer the values of the cotton and spindle to the yarn. Suppose the same workman were to change his occupation to that of a joiner, he would still by a dayâs labour add value to the material he works upon. Consequently, we see, first, that the addition of new value takes place not by virtue of his labour being spinning in particular, or joinering in particular, but because it is labour in the abstract, a portion of the total labour of society; and we see next, that the value added is o f a given definite amount, not because his 143 Chapter 8 labour has a special utility, but because it is exerted for a definite time. On the one hand, then, it is by virtue of its general character, as being expenditure of human labour -power in the abstract, that spinni ng adds new value to the values of the cotton and the spindle; and on the other hand, it is by virtue of its special character, as being a concrete, useful process, that the same labour of spinning both transfers the values of the means of production to the product, and preserves them in the product. Hence at one and the same time there is produced a two- fold result. By the simple addition of a certain quantity of labour, new value is added, and by the quality of this added labour, the original values of t he means of production are preserved in the product. This two -fold effect, resulting from the two- fold character of labour, may be traced in various phenomena. Let us assume, that some invention enables the spinner to spin as much cotton in 6 hours as he was able to spin before in 36 hours. His labour is now six times as effective as it was, for the purposes of useful production. The product of 6 hoursâ work has increased six- fold, from 6 lbs. to 36 lbs. But now the 36 lbs. of cotton absorb only the same a mount of labour as formerly did the 6 lbs. One -sixth as much new labour is absorbed by each pound of cotton, and consequently, the value added by the labour to each pound is only one -sixth of what it formerly was. On the other hand, in the product, in the 36 lbs. of yarn, the value transferred from the cotton is six times as great as before. By the 6 hoursâ spinning, the value of the raw material preserved and transferred to the product is six times as great as before, although the new value added by the la bour of the spinner to each pound of the very same raw material is one- sixth what it was formerly. This shows that the two properties of labour, by virtue of which it is enabled in one case to preserve value, and in the other to create value, are essential ly different. On the one hand, the longer the time necessary to spin a given weight of cotton into yarn, the greater is the new value added to the material; on the other hand, the greater the weight of the cotton spun in a given time, the greater is the value preserved, by being transferred from it to the product. Let us now assume, that the productiveness of the spinnerâs labour, instead of varying, remains constant, that he therefore requires the same time as he formerly did, to convert one pound of cotton into yarn, but that the exchange -value of the cotton varies, either by rising to six times its former value or falling to one -sixth of that value. In both these cases, the spinner puts the same quantity of labour into a pound of cotton, and therefore adds as much value, as he did before the change in the value: he also produces a given weight of yarn in the same time as he did before. Nevertheless, the value that he transfers from the cotton to the yarn is either one -sixth of what it was before the variation, or, as the case may be, six times as much as before. The same result occurs when the value of the instruments of labour rises or falls, while their useful efficacy in the process remains unaltered. Again, if the technical conditions of the spinning process remain unchanged, and no change of value takes place in the means of production, the spinner continues to consume in equal working- times equal quantities of raw material, and equal quantities of machinery of unvarying value. The value that he preserves in the product is directly proportional to the new value that he adds to the product. In two weeks he incorporates twice as much labour, and therefore twice as much value, as in one week, and during the same time he consumes twice as much material, an d wears out twice as much machinery, of double the value in each case: he therefore preserves, in the product of two weeks, twice as much value as in the product of one week. So long as the conditions of production remain the same, the more value the labou rer adds by fresh labour, the more value he transfers and preserves; but he does so merely because this addition of new value takes place under conditions that have not varied and are independent of his own labour. Of course, it may be said in one sense, t hat the labourer preserves old value always in proportion to the quantity of 144 Chapter 8 new value that he adds. Whether the value of cotton rise from one shilling to two shillings, or fall to sixpence, the workman invariably preserves in the product of one hour only one half as much value as he preserves in two hours. In like manner, if the productiveness of his own labour varies by rising or falling, he will in one hour spin either more or less cotton, as the case may be, than he did before, and will consequently pre serve in the product of one hour, more or less value of cotton; but, all the same, he will preserve by two hoursâ labour twice as much value as he will by one. Value exists only in articles of utility, in objects: we leave out of consideration its purely symbolical representation by tokens. (Man himself, viewed as the impersonation of labour -power, is a natural object, a thing, although a living conscious thing, and labour is the manifestation of this power residing in him.) If therefore an article loses i ts utility, it also loses its value. The reason why means of production do not lose their value, at the same time that they lose their use-value, is this: they lose in the labour -process the original form of their use -value, only to assume in the product t he form of a new use -value. But, however important it may be to value, that it should have some object of utility to embody itself in, yet it is a matter of complete indifference what particular object serves this purpose; this we saw when treating of the metamorphosis of commodities. Hence it follows that in the labour -process the means of production transfer their value to the product only so far as along with their use -value they lose also their exchange- value. They give up to the product that value alone which they themselves lose as means of production. But in this respect the material factors of the labour -process do not all behave alike. The coal burnt under the boiler vanishes without leaving a trace; so, too, the tallow with which the axles of whee ls are greased. Dye stuffs and other auxiliary substances also vanish but re- appear as properties of the product. Raw material forms the substance of the product, but only after it has changed its form. Hence raw material and auxiliary substances lose the characteristic form with which they are clothed on entering the labour -process. It is otherwise with the instruments of labour. Tools, machines, workshops, and vessels, are of use in the labour -process, only so long as they retain their original shape, and are ready each morning to renew the process with their shape unchanged. And just as during their lifetime, that is to say, during the continued labour -process in which they serve, they retain their shape independent of the product, so, too, they do after their death. The corpses of machines, tools, workshops, &c., are always separate and distinct from the product they helped to turn out. If we now consider the case of any instrument of labour during the whole period of its service, from the day of its entr y into the workshop, till the day of its banishment into the lumber room, we find that during this period its use -value has been completely consumed, and therefore its exchange -value completely transferred to the product. For instance, if a spinning machine lasts for 10 years, it is plain that during that working period its total value is gradually transferred to the product of the 10 years. The lifetime of an instrument of labour, therefore, is spent in the repetition of a greater or less number of similar operations. Its life may be compared with that of a human being. Every day brings a man 24 hours nearer to his grave: but how many days he has still to travel on that road, no man can tell accurately by merely looking at him. This difficulty, however, doe s not prevent life insurance offices from drawing, by means of the theory of averages, very accurate, and at the same time very profitable conclusions. So it is with the instruments of labour. It is known by experience how long on the average a machine of a particular kind will last. Suppose its use -value in the labour -process to last only six days. Then, on the average, it loses each day one -sixth of its use -value, and therefore parts with one-sixth of its value to the daily product. The wear and tear of a ll instruments, their daily loss of use-value, and the corresponding quantity of value they part with to the product, are accordingly calculated upon this basis. 145 Chapter 8 It is thus strikingly clear, that means of production never transfer more value to the produc t than they themselves lose during the labour -process by the destruction of their own use -value. If such an instrument has no value to lose, if, in other words, it is not the product of human labour, it transfers no value to the product. It helps to create use-value without contributing to the formation of exchange -value. In this class are included all means of production supplied by Nature without human assistance, such as land, wind, water, metals in situ, and timber in virgin forests. Yet another interesting phenomenon here presents itself. Suppose a machine to be worth ÂŁ1,000, and to wear out in 1,000 days. Then one thousandth part of the value of the machine is daily transferred to the dayâs product. At the same time, though with diminishing vitality, the machine as a whole continues to take part in the labour -process. Thus it appears, that one factor of the labour -process, a means of production, continually enters as a whole into that process, while it enters into the process of the formation of value by fractions only. The difference between the two processes is here reflected in their material factors, by the same instrument of production taking part as a whole in the labour -process, while at the same time as an element in the formation of value, it e nters only by fractions.2 On the other hand, a means of production may take part as a whole in the formation of value, while into the labour -process it enters only bit by bit. Suppose that in spinning cotton, the waste for every 115 lbs. used amounts to 15 lbs., which is converted, not into yarn, but into âdevilâs dust.â Now, although this 15 lbs. of cotton never becomes a constituent element of the yarn, yet assuming this amount of waste to be normal and inevitable under average conditions of spinning, its value is just as surely transferred to the value of the yarn, as is the value of the 100 lbs. that form the substance of the yarn. The use- value of 15 lbs. of cotton must vanish into dust, before 100 lbs. of yarn can be made. The destruction of this cott on is therefore a necessary condition in the production of the yarn. And because it is a necessary condition, and for no other reason, the value of that cotton is transferred to the product. The same holds good for every kind of refuse resulting from a lab our-process, so far at least as such refuse cannot be further employed as a means in the production of new and independent use -values. Such an employment of refuse may be seen in the large machine works at Manchester, where mountains of iron turnings are carted away to the foundry in the evening, in order the next morning to re -appear in the workshops as solid masses of iron. We have seen that the means of production transfer value to the new product, so far only as during the labour -process they lose value in the shape of their old use -value. The maximum loss of value that they can suffer in the process, is plainly limited by the amount of the original value with which they came into the process, or in other words, by the labour -time necessary for thei r production. Therefore, the means of production can never add more value to the product than they themselves possess independently of the process in which they assist. However useful a given kind of raw material, or a machine, or other means of production may be, though it may cost ÂŁ150, or, say, 500 daysâ labour, yet it cannot, under any circumstances, add to the value of the product more than ÂŁ150. Its value is determined not by the labour -process into which it enters as a means of production, but by tha t out of which it has issued as a product. In the labour -process it only serves as a mere use- value, a thing with useful properties, and could not, therefore, transfer any value to the product, unless it possessed such value previously. 3 While productive labour is changing the means of production into constituent elements of a new product, their value undergoes a metempsychosis. It deserts the consumed body, to occupy the newly created one. But this transmigration takes place, as it were, behind the back o f the labourer. He is unable to add new labour, to create new value, without at the same time preserving old values, and this, because the labour he adds must be of a specific useful kind; and he cannot do 146 Chapter 8 work of a useful kind, without employing products as the means of production of a new product, and thereby transferring their value to the new product. The property therefore which labour - power in action, living labour, possesses of preserving value, at the same time that it adds it, is a gift of Nature w hich costs the labourer nothing, but which is very advantageous to the capitalist inasmuch as it preserves the existing value of his capital.4 So long as trade is good, the capitalist is too much absorbed in money- grubbing to take notice of this gratuitous gift of labour. A violent interruption of the labour -process by a crisis, makes him sensitively aware of it.5 As regards the means of production, what is really consumed is their use -value, and the consumption of this use -value by labour results in the product. There is no consumption of their value, 6and it would therefore be inaccurate to say that it is reproduced. It is rather preserved; not by reason of any operation it undergoes itself in the process; but because the article in which it originally ex ists, vanishes, it is true, but vanishes into some other article. Hence, in the value of the product, there is a reappearance of the value of the means of production, but there is, strictly speaking, no reproduction of that value. That which is produced is a new use- value in which the old exchange -value reappears. 7 It is otherwise with the subjective factor of the labour -process, with labour -power in action. While the labourer, by virtue of his labour being of a specialised kind that has a special object, preserves and transfers to the product the value of the means of production, he at the same time, by the mere act of working, creates each instant an additional or new value. Suppose the process of production to be stopped just when the workman has produce d an equivalent for the value of his own labour -power, when, for example, by six hoursâ labour, he has added a value of three shillings. This value is the surplus, of the total value of the product, over the portion of its value that is due to the means of production. It is the only original bit of value formed during this process, the only portion of the value of the product created by this process. Of course, we do not forget that this new value only replaces the money advanced by the capitalist in the purchase of the labour -power, and spent by the labourer on the necessaries of life. With regard to the money spent, the new value is merely a reproduction; but, nevertheless, it is an actual, and not, as in the case of the value of the means of production, o nly an apparent, reproduction. The substitution of one value for another, is here effected by the creation of new value. We know, however, from what has gone before, that the labour -process may continue beyond the time necessary to reproduce and incorpora te in the product a mere equivalent for the value of the labour -power. Instead of the six hours that are sufficient for the latter purpose, the process may continue for twelve hours. The action of labour -power, therefore, not only reproduces its own value, but produces value over and above it. This surplus -value is the difference between the value of the product and the value of the elements
đ° Capital's Value Transformation
đ Constant capital (raw materials, machinery) transfers its existing value to products without creating new value, while đ§âđ§ variable capital (labor-power) both reproduces its own value and generates surplus-value
đ The value creation process reveals how capital expands from C to C' through the formula C = c + v becoming C' = (c + v) + s, where surplus-value (s) emerges solely from variable capital's transformation
đ When analyzing surplus-value production, setting constant capital to zero (c = 0) isolates the true source of new value, showing that only labor-power creates value beyond its own cost
đ Value changes in raw materials or machinery (like cotton price fluctuations) originate outside the production process and don't alter their fundamental role as constant capital
đĄ Technical revolutions may dramatically shift the ratio between constant and variable capital without changing their essential functional difference in value creation
đ§ź The rate of exploitation becomes visible when examining surplus-value in relation to variable capital alone, revealing capitalism's inherent contradictions in treating labor as both fixed and variable
đ§ź Surplus value equals the total product value minus variable capital (wages), representing the absolute quantity of value extracted from workers beyond what they're paid
đ The rate of surplus value (s/v) precisely measures worker exploitation by comparing surplus labor to necessary laborâoften reaching 100% or more despite appearing lower when incorrectly calculated against total capital
â±ïž During the working day, laborers first produce value equal to their wages ("necessary labor"), then continue working additional hours ("surplus labor") creating value the capitalist claims without compensation
đ A product's total value can be divided proportionallyâwith constant capital (materials, equipment) represented in one portion and newly created value (wages plus surplus) in another
đ The fallacy of the "last hour" argument incorrectly suggests profit comes only from the final hour of work, when in reality surplus value is generated throughout the entire surplus labor portion of the day
đ Capitalist exploitation fundamentally depends on extending working hours beyond what's necessary for workers to produce their own subsistence value
then subtracting from it ÂŁ90 the value of the variable capital, we have remaining ÂŁ90, the amount of the surplus -value. This sum of ÂŁ90 or s expresses the absolute quant ity of surplus -value produced. The relative quantity produced, or the increase per cent of the variable capital, is determined, it is plain, by the ratio of the surplus -value to the variable capital, or is expressed by s/v. In our example this ratio is 90/ 90, which gives an increase of 100%. This relative increase in the value of the variable capital, or the relative magnitude of the surplus -value, I call, âThe rate of surplus- value.â 3 We have seen that the labourer, during one portion of the labour -process, produces only the value of his labour -power, that is, the value of his means of subsistence. Now since his work forms part of a system, based on the social division of labour, he does not directly produce the actual necessaries which he him self consumes; he produces instead a particular commodity, yarn for example, whose value is equal to the value of those necessaries or of the money with which they can be bought. The portion of his dayâs labour devoted to this purpose, will be greater or l ess, in proportion to the value of the necessaries that he daily requires on an average, or, what amounts to the same thing, in proportion to the labour -time required on an average to produce them. If the value of those necessaries represent on an average the expenditure of six hoursâ labour, the workman must on an average work for six hours to produce that value. If instead of working for the capitalist, he worked independently on his own account, he would, other things being equal, still be obliged to lab our for the same number of hours, in order to produce the value of his labour -power, and thereby to gain the means of subsistence necessary for his conservation or continued reproduction. But as we have seen, during that portion of his dayâs labour in whic h he produces the value of his labour -power, say three shillings, he produces only an equivalent for the value of his labour -power already advanced 4 by the capitalist; the new value created only replaces the variable capital advanced. It is owing to this f act, that the production of the new value of three shillings takes the semblance of a mere reproduction. That portion of the working day, then, during which this reproduction takes place, I call â necessaryâ labour time, and the labour expended during that time I call â necessaryâ labour.5 Necessary, as regards the labourer, because independent of the particular social form of his labour; necessary, as regards capital, and the world of capitalists, because on the continued existence of the labourer depends their existence also. During the second period of the labour -process, that in which his labour is no longer necessary labour, the workman, it is true, labours, expends labour -power; but his labour, being no longer necessary labour, he creates no value for h imself. He creates surplus- value which, for the capitalist, has all the charms of a creation out of nothing. This portion of the working day, I name surplus labour -time, and to the labour expended during that time, I give the name of surplus labour. It is every bit as important, for a correct understanding of surplus -value, to conceive it as a mere congelation of surplus labour -time, as nothing but materialised surplus labour, as it is, for a 153 Chapter 9 proper comprehension of value, to conceive it as a mere congelati on of so many hours of labour, as nothing but materialised labour. The essential difference between the various economic forms of society, between, for instance, a society based on slave -labour, and one based on wage -labour, lies only in the mode in which this surplus labour is in each case extracted from the actual producer, the labourer.6 Since, on the one hand, the values of the variable capital and of the labour -power purchased by that capital are equal, and the value of this labour -power determines the necessary portion of the working day; and since, on the other hand, the surplus -value is determined by the surplus portion of the working day, it follows that surplus -value bears the same ratio to variable capital, that surplus labour does to necessary l abour, or in other words, the rate of surplus -value, s/v = (surplus labour)/(necessary labour). Both ratios, s/v and (surplus labour)/(necessary labour), express the same thing in different ways; in the one case by reference to materialised, incorporated l abour, in the other by reference to living, fluent labour. The rate of surplus -value is therefore an exact expression for the degree of exploitation of labour - power by capital, or of the labourer by the capitalist.7 We assumed in our example, that the va lue of the product = ÂŁ410 const. + ÂŁ90 var. + ÂŁ90 surpl., and that the capital advanced = ÂŁ500. Since the surplus -value = ÂŁ90, and the advanced capital = ÂŁ500, we should, according to the usual way of reckoning, get as the rate of surplus -value (generally confounded with rate of profits) 18%, a rate so low as possibly to cause a pleasant surprise to Mr. Carey and other harmonisers. But in truth, the rate of surplus -value is not equal to s/C or s/(c+v), but to s/v: thus it is not 90/500 but 90/90 or 100%, which is more than five times the apparent degree of exploitation. Although, in the case we have supposed, we are ignorant of the actual length of the working day, and of the duration in days or weeks of the labour -process, as also of the number of labourers employed, yet the rate of surplus- value s/v accurately discloses to us, by means of its equivalent expression, surplus labour/necessary labour the relation between the two parts of the working day. This relation is here one of equality, the rate being 100 %. Hence, it is plain, the labourer, in our example, works one half of the day for himself, the other half for the capitalist. The method of calculating the rate of surplus -value is therefore, shortly, as follows. We take the total value of the product and put the constant capital which merely re -appears in it, equal to zero. What remains, is the only value that has, in the proces s of producing the commodity, been actually created. If the amount of surplus -value be given, we have only to deduct it from this remainder, to find the variable capital. And vice versĂą, if the latter be given, and we require to find the surplus -value. If both be given, we have only to perform the concluding operation, viz., to calculate s/v, the ratio of the surplus -value to the variable capital. Though the method is so simple, yet it may not be amiss, by means of a few examples, to exercise the reader in the application of the novel principles underlying it. First we will take the case of a spinning mill containing 10,000 mule spindles, spinning No. 32 yarn from American cotton, and producing 1 lb. of yarn weekly per spindle. We assume the waste to be 6% : under these circumstances 10,600 lbs. of cotton are consumed weekly, of which 600 lbs. go to waste. The price of the cotton in April, 1871, was 7Ÿd. per lb.; the raw material therefore costs in round numbers ÂŁ342. The 10,000 spindles, including preparati on-machinery, and motive power, cost, we will assume, ÂŁ1 per spindle, amounting to a total of ÂŁ10,000. The wear and tear we put at 10%, or ÂŁ1,000 yearly = ÂŁ20 weekly. The rent of the building we suppose to be ÂŁ300 a year, or ÂŁ6 a week. Coal consumed (for 100 horse -power indicated, at 4 lbs. of coal per horse -power per hour during 60 hours, and inclusive of that consumed in heating the mill), 11 tons a week at 8s. 6d. a ton, amounts to about ÂŁ4œ a week: gas, ÂŁ1 a week, oil, &c., ÂŁ4œ a week. 154 Chapter 9 Total cost of the above auxiliary materials, ÂŁ10 weekly. Therefore the constant portion of the value of the weekâs product is ÂŁ378. Wages amount to ÂŁ52 a week. The price of the yarn is 12ÂŒd. per. lb. which gives for the value of 10,000 lbs. the sum of ÂŁ510. The surplus -value is therefore in this case ÂŁ510 - ÂŁ430 = ÂŁ80. We put the constant part of the value of the product = 0, as it plays no part in the creation of value. There remains ÂŁ132 as the weekly value created, which = ÂŁ52 var. + ÂŁ80 surpl. The rate of surplus -value is therefore 80/52 = 153 11/13%. In a working day of 10 hours with average labour the result is: necessary labour = 3 31/33 hours, and surplus labour = 6 2/33.8 One more example. Jacob gives the following calculation for the year 1815. Owing to the previo us adjustment of several items it is very imperfect; nevertheless for our purpose it is sufficient. In it he assumes the price of wheat to be 8s. a quarter, and the average yield per acre to be 22 bushels. VALUE PRODUCED PER ACRE Seed ÂŁ1 9s. 0d. Tithes , Rates, and taxes , ÂŁ1 1s. 0d. Manure ÂŁ2 10s. 0d. Rent ÂŁ1 8s. 0d. Wages ÂŁ3 10s. 0d. Farmerâs Profit and Interest ÂŁ1 2s. 0d. TOTAL ÂŁ7 9s. 0d. TOTAL ÂŁ3 11s 0d. Assuming that the price of the product is the same as its value, we here find the surplus -value distributed under the various heads of profit, interest, rent, &c. We have nothing to do with these in detail; we simply add them together, and the sum is a surplus -value of ÂŁ3 11s. 0d. The sum of ÂŁ3 19s. 0d., paid for seed and manure, is constant capital, and we put it equal to zero. There is left the sum of ÂŁ3 10s. 0d., which is the variable capital advanced: and we see that a new value of ÂŁ3 10s. 0d + ÂŁ3 11s. 0d. has been produced in its place. Therefore s/v = ÂŁ3 11s. 0d. / ÂŁ3 10s. 0d., giving a rate of surplus -value of more than 100%. The labourer employs more than one half of his working day in producing the surplus -value, which different persons, under different pretexts, share amongst themselves.9 Section 2: The Representation of th e Components of the Value of the Product by Corresponding Proportional Parts of the Product Itself Let us now return to the example by which we were shown how the capitalist converts money into capital. The product of a working day of 12 hours is 20 lbs. of yarn, having a value of 30s. No less than 8/10ths of this value, or 24s., is due to mere re -appearance in it, of the value of the means of production (20 lbs. of cotton, value 20s., and spindle worn away, 4s.): it is therefore constant capital. The remaining 2/10ths or 6s. is the new value created during the spinning process: of this one half replaces the value of the dayâs labour -power, or the variable capital, the remaining half constitutes a surplus- value of 3s. The total value then of the 20 lbs. of yarn is made up as follows: 30s. value of yarn = 24s. const. + 3s. var. + 3s. surpl. Since the whole of this value is contained in the 20 lbs. of yarn produced, it follows that the various component parts of this value, can be represented as being contained respectively in corresponding parts of the product. 155 Chapter 9 If the value of 30s. is contai ned in 20 lbs. of yarn, then 8/10ths of this value, or the 24s. that form its constant part, is contained in 8/10ths of the product or in 16 lbs. of yarn. Of the latter 13 1/3 lbs. represent the value of the raw material, the 20s. worth of cotton spun, and 2 2/3 lbs. represent the 4s. worth of spindle, &c., worn away in the process. Hence the whole of the cotton used up in spinning the 20 lbs. of yarn, is represented by 13 1/3 lbs. of yarn. This latter weight of yarn contains, it is true, by weight, no mor e than 13 1/3 lbs. of cotton, worth 13 1/3 shillings; but the 6 2/3 shillings additional value contained in it, are the equivalent for the cotton consumed in spinning the remaining 6 2/3 lbs. of yarn. The effect is the same as if these 6 2/3 lbs. of yarn contained no cotton at all, and the whole 20 lbs. of cotton were concentrated in the 13 1/3 lbs. of yarn. The latter weight, on the other hand, does not contain an atom either of the value of the auxiliary materials and implements, or of the value newly created in the process. In the same way, the 2 2/3 lbs. of yarn, in which the 4s., the remainder of the constant capital, is embodied, represents nothing but the value of the auxiliary materials and instruments of labour consumed in producing the 20 lbs. of yarn. We have, therefore, arrived at this result: although eight -tenths of the product, or 16 lbs. of yarn, is, in its character of an article of utility, just as much the fabric of the spinnerâs labour, as the remainder of the same product, yet when view ed in this connexion, it does not contain, and has not absorbed any labour expended during the process of spinning. It is just as if the cotton had converted itself into yarn, without help; as if the shape it had assumed was mere trickery and deceit: for so soon as our capitalist sells it for 24s., and with the money replaces his means of production, it becomes evident that this 16 lbs. of yarn is nothing more than so much cotton and spindle -waste in disguise. On the other hand, the remaining 2/10ths of the product, or 4 lbs of yarn, represent nothing but the new value of 6s., created during the 12 hoursâ spinning process. All the value transferred to those 4 lbs, from the raw material and instruments of labour consumed, was, so to say, intercepted in order to be incorporated in the 16 lbs. first spun. In this case, it is as if the spinner had spun 4 lbs. of yarn out of air, or, as if he had spun them with the aid of cotton and spindles, that, being the spontaneous gift of Nature, transferred no value to the product. Of this 4 lbs. of yarn, in which the whole of the value newly created during the process, is condensed, one half represents the equivalent for the value of the labour consumed, or the 3s. variable capital, the other half represents the 3s. surplus- value. Since 12 working -hours of the spinner are embodied in 6s., it follows that in yarn of the value of 30s., there must be embodied 60 working- hours. And this quantity of labour -time does in fact exist in the 20 lbs of yarn; for in 8/10ths or 16 lbs there are materialised the 48 hours of labour expended, before the commencement of the spinning process, on the means of production; and in the remaining 2/10ths or 4 lbs there are materialised the 12 hoursâ work done during the process itself. On a former page we saw that the value of the yarn is equal to the sum of the new value created during the production of that yarn plus the value previously existing in the means of production. It has now been shown how the various component parts of the value of the product , parts that differ functionally from each other, may be represented by corresponding proportional parts of the product itself. To split up in this manner the product into different parts, of which one represents only the labour previously spent on the me ans of production, or the constant capital, another, only the necessary labour spent during the process of production, or the variable capital, and another and last part, 156 Chapter 9 only the surplus labour expended during the same process, or the surplus -value; to do this, is, as will be seen later on from its application to complicated and hitherto unsolved problems, no less important than it is simple. In the preceding investigation we have treated the total product as the final result, ready for use, of a working day of 12 hours. We can however follow this total product through all the stages of its production; and in this way we shall arrive at the same result as before, if we represent the partial products, given off at the different stages, as functionally diffe rent parts of the final or total product. The spinner produces in 12 hours 20 lbs. of yarn, or in 1 hour 1â lbs; consequently he produces in 8 hours 13â lbs., or a partial product equal in value to all the cotton that is spun in a whole day. In like manne r the partial product of the next period of 1 hour and 36 minutes, is 2â lbs. of yarn: this represents the value of the instruments of labour that are consumed in 12 hours. In the following hour and 12 minutes, the spinner produces 2 lbs. of yarn worth 3 s hillings, a value equal to the whole value he creates in his 6 hoursâ necessary labour. Finally, in the last hour and 12 minutes he produces another 2 lbs. of yarn, whose value is equal to the surplus -value, created by his surplus labour during half a day. This method of calculation serves the English manufacturer for every -day use; it shows, he will say, that in the first 8 hours, or â of the working day, he gets back the value of his cotton; and so on for the remaining hours. It is also a perfectly correct method: being in fact the first method given above with this difference, that instead of being applied to space, in which the different parts of the completed product lie side by side, it deals with time, in which those parts are successively produced. B ut it can also be accompanied by very barbarian notions, more especially in the heads of those who are as much interested, practically, in the process of making value beget value, as they are in misunderstanding that process theoretically. Such people may get the notion into their heads, that our spinner, for example, produces or replaces in the first 8 hours of his working day the value of the cotton; in the following hour and 36 minutes the value of the instruments of labour worn away; in the next hour an d 12 minutes the value of the wages; and that he devotes to the production of surplus -value for the manufacturer, only that well known âlast hour.â In this way the poor spinner is made to perform the two- fold miracle not only of producing cotton, spindles, steam -engine, coal, oil, &c., at the same time that he spins with them, but also of turning one working day into five; for, in the example we are considering, the production of the raw material and instruments of labour demands four working days of twelve hours each, and their conversion into yarn requires another such day. That the love of lucre induces an easy belief in such miracles, and that sycophant doctrinaires are never wanting to prove them, is vouched for by the following incident of historical c elebrity. Section 3: Seniorâs âLast Hourâ One fine morning, in the year 1836, Nassau W. Senior, who may be called the bel -esprit of English economists, well known, alike for his economic âscience,â and for his beautiful style, was summoned from Oxford to Manchester, to learn in the latter place, the Political Economy that he taught in the former. The manufacturers elected him as their champion, not only against the newly passed Factory Act, but against the still more menacing Ten -hoursâ agitation. With the ir usual practical acuteness, they had found out that the learned Professor âwanted a good deal of finishing;â it was this discovery that caused them to write for him. On his side the Professor has embodied the lecture he received from the Manchester manuf acturers, in a pamphlet, entitled: âLetters on the Factory Act, as it affects the cotton manufacture.â London, 1837. Here we find, amongst others, the following edifying passage: 157 Chapter 9 âUnder the present law, no mill in which persons under 18 years of age are employed, ... can be worked more than 11œ hours a day, that is, 12 hours for 5 days in the week, and nine on Saturday. âNow the following analysis (!) will show that in a mill so worked, the whole net profit is derived from the last hour . I will suppose a m anufacturer to invest ÂŁ100,000: â ÂŁ80,000 in his mill and machinery, and ÂŁ20,000 in raw material and wages. The annual return of that mill, supposing the capital to be turned once a year, and gross profits to be 15 per cent., ought to be goods worth ÂŁ115,000.... Of this ÂŁ115,000, each of the twenty- three half -hours of work produces 5- 115ths or one twenty -third. Of these 23- 23rds (constituting the whole ÂŁ115,000) twenty, that is to say ÂŁ100,000 out of the ÂŁ115,000, simply replace the capital; â one twenty- third (or ÂŁ5,000 out of the ÂŁ115,000) makes up for the deterioration of the mill and machinery. The remaining 2- 23rds, that is, the last two of the twenty- three half-hours of every day, produce the net profit of 10 per cent. If, therefore (prices remaining t he same), the factory could be kept at work thirteen hours instead of eleven and a half, with an addition of about ÂŁ2,600 to the circulating capital, the net profit would be more than doubled. On the other hand, if the hours of working were reduced by one hour per day (prices remaining the same), the net profit would be destroyed â if they were reduced by one hour and a half, even the gross profit would be destroyed.â10 And the Professor calls this an âanalysis!â If, giving credence to the out -cries of the manufacturers, he believed that the workmen spend the best part of the day in the production, i.e. , the reproduction or replacement of the value of the buildings, machinery, cotton, coal, &c., then his analysis was superfluous. His answer would simply hav e been: â Gentlemen! if you work your mills for 10 hours instead of 11œ, then, other things being equal, the daily consumption of cotton, machinery, &c., will decrease in proportion. You gain just as much as you lose. Your work -people will in future spend one hour and a half less time in reproducing or replacing the capital that has been advanced. â If, on the other hand, he did not believe them without further inquiry, but, as being an expert in such matters, deemed an analysis necessary, then he ought, in a question that is concerned exclusively with the relations of net profit to the length of the working day, before all things to have asked the manufacturers, to be careful not to lump together machinery, workshops, raw material, and labour, but to be good enough to place the constant capital, invested in buildings, machinery, raw material, &c., on one side of the account, and the capital advanced in wages on the other side. If the Professor then found, that in accordance with the calculation of the manufa cturers,
đ° Labor Value Extraction
â±ïž Surplus value emerges when workers produce more value than they receive in wages, creating the foundation for capitalist profit
đ The "last hour" fallacy wrongly claims profits would vanish with shorter workdays, when in reality surplus value is generated throughout the entire working period
âïž Exploitation rate is measured by the ratio of surplus labor to necessary labor (not by absolute amounts), revealing how capitalism systematically extracts unpaid work
đ°ïž The working day consists of two parts: necessary labor time (reproducing worker's wages) and surplus labor time (creating profit for the capitalist)
đ§ź A nation's true wealth should be measured not by total production but by the relative magnitude of surplus-produce extracted from workers
đ While the working day has physical limits (human endurance), its actual length is determined by social struggle between capitalists seeking maximum surplus value and workers resisting exploitation
â° Working day limits fluctuate within elastic physical and social boundaries, creating a fundamental tension between laborers' need for intellectual/social development and capitalists' drive to extract maximum surplus value
đ° Capital personified functions as "dead labor" that "vampire-like" survives by consuming living labor, compelling capitalists to extend working hours beyond reasonable limits through both legal means and "petty pilferings of minutes"
đ Exploitation patterns transcend economic systemsâfrom ancient slavery to modern capitalismâbut intensify dramatically when production shifts toward international markets and exchange-value rather than use-value
đ Factory Acts emerged as necessary negative expressions of capital's greed, revealing how unregulated industries (like lace-making and pottery) subjected workers, including children, to "unmitigated slavery" with workdays stretching to 18 hours
đ The relationship between necessary labor and surplus labor creates an "antinomy, right against right," where laborers demand fair compensation for their commodity (labor-power) while capitalists claim ownership of purchased labor time
đ¶ Child labor devastates young bodies through 15+ hour workdays, with children as young as 6 working overnight shifts in pottery factories and match production, sacrificing health for corporate profit
đ« Occupational diseases plague entire industries, with potters suffering from "potter's asthma" and experiencing "physical deterioration, widespread bodily suffering, and early death" while match-makers develop lockjaw
đ Bakery workers endure brutal night shifts (11pm-8am) followed by daytime delivery work, sleeping only 4-6 hours before starting again, with "underselling masters" extracting 18 hours' work for 12 hours' pay
đ Premature death becomes the norm across industries, with medical professionals documenting "degenerated populations" who are "stunted in growth," "prematurely old," and "short-lived" due to exploitative working conditions
đ°ïž Excessive hours destroy family life and physical health, with railway workers forced into 14-20 hour shifts (sometimes 40-50 hours without breaks), leading to accidents and manslaughter charges
đ Female workers face equally brutal conditions, exemplified by 20-year-old milliner Mary Anne Walkley who died after working 26œ consecutive hours in overcrowded, poorly ventilated conditions
âïž Excessive labor dramatically shortens workers' lives, with blacksmiths dying at 37 instead of 50 when forced to produce 25% more output than sustainable
đ The 24-hour production system exploits workers through relay shifts, with children as young as 8-9 working nighttime hours in dangerous metal factories
đ° Factory owners openly admit prioritizing profit over health, claiming restrictions on child night labor would increase costs and make production "impossible"
đ Capital treats humans as mere labor-power, stealing time needed for rest, education, and development while calculating the most profitable rate of worker exhaustion
đ§ Manufacturers cynically view workers as replaceable resources, requesting "surplus population" from agricultural districts to "absorb and use up" like "bales of goods"
đ The system mirrors slavery economics, where in plantation economies "the duration of life becomes less important than productivity while it lasts"
đ° Capitalist exploitation treats workers as disposable resources, with historical evidence showing children and rural populations being trafficked as "flesh" to feed Manchester factories during the industrial revolution
â° The struggle over working hours spans centuries, with early laws attempting to lengthen the workday while later Factory Acts fought to limit itârevealing how capital's demands evolve from "modest" beginnings to all-consuming exploitation
đ± Population degradation occurs as capitalism rapidly depletes human vitality, with even rural workers beginning to "die off" despite fresh air and natural selection advantages
đ The relay system and other evasive tactics allowed factory owners to circumvent child labor regulations, demonstrating capital's persistent resistance to humanitarian reforms
đ§ Capitalists justified brutal working conditions by arguing that workers who could survive on 4-5 days' wages would be "idle" otherwise, revealing the ideology that workers must be kept desperate to remain productive
đ°ïž Factory owners systematically evaded labor laws through deceptive "relay systems" that manipulated work schedules, allowing them to extract maximum labor while technically staying within legal boundaries
đ„ The Ten Hours' Bill movement gained momentum between 1844-1847, uniting workers across industries and forcing Parliament to enact progressive limitations on working hours for women, children, and eventually adult males
đ° When the Ten Hours' Act passed in 1847, capitalists retaliated by reducing wages by 25%, implementing night work, eliminating meal breaks, and exploiting legal loopholes to maintain productivity
âïž The struggle revealed the fundamental class conflict between workers seeking humane conditions and manufacturers who, despite their public "Free-trade" rhetoric about worker welfare, ruthlessly prioritized profits over people
đ This historical episode demonstrates how capital adapts to regulation through increasingly complex evasion tactics, transforming rest periods into "enforced idleness" while maintaining control over workers' lives
the whole Factory Act, not only in the spirit, but in the letter. How could factory inspectors, with this complex bookkeeping in respect to each in dividual child or young person, enforce the legally determined work- time and the granting of the legal mealtimes? In a great many of the factories, the old brutalities soon blossomed out again unpunished. In an interview with the Home Secretary (1844), the factory inspectors demonstrated the impossibility of any control under the newly invented relay system. 102 In the meantime, however, circumstances had greatly changed. The factory hands, especially since 1838, had made the Ten Hoursâ Bill their economic, as they had made the Charter their political, election -cry. Some of the manufacturers, even, who had managed their factories in conformity with the Act of 1833, overwhelmed Parliament with memorials on the immoral competition of their false brethren whom g reater impudence, or more fortunate local circumstances, enabled to break the law. Moreover, however much the individual manufacturer might give the rein to his old lust for gain, the spokesmen and political leaders of the manufacturing class ordered a cha nge of front and of speech towards the workpeople. They had entered upon the contest for the repeal of the Corn Laws, and needed the workers to help them to victory. They promised therefore, not only a double -sized loaf of bread, but the enactment of the Ten Hoursâ Bill in the Free -trade millennium. 103 Thus they still less dared to oppose a measure intended only to make the law of 1833 a reality. Threatened in their holiest interest, the rent of land, the Tories thundered with philanthropic indignation agai nst the ânefarious practicesâ104 of their foes. This was the origin of the additional Factory Act of June 7th, 1844. It came into effect on September 10th, 1844. It places under protection a new category of workers, viz., the women over 18. They were plac ed in every respect on the same footing as the young persons, their work time limited to twelve hours, their night- labour forbidden, &c. For the first time, legislation saw itself compelled to control directly and officially the labour of adults. In the Fa ctory Report of 1844- 1845, it is said with irony: âNo instances have come to my knowledge of adult women having expressed any regret at their rights being thus far interfered with.â 105 The working- time of children under 13 was reduced to 6œ, and in certai n circumstances to 7 hours a- day.106 To get rid of the abuses of the âspurious relay system,â the law established besides others the following important regulations: â âThat the hours of work of children and young persons shall be reckoned from the time w hen any child or young person shall begin to work in the morning.â So that if A, e.g., begins work at 8 in the morning, and B at 10, Bâs work -day must nevertheless end at the same hour as Aâs. âThe time shall be regulated by a public clock,â for example, the nearest railway clock, by which the factory clock is to be set. The occupier is to hang up a 187 Chapter 10 âlegibleâ printed notice stating the hours for the beginning and ending of work and the times allowed for the several meals. Children beginning work before 12 noon may not be again employed after 1 p.m. The afternoon shift must therefore consist of other children than those employed in the morning. Of the hour and a half for meal -times, âone hour thereof at the least shall be given before three of the clock in t he afternoon ... and at the same period of the day. No child or young person shall be employed more than five hours before 1 p.m. without an interval for meal -time of at least 30 minutes. No child or young person [or female] shall be employed or allowed to remain in any room in which any manufacturing process is then [ i.e., at mealtimes] carried on,â &c. It has been seen that these minutiae, which, with military uniformity, regulate by stroke of the clock the times, limits, pauses of the work were not at all the products of Parliamentary fancy. They developed gradually out of circumstances as natural laws of the modern mode of production. Their formulation, official recognition, and proclamation by the State, were the result of a long struggle of classes. One of their first consequences was that in practice the working day of the adult males in factories be came subject to the same limitations, since in most processes of production the co- operation of the children. young persons, and women is indispensable. On the whole, therefore, during the period from 1844 to 1847, the 12 hoursâ working day became general and uniform in all branches of industry under the Factory Act. The manufacturers, however, did not allow this âprogressâ without a compensating âretrogression.â At their instigation the House of Commons reduced the minimum age for exploitable children from 9 to 8, in order to assure that additional supply of factory children which is due to capitalists, according to divine and human law. 107 The years 1846- 47 are epoch- making in the economic history of England. The Repeal of the Corn Laws, and of the dutie s on cotton and other raw material; Free- trade proclaimed as the guiding star of legislation; in a word, the arrival of the millennium. On the other hand, in the same years, the Chartist movement and the 10 hoursâ agitation reached their highest point. The y found allies in the Tories panting for revenge. Despite the fanatical opposition of the army of perjured Free - traders, with Bright and Cobden at their head, the Ten Hoursâ Bill, struggled for so long, went through Parliament. The new Factory Act of June 8th, 1847, enacted that on July 1st, 1847, there should be a preliminary shortening of the working day for âyoung personsâ (from 13 to 18), and all females to 11 hours, but that on May 1st, 1848, there should be a definite limitation of the working day to 10 hours. In other respects, the Act only amended and completed the Acts of 1833 and 1844. Capital now entered upon a preliminary campaign in order to hinder the Act from coming into full force on May 1st, 1848. And the workers themselves, under the pres ence that they had been taught by experience, were to help in the destruction of their own work. The moment was cleverly chosen. âIt must be remembered, too, that there has been more than two years of great suffering (in consequence of the terrible crisis of 1846- 47) among the factory operatives, from many mills having worked short time, and many being altogether closed. A considerable number of the operatives must therefore be in very narrow circumstances many, it is to be feared, in debt; so that it might fairly have been presumed that at the present time they would prefer working the longer time, in order to make up for past losses, perhaps to pay off debts, or get their furniture out 188 Chapter 10 of pawn, or replace that sold, or to get a new supply of clothes for th emselves and their families.â108 The manufacturers tried to aggravate the natural effect of these circumstances by a general reduction of wages by 10%. This was done so to say, to celebrate the inauguration of the new Free-trade era. Then followed a furthe r reduction of 8 1/3% as soon as the working day was shortened to 11, and a reduction of double that amount as soon as it was finally shortened to 10 hours. Wherever, therefore, circumstances allowed it, a reduction of wages of at least 25% took place. 109 Under such favourably prepared conditions the agitation among the factory workers for the repeal of the Act of 1847 was begun. Neither lies, bribery, nor threats were spared in this attempt. But all was in vain. Concerning the half -dozen petitions in which workpeople were made to complain of âtheir oppression by the Act,â the petitioners themselves declared under oral examination, that their signatures had been extorted from them. âThey felt themselves oppressed, but not exactly by the Factory Act.â 110 But if the manufacturers did not succeed in making the workpeople speak as they wished, they themselves shrieked all the louder in press and Parliament in the name of the workpeople. They denounced the Factory Inspectors as a kind of revolutionary commissioner s like those of the French National Convention ruthlessly sacrificing the unhappy factory workers to their humanitarian crotchet. This manoeuvre also failed. Factory Inspector Leonard Horner conducted in his own person, and through his sub- inspectors, many examinations of witnesses in the factories of Lancashire. About 70% of the workpeople examined declared in favour of 10 hours, a much smaller percentage in favour of 11, and an altogether insignificant minority for the old 12 hours. 111 Another âfriendlyâ dodge was to make the adult males work 12 to 15 hours, and then to blazon abroad this fact as the best proof of what the proletariat desired in its heart of hearts. But the âruthlessâ Factory Inspector Leonard Horner was again to the fore. The majority of the âover - timesâ declared: âThey would much prefer working ten hours for less wages, but that they had no choice; that so many were out of employment (so many spinners getting very low wages by having to work as piecers, being unable to do better), that i f they refused to work the longer time, others would immediately get their places, so that it was a question with them of agreeing to work the longer time, or of being thrown out of employment altogether.â 112 The preliminary campaign of capital thus came to grief, and the Ten Hoursâ Act came into force May 1st, 1848. But meanwhile the fiasco of the Chartist party whose leaders were imprisoned, and whose organisation was dismembered, had shaken the confidence of the English working- class in its own strength . Soon after this the June insurrection in Paris and its bloody suppression united, in England as on the Continent, all fractions of the ruling classes, landlords and capitalists, stock -exchange wolves and shop- keepers, Protectionists and Freetraders, government and opposition, priests and freethinkers, young whores and old nuns, under the common cry for the salvation of Property, Religion, the Family and Society. The working -class was everywhere proclaimed, placed under a ban, under a virtual law of suspec ts. The manufacturers had no need any longer to restrain themselves. They broke out in open revolt not only against the Ten Hoursâ Act, but against the whole of the legislation that since 1833 had aimed at restricting in some measure the âfreeâ exploitatio n of labour -power. It was a pro- slavery rebellion in miniature, carried on for over two years with a cynical recklessness, a terrorist energy all the cheaper because the rebel capitalist risked nothing except the skin of his âhands.â To understand that which follows we must remember that the Factory Acts of 1833, 1844, and 1847 were all three in force so far as the one did not amend the other: that not one of these limited 189 Chapter 10 the working day of the male worker over 18, and that since 1833 the 15 hours from 5.30 a.m. to 8.30 p.m. had remained the legal âday,â within the limits of which at first the 12, and later the 10 hoursâ labour of young persons and women had to be performed under the prescribed conditions. The manufacturers began by here and there dischar ging a part of, in many cases half of the young persons and women employed by them, and then, for the adult males, restoring the almost obsolete night -work. The Ten Hoursâ Act, they cried, leaves no other alternative. 113 Their second step dealt with the l egal pauses for meals. Let us hear the Factory Inspectors. âSince the restriction of the hours of work to ten, the factory occupiers maintain, although they have not yet practically gone the whole length, that supposing the hours of work to be from 9 a.m. to 7 p.m. they fulfil the provisions of the statutes by allowing an hour before 9 a.m. and half an hour after 7 p.m. [for meals]. In some cases they now allow an hour, or half an hour for dinner, insisting at the same time, that they are not bound to allow any part of the hour and a half in the course of the factory working day.â114 The manufacturers maintained therefore that the scrupulously strict provisions of the Act of 1844 with regard to meal - times only gave the operatives permission to eat and drink before coming into, and after leaving the factory â i.e., at home. And why should not the workpeople eat their dinner before 9 in the morning? The crown lawyers, however, decided that the prescribed meal -times âmust be in the interval during the working -hours, and that it will not be lawful to work for 10 hours continuously, from 9 a.m. to 7 p.m., without any interval.â115 After these pleasant demonstrations, Capital preluded its revolt by a step which agreed with the letter of the law of 1844, and was the refore legal. The Act of 1844 certainly prohibited the employment after 1 p.m. of such children, from 8 to 13, as had been employed before noon. But it did not regulate in any way the 6œ hoursâ work of the children whose work -time began at 12 midday or la ter. Children of 8 might, if they began work at noon, be employed from 12 to 1, 1 hour; from 2 to 4 in the afternoon, 2 hours; from 5 to 8.30 in the evening, 3œ hours; in all, the legal 6œ hours. Or better still. In order to make their work coincide with t hat of the adult male labourers up to 8.30 p.m., the manufacturers only had to give them no work till 2 in the afternoon, they could then keep them in the factory without intermission till 8.30 in the evening. âAnd it is now expressly admitted that the practice exists in England from the desire of mill -owners to have their machinery at work for more than 10 hours a - day, to keep the children at work with male adults after all the young persons and women have left, and until 8.30 p.m. if the factory -owners choose.â 116 Workmen and factory inspectors protested on hygienic and moral grounds, but Capital answered: âMy deeds upon my head! I crave the law, The penalty and forfeit of my bond.â In fact, according to statistics laid before the House of Commons on July 26th, 1850, in spite of all protests, on July 15th, 1850, 3,742 children were subjected to this âpracticeâ in 257 factories.117 Still, this was not enough. The Lynx eye of Capital discovered that the Act of 1844 did not allow 5 hoursâ work before mid- day without a pause of at least 30 minutes for refreshment, but prescribed nothing of the kind for work after mid- day. Therefore, it claimed and obtained the enjoyment not only of making children of 8 drudge without intermission from 2 to 8.30 p.m., but al so of making them hunger during that time. 190 Chapter 10 âAy, his breast. So says the bond.â This Shylock- clinging118 to the letter of the law of 1844, so far as it regulated childrenâs labour, was but to lead up to an open revolt against the same law, so far as it regulated the labour of âyoung persons and women.â It will be remembered that the abolition of the âfalse relay systemâ was the chief aim and object of that law. The masters began their revolt with the simple declaration that the sections of the Act of 1844 which prohibited the ad libitum use of young persons and women in such short fractions of the day of 15 hours as the employer chose, were âcomparatively harmlessâ so long as the work -time was fixed at 12 hours. But under the Ten Hoursâ Act they were a âgri evous hardship.â 119 They informed the inspectors in the coolest manner that they should place themselves above the letter of the law, and re- introduce the old system on their own account.120 They were acting in the interests of the ill -advised operatives themselves, âin order to be able to pay them higher wages.â "This was the only possible plan by which to maintain, under the Ten Hoursâ Act, the industrial supremacy of Great Britain.â âPerhaps it may be a little difficult to detect irregularities under t he relay system; but what of that? Is the great manufacturing interest of this country to be treated as a secondary matter in order to save some little trouble to Inspectors and Sub- Inspectors of Factories?â 121 All these shifts naturally were of no avail. The Factory Inspectors appealed to the Law Courts. But soon such a cloud of dust in the way of petitions from the masters overwhelmed the Home Secretary, Sir George Grey, that in a circular of August 5th, 1848, he recommends the inspectors not âto lay informations against mill- owners for a breach of the letter of the Act, or for employment of young persons by relays in cases in which there is no reason to believe that such young persons have been actually employed for a longer period than that s anctioned by law.â Hereupon, Factory Inspector J. Stuart allowed the so-called relay system during the 15 hours of the factory day throughout Scotland, where it soon flourished again as of old. The English Factory Inspectors, on the other hand, declared that the Home Secretary had no power dictatorially to suspend the law, and continued their legal proceedings against the pro -slavery rebellion. But what was the good of summoning the capitalists when the Courts in this case the country magistrates â Cobbett âs âGreat Unpaidâ â acquitted them? In these tribunals, the masters sat in judgment on themselves An example. One Eskrigge, cotton- spinner, of the firm of Kershaw, Leese, & Co., had laid before the Factory Inspector of his district the scheme of a relay sy stem intended for his mill. Receiving a refusal, he at first kept quiet. A few months later, an individual named Robinson, also a cotton- spinner, and if not his Man Friday, at all events related to Eskrigge, appeared before the borough magistrates of Stock port on a charge of introducing the identical plan of relays invented by Eskrigge. Four Justices sat, among them three cottonspinners, at their head this same inevitable Eskrigge. Eskrigge acquitted Robinson, and now was of opinion that what was right for Robinson was fair for Eskrigge. Supported by his own legal decision, he introduced the system at once into his own factory. 122 Of course, the composition of this tribunal was in itself a violation of the law.123 These judicial farces, exclaims Inspector H owell, âurgently call for a remedy â either that the law should be so altered as to be made to conform to these decisions, or that it should be administered by a less fallible tribunal, whose 191 Chapter 10 decisions would conform to the law ... when these cases are brou ght forward. I long for a stipendiary magistrate.â124 The crown lawyers declared the mastersâ interpretation of the Act of 1848 absurd. But the Saviours of Society would not allow themselves to be turned from their purpose. Leonard Horner reports, âHaving endeavoured to enforce the Act ... by ten prosecutions in seven magisterial divisions, and having been supported by the magistrates in one case only ... I considered it useless to prosecute more for this evasion of the law. That part of the Act of 1848 which was framed for securing uniformity in the hours of work, ... is thus no longer in force in my district (Lancashire). Neither have the sub-inspectors or myself any means of satisfying ourselves, when we inspect a mill working by shifts, that the young persons and women are not working more than 10 hours a -day.... In a return of the 30th April, ... of millowners working by shifts, the number amounts to 114, and has been for some time rapidly increasing. In general, the time of working the mill is extended to 13œ hoursâ from 6 a.m. to 7œ p.m., .... in some instances it amounts to 15 hours, from 5œ a.m. to 8œ p.m.â 125 Already, in December, 1848, Leonard Horner had a list of 65 manufacturers and 29 overlookers who unanimously declared that no system of super vision could, under this relay system, prevent enormous over -work. 126 Now, the same children and young persons were shifted from the spinning -room to the weaving- room, now, during 15 hours, from one factory to another. 127 How was it possible to control a system which, âunder the guise of relays, is some one of the many plans for shuffling âthe handsâ about in endless variety, and shifting the hours of work and of rest for different individuals throughout the day, so that you may never have one complete set of hands working together in the same room at the same time.â128 But altogether independently of actual over -work, this so- called relay system was an offspring of capitalistic fantasy, such as Fourier, in his humorous sketches of âCourses Seances,â has n ever surpassed, except that the âattraction of labourâ was changed into the attraction of capital. Look, for example, at those schemes of the masters which the ârespectableâ press praised as models of âwhat a reasonable degree of care and method can accomp lish.â The personnel of the workpeople was sometimes divided into from 12 to 14 categories, which themselves constantly changed and recharged their constituent parts. During the 15 hours of the factory day, capital dragged in the labourer now for 30 minute s, now for an hour, and then pushed him out again, to drag him into the factory and to thrust him out afresh, hounding him hither and thither, in scattered shreds of time, without ever losing hold of him until the full 10 hoursâ work was done. As on the st age, the same persons had to appear in turns in the different scenes of the different acts. But as an actor during the whole course of the play belongs to the stage, so the operatives, during 15 hours, belonged to the factory, without reckoning the time for going and coming. Thus the hours of rest were turned into hours of enforced idleness, which drove the youths to the pot -house, and the girls to the brothel. At every new trick that the capitalist, from day to day, hit upon for keeping his machinery going 12 or 15 hours without increasing the number of his hands, the worker had to swallow his meals now in this fragment of time, now in that. At the time of the 10 hoursâ agitation, the masters cried out that the working mob petitioned in the hope of obtaining 12 hoursâ wages for 10 hoursâ work. Now they reversed the medal. They paid 10 hoursâ wages for 12 or 15 hoursâ lordship over labour -power. 129 This was the gist of the matter, this the mastersâ interpretation of the 10 hoursâ law! These were the same unct uous Free -traders, perspiring with 192 Chapter 10 the love of humanity, who for full 10 years, during the Anti -Corn Law agitation, had preached to the operatives, by a reckoning of pounds, shillings, and pence, that with free importation of corn, and with the means possessed by English industry, 10 hoursâ labour would be quite enough to enrich the capitalists.130 This revolt of capital, after
đ Factory Act Struggles
đš Factory workers waged a 50-year civil war against capitalists to establish legal limits on working hours, culminating in the Ten Hours Act of 1850 that regulated the working day for women and young persons
đŒ Manufacturers repeatedly exploited legal loopholes and contradictions to circumvent regulations, particularly in the silk industry where children were exploited for their "delicate fingers" despite medical evidence of high death rates
âïž The battle for a normal working day spread internationally from England to France and America, with workers recognizing that "protection against the serpent of their agonies" required collective action and legal barriers
đ The 1866 eight-hour movement gained momentum across continents, with both American labor congresses and the International Working Men's Association declaring it a "preliminary condition" for further emancipation
đ Factory legislation evolved from "exceptional" status to widespread application across industries, revealing how isolated "free" laborers inevitably succumb to exploitation without collective resistance
đ The modest "Magna Charta" of a legally limited working day replaced pompous declarations of "inalienable rights," clarifying "when the time which the worker sells is ended, and when his own begins"
đ Child labor abuses reveal children aged 12-15 forced to work 30-hour shifts with minimal rest, highlighting capitalism's ruthless pursuit of profit at the expense of human dignity
đ°ïž Excessive working hours plague numerous industries including baking, needlework, and manufacturing, with workers routinely subjected to 14-18 hour days without adequate breaks
đ Night work systems devastate workers' health, particularly affecting children whose physical development and education suffer permanent damage from sleep deprivation and lack of sunlight
đš Hazardous conditions permeate factories with poor ventilation, toxic dust, and dangerous machinery, while employers cynically justify these conditions through economic necessity
đ Government investigations document these abuses through detailed reports, yet regulatory efforts face resistance from capitalists who view human suffering as merely a production cost
đ The text draws parallels between industrial exploitation and slavery, revealing how economic systems commodify human beings regardless of the specific legal framework
between 12 and 15 ye ars of age, from 6 a.m. on Friday to 4 p.m. on the following Saturday, not allowing them any respite except for meals and one hour for sleep at midnight. And these children had to do this ceaseless labour of 30 hours in the âshoddyhole,â as the hole is cal led, in which the woollen rags are pulled in pieces, and where a dense atmosphere of dust, shreds, &c., forces even the adult workman to cover his mouth continually with handkerchiefs for the 198 Chapter 10 protection of his lungs! The accused gentlemen affirm in lieu of taking an oath â as quakers they were too scrupulously religious to take an oath â that they had, in their great compassion for the unhappy children, allowed them four hours for sleep, but the obstinate children absolutely would not go to bed. The quaker gentlemen were mulcted in ÂŁ20. Dryden anticipated these gentry: Fox full fraught in seeming sanctity, That feared an oath, but like the devil would lie, That lookâd like Lent, and had the holy leer, And durst not sin! before he said his prayer!â 23 Rep., 31st Oct., 1856, p. 34. 24 l.c., p. 35. 25 l.c., p. 48. 26 l.c., p. 48. 27 l.c., p. 48. 28 l.c., p. 48. 29 Report of the Insp. &c., 30th April 1860, p. 56. 30 This is the official expression both in the factories and in the reports. 31 âThe cupidity of mill-owners whose cruelties in the pursuit of gain have hardly been exceeded by those perpetrated by the Spaniards on the conquest of America in the pursuit of gold.â John Wade, âHistory of the Middle and Working Classes,â 3rd Ed. London, 1835, p. 114. The theoretical part of this book, a kind of hand- book of Political Economy, is, considering the time of its publication, original in some parts, e.g., on commercial crises. The historical part is, to a great extent, a shameless plagiarism of Sir F. M. Edenâ s âThe State of the Poor,â London, 1797. 32 Daily Telegraph, 17th January, 1860. 33 Cf. F. Engels âLage, etc.â pp. 249- 51. 34 Childrenâs Employment Commission. First report., etc., 1863. Evidence. pp. 16, 19, 18. 35 Public Health, 3rd report, etc., pp. 102, 104, 105. 36 Child. Empl. Comm. I. Report, p. 24. 37 Childrenâs Employment Commission, p. 22, and xi. 38 l.c., p. xlviii. 39 l.c., p. liv. 40 This is not to be taken in the same sense as our surplus labour time. These gentlemen consider 10œ hours of labour as the normal working day, which includes of course the normal surplus labour. After this begins âovertimeâ which is paid a little better. I t will be seen later that the labour expended during the so -called normal day is paid below its value, so that the overtime is simply a capitalist trick in order to extort more surplus labour, which it would still be, even if the labour -power expended duri ng the normal working day were properly paid. 41 l.c., Evidence, pp. 123, 124, 125, 140, and 54. 42 Alum finely powdered, or mixed with salt, is a normal article of commerce bearing the significant name of âbakersâ stuff.â 43 Soot is a well- known and very energetic form of carbon, and forms a manure that capitalistic chimney -sweeps sell to English farmers. Now in 1862 the British juryman had in a law -suit to decide whether soot, with which, unknown to the buyer, 90% of dust and sand are mixed, is genuine soot in the commercial sense or adulterated soot in the legal sense. The âamis du commerceâ [friends of 199 Chapter 10 commerce] decided it to be genuine commercial soot, and non- suited the plaintiff farmer, who had in addition to pay the costs of the suit. 44 The French chemist, Chevallier, in his treatise on the âsophisticationsâ of commodities, enumerates for many of the 600 or more articles which he passes in review, 10, 20, 30 different methods of adulteration. He adds that he does not know all the methods and does not mention all that he knows. He gives 6 kinds of adulteration of sugar, 9 of olive oil, 10 of butter, 12 of salt, 19 of milk, 20 of bread, 23 of brandy, 24 of meal, 28 of chocolate, 30 of wine, 32 of coffee, etc. Even God Almighty does not esca pe this fate. See Rouard de Card, âOn the Falsifications of the materials of the Sacrament.â (âDe la falsification des substances sacramentelles,â Paris, 1856.) 45 âReport, &c., relative to the grievances complained of by the journeymen bakers, &c., London, 1862,â and âSecond Report, &c., London, 1863.â 46 l.c., First Report, &c., p. vi. 47 l.c., p. Ixxi. 48 George Read, âThe History of Baking,â London, 1848, p. 16. 49 Report (First) &c. Evidence of the âfull -pricedâ baker Cheeseman, p. 108. 50 George Read, l.c. At the end of the 17th and the beginning of the 18th centuries the factors (agents) that crowded into every possible trade were still denounced as âpublic nuisances.â Thus the Grand Jury at the quarter session of the Justices of the Peace for the Cou nty of Somerset, addressed a presentment to the Lower House which, among other things, states, âthat these factors of Blackwell Hall are a Public Nuisance and Prejudice to the Clothing Trade, and ought to be put down as a Nuisance.â âThe Case of our Englis h Wool., &c.,â London, 1685, pp. 6, 7. 51 First Report, &c. 52 Report of Committee on the Baking Trade in Ireland for 1861. 53 l.c. 54 Public meeting of agricultural labourers at Lasswade, near Edinburgh, January 5th, 1866. (See Workmanâs Advocate , January 13th, 1866.) The formation since the close of 1865 of a Tradesâ Union among the agricultural labourers at first in Scotland is a historic event. In one of the most oppressed agricultural districts of England, Buckinghamshire, the labourers, in March, 1867, made a great strike for the raising of their weekly wage from 9 -10 shillings to 12 shillings. (It will be seen from the preceding passage that the movement of the English agricultural proletariat, entirely crushed since the suppression of its violent manifestations after 1830, and especially since the introduction of the new Poor Laws, begins again in the sixties, until it becomes finally epoch- making in 1872. I return to this in the 2nd volume, as well as to the Blue books that have appeared since 1867 on the position of the English land labourers. Addendum to the 3rd ed.) 55 Reynoldsâ Newspaper , January, 1866. â Every week this same paper has, under the sensational headings, âFearful and fatal accidents,â âAppalling tragedies,â &c., a whole list of fresh railway catastrophes. On these an employee on the North Staffordshire line comments: âEveryone knows the consequences that may occur if the driver and fireman of a locomotive engine are not continually on the look- out. How can that be expected from a man who has been at such work for 29 or 30 hours, exposed to the weather, and without rest. The following is an example which is of very frequent occurrence: â One fireman commenced work on the Monday morning at a very early hour. When he had finished what is called a dayâs work, he had been on duty 14 hours 50 minutes. Before he had time to get his tea, he was again called on for duty.... The next time he finished he had been on duty 14 hours 25 minutes, making a total of 29 hours 15 minutes without intermissi on. The rest of the weekâs work was made up as follows: â Wednesday, 15 hours; Thursday, 15 hours 35 minutes; Friday, 14œ hours; Saturday, 14 hours 10 minutes, making a total for the week of 88 hours 30 minutes. Now, sir, 200 Chapter 10 fancy his astonishment on being pa id 6 1/4 days for the whole. Thinking it was a mistake, he applied to the time -keeper,... and inquired what they considered a dayâs work, and was told 13 hours for a goods man ( i.e., 78 hours).... He then asked for what he had made over and above the 78 ho urs per week, but was refused. However, he was at last told they would give him another quarter, i.e ., 10d.,â l.c., 4th February. 1866. 56 Cf F. Engels, l.c., pp. 253, 254. 57 Dr. Letheby, Consulting Physician of the Board of Health, declared: âThe minimum of air for each adult ought to be in a sleeping room 300, and in a dwelling room 500 cubic feet.â Dr. Richardson, Senior Physician to one of the London Hospitals: âWith needl ewomen of all kinds, including milliners, dressmakers, and ordinary seamstresses, there are three miseries â over-work, deficient air, and either deficient food or deficient digestion.... Needlework, in the main, ... is infinitely better adapted to women t han to men. But the mischiefs of the trade, in the metropolis especially, are that it is monopolised by some twenty -six capitalists, who, under the advantages that spring from capital, can bring in capital to force economy out of labour. This power tells t hroughout the whole class. If a dressmaker can get a little circle of customers, such is the competition that, in her home, she must work to the death to hold together, and this same over -work she must of necessity inflict on any who may assist her. If she fail, or do not try independently, she must join an establishment, where her labour is not less, but where her money is safe. Placed thus, she becomes a mere slave, tossed about with the variations of society. Now at home, in one room, starving, or near t o it, then engaged 15, 16, aye, even 18 hours out of the 24, in an air that is scarcely tolerable, and on food which, even if it be good, cannot be digested in the absence of pure air. On these victims, consumption, which is purely a disease of bad air, fe eds.â Dr. Richardson: âWork and Over -work,â in âSocial Science Review,â 18th July, 1863. 58 Morning Star , 23rd June, 1863. â The Times made use of the circumstance to defend the American slave -owners against Bright, &c. âVery many of us think,â says a leader of July 2nd, 1863, âthat, while we work our own young women to death, using the scourge of starvation, instead of the crack of the whip, as the instrument of compulsion, we have scarcely a right to hound on fire and slaughter against families who were b orn slave -owners, and who, at least, feed their slaves well, and work them lightly.â In the same manner, the Standard, a Tory organ, fell foul of the Rev. Newman Hall: âHe excommunicated the slave -owners, but prays with the fine folk who, without remorse, make the omnibus drivers and conductors of London, &c., work 16 hours a -day for the wages of a dog.â Finally, spake the oracle, Thomas Carlyle, of whom I wrote, in 1850, âZum Teufel ist der Genius, der Kultus ist geblieben.â [âIn the cult of genius ... The cult remains,â paraphrasing Schiller] In a short parable, he reduces the one great event of contemporary history, the American Civil War, to this level, that the Peter of the North wants to break the head of the Paul of the South with all his might, because the Peter of the North hires his labour by the day, and the Paul of the South hires his by the life. (Macmillanâs Magazine. Ilias Americana in nuce. August, 1863.) Thus, the bubble of Tory sympathy for the urban workers â by no means for the rural â has burst at last. The sum of all is â slavery! 59 Dr. Richardson, l.c. 60 Childrenâs Employment Commission. Third Report. London, 1864, pp. iv., v., vi. 61 âBoth in Staffordshire and in South Wales young girls and women are employed on the pit banks and on t he coke heaps, not only by day but also by night. This practice has been often noticed in Reports presented to Parliament, as being attended with great and notorious evils. These females employed with the men, hardly distinguished from them in their dress, and begrimed with dirt and smoke, are exposed to the deterioration of character, arising from the loss of self -respect, which can hardly fail to follow from their unfeminine occupation.â (l. c., 194, p. xxvi. Cf. Fourth Report (1865), 61, p. xiii.) It is the same in glass -works. 201 Chapter 10 62 A steel manufacturer who employs children in night -labour remarked: âIt seems but natural that boys who work at night cannot sleep and get proper rest by day, but will be running about.â (l.c., Fourth Report, 63, p. xiii.) On the importance of sunlight for the maintenance and growth of the body, a physician writes: âLight also acts upon the tissues of the body directly in hardening them and supporting their elasticity. The muscles of animals, when they are deprived of a proper am ount of light, become soft and inelastic, the nervous power loses its tone from defective stimulation, and the elaboration of all growth seems to be perverted.... In the case of children, constant access to plenty of light during the day, and to the direct rays of the sun for a part of it, is most essential to health. Light assists in the elaboration of good plastic blood, and hardens the fibre after it has been laid down. It also acts as a stimulus upon the organs of sight, and by this means brings about m ore activity in the various cerebral functions.â Dr. W. Strange, Senior Physician of the Worcester General Hospital, from whose work on âHealthâ (1864) this passage is taken, writes in a letter to Mr. White, one of the commissioners: âI have had opportunit ies formerly, when in Lancashire, of observing the effects of nightwork upon children, and I have no hesitation in saying, contrary to what some employers were fond of asserting, those children who were subjected to it soon suffered in their health.â (l.c., 284., p. 55.) That such a question should furnish the material of serious controversy, shows plainly how capitalist production acts on the brain- functions of capitalists and their retainers. 63 l.c., 57, p. xii. 64 l.c.. Fourth Report (1865). 58. p. xii. 65 l.c. 66 l.c., p. xiii. The degree of culture of these âlabour -powersâ must naturally be such as appears in the following dialogues with one of the commissioners: Jeremiah Haynes, age 12 â âFour times four is 8; 4 fours are 16. A king is him that has al l the money and gold. We have a king (told it is a Queen), they call her the Princess Alexandra. Told that she married the Queenâs son. The Queenâs son is the Princess Alexandra. A Princess is a man.â William Turner, age 12 â âDonât live in England. Think it is a country, but didnât know before.â John Morris, age 14 â âHave heard say that God made the world, and that all the people was drownded but one, heard say that one was a little bird.â William Smith age 15 â âGod made man, man made woman.â Edward Tayl or, age 15 â âDo not know of London.â Henry Matthewman, age 17 â âHad been to chapel, but missed a good many times lately. One name that they preached about was Jesus Christ, but I cannot say any others, and I cannot tell anything about him. He was not kil led, but died like other people. He was not the same as other people in some ways, because he was religious in some ways and others isnât.â (l.c., p. xv.) âThe devil is a good person. I donât know where he lives.â âChrist was a wicked man.â âThis girl spel t God as dog, and did not know the name of the queen.â (âCh. Employment Comm. V. Report, 1866â p. 55, n. 278.) The same system obtains in the glass and paper works as in the metallurgical, already cited. In the paper factories, where the paper is made by m achinery, night -work is the rule for all processes, except rag-sorting. In some cases night -work, by relays, is carried on incessantly through the whole week, usually from Sunday night until midnight of the following Saturday. Those who are on day -work wor k 5 days of 12, and 1 day of 18 hours; those on night -work 5 nights of 12, and 1 of 6 hours in each week. In other cases each set works 24 hours consecutively on alternate days, one set working 6 hours on Monday, and 18 on Saturday to make up the 24 hours. In other cases an intermediate system prevails, by which all employed on the paper -making machinery work 15 or 16 hours every day in the week. This system, says Commissioner Lord, âseems to combine all the evils of both the 12 hoursâ and the 24 hoursâ rel ays.â Children under 13, young persons under 18, and women, work under this night system. Sometimes under the 12 hoursâ system they are obliged, on account of the non-appearance of those that ought to relieve them, to work a double turn of 24 hours. The ev idence proves that boys and girls very often work overtime, which, not unfrequently, extends to 24 or even 36 hours of uninterrupted toil. In the continuous and unvarying process of glazing are found girls of 12 202 Chapter 10 who work the whole month 14 hours a day, âwi thout any regular relief or cessation beyond 2 or, at most, 3 breaks of half an hour each for meals.â In some mills, where regular night -work has been entirely given up, over -work goes on to a terrible extent, âand that often in the dirtiest, and in the hottest, and in the most monotonous of the various processes.â (âCh. Employment Comm. Report IV., 1865,â p. xxxviii, and xxxix.) 67 Fourth Report, &c.. 1865, 79, p. xvi. 68 l.c., 80. p. xvi. 69 l.c., 82. p. xvii. 70 In our reflecting and reasoning age a man is not worth much who cannot give a good reason for everything, no matter how bad or how crazy. Everything in the world that has been done wrong has been done wrong for the very best of reasons. (Hegel, l.c., p. 249 ) 71 l.c., 85, p. xvii. To similar tende r scruples of the glass manufacturers that regular meal -times for the children are impossible because as a consequence a certain quantity of heat, radiated by the furnaces, would be âa pure lossâ or âwasted,â Commissioner White makes answer. His answer is unlike that of Ure, Senior, &c., and their puny German plagiarists Ă la Roscher who are touched by the âabstinence,â âself-denial,â âsaving,â of the capitalists in the expenditure of their gold, and by their Timur - Tamerlanish prodigality of human life! âA certain amount of heat beyond what is usual at present might also be going to waste, if meal -times were secured in these cases, but it seems likely not equal in money -value to the waste of animal power now going on in glass -houses throughout the kingdom from growing boys not having enough quiet time to eat their meals at ease, with a little rest afterwards for digestion.â (l.c., p. xiv.) And this in the year of progress 1865! Without considering the expenditure of strength in lifting and carrying, such a child, in the sheds where bottle and flint glass are made, walks during the performance of his work 15 -20 miles in every 6 hours! And the work often lasts 14 or 15 hours! In many of these glass works, as in the Moscow spinning mills, the system of 6 hoursâ r elays is in force. âDuring the working part of the week six hours is the utmost unbroken period ever attained at any one time for rest, and out of this has to come the time spent in coming and going to and from work, washing, dressing, and meals, leaving a very short period indeed for rest, and none for fresh air and play, unless at the expense of the sleep necessary for young boys, especially at such hot and fatiguing work.... Even the short sleep is obviously liable to be broken by a boy having to wake hi mself if it is night, or by the noise, if it is day.â Mr. White gives cases where a boy worked 36 consecutive hours; others where boys of 12 drudged on until 2 in the morning, and then slept in the works till 5 a.m. (3 hours!) only to resume their work. âT he amount of work,â say Tremenheere and Tufnell, who drafted the general report, âdone by boys, youths, girls, and women, in the course of their daily or nightly spell of labour, is certainly extraordinary.â (l.c., xliii. and xliv.) Meanwhile, late by night, self -denying Mr. Glass -Capital, primed with port -wine, reels out of his club homeward droning out idiotically. âBritons never, never shall be slaves!â 72 In England even now occasionally in rural districts a labourer is condemned to imprisonment for desecrating the Sabbath, by working in his front garden. The same labourer is punished for breach of contract if he remains away from his metal, paper, or glass works on the Sunday, even if it be from a religious whim. The orthodox Parliament will hear nothing of Sabbath- breaking if it occurs in the process of expanding capital. A memorial (August 1863), in which the London day -labourers in fish and poultry shops asked for the abolition of Sunday labour, states that their work lasts for the first 6 days of the week on an average 15 hours a -day, and on Sunday 8- 10 hours. From this same memorial we learn also that the delicate gourmands among the aristocratic hypocrites of Exeter Hall, especially encourage this âSunday labour.â These âholy ones,â so zealous in cu te curanda [in attending to their bodily pleasures] , show their Christianity by the humility with which they bear the overwork, the privations, and the hunger of others. Obsequium ventris istis (the labourers) perniciosius est [Gluttony is more ruinous to their stomachs â paraphrase of Horace] . 203 Chapter 10 73 âWe have given in our previous reports the statements of several experienced manufacturers to the effect that over -hours ... certainly tend prematurely to exhaust the working power of the men.â (l.c., 64. p. xiii.) 74 Cairnes, âThe Slave Power,â pp. 110. 111. 75 John Ward: âThe Borough of Stoke -upon- Trent,â London, 1843, p. 42. 76 Ferrandâs Speech in the House of Commons, 27th April, 1863. 77 âThose were the very words used by the cotton manufacturers.â l.c. 78 l.c. Mr. Villiers, despite the best of intentions on his part, was âlegallyâ obliged to refuse the requests of the manufacturers. These gentlemen, however, attained their end through the obliging nature of the local poor law boards. Mr. A. Redgrave, Inspector of Factories, asserts that this time the system under which orphans and pauper children were treated âlegallyâ as apprentices âwas not accompanied with the old abusesâ (on these âabusesâ see Engels, l.c.), although in one case there certainly was âabuse of this system in respect to a number of gi rls and young women brought from the agricultural districts of Scotland into Lancashire and Cheshire.â Under this system the manufacturer entered into a contract with the workhouse authorities for a certain period. He fed, clothed and lodged the children, and gave them a small allowance of money. A remark of Mr. Redgrave to be quoted directly seems strange, especially if we consider that even among the years of prosperity of the English cotton trade, the year 1860 stands unparalleled, and
đ° Labor Exploitation Across Borders
đ Factory conditions in 19th century England revealed how manufacturers sought cheap child labor despite high wages, claiming they couldn't afford to properly care for child workers while expecting families to do so on meager earnings
đ International comparison shows English factory workers enjoyed better conditions than their Continental counterparts, particularly Prussian workers who labored longer hours for less compensation
âïž Factory legislation emerged as a battleground between capitalists and workers, with manufacturers fighting regulations while simultaneously exploiting legal loopholes to extend working hours
đ§ Child labor became normalized during industrialization, with children as young as 4-6 years old working excessive hours, a practice defended by some as economically necessary
đȘ Worker resistance eventually developed through organized petitions and collective action, with laborers demanding standardized 60-hour work weeks and better conditions
đïž Government intervention gradually increased through Factory Acts, though enforcement remained problematic and capitalists consistently found ways to circumvent regulations
đ§ Child labor persists despite legislation, with children as young as 8 working 15-hour days in printworks and bleaching facilities where protective laws are systematically circumvented
đ„ Hazardous working conditions plague workers in stove rooms and drying facilities, causing serious health issues including phthisis, bronchitis, and rheumatism from extreme temperatures (80-100°F)
âïž Legal loopholes enable capitalists to evade worker protections through deliberately ambiguous language in legislation, with courts consistently ruling in favor of employers
đ°ïž The struggle for time limitations represents workers fighting for ownership of their lives, with the 10-hour workday movement gaining recognition as a fundamental "right of labor"
đ° Exploitation mathematics reveals how capitalists calculate maximum surplus value extraction by manipulating the variables of worker numbers, hours, and intensity of labor
đ International comparisons show varying degrees of worker protection, with Belgium described as exploiting workers "in perfect freedom" while paying minimal wages
to prevent illegal working, now becoming very prevalent.â 144 Children of the age of 8 years and upwards, have, indeed, been employed f rom 6 a.m. to 9 p.m. during the last half year in my district.â (Reports, &c., for 31st October, 1857, p. 39.) 145 âThe Printworksâ Act is admitted to be a failure both with reference to its educational and protective provisions.â (Reports, &c., for 31st O ctober, 1862, p. 52.) 146 Thus, e.g., E. Potter in a letter to the Times of March 24th, 1863. The Times reminded him of the maoufacturersâ revolt against the Ten Hoursâ Bill. 147 Thus, among others, Mr. W. Newmarch, collaborator and editor of Tookeâs âHist ory of Prices.â Is it a scientific advance to make cowardly concessions to public opinion? 148 The Act passed in 1860, determined that, in regard to dye and bleachworks, the working day should be fixed on August 1st, 1861, provisionally at 12 hours, and de finitely on August 1st, 1862, at 10 hours, i.e ., at 10œ hours for ordinary days, and 7œ for Saturday. Now, when the fatal year, 1862, came, the old farce was repeated. Besides, the manufacturers petitioned Parliament to allow the employment of young persons and women for 12 hours during one year longer. âIn the existing condition of the trade (the time of the cotton famine), it was greatly to the advantage of the operatives to work 12 hours per day, and make wages when they could.â A bill to this effect had been brought in, âand it was mainly due to the action of the operative bleachers in Scotland that the bill was abandoned.â (Reports, &c., for 31st October, 1862, pp. 14- 15.) Thus defeated by the very workpeople, in whose name it pretended to speak, Capita l discovered, with the help of lawyer spectacles, that the Act of 1860, drawn up, like all the Acts of Parliament for the âprotection of labour,â in equivocal phrases, gave them a pretext to exclude from its working the calenderers and finishers. English jurisprudence, ever the faithful servant of capital, sanctioned in the Court of Common Pleas this piece of pettifogging. âThe operatives have been greatly disappointed ... they have complained of over - work, and it is greatly to be regretted that the clear i ntention of the legislature should have failed by reason of a faulty definition.â (l.c., p. 18.) 149 The âopen -air bleachersâ had evaded the law of 1860, by means of the lie that no women worked at it in the night. The lie was exposed by the Factory Inspec tors, and at the same time Parliament was, by petitions from the operatives, bereft of its notions as to the cool meadow -fragrance, in which bleaching in the open- air was reported to take place. In this aerial bleaching, drying -rooms were used at temperatu res of from 90° to 100° Fahrenheit, in which the work was done for the most part by girls. âCoolingâ is the technical expression for their occasional escape from the drying -rooms into the fresh air. âFifteen girls in stoves. Heat from 80° to 90° for linens , and 100° and upwards for cambrics. Twelve girls ironing and doing- up in a small room about 10 feet square, in the centre of which is a close stove. The girls stand round the stove, which throws out a terrific heat, and dries the cambrics rapidly for the ironers. The hours of work for these hands are unlimited. If busy, they work till 9 or 12 at night for successive nights.â (Reports, &c., for 31st October, 1862, p. 56.) A medical man states: âNo special hours are allowed for cooling, but if the temperatur e gets too high, or the workersâ hands 210 Chapter 10 get soiled from perspiration, they are allowed to go out for a few minutes.... My experience, which is considerable, in treating the diseases of stove workers, compels me to express the opinion that their sanitary con dition is by no means so high as that of the operatives in a spinning factory (and Capital, in its memorials to Parliament, had painted them as floridly healthy after the manner of Rubens.) The diseases most observable amongst them are phthisis, bronchitis , irregularity of uterine functions, hysteria in its most aggravated forms, and rheumatism. All of these, I believe, are either directly or indirectly induced by the impure, overheated air of the apartments in which the hands are employed and the want of s ufficient comfortable clothing to protect them from the cold, damp atmosphere, in winter, when going to their homes.â (l.c., pp. 56- 57.) The Factory Inspectors remarked on the supplementary law of 1860, torn from these open- air bleachers: âThe Act has not only failed to afford that protection to the workers which it appears to offer, but contains a clause ... apparently so worded that, unless persons are detected working after 8 oâclock at night they appear to come under no protective provisions at all, and if they do so work the mode of proof is so doubtful that a conviction can scarcely follow.â (l.c., p. 52.) âTo all intents and purposes, therefore, as an Act for any benevolent or educational purpose, it is a failure; since it can scarcely be called benev olent to permit, which is tantamount to compelling, women and children to work 14 hours a day with or without meals, as the case may be, and perhaps for longer hours than these, without limit as to age, without reference to sex, and without regard to the s ocial habits of the families of the neighbourhood, in which such works (bleaching and dyeing) are situated.â (Reports, &c., for 30th April, 1863, p. 40.) 150 Note to the 2nd Ed. Since 1866, when I wrote the above passages, a reaction has again set in. 151 âThe conduct of each of these classes (capitalists and workmen) has been the result of the relative situation in which they have been placed.â (Reports, &c., for 31st October, 1848, p. 113.) 152 âThe employments, placed under restriction, were connected wi th the manufacture of textile fabrics by the aid of steam or water -power. There were two conditions to which an employment must be subject to cause it to be inspected, viz., the use of steam or waterpower, and the manufacture of certain specified fibre.â ( Reports, &c., for 31st October, 1864, p. 8.) 153 On the condition of so- called domestic industries, specially valuable materials are to be found in the latest reports of the Childrenâs Employment Commission. 154 âThe Acts of last Session (1864) ... embrace a diversity of occupations, the customs in which differ greatly, and the use of mechanical power to give motion to machinery is no longer one of the elements necessary, as formerly, to constitute, in legal phrase, a âFactory.ââ (Reports, &c., for 31st Oct aber, 1864, p. 8.) 155 Belgium, the paradise of Continental Liberalism, shows no trace of this movement. Even in the coal and metal mines labourers of both sexes, and all ages, are consumed, in perfect âfreedomâ at any period and through any length of time . Of every 1,000 persons employed there, 733 are men, 88 women, 135 boys, and 44 girls under 16; in the blast furnaces, &c., of every 1,000, 668 are men, 149 women, 98 boys, and 85 girls under 16. Add to this the low wages for the enormous exploitation of mature and immature labour -power. The average daily pay for a man is 2s. 8d., for a woman, 1s. 8d., for a boy, 1s. 2œd. As a result, Belgium had in 1863, as compared with 1850, nearly doubled both the amount and the value of its exports of coal, iron, &c. 156 Robert Owen, soon after 1810, not only maintained the necessity of a limitation of the working day in theory, but actually introduced the 10 hoursâ day into his factory at New Lanark. This was laughed at as a communistic Utopia; so were his âCombinatio n of childrenâs education with productive labour and the Co- operative Societies of Workingmenâ, first called into being by him. To- day, the first Utopia is a Factory Act, the second figures as an official phrase in all Factory Acts, the third is already being used as a cloak for reactionary humbug. 211 Chapter 10 157 Ure: âFrench translation, Philosophie des Manufactures.â Paris, 1836, Vol. II, pp. 39, 40, 67, 77, &c. 158 In the Compte Rendu of the International Statistical Congress at Paris, 1855, it is stated: âThe French law, which limits the length of daily labour in factories and workshops to 12 hours, does not confine this work to definite fixed hours. For childrenâs labour only the work -time is prescribed as between 5 a.m. and 9 p.m. Therefore, some of the masters use the right which this fatal silence gives them to keep their works going, without intermission, day in, day out, possibly with the exception of Sunday. For this purpose they use two different sets of workers, of whom neither is in the workshop more than 12 hours at a time, but the work of the establishment lasts day and night. The law is satisfied, but is humanity?â Besides âthe destructive influence of night -labour on the human organism,â stress is also laid upon âthe fatal influence of the association of the two sexes by night in the same badly -lighted workshops.â 159 âFor instance, there is within my district one occupier who, within the same curtilage, is at the same time a bleacher and dyer under the Bleaching and Dyeing Works Act, a printer under the Print Works Act, and a finisher under the Factory Act.â (Report of Mr. Baker, in Reports, lic., for October 31st, 1861, p. 20.) After enumerating the dif ferent provisions of these Acts, and the complications arising from them, Mr. Baker says: âIt will hence appear that it must be very difficult to secure the execution of these three Acts of Parliament where the occupier chooses to evade the law.â But what is assured to the lawyers by this is law -suits. 160 Thus the Factory Inspectors at last venture to say: âThese objections (of capital to the legal limitation of the working day) must succumb before the broad principle of the rights of labour.... There is a time when the masterâs right in his workmanâs labour ceases, and his time becomes his own, even if there were no exhaustion in the question.â (Reports, &c., for 31 st Oct., 1862, p. 54.) 161 âWe, the workers of Dunkirk, declare that the length of time of labour required under the present system is too great, and that, far from leaving the worker time for rest and education, it plunges him into a condition of servitude but little better than slavery. That is why we decide that 8 hours are enough for a worki ng day, and ought to be legally recognised as enough; why we call to our help that powerful lever, the press; ... and why we shall consider all those that refuse us this help as enemies of the reform of labour and of the rights of the labourer.â (Resolution of the Working Men of Dunkirk, New York State, 1866.) 162 Reports, &c., for Oct., 1848, p. 112. 163 âThe proceedings (the manoeuvres of capital, e.g., from 1848- 50) have afforded, moreover, incontrovertible proof of the fallacy of the assertion so often advanced, that operatives need no protection, but may be considered as free agents in the disposal of the only property which they possess â the labour of their hands and the sweat of their brows.â (Reports, &c., for April 30th, 1850, p. 45.) âFree labour (if so it may be termed) even in a free country, requires the strong arm of the law to protect it.â (Reports, &c., for October 31st, 1864, p. 34.) âTo permit, which is tantamount to compelling ... to work 14 hours a day with or without meals,â &c. (Repts., &c., for April 30th, 1863, p. 40.) 164 Friedrich Engels, l.c., p. 5. 165 The 10 Hoursâ Act has, in the branches of industry that come under it, âput an end to the premature decrepitude of the former long- hour workers.â (Reports, &c., for 31st Oct., 1859, p. 47.) âCapital (in factories) can never be employed in keeping the machinery in motion beyond a limited time, without certain injury to the health and morals of the labourers employed; and they are not in a position to protect themselves.â (l.c., p. 8) 166 âA still greater boon is the distinction at last made clear between the workerâs own time and his masterâs. The worker knows now when that which he sells is ended, and when his own begins; and by 212 Chapter 10 possessing a sure foreknowledge of this, is enabled to pr earrange his own minutes for his own purposes.â (l.c., p. 52.) âBy making them masters of their own time (the Factory Acts) have given them a moral energy which is directing them to the eventual possession of political powerâ (l.c., p. 47). With suppressed irony, and in very well weighed words, the Factory Inspectors hint that the actual law also frees the capitalist from some of the brutality natural to a man who is a mere embodiment of capital, and that it has given him time for a little âculture.â âForme rly the master had no time for anything but money; the servant had no time for anything but labourâ (l.c., p. 48). Chapter 11: Rate and Mass of Surplus-Value In this chapter, as hitherto, the value of labour -power, and therefore the part of the working day necessary for t he reproduction or maintenance of that labour -power, are supposed to be given, constant magnitudes. This premised, with the rate, the mass is at the same time given of the surplus- value that the individual labourer furnishes to the capitalist in a definit e period of time. If, e.g., the necessary labour amounts to 6 hours daily, expressed in a quantum of gold = 3 shillings, then 3s. is the daily value of one labour -power or the value of the capital advanced in the buying of one labour -power. If, further, the rate of surplus- value be = 100%, this variable capital of 3s. produces a mass of surplus -value of 3s., or the labourer supplies daily a mass of surplus labour equal to 6 hours. But the variable capital of a capitalist is the expression in money of the t otal value of all the labour -powers that he employs simultaneously. Its value is, therefore, equal to the average value of one labour -power, multiplied by the number of labour -powers employed. With a given value of labour -power, therefore, the magnitude of the variable capital varies directly as the number of labourers employed simultaneously. If the daily value of one labour -power = 3s., then a capital of 300s. must be advanced in order to exploit daily 100 labour -powers, of n times 3s., in order to exploi t daily n labour -powers. In the same way, if a variable capital of 3s., being the daily value of one labour -power, produce a daily surplus -value of 3s., a variable capital of 300s. will produce a daily surplus -value of 300s., and one of n times 3s. a dail y surplus -value of n Ă 3s. The mass of the surplus- value produced is therefore equal to the surplus -value which the working day of one labourer supplies multiplied by the number of labourers employed. But as further the mass of surplus -value which a single labourer produces, the value of labour -power being given, is determined by the rate of the surplus -value, this law follows: the mass of the surplus- value produced is equal to the amount of the variable capital advanced, multiplied by the rate of surplus- value, in other words: it is determined by the compound ratio between the number of labour -powers exploited simultaneously by the same capitalist and the degree of exploitation of each individual labour - power. Let the mass of the surplus- value be S, the su rplus -value supplied by the individual labourer in the average day s the variable capital daily advanced in the purchase of one individual labour - power v, the sum total of the variable capital V, the value of an average labour -power P, its degree of exploi tation (a'/a) (surplus labour/necessary -labour) and the number of labourers employed n; we would have: S = { (s/v) Ă V P Ă (a'/a) Ă n It is always supposed, not only that the value of an average labour -power is constant, but that the labourers employed by a capitalist are reduced to average labourers. There are exceptional cases in which the surplus -value produced does not increase in pr oportion to the number of labourers exploited, but then the value of the labour -power does not remain constant. In the production of a definite mass of surplus -value, therefore the decrease of one factor may be compensated by the increase of the other. If the variable capital diminishes, and at the same time the rate of surplus -value increases in the same ratio, the mass of surplus- value produced remains 214 Chapter 11 unaltered. If on our earlier assumption the capitalist must advance 300s., in order to exploit 100 labourers a day, and if the rate of surplus -value amounts to 50%, this variable capital of 300s. yields a surplus- value of 150s. or of 100 Ă 3 working hours. If the rate of surplus -value doubles, or the working day, instead of being extended from 6 to 9, is ex tended from 6 to 12 hours and at the same time variable capital is lessened by half, and reduced to 150s., it yields also a surplus- value of 150s. or 50 Ă 6 working hours. Diminution of the variable capital may therefore be compensated by a proportionate r ise in the degree of exploitation of labour -power, or the decrease in the number of the labourers employed by a proportionate extension of the working day. Within certain limits therefore the supply of labour exploitable by capital is independent of the supply of labourers.1 On the contrary, a fall in the rate of surplus -value leaves unaltered the mass of the surplus -value produced, if the amount of the variable capital, or number of the labourers employed, increases in the same proportion. Nevertheless, the compensation of a decrease in the number of labourers employed, or of the amount of variable capital advanced by a rise in the rate of surplus- value, or by the lengthening of the working day, has impassable limits. Whatever the value of l abour -power may be, whether the working time necessary for the maintenance of the labourer is 2 or 10 hours, the total value that a labourer can produce, day in, day out, is always less than the value in which 24 hours of labour are embodied, less than 12s ., if 12s. is the money expression for 24 hours of realised labour. In our former assumption, according to which 6 working hours are daily necessary in order to reproduce the labour -power itself or to replace the value of the capital advanced in its purcha se, a variable capital of 1,500s., that employs 500 labourers at a rate of surplus -value of 100% with a 12 hoursâ working day, produces daily a surplus -value of 1,500s. or of 6 Ă 500 working hours. A capital of 300s. that employs 100 labourers a day with a rate of surplus -value of 200% or with a working day of 18 hours, produces only a mass of surplus -value of 600s. or 12 Ă 100 working hours; and its total value -product, the equivalent of the variable capital advanced plus the surplus - value, can, day in, da y out, never reach the sum of 1,200s. or 24 Ă 100 working hours. The absolute limit of the average working day â this being by nature always less than 24 hours â sets an absolute limit to the compensation of a reduction of variable capital by a higher rate of surplus -value, or of the decrease of the number of labourers exploited by a higher degree of exploitation of labour -power. This palpable law is of importance for the clearing up of many phenomena, arising from a tendency (to be worked out later on) of capital to reduce as much as possible the number of labourers employed by it, or its variable constituent transformed into labour -power, in contradiction to its other tendency to produce the greatest possible mass of surplus -value. On the other hand, if the mass of labour -power employed, or the amount of variable capital, increases, but not in proportion to the fall in the rate of surplus -value, the mass of the surplus -value produced, falls. A third law results from the determination, of the mass of the surplus -value produced, by the two factors: rate of surplus -value and amount of variable capital advanced. The rate of surplus- value, or the degree of exploitation of labour -power, and the value of labour -power, or the amount of necessary working time being given, it is self evident that the greater the variable capital, the greater would be the mass of the value produced and of the surplus -value. If the limit of the working day is given, and also the limit of its necessary constituent, the mass of value and surplus -value that an individual capitalist produces, is clearly exclusively dependent on the mass of labour that he sets in motion. But this, under the conditions supposed above, depends on the mass of labour -power, or the number of labourers whom he expl oits, and this number in its turn is determined by the amount of the variable capital advanced. With a given rate of surplus -value, and a given value of labour -power, therefore, the masses of surplus -value produced vary directly 215 Chapter 11 as the amounts of the variable capitals advanced. Now we know that the capitalist divides his capital into two parts. One part he lays out in means of production. This is the constant part of his capital. The other part he lays out in living labour -power. This part forms his variabl e capital. On the basis of the same mode of social production, the division of capital into constant and variable differs in different branches of production, and within the same branch of production, too, this relation changes with changes in the technical conditions and in the social combinations of the processes of production. But in whatever proportion a given capital breaks up into a constant and a variable part, whether the latter is to the former as 1:2 or 1:10 or 1:x, the law just laid down is not a ffected by this. For, according to our previous analysis, the value of the constant capital reappears in the value of the product, but does not enter into the newly produced value, the newly created value product. To employ 1,000 spinners, more raw materia l, spindles, &c., are, of course, required, than to employ 100. The value of these additional means of production however may rise, fall, remain unaltered, be large or small; it has no influence on the process of creation of surplus -value by means of the l abour -powers that put them in motion. The law demonstrated above now, therefore, takes this form: the masses of value and of surplus- value produced by different capitals â the value of labour -power being given and its degree of exploitation being equal â vary directly as the amounts of the variable constituents of these capitals, i.e., as their constituents transformed into living labour -power. This law
đ° Capital's Transformation Mechanics
đ Surplus value extraction drives capitalism, with capitalists seeking to maximize profit by extending working hours or intensifying labor productivity
đ§ź Relative surplus value emerges when productivity increases allow capitalists to reduce necessary labor time while maintaining the same workday length
đ Technological revolution transforms production processes, enabling capitalists to extract more value without lengthening workdays by making labor more efficient
đŒ The minimum capital threshold creates a qualitative shift - below certain levels, one remains a laborer or small master; above it, one becomes a true capitalist
đ Capital fundamentally inverts the relationship between living and dead labor, where means of production no longer serve workers but instead workers serve capital
đ§ Capitalist consciousness becomes so warped that owners view machines not just as physical assets but as entities with inherent rights to extract surplus labor
clearly contradicts all experience based on appearance. Everyone knows that a cotton spinner, who, reckoning the percentage on the whole of his applied capital, employs much constant and little variable capital, does not, on account of this, pocket less profit or surplus -value than a baker, who relatively sets in motion much variable and little constant capi tal. For the solution of this apparent contradiction, many intermediate terms are as yet wanted, as from the standpoint of elementary algebra many intermediate terms are wanted to understand that 0/0 may represent an actual magnitude. Classical economy, al though not formulating the law, holds instinctively to it, because it is a necessary consequence of the general law of value. It tries to rescue the law from collision with contradictory phenomena by a violent abstraction. It will be seen later 2 how the sc hool of Ricardo has come to grief over this stumbling block. Vulgar economy which, indeed, âhas really learnt nothing,â here as everywhere sticks to appearances in opposition to the law which regulates and explains them. In opposition to Spinoza, it believ es that âignorance is a sufficient reason.â The labour which is set in motion by the total capital of a society, day in, day out, may be regarded as a single collective working day. If, e.g., the number of labourers is a million, and the average working d ay of a labourer is 10 hours, the social working day consists of ten million hours. With a given length of this working day, whether its limits are fixed physically or socially, the mass of surplus- value can only be increased by increasing the number of la bourers, i.e., of the labouring population. The growth of population here forms the mathematical limit to the production of surplus -value by the total social capital. On the contrary, with a given amount of population, this limit is formed by the possible lengthening of the workingday. 3 It will, however, be seen in the following chapter that this law only holds for the form of surplus -value dealt with up to the present. From the treatment of the production of surplus -value, so far, it follows that not ever y sum of money, or of value, is at pleasure transformable into capital. To effect this transformation, in fact, a certain minimum of money or of exchange -value must be presupposed in the hands of the individual possessor of money or commodities. The minimum of variable capital is the cost price of a single labour -power, employed the whole year through, day in, day out, for the production of surplus -value. If this labourer were in possession of his own means of production, and were 216 Chapter 11 satisfied to live as a lab ourer, he need not work beyond the time necessary for the reproduction of his means of subsistence, say 8 hours a day. He would, besides, only require the means of production sufficient for 8 working hours. The capitalist, on the other hand, who makes him do, besides these 8 hours, say 4 hoursâ surplus labour, requires an additional sum of money for furnishing the additional means of production. On our supposition, however, he would have to employ two labourers in order to live, on the surplus -value appropr iated daily, as well as, and no better than a labourer, i.e., to be able to satisfy his necessary wants. In this case the mere maintenance of life would be the end of his production, not the increase of wealth; but this latter is implied in capitalist prod uction. That he may live only twice as well as an ordinary labourer, and besides turn half of the surplus -value produced into capital, he would have to raise, with the number of labourers, the minimum of the capital advanced 8 times. Of course he can, like his labourer, take to work himself, participate directly in the process of production, but he is then only a hybrid between capitalist and labourer, a âsmall master.â A certain stage of capitalist production necessitates that the capitalist be able to dev ote the whole of the time during which he functions as a capitalist, i.e. , as personified capital, to the appropriation and therefore control of the labour of others, and to the selling of the products of this labour.4 The guilds of the middle ages therefo re tried to prevent by force the transformation of the master of a trade into a capitalist, by limiting the number of labourers that could be employed by one master within a very small maximum. The possessor of money or commodities actually turns into a ca pitalist in such cases only where the minimum sum advanced for production greatly exceeds the maximum of the middle ages. Here, as in natural science, is shown the correctness of the law discovered by Hegel (in his âLogicâ), that merely quantitative differ ences beyond a certain point pass into qualitative changes. 5 The minimum of the sum of value that the individual possessor of money or commodities must command, in order to metamorphose himself into a capitalist, changes with the different stages of devel opment of capitalist production, and is at given stages different in different spheres of production, according to their special and technical conditions. Certain spheres of production demand, even at the very outset of capitalist production, a minimum of capital that is not as yet found in the hands of single individuals. This gives rise partly to state subsidies to private persons, as in France in the time of Clobber, and as in many German states up to our own epoch, partly to the formation of societies w ith legal monopoly for the exploitation of certain branches of industry and commerce, the forerunners of our modern joint stock companies.6 Within the process of production, as we have seen, capital acquired the command over labour, i.e., over functioning labour -power or the labourer himself. Personified capital, the capitalist takes care that the labourer does his work regularly and with the proper degree of intensity. Capital further developed into a coercive relation, which compels the working class to do more work than the narrow round of its own life -wants prescribes. As a producer of the activity of others, as a pumper -out of surplus labour and exploiter of labour -power, it surpasses in energy, disregard of bounds, recklessness and efficiency, all earlier systems of production based on directly compulsory labour. At first, capital subordinates labour on the basis of the technical conditions in which it historically finds it. It does not, therefore, change immediately the mode of production. The produ ction of surplus -value â in the form hitherto considered by us â by means of simple extension of the working day, proved, therefore, to be independent of any change in the mode of production itself. It was not less active in the old -fashioned bakeries than in the modern cotton factories. If we consider the process of production from the point of view of the simple labour process, the labourer stands in relation to the means of production, not in their quality as capital, but as the 217 Chapter 11 mere means and material of his own intelligent productive activity. In tanning, e.g. , he deals with the skins as his simple object of labour. It is not the capitalist whose skin he tans. But it is different as soon as we deal with the process of production from the point of view of the process of creation of surplus -value. The means of production are at once changed into means for the absorption of the labour of others. It is now no longer the labourer that employs the means of production, but the means of production that employ t he labourer. Instead of being consumed by him as material elements of his productive activity, they consume him as the ferment necessary to their own life -process, and the life -process of capital consists only in its movement as value constantly expanding, constantly multiplying itself. Furnaces and workshops that stand idle by night, and absorb no living labour, are âa mere lossâ to the capitalist. Hence, furnaces and workshops constitute lawful claims upon the night -labour of the work- people. The simple transformation of money into the material factors of the process of production, into means of production, transforms the latter into a title and a right to the labour and surplus labour of others. An example will show, in conclusion, how this sophistication, peculiar to and characteristic of capitalist production, this complete inversion of the relation between dead and living labour, between value and the force that creates value, mirrors itself in the consciousness of capitalists. During the revolt of the English factory lords between 1848 and 1850, âthe head of one of the oldest and most respectable houses in the West of Scotland, Messrs. Carlile Sons & Co., of the linen and cotton thread factory at Paisley, a company which has now existed for about a cent ury, which was in operation in 1752, and four generations of the same family have conducted itâ ... this âvery intelligent gentlemanâ then wrote a letter7 in the Glasgow Daily Mail of April 25th, 1849, with the title, âThe relay system,â in which among other things the following grotesquely naĂŻve passage occurs: âLet us now ... see what evils will attend the limiting to 10 hours the working of the factory.... They amount to the most serious damage to the millownerâs prospects and property. If he ( i.e., his âhandsâ) worked 12 hours before, and is limited to 10, then every 12 machines or spindles in his establishment shrink to 10, and should the works be disposed of, they will be valued only as 10, so that a sixth part would thus be deducted from the value of every factory in the country.â8 To this West of Scotland bourgeois brain, inheriting the accumulated capitalistic qualities of âfour generations,â the value of the means of production, spindles, &c., is so inseparably mixed up with their property, as capital, to expand their own value, and to swallow up daily a definite quantity of the unpaid labour of others, that the head of the firm of Carlile & Co. actually imagines that if he sells his factory, not only will the value of the spindles be paid to him, but, in addition, their power of annexing surplus -value, not only the labour which is embodied in them, and is necessary to the production of spindles of this kind, but also the surplus labour which they help to pump out daily from the brave Scots of Paisl ey, and for that very reason he thinks that with the shortening of the working day by 2 hours, the selling- price of 12 spinning machines dwindles to that of 10! 1This elementary law appears to be unknown to the vulgar economists, who, upside -down Archimedes, in the determination of the market -price of labour by supply and demand, imagine they have found the fulcrum by means of which, not to move the world, but to stop its motion. 2 Further particulars will be given in Book IV. 3 âThe Labour, that is the economic time, of society, is a given portion, sa y ten hours a day of a million of people, or ten million hours.... Capital has its boundary of increase. This boundary may, at 218 Chapter 11 any given period, be attained in the actual extent of economic time employed.â (âAn Essay on the Political Economy of Nations.â L ondon, 1821, pp. 47, 49.) 4 âThe farmer cannot rely on his own labour, and if he does, I will maintain that he is a loser by it. His employment should be a general attention to the whole: his thresher must be watched, or he will soon lose his wages in corn not threshed out, his mowe rs, reapers, &c., must be looked after; he must constantly go round his fences; he must see there is no neglect; which would be the case if he was confined to any one spot.â (âAn Inquiry into the Connexion between the Present Price of Provisions and the Si ze of Farms, &c. By a Farmer.â London, 1773, p. 12.) This book is very interesting. In it the genesis of the âcapitalist farmerâ or âmerchant farmer,â as he is explicitly called, may be studied, and his self -glorification at the expense of the small farmer who has only to do with bare subsistence, be noted. âThe class of capitalists are from the first partially, and they become ultimately completely, discharged from the necessity of the manual labour.â (âTextbook of Lectures on the Political Economy of Nati ons. By the Rev. Richard Jones.â Hertford 1852. Lecture III., p. 39.) 5 The molecular theory of modern chemistry first scientifically worked out by Laurent and Gerhardt rests on no other law. (Addition to 3rd Edition.) For the explanation of this statement , which is not very clear to non -chemists, we remark that the author speaks here of the homologous series of carbon compounds, first so named by C. Gerhardt in 1843, each series of which has its own general algebraic formula. Thus the series of paraffins: C nH2n+2, that of the normal alcohols: C nH2n+2O; of the normal fatty acids: CnH 2nO2 and many others. In the above examples, by the simply quantitative addition of CH 2 to the molecular formula, a qualitatively different body is each time formed. On the share (overestimated by Marx) of Laurent and Gerhardt in the determination of this important fact see Kopp, âEntwicklung der Chemie.â Munchen, 1873, pp. 709, 716, and Schorkmmer, âThe Rise and Development of Organic Chemistry.â London, 1879, p. 54. â F. E. . See Letter from Marx to Engels, 22 June 1867 For Hegelâs formulation of the idea in the Logic , see Remark: Examples of Such Nodal Lines; the Maxim, âNature Does Not Make Leapsâ. 6 Martin Luther calls these kinds of institutions: âThe Company Monopolia.â 7 Reports of Insp. of Fact., April 30th, 1849, p. 59. 8 l.c., p. 60. Factory Inspector Stuart, himself a Scotchman, and in contrast to the English Factory Inspectors, quite taken captive by the capitalistic method of thinking, remarks expressly on this lett er which he incorporates in his report that it is âthe most useful of the communications which any of the factory -owners working with relays have given to those engaged in the same trade, and which is the most calculated to remove the prejudices of such of them as have scruples respecting any change of the arrangement of the hours of work.â Part 4: Production of Relative Surplus -Value 220 Chapter 12 Chapter 12: The Concept of Relative Surplus- Value That portion of the working day which merely produces an equivalent for the value paid by the capitalist for his labour -power, has, up to this point, been treated by us as a constant magnitude, and such in fact it is, under given conditions of production and at a given stage in the economic development of society. Beyond this, his necessary labour -time, the labourer, we saw, could continue to work for 2, 3, 4, 6, &c., hours. The rate of surplus -value and the length of the working day depended on the magnitude of this prolongation. Though the necessary labour -time was constant, we saw, on the other hand, that the total working day was variable. Now suppose we have a working day whose length, and whose apportionment between necessary labour and surplus labour, are given. Let the whole line a c, a âbâc represent, for example, a working day of 12 hours; the portion of a b 10 hours of necessary labour, and the portion b c 2 hours of surplus labour. How now can the production of surplus -value be increased, i.e. , how can the surplus labour be prolonged, without, or independently of, any prolongation of a c? Although the length of a c is given, b c appears to be capable of prolongation, if not by extension beyond its e nd c, which is also the end of the working day a c, yet, at all events, by pushing back its starting -point b in the direction of a. Assume that b' âb in the line ab'bc is equal to half of b c aâââb' âbââc or to one hourâs labour -time. If now, in a c, the wo rking day of 12 hours, we move the point b to b', b c becomes b' c; the surplus labour increases by one half, from 2 hours to 3 hours, although the working day remains as before at 12 hours. This extension of the surplus labour -time from b c to b' c, from 2 hours to 3 hours, is, however, evidently impossible, without a simultaneous contraction of the necessary labour -time from a b into a b', from 10 hours to 9 hours. The prolongation of the surplus labour would correspond to a shortening of the necessary la bour; or a portion of the labour -time previously consumed, in reality, for the labourerâs own benefit, would be converted into labour -time for the benefit of the capitalist. There would be an alteration, not in the length of the working day, but in its div ision into necessary labour -time and surplus labour - time. On the other hand, it is evident that the duration of the surplus labour is given, when the length of the working day, and the value of labour -power, are given. The value of labour -power, i.e., the labour -time requisite to produce labour -power, determines the labour -time necessary for the reproduction of that value. If one working- hour be embodied in sixpence, and the value of a dayâs labour -power be five shillings, the labourer must work 10 hours a day, in order to replace the value paid by capital for his labour -power, or to produce an equivalent for the value of his daily necessary means of subsistence. Given the value of these means of subsistence, the value of his labour -power is given; 1 and giv en the value of his labour -power, the duration of his necessary labour -time is given. The duration of the surplus labour, however, is arrived at, by subtracting the necessary labour -time from the total working day. Ten hours subtracted from twelve, leave t wo, and it is not easy to see, how, under the given conditions, the surplus labour can possibly be prolonged beyond two hours. No doubt, the capitalist can, instead of five shillings, pay the labourer four shillings and sixpence or even less. For the repro duction of this value of four shillings and sixpence, nine hoursâ labour -time would suffice; and consequently three hours of surplus labour, instead of two, would accrue to the capitalist, and the surplus -value would rise from one shilling to eighteen- penc e. This result, however, would be obtained only by lowering 221 Chapter 12 the wages of the labourer below the value of his labour -power. With the four shillings and sixpence which he produces in nine hours, he commands one -tenth less of the necessaries of life than before, and consequently the proper reproduction of his labour -power is crippled. The surplus labour would in this case be prolonged only by an overstepping of its normal limits; its domain would be extended only by a usurpation of part of the domain of necess ary labour -time. Despite the important part which this method plays in actual practice, we are excluded from considering it in this place, by our assumption, that all commodities, including labour -power, are bought and sold at their full value. Granted thi s, it follows that the labour -time necessary for the production of labour -power, or for the reproduction of its value, cannot be lessened by a fall in the labourerâs wages below the value of his labour -power, but only by a fall in this value itself. Given the length of the working day, the prolongation of the surplus labour must of necessity originate in the curtailment of the necessary labour -time; the latter cannot arise from the former. In the example we have taken, it is necessary that the value of labo ur-power should actually fall by one -tenth, in order that the necessary labour -time may be diminished by one -tenth, i.e., from ten hours to nine, and in order that the surplus labour may consequently be prolonged from two hours to three. Such a fall in th e value of labour -power implies, however, that the same necessaries of life which were formerly produced in ten hours, can now be produced in nine hours. But this is impossible without an increase in the productiveness of labour. For example, suppose a shoe -maker, with given tools, makes in one working day of twelve hours, one pair of boots. If he must make two pairs in the same time, the productiveness of his labour must be doubled; and this cannot be done, except by an alteration in his tools or in his mode of working, or in both. Hence, the conditions of production, i.e., his mode of production, and the labour -process itself, must be revolutionised. By increase in the productiveness of labour, we mean, generally, an alteration in the labour -process, of su ch a kind as to shorten the labour -time socially necessary for the production of a commodity, and to endow a given quantity of labour with the power of producing a greater quantity of use - value. 2 Hitherto in treating of surplus -value, arising from a simple prolongation of the working day, we have assumed the mode of production to be given and invariable. But when surplus -value has to be produced by the conversion of necessary labour into surplus labour, it by no means suffices for capital to take over the l abour -process in the form under which it has been historically handed down, and then simply to prolong the duration of that process. The technical and social conditions of the process, and consequently the very mode of production must be revolutionised, before the productiveness of labour can be increased. By that means alone can the value of labour -power be made to sink, and the portion of the working day necessary for the reproduction of that value, be shortened. The surplus -value produced by prolongation of the working day, I call absolute surplus -value . On the other hand, the surplus -value arising from the curtailment of the necessary labour -time, and from the corresponding alteration in the respective lengths of the two components of the working day, I call relative surplus -value . In order to effect a fall in the value of labour -power, the increase in the productiveness of labour must seize upon those branches of industry whose products determine the value of labour -power, and consequently either belong to the class of customary means of subsistence, or are capable of supplying the place of those means. But the value of a commodity is determined, not only by the quantity of labour which the labourer directly bestows upon that commodity, but also by the labour contained in the means of production. For instance, the value of a pair of boots depends not only on the cobblerâs labour, but also on the value of the leather, wax, thread, &c. Hence, a fall in the value of labour -power is also brought about by an increase in the productiveness of 222 Chapter 12 labour, and by a corresponding cheapening of commodities in those industries which supply the instruments of labour and the raw material, that form the material elements of the constant capital required for producing the necessaries of life. But an increase in the productiveness of labour in those branches of industry which supply neither the necessaries
đ° Capital's Productivity Paradox
đ Relative surplus-value increases when labor productivity rises, allowing capitalists to extract more value while simultaneously reducing commodity prices
đ When an individual capitalist implements production improvements, they temporarily gain extra surplus-value by selling goods below social value but above their new individual value
âïž Competition eventually forces all capitalists to adopt these improvements, eliminating the individual advantage but permanently reducing the value of labor-power when the improvements affect necessities
đ„ Co-operation of many workers under one capitalist creates the foundation of capitalist production, allowing for standardization of labor and elimination of individual variations
đ The capitalist's fundamental interest lies not in the value of commodities themselves but in the surplus-value they containâexplaining why capitalists continuously seek to cheapen goods
â±ïž Productivity improvements aim not to shorten the working day but to reduce necessary labor time while extending surplus labor timeâthe portion worked "gratis" for the capitalist
đ€ Co-operation transforms individual labor into a powerful collective force, creating efficiencies that isolated workers cannot achieveâbuildings, tools, and materials used in common reduce costs per product while dramatically increasing productivity
đ When workers operate side-by-side, they create a new social productive power that exceeds the sum of individual efforts through coordination, emulation, and the ability to tackle larger tasks simultaneously
đ° Capital concentration becomes both prerequisite and consequence of co-operationâthe capitalist must command sufficient resources to employ many workers at once, while the resulting productivity reinforces capital's control over production
đ The directing authority of the capitalist becomes essential to coordinate the combined labor process, but simultaneously functions as a mechanism for extracting maximum surplus value through exploitation
đ While ancient societies achieved monumental works through collective labor based on common ownership or servitude, capitalist co-operation uniquely depends on "free" wage-laborers whose combined power appears as a natural property of capital itself
â±ïž Co-operation enables critical advantages in time efficiencyâallowing work to be completed faster, spread across larger spaces, or concentrated at decisive momentsâbecoming the foundational form of the capitalist production process
for the society at large, but not for the individual masters. Thus the laws of the production of value are only fully realised for the individual producer, when he produces as a capitalist, and employs a number of workmen together, whose labour, by its collective nature, is at once stamped as average social labour.2 Even without an alteration in the system of working, the simultaneous employment of a large number of labourers effects a revolution in the material conditions of the labour -process. The buildings in which they work, the store -houses for the raw material, the implements and utensils used simultaneously or in turns by the workmen; in short, a port ion of the means of production, are now consumed in common. On the one hand, the exchange -value of these means of production is not increased; for the exchange -value of a commodity is not raised by its use -value being consumed more thoroughly and to greate r advantage. On the other hand, they are used in common, and therefore on a larger scale than before. A room where twenty weavers work at twenty looms must be larger than the room of a single weaver with two assistants. But it costs less labour to build on e workshop for twenty persons than to build ten to accommodate two weavers each; thus the value of the means of production that are concentrated for use in common on a large scale does not increase in direct proportion to the expansion and to the increased useful effect of those means. When consumed in common, they give up a smaller part of their value to each single product; partly because the total value they part with is spread over a greater quantity of products, and partly because their value, though a bsolutely greater, is, having regard to their sphere of action in the process, relatively less than the value of isolated means of production. Owing to this, the value of a part of the constant capital falls, and in proportion to the magnitude of the fall, the total value of the commodity also falls. The effect is the same as if the means of production had cost less. The economy in their application is entirely owing to their being consumed in common by a large number of workmen. Moreover, this character of being necessary conditions of social labour, a character that distinguishes them from the dispersed and relatively more costly means of production of isolated, independent labourers, or small masters, is acquired even when the numerous workmen assembled t ogether do not assist one another, but merely work side by side. A portion of the instruments of labour acquires this social character before the labour -process itself does so. Economy in the use of the means of production has to be considered under two a spects. First, as cheapening commodities, and thereby bringing about a fall in the value of labour -power. Secondly, as altering the ratio of the surplus- value to the total capital advanced, i.e. , to the sum of the values of the constant and variable capital. The latter aspect will not be considered until we come to the third book, to which, with the object of treating them in their proper connexion, we also relegate many other points that relate to the present question. The march of our analysis compels thi s splitting up of the subject -matter, a splitting up that is quite in keeping with the spirit of capitalist production. For since, in this mode of production, the workman finds the instruments 229 Chapter 13 of labour existing independently of him as another manâs proper ty, economy in their use appears, with regard to him, to be a distinct operation, one that does not concern him, and which, therefore, has no connexion with the methods by which his own personal productiveness is increased. When numerous labourers work together side by side, whether in one and the same process, or in different but connected processes, they are said to co -operate, or to work in co- operation.3 Just as the offensive power of a squadron of cavalry, or the defensive power of a regiment of infantry is essentially different from the sum of the offensive or defensive powers of the individual cavalry or infantry soldiers taken separately, so the sum total of the mechanical forces exerted by isolated workmen differs from the social force that is dev eloped, when many hands take part simultaneously in one and the same undivided operation, such as raising a heavy weight, turning a winch, or removing an obstacle. 4 In such cases the effect of the combined labour could either not be produced at all by isol ated individual labour, or it could only be produced by a great expenditure of time, or on a very dwarfed scale. Not only have we here an increase in the productive power of the individual, by means of co- operation, but the creation of a new power, namely, the collective power of masses.5 Apart from the new power that arises from the fusion of many forces into one single force, mere social contact begets in most industries an emulation and a stimulation of the animal spirits that heighten the efficiency of each individual workman. Hence it is that a dozen persons working together will, in their collective working day of 144 hours, produce far more than twelve isolated men each working 12 hours, or than one man who works twelve days in succession.6 The reaso n of this is that man is, if not as Aristotle contends, a political,7 at all events a social animal. Although a number of men may be occupied together at the same time on the same, or the same kind of work, yet the labour of each, as a part of the collect ive labour, may correspond to a distinct phase of the labour -process, through all whose phases, in consequence of co- operation, the subject of their labour passes with greater speed. For instance, if a dozen masons place themselves in a row, so as to pass stones from the foot of a ladder to its summit, each of them does the same thing; nevertheless, their separate acts form connected parts of one total operation; they are particular phases, which must be gone through by each stone; and the stones are thus carried up quicker by the 24 hands of the row of men than they could be if each man went separately up and down the ladder with his burden. 8 The object is carried over the same distance in a shorter time. Again, a combination of labour occurs whenever a bui lding, for instance, is taken in hand on different sides simultaneously; although here also the co- operating masons are doing the same, or the same kind of work. The 12 masons, in their collective working day of 144 hours, make much more progress with the building than one mason could make working for 12 days, or 144 hours. The reason is, that a body of men working in concert has hands and eyes both before and behind, and is, to a certain degree, omnipresent. The various parts of the work progress simultaneously. In the above instances we have laid stress upon the point that the men do the same, or the same kind of work, because this, the most simple form of labour in common, plays a great part in co- operation, even in its most fully developed stage. If the work be complicated, then the mere number of the men who co- operate allows of the various operations being apportioned to different hands, and, consequently, of being carried on simultaneously. The time necessary for the completion of the whole work is thereby shortened. 9 In many industries, there are critical periods, determined by the nature of the process, during which certain definite results must be obtained. For instance, if a flock of sheep has to be shorn, or a field of wheat to be cut and harvest ed, the quantity and quality of the product depends on the 230 Chapter 13 work being begun and ended within a certain time. In these cases, the time that ought to be taken by the process is prescribed, just as it is in herring fishing. A single person cannot carve a work ing day of more than, say 12 hours, out of the natural day, but 100 men co- operating extend the working day to 1,200 hours. The shortness of the time allowed for the work is compensated for by the large mass of labour thrown upon the field of production at the decisive moment. The completion of the task within the proper time depends on the simultaneous application of numerous combined working days; the amount of useful effect depends on the number of labourers; this number, however, is always smaller than the number of isolated labourers required to do the same amount of work in the same period. 10 It is owing to the absence of this kind of co- operation that, in the western part of the United States, quantities of corn, and in those parts of East India where English rule has destroyed the old communities, quantities of cotton, are yearly wasted.11 On the one hand, co- operation allows of the work being carried on over an extended space; it is consequently imperatively called for in certain undertakings, such as draining, constructing dykes, irrigation works, and the making of canals, roads and railways. On the other hand, while extending the scale of production, it renders possible a relative contraction of the arena. This contraction of arena simultaneous wi th, and arising from, extension of scale, whereby a number of useless expenses are cut down, is owing to the conglomeration of labourers, to the aggregation of various processes, and to the concentration of the means of production. 12 The combined working day produces, relatively to an equal sum of isolated working days, a greater quantity of use -values, and, consequently, diminishes the labour -time necessary for the production of a given useful effect. Whether the combined working day, in a given case, acquires this increased productive power, because it heightens the mechanical force of labour, or extends its sphere of action over a greater space, or contracts the field of production relatively to the scale of production, or at the critical moment sets lar ge masses of labour to work, or excites emulation between individuals and raises their animal spirits, or impresses on the similar operations carried on by a number of men the stamp of continuity and many- sidedness, or performs simultaneously different ope rations, or economises the means of production by use in common, or lends to individual labour the character of average social labour whichever of these be the cause of the increase, the special productive power of the combined working day is, under all ci rcumstances, the social productive power of labour, or the productive power of social labour. This power is due to co- operation itself. When the labourer co- operates systematically with others, he strips off the fetters of his individuality, and develops t he capabilities of his species. 13 As a general rule, labourers cannot co -operate without being brought together: their assemblage in one place is a necessary condition of their co- operation. Hence wage -labourers cannot co - operate, unless they are employed simultaneously by the same capital, the same capitalist, and unless therefore their labour -powers are bought simultaneously by him. The total value of these labour -powers, or the amount of the wages of these labourers for a day, or a week, as the case may be, must be ready in the pocket of the capitalist, before the workmen are assembled for the process of production. The payment of 300 workmen at once, though only for one day, requires a greater outlay of capital, than does the payment of a smaller number of men, week by week, during a whole year. Hence the number of the labourers that co- operate, or the scale of co - operation, depends, in the first instance, on the amount of capital that the individual capitalist can spare for the purchase of labour -power; in other words, on the extent to which a single capitalist has command over the means of subsistence of a number of labourers. And as with the variable, so it is with the constant capital. For example, the outlay on raw material is 30 times as great, for the capitalist who employs 300 men, as it is for each of the 30 231 Chapter 13 capitalists who employ 10 men. The value and quantity of the instruments of labour used in common do not, it is true, increase at the same rate as the number of workmen, but they do increase very considerably. Hence, concentration of large masses of the means of production in the hands of individual capitalists, is a material condition for the co -operation of wage -labourers, and the extent of the co- operation or the scale of production, depends on the extent of this concentration. We saw in a former chapter, that a certain minimum amount of capital was necessary, in order that the number of labourers simultaneously employed, and, consequently, the amount of surplus - value produced, might suffic e to liberate the employer himself from manual labour, to convert him from a small master into a capitalist, and thus formally to establish capitalist production. We now see that a certain minimum amount is a necessary condition for the conversion of numer ous isolated and independent processes into one combined social process. We also saw that at first, the subjection of labour to capital was only a formal result of the fact, that the labourer, instead of working for himself, works for and consequently und er the capitalist. By the co -operation of numerous wage -labourers, the sway of capital develops into a requisite for carrying on the labour -process itself, into a real requisite of production. That a capitalist should command on the field of production, is now as indispensable as that a general should command on the field of battle. All combined labour on a large scale requires, more or less, a directing authority, in order to secure the harmonious working of the individual activities, and to perform the g eneral functions that have their origin in the action of the combined organism, as distinguished from the action of its separate organs. A single violin player is his own conductor; an orchestra requires a separate one. The work of directing, superintending, and adjusting, becomes one of the functions of capital, from the moment that the labour under the control of capital, becomes co -operative. Once a function of capital, it acquires special characteristics. The directing motive, the end and aim of capita list production, is to extract the greatest possible amount of surplus -value, 14 and consequently to exploit labour -power to the greatest possible extent. As the number of the co- operating labourers increases, so too does their resistance to the domination of capital, and with it, the necessity for capital to overcome this resistance by counterpressure. The control exercised by the capitalist is not only a special function, due to the nature of the social labour -process, and peculiar to that process, but it is, at the same time, a function of the exploitation of a social labour -process, and is consequently rooted in the unavoidable antagonism between the exploiter and the living and labouring raw material he exploits. Again, in proportion to the increasing mass of the means of production, now no longer the property of the labourer, but of the capitalist, the necessity increases for some effective control over the proper application of those means.15 Moreover, the co -operation of wage labourers is entirely br ought about by the capital that employs them. Their union into one single productive body and the establishment of a connexion between their individual functions, are matters foreign and external to them, are not their own act, but the act of the capital t hat brings and keeps them together. Hence the connexion existing between their various labours appears to them, ideally, in the shape of a preconceived plan of the capitalist, and practically in the shape of the authority of the same capitalist, in the shape of the powerful will of another, who subjects their activity to his aims. If, then, the control of the capitalist is in substance two -fold by reason of the two- fold nature of the process of production itself, which, on the one hand, is a social process for producing use -values, on the other, a process for creating surplus -value in form that control is despotic. As co -operation extends its scale, this despotism takes forms peculiar to itself. Just as at 232 Chapter 13 first the capitalist is relieved from actual labour so soon as his capital has reached that minimum amount with which capitalist production, as such, begins, so now, he hands over the work of direct and constant supervision of the individual workmen, and groups of workmen, to a special kind of wage -labourer . An industrial army of workmen, under the command of a capitalist, requires, like a real army, officers (managers), and sergeants (foremen, overlookers), who, while the work is being done, command in the name of the capitalist. The work of supervision bec omes their established and exclusive function. When comparing the mode of production of isolated peasants and artisans with production by slave -labour, the political economist counts this labour of superintendence among the faux frais of production. 16 But, when considering the capitalist mode of production, he, on the contrary, treats the work of control made necessary by the co - operative character of the labour -process as identical with the different work of control, necessitated by the capitalist characte r of that process and the antagonism of interests between capitalist and labourer.17 It is not because he is a leader of industry that a man is a capitalist; on the contrary, he is a leader of industry because he is a capitalist. The leadership of industry is an attribute of capital, just as in feudal times the functions of general and judge, were attributes of landed property. 18 The labourer is the owner of his labour -power until he has done bargaining for its sale with the capitalist; and he can sell no more than what he has i.e., his individual, isolated labour -power. This state of things is in no way altered by the fact that the capitalist, instead of buying the labour -power of one man, buys that of 100, and enters into separate contracts with 100 unconnected men instead of with one. He is at liberty to set the 100 men to work, without letting them co -operate. He pays them the value of 100 independent labour -powers, but he does not pay for the combined labour -power of the hundred. Being independent of ea ch other, the labourers are isolated persons, who enter into relations with the capitalist, but not with one another. This co- operation begins only with the labour -process, but they have then ceased to belong to themselves. On entering that process, they b ecome incorporated with capital. As co -operators, as members of a working organism, they are but special modes of existence of capital. Hence, the productive power developed by the labourer when working in co- operation, is the productive power of capital. This power is developed gratuitously, whenever the workmen are placed under given conditions, and it is capital that places them under such conditions. Because this power costs capital nothing, and because, on the other hand, the labourer himself does not develop it before his labour belongs to capital, it appears as a power with which capital is endowed by Nature â a productive power that is immanent in capital. The colossal effects of simple co -operation are to be seen in the gigantic structures of the an cient Asiatics, Egyptians, Etruscans, &c. âIt has happened in times past that these Oriental States, after supplying the expenses of their civil and military establishments, have found themselves in possession of a surplus which they could apply to works of magnificence or utility and in the construction of these their command over the hands and arms of almost the entire non- agricultural population has produced stupendous monuments which still indicate their power. The teeming valley of the Nile ... produce d food for a swarming non -agricultural population, and this food, belonging to the monarch and the priesthood, afforded the means of erecting the mighty monuments which filled the land.... In moving the colossal statues and vast masses of which the transpo rt creates wonder, human labour almost alone, was prodigally used.... The number of the labourers and the concentration of their efforts sufficed. We see mighty coral reefs rising from the depths of the ocean into islands and firm land, 233 Chapter 13 yet each individual depositor is puny, weak, and contemptible. The non- agricultural labourers of an Asiatic monarchy have little but their individual bodily exertions to bring to the task, but their number is their strength, and the power of directing these masses gave rise to the palaces and temples, the pyramids, and the armies of gigantic statues of which the remains astonish and perplex us. It is that confinement of the revenues which feed them, to one or a few hands, which makes such undertakings possible.â19 This power of Asiatic and Egyptian kings, Etruscan theocrats, &c., has in modern society been transferred to the capitalist, whether he be an isolated, or as in joint -stock companies, a collective capitalist. Co-operation, such as we find it at the dawn of human de velopment, among races who live by the chase,20 or, say, in the agriculture of Indian communities, is based, on the one hand, on ownership in common of the means of production, and on the other hand, on the fact, that in those cases, each individual has no more torn himself off from the navel -string of his tribe or community, than each bee has freed itself from connexion with the hive. Such co -operation is distinguished from capitalistic co -operation by both of the above characteristics. The sporadic applic ation of co- operation on a large scale in ancient times, in the middle ages, and in modern colonies, reposes on relations of dominion and servitude, principally on slavery. The capitalistic form, on the contrary, pre-supposes from first to last, the free w age-labourer, who sells his labour -power to capital. Historically, however, this form is developed in opposition to peasant agriculture and to the carrying on of independent handicrafts whether in guilds or not.21 From the standpoint of these, capitalistic co-operation does not manifest itself as a particular historical form of co -operation, but co- operation itself appears to be a historical form peculiar to, and specifically distinguishing, the capitalist process of production. Just as the social producti ve power of labour that is developed by co -operation, appears to be the productive power of capital, so co- operation itself, contrasted with the process of production carried on by isolated independent labourers, or even by small employers, appears to be a specific form of the capitalist process of production. It is the first change experienced by the actual labour -process, when subjected to capital. This change takes place spontaneously. The simultaneous employment of a large number of wage -labourers, in one and the same process, which is a necessary condition of this change, also forms the starting -point of capitalist production. This point coincides with the birth of capital itself. If then, on the one hand, the capitalist mode of production presents itse lf to us historically, as a necessary condition to the transformation of the labour -process into
đ Capitalist Cooperation & Division
đ€ Cooperation transforms individual labor into a powerful social force, increasing productivity while simultaneously serving as capital's method for more profitable exploitation of workers
đ Simple cooperation persists as the fundamental form of capitalist production even as more complex arrangements develop, allowing capitalists to concentrate labor power, reduce production time, and maximize spatial efficiency
âïž Manufacture emerges through two pathways: either combining previously independent craftsmen under one roof or breaking down a single craft into specialized operations performed by multiple workers simultaneously
đšâđ§ The detail laborer becomes the specialized human component in production, with their body transformed into an "automatic implement" of their singular operation, increasing output while sacrificing their versatility
đ ïž Tools evolve alongside labor specialization, changing from multi-purpose implements to specialized instruments designed for maximum efficiency in specific operations
đ§ The skill of the detail laborer becomes systematically developed, accumulated, and transmitted across generations, creating a technical foundation that becomes ossified into the production process
đš Manufacturing processes transform from individual craftsmanship to specialized production through systematic division of tasks, creating both heterogeneous manufacture (assembling independent parts like watches) and serial manufacture (connected processes like needle-making)
đ„ The collective laborer emerges as workers specialize in specific functions, creating a hierarchy of skills with corresponding wage scales while simultaneously reducing training costs and increasing surplus value for capitalists
â±ïž Production efficiency dramatically increases as operations become simultaneous rather than sequential, with strict time requirements ensuring continuity, uniformity, and intensity of labor beyond what's possible in independent handicrafts
đ Social division of labor develops alongside workshop specialization, originating from physiological differences (age/sex) within families and tribes, then expanding through community interactions and trade between distinct production spheres
đïž The separation between town and country represents the fundamental expression of labor division in society, with population density and communication networks determining the effectiveness of specialized production systems
đ Manufacturing division both requires and reinforces broader social division of labor, creating increasingly differentiated industries and transforming previously connected production stages into independent operations
đ Social division of labor emerges through commodity exchange between independent producers, while workshop division operates under capitalist authority, creating fundamentally different economic relationships despite their apparent similarities
đ The capitalist workshop transforms laborers into "detail workers" performing fragmented tasks, concentrating knowledge and decision-making in the hands of capital while reducing workers to specialized appendages of the production process
đïž Pre-capitalist societies (like traditional Indian communities and medieval guilds) maintained production systems where labor division existed without separating workers from their means of production
đ° Manufacture requires increasingly larger capital investments as it expands, accelerating the concentration of wealth while creating hierarchical labor structures that enhance control over the production process
âïž While representing historical economic progress, the manufacturing system simultaneously functions as a "refined and civilized method of exploitation," prioritizing exchange-value over the use-value emphasized in classical antiquity
should not learn the preparation of several kinds of stuff at once.â The territorial division of labour, which confines special branches of producti on to special districts of a country, acquires fresh stimulus from the manufacturing system, which exploits every special advantage. 31 The Colonial system and the opening out of the markets of the world, both of which are included in the general conditions of existence of the manufacturing period, furnish rich material for developing the division of labour in society. It is not the place, here, to go on to show how division of labour seizes upon, not only the economic, but every other sphere of society, and everywhere lays the foundation of that all engrossing system of specialising and sorting men, that development in a man of one single faculty at the expense of all other faculties, 246 Chapter 14 which caused A. Ferguson, the master of Adam Smith, to exclaim: âWe make a nation of Helots, and have no free citizens.â32 But, in spite of the numerous analogies and links connecting them, division of labour in the interior of a society, and that in the interior of a workshop, differ not only in degree, but also in kind. The a nalogy appears most indisputable where there is an invisible bond uniting the various branches of trade. For instance the cattle- breeder produces hides, the tanner makes the hides into leather, and the shoemaker, the leather into boots. Here the thing produced by each of them is but a step towards the final form, which is the product of all their labours combined. There are, besides, all the various industries that supply the cattle- breeder, the tanner, and the shoemaker with the means of production. Now it is quite possible to imagine, with Adam Smith, that the difference between the above social division of labour, and the division in manufacture, is merely subjective, exists merely for the observer, who, in a manufacture, can see with one glance, all the numerous operations being performed on one spot, while in the instance given above, the spreading out of the work over great areas, and the great number of people employed in each branch of labour, obscure the connexion.33 But what is it that forms the bon d between the independent labours of the cattle -breeder, the tanner, and the shoemaker? It is the fact that their respective products are commodities. What, on the other hand, characterises division of labour in manufactures? The fact that the detail labou rer produces no commodities.34 It is only the common product of all the detail labourers that becomes a commodity.35 Division of labour in society is brought about by the purchase and sale of the products of different branches of industry, while the connex ion between the detail operations in a workshop, is due to the sale of the labour -power of several workmen to one capitalist, who applies it as combined labour -power. The division of labour in the workshop implies concentration of the means of production i n the hands of one capitalist; the division of labour in society implies their dispersion among many independent producers of commodities. While within the workshop, the iron law of proportionality subjects definite numbers of workmen to definite functions , in the society outside the workshop, chance and caprice have full play in distributing the producers and their means of production among the various branches of industry. The different spheres of production, it is true, constantly tend to an equilibrium: for, on the one hand, while each producer of a commodity is bound to produce a use - value, to satisfy a particular social want, and while the extent of these wants differs quantitatively, still there exists an inner relation which settles their proportions into a regular system, and that system one of spontaneous growth; and, on the other hand, the law of the value of commodities ultimately determines how much of its disposable working -time society can expend on each particular class of commodities. But thi s constant tendency to equilibrium, of the various spheres of production, is exercised, only in the shape of a reaction against the constant upsetting of this equilibrium. The a priori system on which the division of labour, within the workshop, is regular ly carried out, becomes in the division of labour within the society, an a posteriori , nature - imposed necessity, controlling the lawless caprice of the producers, and perceptible in the barometrical fluctuations of the market -prices. Division of labour wit hin the workshop implies the undisputed authority of the capitalist over men, that are but parts of a mechanism that belongs to him. The division of labour within the society brings into contact independent commodity- producers, who acknowledge no other aut hority but that of competition, of the coercion exerted by the pressure of their mutual interests; just as in the animal kingdom, the bellum omnium contra omnes [war of all against all â Hobbes] more or less preserves the conditions of existence of every s pecies. The same bourgeois mind which praises division of labour in the workshop, life - long annexation of the labourer to a partial operation, and his complete subjection to capital, as being an organisation of labour that increases its productiveness â that same bourgeois mind denounces with equal vigour every conscious attempt to socially control and regulate the process 247 Chapter 14 of production, as an inroad upon such sacred things as the rights of property, freedom and unrestricted play for the bent of the individ ual capitalist. It is very characteristic that the enthusiastic apologists of the factory system have nothing more damning to urge against a general organisation of the labour of society, than that it would turn all society into one immense factory. If, in a society with capitalist production, anarchy in the social division of labour and despotism in that of the workshop are mutual conditions the one of the other, we find, on the contrary, in those earlier forms of society in which the separation of trades has been spontaneously developed, then crystallised, and finally made permanent by law, on the one hand, a specimen of the organisation of the labour of society, in accordance with an approved and authoritative plan, and on the other, the entire exclusion of division of labour in the workshop, or at all events a mere dwarflike or sporadic and accidental development of the same.36 Those small and extremely ancient Indian communities, some of which have continued down to this day, are based on possession in common of the land, on the blending of agriculture and handicrafts, and on an unalterable division of labour, which serves, whenever a new community is started, as a plan and scheme ready cut and dried. Occupying areas of from 100 up to several thousand a cres, each forms a compact whole producing all it requires. The chief part of the products is destined for direct use by the community itself, and does not take the form of a commodity. Hence, production here is independent of that division of labour broug ht about, in Indian society as a whole, by means of the exchange of commodities. It is the surplus alone that becomes a commodity, and a portion of even that, not until it has reached the hands of the State, into whose hands from time immemorial a certain quantity of these products has found its way in the shape of rent in kind. The constitution of these communities varies in different parts of India. In those of the simplest form, the land is tilled in common, and the produce divided among the members. At the same time, spinning and weaving are carried on in each family as subsidiary industries. Side by side with the masses thus occupied with one and the same work, we find the âchief inhabitant,â who is judge, police, and tax- gatherer in one; the book- keeper, who keeps the accounts of the tillage and registers everything relating thereto; another official, who prosecutes criminals, protects strangers travelling through and escorts them to the next village; the boundary man, who guards the boundaries against neighbouring communities; the water -overseer, who distributes the water from the common tanks for irrigation; the Brahmin, who conducts the religious services; the schoolmaster, who on the sand teaches the children reading and writing; the calendar -Brahmin , or astrologer, who makes known the lucky or unlucky days for seed- time and harvest, and for every other kind of agricultural work; a smith and a carpenter, who make and repair all the agricultural implements; the potter, who makes all the pottery of the village; the barber, the washerman, who washes clothes, the silversmith, here and there the poet, who in some communities replaces the silversmith, in others the schoolmaster. This dozen of individuals is maintained at the expense of the whole community. I f the population increases, a new community is founded, on the pattern of the old one, on unoccupied land. The whole mechanism discloses a systematic division of labour; but a division like that in manufactures is impossible, since the smith and the carpen ter, &c., find an unchanging market, and at the most there occur, according to the sizes of the villages, two or three of each, instead of one. 37 The law that regulates the division of labour in the community acts with the irresistible authority of a law o f Nature, at the same time that each individual artificer, the smith, the carpenter, and so on, conducts in his workshop all the operations of his handicraft in the traditional way, but independently, and without recognising any authority over him. The sim plicity of the organisation for production in these self -sufficing communities that constantly reproduce themselves in the same form, and when accidentally destroyed, spring up again on the spot and with the same name38 â this 248 Chapter 14 simplicity supplies the key to the secret of the unchangeableness of Asiatic societies, an unchangeableness in such striking contrast with the constant dissolution and refounding of Asiatic States, and the never -ceasing changes of dynasty. The structure of the economic elements of society remains untouched by the storm -clouds of the political sky. The rules of the guilds, as I have said before, by limiting most strictly the number of apprentices and journeymen that a single master could employ, prevented him from becoming a capitalist . Moreover, he could not employ his journeymen in many other handicrafts than the one in which he was a master. The guilds zealously repelled every encroachment by the capital of merchants, the only form of free capital with which they came in contact. A m erchant could buy every kind of commodity, but labour as a commodity he could not buy. He existed only on sufferance, as a dealer in the products of the handicrafts. If circumstances called for a further division of labour, the existing guilds split themse lves up into varieties, or founded new guilds by the side of the old ones; all this, however, without concentrating various handicrafts in a single workshop. Hence, the guild organisation, however much it may have contributed by separating, isolating, and perfecting the handicrafts, to create the material conditions for the existence of manufacture, excluded division of labour in the workshop. On the whole, the labourer and his means of production remained closely united, like the snail with its shell, and thus there was wanting the principal basis of manufacture, the separation of the labourer from his means of production, and the conversion of these means into capital. While division of labour in society at large, whether such division be brought about or not by exchange of commodities, is common to economic formations of society the most diverse, division of labour in the workshop, as practised by manufacture, is a special creation of the capitalist mode of production alone. Section 5: The Capitalistic C haracter of Manufacture An increased number of labourers under the control of one capitalist is the natural starting- point, as well of co -operation generally, as of manufacture in particular. But the division of labour in manufacture makes this increase in the number of workmen a technical necessity. The minimum number that any given capitalist is bound to employ is here prescribed by the previously established division of labour. On the other hand, the advantages of further division are obtainable only by adding to the number of workmen, and this can be done only by adding multiples of the various detail groups. But an increase in the variable component of the capital employed necessitates an increase in its constant component, too, in the workshops, implem ents, &c., and, in particular, in the raw material, the call for which grows quicker than the number of workmen. The quantity of it consumed in a given time, by a given amount of labour, increases in the same ratio as does the productive power of that labour in consequence of its division. Hence, it is a law, based on the very nature of manufacture, that the minimum amount of capital, which is bound to be in the hands of each capitalist, must keep increasing; in other words, that the transformation into cap ital of the social means of production and subsistence must keep extending.39 In manufacture, as well as in simple co -operation, the collective working organism is a form of existence of capital. The mechanism that is made up of numerous individual detail labourers belongs to the capitalist. Hence, the productive power resulting from a combination of labours appears to be the productive power of capital. Manufacture proper not only subjects the previously independent workman to the discipline and command of capital, but, in addition, creates a hierarchic gradation of the workmen themselves. While simple co -operation leaves the mode of working by the individual for the most part unchanged, manufacture thoroughly 249 Chapter 14 revolutionises it, and seizes labour -power by its very roots. It converts the labourer into a crippled monstrosity, by forcing his detail dexterity at the expense of a world of productive capabilities and instincts; just as in the States of La Plata they butcher a whole beast for the sake of his hide or his tallow. Not only is the detail work distributed to the different individuals, but the individual himself is made the automatic motor of a fractional operation,40 and the absurd fable of Menenius Agrippa, which makes man a mere fragment of his own bo dy, becomes realised.41 If, at first, the workman sells his labour -power to capital, because the material means of producing a commodity fail him, now his very labour -power refuses its services unless it has been sold to capital. Its functions can be exerc ised only in an environment that exists in the workshop of the capitalist after the sale. By nature unfitted to make anything independently, the manufacturing labourer develops productive activity as a mere appendage of the capitalistâs workshop.42 As the chosen people bore in their features the sign manual of Jehovah, so division of labour brands the manufacturing workman as the property of capital. The knowledge, the judgement, and the will, which, though in ever so small a degree, are practised by the i ndependent peasant or handicraftsman, in the same way as the savage makes the whole art of war consist in the exercise of his personal cunning these faculties are now required only for the workshop as a whole. Intelligence in production expands in one dire ction, because it vanishes in many others. What is lost by the detail labourers, is concentrated in the capital that employs them. 43 It is a result of the division of labour in manufactures, that the labourer is brought face to face with the intellectual p otencies of the material process of production, as the property of another, and as a ruling power. This separation begins in simple co- operation, where the capitalist represents to the single workman, the oneness and the will of the associated labour. It is developed in manufacture which cuts down the labourer into a detail labourer. It is completed in modern industry, which makes science a productive force distinct from labour and presses it into the service of capital.44 In manufacture, in order to make the collective labourer, and through him capital, rich in social productive power, each labourer must be made poor in individual productive powers. âIgnorance is the mother of industry as well as of superstition. Reflection and fancy are subject to err; bu t a habit of moving the hand or the foot is independent of either. Manufactures, accordingly, prosper most where the mind is least consulted, and where the workshop may ... be considered as an engine, the parts of which are men.â45 As a matter of fact, some few manufacturers in the middle of the 18th century preferred, for certain operations that were trade secrets, to employ half -idiotic persons.46 âThe understandings of the greater part of men,â says Adam Smith, âare necessarily formed by their ordina ry employments. The man whose whole life is spent in performing a few simple operations ... has no occasion to exert his understanding... He generally becomes as stupid and ignorant as it is possible for a human creature to become.â After describing the s tupidity of the detail labourer he goes on: âThe uniformity of his stationary life naturally corrupts the courage of his mind... It corrupts even the activity of his body and renders him incapable of exerting his strength with vigour and perseverance in any other employments than that to which he has been bred. His dexterity at his own particular trade seems in this manner to be acquired at the expense of his intellectual, social, and martial 250 Chapter 14 virtues. But in every improved and civilised society, this is the state into which the labouring poor, that is, the great body of the people, must necessarily fall.â47 For preventing the complete deterioration of the great mass of the people by division of labour, A. Smith recommends education of the people by the Stat e, but prudently, and in homeopathic doses. G. Garnier, his French translator and commentator, who, under the first French Empire, quite naturally developed into a senator, quite as naturally opposes him on this point. Education of the masses, he urges, vi olates the first law of the division of labour, and with it âour whole social system would be proscribed.â "Like all other divisions of labour,â he says, âthat between hand labour and head labour 48 is more pronounced and decided in proportion as society ( he rightly uses this word, for capital, landed property and their State) becomes richer. This division of labour, like every other, is an effect of past, and a cause of future progress... ought the government then to work in opposition to this division of labour, and to hinder its natural course? Ought it to expend a part of the public money in the attempt to confound and blend together two classes of labour, which are striving after division and separation?â49 Some crippling of body and mind is inseparabl e even from division of labour in society as a whole. Since, however, manufacture carries this social separation of branches of labour much further, and also, by its peculiar division, attacks the individual at the very roots of his life50, it is the first to afford the materials for, and to give a start to, industrial pathology. âTo subdivide a man is to execute him, if he deserves the sentence, to assassinate him if he does not... The subdivision of labour is the assassination of a people.â 51 Co-operati on based on division of labour, in other words, manufacture, commences as a spontaneous formation. So soon as it attains some consistence and extension, it becomes the recognised methodical and systematic form of capitalist production. History shows how th e division of labour peculiar to manufacture, strictly so called, acquires the best adapted form at first by experience, as it were behind the backs of the actors, and then, like the guild handicrafts, strives to hold fast that form when once found, and he re and there succeeds in keeping it for centuries. Any alteration in this form, except in trivial matters, is solely owing to a revolution in the instruments of labour. Modern manufacture wherever it arises â I do not here allude to modern industry based on machinery â either finds the disjecta membra poetae ready to hand, and only waiting to be collected together, as is the case in the manufacture of clothes in large towns, or it can easily apply the principle of division, simply by exclusively assigning t he various operations of a handicraft (such as book -binding) to particular men. In such cases, a weekâs experience is enough to determine the proportion between the numbers of the hands necessary for the various functions.52 By decomposition of handicraft s, by specialisation of the instruments of labour, by the formation of detail labourers, and by grouping and combining the latter into a single mechanism, division of labour in manufacture creates a qualitative gradation, and a quantitative proportion in t he social process of production; it consequently creates a definite organisation of the labour of society, and thereby develops at the same time new productive forces in the society. In its specific capitalist form â and under the given conditions, it coul d take no other form than a capitalistic one â manufacture is but a particular method of begetting relative surplus- value, or of augmenting at the expense of the labourer the self -expansion of capital â usually called social wealth, âWealth of Nations,â & c. It increases the social productive power of labour, not only for the benefit of the capitalist instead of for that of the labourer, but it does this by crippling the individual labourers. It creates new conditions for the lordship of capital over labour . If, therefore, on the one hand, it 251 Chapter 14 presents itself historically as a progress and as a necessary phase in the economic development of society, on the other hand, it is a refined and civilised method of exploitation. Political Economy, which as an indepe ndent science, first sprang into being during the period of manufacture, views the social division of labour only from the standpoint of manufacture,53 and sees in it only the means of producing more commodities with a given quantity of labour, and, conseq uently, of cheapening commodities and hurrying on the accumulation of capital. In most striking contrast with this accentuation of quantity and exchange -value, is the attitude of the writers of classical antiquity, who hold exclusively by quality and use -value.54 In consequence of the separation of the social branches of production, commodities are better made, the various bents and talents of men select a suitable field,55 and without some restraint no important results can be obtained anywhere.56 Hence bo th product and producer are improved by division of labour. If the growth of the quantity produced is occasionally mentioned, this is only done with reference to the greater abundance of use -values. There is not a word alluding to exchange -value or to the cheapening of commodities. This aspect, from the standpoint of use -value alone, is taken as well by Plato,57 who treats division of labour as the foundation on which the division of society into classes is based, as by Xenophon58, who with characteristic bourgeois instinct, approaches more nearly to division of labour within the workshop. Platoâs Republic, in so far as division of labour is treated in it, as the formative principle of the State, is merely the Athenian idealisation of the Egyptian system of castes, Egypt having served as the model of an industrial country to many of his contemporaries also, amongst others to Isocrates,59 and it continued to have this
âïž Skilled craftsmen paradoxically become obstacles to capital's controlâ"the more skilful the workman, the more self-willed and intractable"âforcing manufacturers to constantly battle worker insubordination
đ Manufacturing limitations prevent complete domination of production, creating economic structures that remain dependent on town handicrafts and rural domestic industries
đ ïž The workshop system ultimately produces its own replacement by creating machine-factories that sweep away handicraft as the regulating principle of production
đ Social division of labor emerges organically within society while the manufacturing division of labor requires concentrated capital and imposes rigid authorityâ"authority in the workshop and authority in society are in inverse ratio to each other"
đ Specialized production increases efficiency through time savings and skill development but transforms workers into "parts of a machine," limiting their autonomy and fragmenting the production process
đ Division of labor creates both economic efficiency and profound social inequality, concentrating production power while fragmenting human capabilities
đ„ Workers become mere "living automatons" or "appendages" to production systems, losing independence and comprehensive skills that once allowed craftspeople to work anywhere
đ§ Knowledge and labor become increasingly separated, with intellectual work becoming "a peculiar craft" while physical labor is reduced to mechanical operations
đïž The concept has ancient roots in Plato, Xenophon, and Egyptian practices, where specialized labor was recognized for producing excellence but also creating dependency
đ§ Machinery transforms this division further, replacing human tools with mechanical ones that operate simultaneously at scale, fundamentally altering production relationships
đ Mechanical automation transformed production by replacing individual manual tools with interconnected systems of specialized machines, creating a "mechanical monster" that operates with unprecedented speed and precision
đ§ The evolution progressed from water-powered mills to Watt's steam engine, enabling concentrated urban production and universal technical application that freed industry from geographical constraints
đ Complex machinery systems emerged when individual machines were connected in sequence, allowing raw materials to flow continuously through production phases without human intervention, creating true automated factories
đ ïž The industry reached maturity only when machines began producing other machines, requiring the invention of specialized tools like the slide rest and steam-hammer that could work with precision at cyclopean scales
đ± While machinery dramatically increases productivity, it transfers its own value to products gradually through wear and tear, forming a critical component of the value-creation process
đ This technological revolution necessitated parallel transformations in transportation and communication systems (steamships, railways, telegraphs) to support the new production capabilities and connect global markets
irregularity caused by the motive power in mills that were put in motion by pushing and pulling a lever, led to the theory, and the appli cation, of the fly - wheel, which afterwards plays so important a part in modern industry.12 In this way, during the manufacturing period, were developed the first scientific and technical elements of Modern Mechanical Industry. Arkwrightâs throstle spinning mill was from the very first turned by water. But for all that, the use of water, as the predominant motive power, was beset with difficulties. It could not be increased at will, it failed at certain seasons of the year, and, above all, it was essentially local.13 Not till the invention of Wattâs second and so- called double -acting steam - engine, was a prime mover found, that begot its own force by the consumption of coal and water, whose power was entirely under manâs control, that was mobile and a means of locomotion, that was urban and not, like the waterwheel, rural, that permitted production to be concentrated in towns instead of, like the water -wheels, being scattered up and down the country,14 that was of universal technical application, and, relativel y speaking, little affected in its choice of residence by local circumstances. The greatness of Wattâs genius showed itself in the specification of the patent that he took out in April, 1784. In that specification his steam -engine is described, not as 263 Chapter 15 an invention for a specific purpose, but as an agent universally applicable in Mechanical Industry. In it he points out applications, many of which, as for instance, the steam -hammer, were not introduced till half a century later. Nevertheless he doubted the u se of steam -engines in navigation. His successors, Boulton and Watt, sent to the exhibition of 1851 steam -engines of colossal size for ocean steamers. As soon as tools had been converted from being manual implements of man into implements of a mechanical apparatus, of a machine, the motive mechanism also acquired an independent form, entirely emancipated from the restraints of human strength. Thereupon the individual machine, that we have hitherto been considering, sinks into a mere factor in production by machinery. One motive mechanism was now able to drive many machines at once. The motive mechanism grows with the number of the machines that are turned simultaneously, and the transmitting mechanism becomes a wide- spreading apparatus. We now proceed to d istinguish the co -operation of a number of machines of one kind from a complex system of machinery. In the one case, the product is entirely made by a single machine, which performs all the various operations previously done by one handicraftsman with his tool; as, for instance, by a weaver with his loom; or by several handicraftsman successively, either separately or as members of a system of Manufacture. 15 For example, in the manufacture of envelopes, one man folded the paper with the folder, another lai d on the gum, a third turned the flap over, on which the device is impressed, a fourth embossed the device, and so on; and for each of these operations the envelope had to change hands. One single envelope machine now performs all these operations at once, and makes more than 3,000 envelopes in an hour. In the London exhibition of 1862, there was an American machine for making paper cornets. It cut the paper, pasted, folded, and finished 300 in a minute. Here, the whole process, which, when carried on as Ma nufacture, was split up into, and carried out by, a series of operations, is completed by a single machine, working a combination of various tools. Now, whether such a machine be merely a reproduction of a complicated manual implement, or a combination of various simple implements specialised by Manufacture, in either case, in the factory, i.e ., in the workshop in which machinery alone is used, we meet again with simple co -operation; and, leaving the workman out of consideration for the moment, this co- operation presents itself to us, in the first instance, as the conglomeration in one place of similar and simultaneously acting machines. Thus, a weaving factory is constituted of a number of power -looms, working side by side, and a sewing factory of a number of sewing -machines all in the same building. But there is here a technical oneness in the whole system, owing to all the machines receiving their impulse simultaneously, and in an equal degree, from the pulsations of the common prime mover, by the intermediary of the transmitting mechanism; and this mechanism, to a certain extent, is also common to them all, since only particular ramifications of it branch off to each machine. Just as a number of tools, then, form the organs of a machine, so a number of mac hines of one kind constitute the organs of the motive mechanism. A real machinery system, however, does not take the place of these independent machines, until the subject of labour goes through a connected series of detail processes, that are carried out by a chain of machines of various kinds, the one supplementing the other. Here we have again the co - operation by division of labour that characterises Manufacture; only now, it is a combination of detail machines. The special tools of the various detail w orkmen, such as those of the beaters, cambers, spinners, &c., in the woollen manufacture, are now transformed into the tools of specialised machines, each machine constituting a special organ, with a special function, in the system. In those branches of in dustry in which the machinery system is first introduced, Manufacture itself furnishes, in a general way, the natural basis for the division, and consequent 264 Chapter 15 organisation, of the process of production.16 Nevertheless an essential difference at once manifest s itself. In Manufacture it is the workmen who, with their manual implements, must, either singly or in groups, carry on each particular detail process. If, on the one hand, the workman becomes adapted to the process, on the other, the process was previous ly made suitable to the workman. This subjective principle of the division of labour no longer exists in production by machinery. Here, the process as a whole is examined objectively, in itself, that is to say, without regard to the question of its executi on by human hands, it is analysed into its constituent phases; and the problem, how to execute each detail process, and bind them all into a whole, is solved by the aid of machines, chemistry, &c. 17 But, of course, in this case also, theory must be perfect ed by accumulated experience on a large scale. Each detail machine supplies raw material to the machine next in order; and since they are all working at the same time, the product is always going through the various stages of its fabrication, and is also constantly in a state of transition, from one phase to another. Just as in Manufacture, the direct co -operation of the detail labourers establishes a numerical proportion between the special groups, so in an organised system of machinery, where one detail m achine is constantly kept employed by another, a fixed relation is established between their numbers, their size, and their speed. The collective machine, now an organised system of various kinds of single machines, and of groups of single machines, become s more and more perfect, the more the process as a whole becomes a continuous one, i.e., the less the raw material is interrupted in its passage from its first phase to its last; in other words, the more its passage from one phase to another is effected, n ot by the hand of man, but by the machinery itself. In Manufacture the isolation of each detail process is a condition imposed by the nature of division of labour, but in the fully developed factory the continuity of those processes is, on the contrary, im perative. A system of machinery, whether it reposes on the mere co -operation of similar machines, as in weaving, or on a combination of different machines, as in spinning, constitutes in itself a huge automaton, whenever it is driven by a self -acting prim e mover. But although the factory as a whole be driven by its steam -engine, yet either some of the individual machines may require the aid of the workman for some of their movements (such aid was necessary for the running in of the mule carriage, before th e invention of the self -acting mule, and is still necessary in fine- spinning mills); or, to enable a machine to do its work, certain parts of it may require to be handled by the workman like a manual tool; this was the case in machine- makersâ workshops, be fore the conversion of the slide rest into a self -actor. As soon as a machine executes, without manâs help, all the movements requisite to elaborate the raw material, needing only attendance from him, we have an automatic system of machinery, and one that is susceptible of constant improvement in its details. Such improvements as the apparatus that stops a drawing frame, whenever a sliver breaks, and the self -acting stop, that stops the power -loom so soon as the shuttle bobbin is emptied of weft, are quite modern inventions. As an example, both of continuity of production, and of the carrying out of the automatic principle, we may take a modern paper mill. In the paper industry generally, we may advantageously study in detail not only the distinctions betwee n modes of production based on different means of production, but also the connexion of the social conditions of production with those modes: for the old German paper -making furnishes us with a sample of handicraft production; that of Holland in the 17th a nd of France in the 18th century with a sample of manufacturing in the strict sense; and that of modern England with a sample of automatic fabrication of this article. Besides these, there still exist, in India and China, two distinct antique Asiatic forms of the same industry. An organised system of machines, to which motion is communicated by the transmitting mechanism from a central automaton, is the most developed form of production by machinery. 265 Chapter 15 Here we have, in the place of the isolated machine, a mechanical monster whose body fills whole factories, and whose demon power, at first veiled under the slow and measured motions of his giant limbs, at length breaks out into the fast and furious whirl of his countless working organs. There were mules and st eam-engines before there were any labourers, whose exclusive occupation it was to make mules and steam -engines; just as men wore clothes before there were such people as tailors. The inventions of Vaucanson, Arkwright, Watt, and others, were, however, practicable, only because those inventors found, ready to hand, a considerable number of skilled mechanical workmen, placed at their disposal by the manufacturing period. Some of these workmen were independent handicraftsman of various trades, others were grou ped together in manufactures, in which, as before -mentioned, division of labour was strictly carried out. As inventions increased in number, and the demand for the newly discovered machines grew larger, the machine- making industry split up, more and more, into numerous independent branches, and division of labour in these manufactures was more and more developed. Here, then, we see in Manufacture the immediate technical foundation of modern industry. Manufacture produced the machinery, by means of which modern industry abolished the handicraft and manufacturing systems in those spheres of production that it first seized upon. The factory system was therefore raised, in the natural course of things, on an inadequate foundation. When the system attained to a certain degree of development, it had to root up this ready -made foundation, which in the meantime had been elaborated on the old lines, and to build up for itself a basis that should correspond to its methods of production. Just as the individual machine r etains a dwarfish character, so long as it is worked by the power of man alone, and just as no system of machinery could be properly developed before the steam -engine took the place of the earlier motive powers, animals, wind, and even water; so, too, mode rn industry was crippled in its complete development, so long as its characteristic instrument of production, the machine, owed its existence to personal strength and personal skill, and depended on the muscular development, the keenness of sight, and the cunning of hand, with which the detail workmen in manufactures, and the manual labourers in handicrafts, wielded their dwarfish implements. Thus, apart from the dearness of the machines made in this way, a circumstance that is ever present to the mind of t he capitalist, the expansion of industries carried on by means of machinery, and the invasion by machinery of fresh branches of production, were dependent on the growth of a class of workmen, who, owing to the almost artistic nature of their employment, could increase their numbers only gradually, and not by leaps and bounds. But besides this, at a certain stage of its development, modern industry became technologically incompatible with the basis furnished for it by handicraft and Manufacture. The increasi ng size of the prime movers, of the transmitting mechanism, and of the machines proper, the greater complication, multiformity and regularity of the details of these machines, as they more and more departed from the model of those originally made by manual labour, and acquired a form, untrammelled except by the conditions under which they worked, 18 the perfecting of the automatic system, and the use, every day more unavoidable, of a more refractory material, such as iron instead of wood â the solution of all these problems, which sprang up by the force of circumstances, everywhere met with a stumbling -block in the personal restrictions, which even the collective labourer of Manufacture could not break through, except to a limited extent. Su ch machines as the modern hydraulic press, the modern power -loom, and the modern carding engine, could never have been furnished by Manufacture. A radical change in the mode of production in one sphere of industry involves a similar change in other sphere s. This happens at first in such branches of industry as are connected together by being separate phases of a process, and yet are isolated by the social division of labour, in such a way, that each of them produces an independent commodity. Thus spinning by machinery made 266 Chapter 15 weaving by machinery a necessity, and both together made the mechanical and chemical revolution that took place in bleaching, printing, and dyeing, imperative. So too, on the other hand, the revolution in cotton- spinning called forth the invention of the gin, for separating the seeds from the cotton fibre; it was only by means of this invention, that the production of cotton became possible on the enormous scale at present required.19 But more especially, the revolution in the modes of pro duction of industry and agriculture made necessary a revolution in the general conditions of the social process of production, i.e. , in the means of communication and of transport. In a society whose pivot, to use an expression of Fourier, was agriculture on a small scale, with its subsidiary domestic industries, and the urban handicrafts, the means of communication and transport were so utterly inadequate to the productive requirements of the manufacturing period, with its extended division of social labou r, its concentration of the instruments of labour, and of the workmen, and its colonial markets, that they became in fact revolutionised. In the same way the means of communication and transport handed down from the manufacturing period soon became unbeara ble trammels on modern industry, with its feverish haste of production, its enormous extent, its constant flinging of capital and labour from one sphere of production into another, and its newly -created connexions with the markets of the whole world. Hence , apart from the radical changes introduced in the construction of sailing vessels, the means of communication and transport became gradually adapted to the modes of production of mechanical industry, by the creation of a system of river steamers, railways , ocean steamers, and telegraphs. But the huge masses of iron that had now to be forged, to be welded, to be cut, to be bored, and to be shaped, demanded, on their part, cyclopean machines, for the construction of which the methods of the manufacturing per iod were utterly inadequate. Modern Industry had therefore itself to take in hand the machine, its characteristic instrument of production, and to construct machines by machines. It was not till it did this, that it built up for itself a fitting technical foundation, and stood on its own feet. Machinery, simultaneously with the increasing use of it, in the first decades of this century, appropriated, by degrees, the fabrication of machines proper. But it was only during the decade preceding 1866, that the construction of railways and ocean steamers on a stupendous scale called into existence the cyclopean machines now employed in the construction of prime movers. The most essential condition to the production of machines by machines was a prime mover capab le of exerting any amount of force, and yet under perfect control. Such a condition was already supplied by the steam -engine. But at the same time it was necessary to produce the geometrically accurate straight lines, planes, circles, cylinders, cones, and spheres, required in the detail parts of the machines. This problem Henry Maudsley solved in the first decade of this century by the invention of the slide rest, a tool that was soon made automatic, and in a modified form was applied to other constructive machines besides the lathe, for which it was originally intended. This mechanical appliance replaces, not some particular tool, but the hand itself, which produces a given form by holding and guiding the cutting tool along the iron or other material opera ted upon. Thus it became possible to produce the forms of the individual parts of machinery âwith a degree of ease, accuracy, and speed, that no accumulated experience of the hand of the most skilled workman could give.â 20 If we now fix our attention on t hat portion of the machinery employed in the construction of machines, which constitutes the operating tool, we find the manual implements re -appearing, but on a cyclopean scale. The operating part of the boring machine is an immense drill driven by a steam -engine; without this machine, on the other hand, the cylinders of large steam -engines and of hydraulic presses could not be made. The mechanical lathe is only a cyclopean reproduction of the ordinary foot -lathe; the planing machine, an iron carpenter, that works on iron with the same 267 Chapter 15 tools that the human carpenter employs on wood; the instrument that, on the London wharves, cuts the veneers, is a gigantic razor; the tool of the shearing machine, which shears iron as easily as a tailorâs scissors cut cloth , is a monster pair of scissors; and the steam -hammer works with an ordinary hammer head, but of such a weight that not Thor himself could wield it.21 These steam - hammers are an invention of Nasmyth, and there is one that weighs over 6 tons and strikes wit h a vertical fall of 7 feet, on an anvil weighing 36 tons. It is mere childâs -play for it to crush a block of granite into powder, yet it is no less capable of driving, with a succession of light taps, a nail into a piece of soft wood. 22 The implements of labour, in the form of machinery, necessitate the substitution of natural forces for human force, and the conscious application of science, instead of rule of thumb. In Manufacture, the organisation of the social labour -process is purely subjective; it is a combination of detail labourers; in its machinery system, modern industry has a productive organism that is purely objective, in which the labourer becomes a mere appendage to an already existing material condition of production. In simple co- operation, and even in that founded on division of labour, the suppression of the isolated, by the collective, workman still appears to be more or less accidental. Machinery, with a few exceptions to be mentioned later, operates only by means of associated labour, or labour in common. Hence the co- operative character of the labour -process is, in the latter case, a technical necessity dictated by the instrument of labour itself. Section 2: The Value Transferred by Machinery to the Product We saw that the productive f orces resulting from co -operation and division of labour cost capital nothing. They are natural forces of social labour. So also physical forces, like steam, water, &c., when appropriated to productive processes, cost nothing. But just as a man requires lungs to breathe with, so he requires something that is work of manâs hand, in order to consume physical forces productively. A water -wheel is necessary to exploit the force of water, and a steam -engine to exploit the elasticity of steam. Once discovered, th e law of the deviation of the magnetic needle in the field of an electric current, or the law of the magnetisation of iron, around which an electric current circulates, cost never a penny.23 But the exploitation of these laws for the purposes of telegraphy , &c., necessitates a costly and extensive apparatus. The tool, as we have seen, is not exterminated by the machine. From being a dwarf implement of the human organism, it expands and multiplies into the implement of a mechanism created by man. Capital now sets the labourer to work, not with a manual tool, but with a machine which itself handles the tools. Although, therefore, it is clear at the first glance that, by incorporating both stupendous physical forces, and the natural sciences, with the process o f production, modern industry raises the productiveness of labour to an extraordinary degree, it is by no means equally clear, that this increased productive force is not, on the other hand, purchased by an increased expenditure of labour. Machinery, like every other component of constant capital, creates no new value, but yields up its own value to the product that it serves to beget. In so far as the machine has value, and, in consequence, parts with value to the product, it forms an element in the value of that product. Instead of being cheapened, the product is made dearer in proportion to the value of the machine. And it is clear as noon- day, that machines and systems of machinery, the characteristic instruments of labour of Modern Industry, are incompa rably more loaded with value than the implements used in handicrafts and manufactures. In the first place, it must be observed that the machinery, while always entering as a whole into the labour -process, enters into the value- begetting process only by bi ts. It never adds more value than it loses, on an average, by wear and tear. Hence there is a great difference between the value of a machine, and the value transferred in a given time by that machine to the product. The longer 268 Chapter 15 the life of the machine in t he labour -process, the greater is that difference. It is true, no doubt, as we have already seen, that every instrument of labour enters as a whole into the labour -process, and only piece -meal, proportionally to its average daily loss by wear and tear, int o the value - begetting process. But this difference between the instrument as a whole and its daily wear and tear, is much greater in a machine than in a tool, because the
đ Machinery's Economic Impact
đ° Machines create value by transferring their cost to products gradually while providing đ gratuitous service far beyond their value, similar to natural forces but on a larger scale than manual tools
đ Productivity measurement hinges on the difference between a machine's cost and the human labor it replacesâeven expensive machinery proves economical when it displaces sufficient labor hours
đ Capitalist adoption of machinery depends not on total labor saved but on paid labor costs avoided, explaining why identical technology spreads unevenly across regions with different wage levels
đ¶ Child welfare suffered dramatically with industrial expansion, creating alarming mortality rates and moral degradation as mothers worked away from home and children were treated as miniature wage-earners
đïž Government intervention emerged reluctantly through factory legislation, though manufacturers consistently found loopholes and ways to circumvent child labor and education requirements
machine, being made from more durable material, has a longer life; because its employ ment, being regulated by strictly scientific laws, allows of greater economy in the wear and tear of its parts, and in the materials it consumes; and lastly, because its field of production is incomparably larger than that of a tool. After making allowance , both in the case of the machine and of the tool, for their average daily cost, that is for the value they transmit to the product by their average daily wear and tear, and for their consumption of auxiliary substance, such as oil, coal, and so on, they e ach do their work gratuitously, just like the forces furnished by Nature without the help of man. The greater the productive power of the machinery compared with that of the tool, the greater is the extent of its gratuitous service compared with that of th e tool. In modern industry man succeeded for the first time in making the product of his past labour work on a large scale gratuitously, like the forces of Nature.24 In treating of Co- operation and Manufacture, it was shown that certain general factors of production, such as buildings, are, in comparison with the scattered means of production of the isolated workman, economised by being consumed in common, and that they therefore make the product cheaper. In a system of machinery, not only is the framework of the machine consumed in common by its numerous operating implements, but the prime mover, together with a part of the transmitting mechanism, is consumed in common by the numerous operative machines. Given the difference between the value of the machin ery, and the value transferred by it in a day to the product, the extent to which this latter value makes the product dearer, depends in the first instance, upon the size of the product; so to say, upon its area. Mr. Baynes, of Blackburn, in a lecture publ ished in 1858, estimates that âeach real mechanical horse- power25 will drive 450 self -acting mule spindles, with preparation, or 200 throstle spindles, or 15 looms for 40 inch cloth with the appliances for warping, sizing, &c.â In the first case, it is the dayâs produce of 450 mule spindles, in the second, of 200 throstle spindles, in the third, of 15 power -looms, over which the daily cost of one horse -power, and the wear and tear of the machinery set in motion by that power, are spread; so that only a very minute value is transferred by such wear and tear to a pound of yarn or a yard of cloth. The same is the case with the steam -hammer mentioned above. Since its daily wear and tear, its coal - consumption, &c., are spread over the stupendous masses of iron hammered by it in a day, only a small value is added to a hundred weight of iron; but that value would be very great, if the cyclopean instrument were employed in driving in nails. Given a machineâs capacity for work, that is, th e number of its operating tools, or, where it is a question of force, their mass, the amount of its product will depend on the velocity of its working parts, on the speed, for instance, of the spindles, or on the number of blows given by the hammer in a mi nute. Many of these colossal hammers strike seventy times in a minute, and Ryderâs patent machine for forging spindles with small hammers gives as many as 700 strokes per minute. Given the rate at which machinery transfers its value to the product, the am ount of value so transferred depends on the total value of the machinery. 26 The less labour it contains, the less value it imparts to the product. The less value it gives up, so much the more productive it is, and so much the more its services approximate to those of natural forces. But the production of machinery by machinery lessens its value relatively to its extension and efficacy. 269 Chapter 15 An analysis and comparison of the prices of commodities produced by handicrafts or manufactures, and of the prices of the same commodities produced by machinery, shows generally, that, in the product of machinery, the value due to the instruments of labour increases relatively, but decreases absolutely. In other words, its absolute amount decreases, but its amount, relatively to the total value of the product, of a pound of yarn, for instance, increases.27 It is evident that whenever it costs as much labour to produce a machine as is saved by the employment of that machine, there is nothing but a transposition of labour; cons equently the total labour required to produce a commodity is not lessened or the productiveness of labour is not increased. It is clear, however, that the difference between the labour a machine costs, and the labour it saves, in other words, that the degr ee of its productiveness does not depend on the difference between its own value and the value of the implement it replaces. As long as the labour spent on a machine, and consequently the portion of its value added to the product, remains smaller than the value added by the workman to the product with his tool, there is always a difference of labour saved in favour of the machine. The productiveness of a machine is therefore measured by the human labour -power it replaces. According to Mr. Baynes, 2 operativ es are required for the 450 mule spindles, inclusive of preparation machinery, 28 that are driven by one - horse power; each self -acting mule spindle, working ten hours, produces 13 ounces of yarn (average number of thickness); consequently 2œ operatives spin weekly 365 5/8 lbs. of yarn. Hence, leaving waste on one side, 366 lbs. of cotton absorb, during their conversion into yarn, only 150 hoursâ labour, or fifteen daysâ labour of ten hours each. But with a spinning -wheel, supposing the hand- spinner to produc e thirteen ounces of yarn in sixty hours, the same weight of cotton would absorb 2,700 daysâ labour of ten hours each, or 27,000 hoursâ labour.29 Where blockprinting, the old method of printing calico by hand, has been superseded by machine printing, a single machine prints, with the aid of one man or boy, as much calico of four colours in one hour, as it formerly took 200 men to do.30 Before Eli Whitney invented the cotton gin in 1793, the separation of the seed from a pound of cotton cost an average dayâs labour. By means of his invention one negress was enabled to clean 100 lbs. daily; and since then, the efficacy of the gin has been considerably increased. A pound of cotton wool, previously costing 50 cents to produce, included after that invention more unpaid labour, and was consequently sold with greater profit, at 10 cents. In India they employ for separating the wool from the seed, an instrument, half machine, half tool, called a churka; with this one man and a woman can clean 28 lbs. daily. With the churka invented some years ago by Dr. Forbes, one man and a boy produce 250 lbs. daily. If oxen, steam, or water, be used for driving it, only a few boys and girls as feeders are required. Sixteen of these machines driven by oxen do as much work in a day a s formerly 750 people did on an average. 31 As already stated, a steam -plough does as much work in one hour at a cost of three -pence, as 66 men at a cost of 15 shillings. I return to this example in order to clear up an erroneous notion. The 15 shillings a re by no means the expression in money of all the labour expended in one hour by the 66 men. If the ratio of surplus labour to necessary labour were 100%, these 66 men would produce in one hour a value of 30 shillings, although their wages, 15 shillings, r epresent only their labour for half an hour. Suppose, then, a machine cost as much as the wages for a year of the 150 men it displaces, say ÂŁ3,000; this ÂŁ3,000 is by no means the expression in money of the labour added to the object produced by these 150 m en before the introduction of the machine, but only of that portion of their yearâs labour which was expended for themselves and represented by their wages. On the other hand, the ÂŁ3,000, the money- value of the machine, expresses all the labour expended on its production, no matter in what proportion this labour constitutes wages for the workman, and surplus -value for the capitalist. Therefore, though a machine cost as much as 270 Chapter 15 the labour -power displaced by it costs, yet the labour materialised in it is even then much less than the living labour it replaces. 32 The use of machinery for the exclusive purpose of cheapening the product, is limited in this way, that less labour must be expended in producing the machinery than is displaced by the employment of tha t machinery, For the capitalist, however, this use is still more limited. Instead of paying for the labour, he only pays the value of the labour -power employed; therefore, the limit to his using a machine is fixed by the difference between the value of the machine and the value of the labour -power replaced by it. Since the division of the dayâs work into necessary and surplus labour differs in different countries, and even in the same country at different periods, or in different branches of industry; and f urther, since the actual wage of the labourer at one time sinks below the value of his labour -power, at another rises above it, it is possible for the difference between the price of the machinery and the price of the labour -power replaced by that machiner y to vary very much, although the difference between the quantity of labour requisite to produce the machine and the total quantity replaced by it, remain constant.33 But it is the former difference alone that determines the cost, to the capitalist, of pro ducing a commodity, and, through the pressure of competition, influences his action. Hence the invention now -a-days of machines in England that are employed only in North America; just as in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, machines were invented i n Germany to be used only in Holland, and just as many a French invention of the eighteenth century was exploited in England alone. In the older countries, machinery, when employed in some branches of industry, creates such a redundancy of labour in other branches that in these latter the fall of wages below the value of labour -power impedes the use of machinery, and, from the standpoint of the capitalist, whose profit comes, not from a diminution of the labour employed, but of the labour paid for, renders that use superfluous and often impossible. In some branches of the woollen manufacture in England the employment of children has during recent years been considerably diminished, and in some cases has been entirely abolished. Why? Because the Factory Acts made two sets of children necessary, one working six hours, the other four, or each working five hours. But the parents refused to sell the âhalf -timersâ cheaper than the âfull -timers.â Hence the substitution of machinery for the âhalf - timers.â 34 Before th e labour of women and of children under 10 years of age was forbidden in mines, capitalists considered the employment of naked women and girls, often in company with men, so far sanctioned by their moral code, and especially by their ledgers, that it was o nly after the passing of the Act that they had recourse to machinery. The Yankees have invented a stone- breaking machine. The English do not make use of it, because the âwretchâ 35who does this work gets paid for such a small portion of his labour, that ma chinery would increase the cost of production to the capitalist.36 In England women are still occasionally used instead of horses for hauling canal boats37, because the labour required to produce horses and machines is an accurately known quantity, while that required to maintain the women of the surplus -population is below all calculation. Hence nowhere do we find a more shameful squandering of human labour -power for the most despicable purposes than in England, the land of machinery. Section 3: The Proximate Effects of Machinery on the Workman The starting -point of modern industry is, as we have shown, the revolution in the instruments of labour, and this revolution attains its most highly developed form in the organised system of machinery in a factory. Before we inquire how human material is incorporated with this objective organism, let us consider some general effects of this revolution on the labourer himself. 271 Chapter 15 A. Appropriation of Supplementary Labour -Power by Capital. The Employment of Women and Children In so far as machinery dispenses with muscular power, it becomes a means of employing labourers of slight muscular strength, and those whose bodily de velopment is incomplete, but whose limbs are all the more supple. The labour of women and children was, therefore, the first thing sought for by capitalists who used machinery. That mighty substitute for labour and labourers was forthwith changed into a me ans for increasing the number of wage -labourers by enrolling, under the direct sway of capital, every member of the workmanâs family, without distinction of age or sex. Compulsory work for the capitalist usurped the place, not only of the childrenâs play, but also of free labour at home within moderate limits for the support of the family. 38 The value of labour -power was determined, not only by the labour -time necessary to maintain the individual adult labourer, but also by that necessary to maintain his f amily. Machinery, by throwing every member of that family on to the labour -market, spreads the value of the manâs labour -power over his whole family. It thus depreciates his labour -power. To purchase the labour - power of a family of four workers may, perhaps, cost more than it formerly did to purchase the labour -power of the head of the family, but, in return, four daysâ labour takes the place of one, and their price falls in proportion to the excess of the surplus labour of four over the surplus labour of o ne. In order that the family may live, four people must now, not only labour, but expend surplus labour for the capitalist. Thus we see, that machinery, while augmenting the human material that forms the principal object of capitalâs exploiting power, 39 at the same time raises the degree of exploitation. Machinery also revolutionises out and out the contract between the labourer and the capitalist, which formally fixes their mutual relations. Taking the exchange of commodities as our basis, our first assum ption was that capitalist and labourer met as free persons, as independent owners of commodities; the one possessing money and means of production, the other labour -power. But now the capitalist buys children and young persons under age. Previously, the workman sold his own labour -power, which he disposed of nominally as a free agent. Now he sells wife and child. He has become a slave- dealer. 40 The demand for childrenâs labour often resembles in form the inquiries for negro slaves, such as were formerly to be read among the advertisements in American journals. âMy attention,â says an English factory inspector, âwas drawn to an advertisement in the local paper of one of the most important manufacturing towns of my district, of which the following is a copy: W anted, 12 to 20 young persons, not younger than what can pass for 13 years. Wages, 4 shillings a week. Apply &c.â 41 The phrase âwhat can pass for 13 years,â has reference to the fact, that by the Factory Act, children under 13 years may work only 6 hours. A surgeon officially appointed must certify their age. The manufacturer, therefore, asks for children who look as if they were already 13 years old. The decrease, often by leaps and bounds in the number of children under 13 years employed in factories, a decrease that is shown in an astonishing manner by the English statistics of the last 20 years, was for the most part, according to the evidence of the factory inspectors themselves, the work of the certifying surgeons, who overstated the age of the childr en, agreeably to the capitalistâs greed for exploitation, and the sordid trafficking needs of the parents. In the notorious district of Bethnal Green, a public market is held every Monday and Tuesday morning, where children of both sexes from 9 years of ag e upwards, hire themselves out to the silk manufacturers. "The usual terms are 1s. 8d. a week (this belongs to the parents) and â2d. for myself and tea.â The 272 Chapter 15 contract is binding only for the week. The scene and language while this market is going on are quite disgraceful.â 42 It has also occurred in England, that women have taken âchildren from the workhouse and let any one have them out for 2s. 6d. a week.â43 In spite of legislation, the number of boys sold in Great Britain by their parents to act as live chimney- sweeping machines (although there exist plenty of machines to replace them) exceeds 2,000.44 The revolution effected by machinery in the juridical relations between the buyer and the seller of labour -power, causing the transaction as a whole to lose the appearance of a contract between free persons, afforded the English Parliament an excuse, founded on juridical principles, for the interference of the state with factories. Whenever the law limits the labour of children to 6 hours in industries not before interfered with, the complaints of the manufacturers are always renewed. They allege that numbers of the parents withdraw their children from the industry brought under the Act, in order to sell them where âfreedom of labourâ still rules, i.e., where children under 13 years are compelled to work like grown- up people, and therefore can be got rid of at a higher price. But since capital is by nature a leveller, since it exacts in every sphere of production equality in the conditions of the exploitation of labour, the limitation by law of childrenâs labour, in one branch of industry, becomes the cause of its limitation in others. We have already alluded to the physical deterioration as well of the children and young -persons as of the women, whom machiner y, first directly in the factories that shoot up on its basis, and then indirectly in all the remaining branches of industry, subjects to the exploitation of capital. In this place, therefore, we dwell only on one point, the enormous mortality, during the first few years of their life, of the children of the operatives. In sixteen of the registration districts into which England is divided, there are, for every 100,000 children alive under the age of one year, only 9,000 deaths in a year on an average (in one district only 7,047); in 24 districts the deaths are over 10,000, but under 11,000; in 39 districts, over 11,000, but under 12,000; in 48 districts over 12,000, but under 13,000; in 22 districts over 20,000; in 25 districts over 21,000; in 17 over 22,000; in 11 over 23,000; in Hoo, Wolverhampton, Ashton- under -Lyne, and Preston, over 24,000; in Nottingham, Stockport, and Bradford, over 25,000; in Wisbeach, 16,000; and in Manchester, 26,125. 45 As was shown by an official medical inquiry in the year 1861, t he high death -rates are, apart from local causes, principally due to the employment of the mothers away from their homes, and to the neglect and maltreatment, consequent on her absence, such as, amongst others, insufficient nourishment, unsuitable food, an d dosing with opiates; besides this, there arises an unnatural estrangement between mother and child, and as a consequence intentional starving and poisoning of the children.46 In those agricultural districts, âwhere a minimum in the employment of women exists, the death -rate is on the other hand very low.â 47 The Inquiry Commission of 1861 led, however, to the unexpected result, that in some purely agricultural districts bordering on the North Sea, the death- rate of children under one year old almost equal led that of the worst factory districts. Dr. Julian Hunter was therefore commissioned to investigate this phenomenon on the spot. His report is incorporated with the âSixth Report on Public Health.â 48 Up to that time it was supposed, that the children were decimated by malaria, and other diseases peculiar to low -lying and marshy districts. But the inquiry showed the very opposite, namely, that the same cause which drove away malaria, the conversion of the land, from a morass in winter and a scanty pasture i n summer, into fruitful corn land, created the exceptional death -rate of the infants.49 The 70 medical men, whom Dr. Hunter examined in that district, were âwonderfully in accordâ on this point. In fact, the revolution in the mode of cultivation had led to the introduction of the industrial system. Married women, who work in gangs along with boys and girls, are, for a stipulated sum of money, placed at the disposal of the farmer, by a man called the âundertaker,â who contracts for 273 Chapter 15 the whole gang. âThese gangs will sometimes travel many miles from their own village; they are to be met morning and evening on the roads, dressed in short petticoats, with suitable coats and boots, and sometimes trousers, looking wonderfully strong and healthy, but tainted with a customary immorality and heedless of the fatal results which their love of this busy and independent life is bringing on their unfortunate offspring who are pining at home.â50 Every phenomenon of the factory districts is here reproduced, including, but to a greater extent, ill-disguised infanticide, and dosing children with opiates.51 âMy knowledge of such evils,â says Dr. Simon, the medical officer of the Privy Council and editor in chief of the Reports on Public Health, âmay excuse the profound misgiving with which I regard any large industrial employment of adult women.â52 âHappy indeed,â exclaims Mr. Baker, the factory inspector, in his official report, âhappy indeed will it be for the manufacturing districts of England, when every married woman having a family is prohibited from working in any textile works at all.â53 The moral degradation caused by the capitalistic exploitation of women and children has been so exhaustively depicted by F. Engels in his âLage der Arbeitenden Klasse Englands,â and othe r writers, that I need only mention the subject in this place. But the intellectual desolation artificially produced by converting immature human beings into mere machines for the fabrication of surplus -value, a state of mind clearly distinguishable from that natural ignorance which keeps the mind fallow without destroying its capacity for development, its natural fertility, this desolation finally compelled even the English Parliament to make elementary education a compulsory condition to the âproductiveâ employment of children under 14 years, in every industry subject to the Factory Acts. The spirit of capitalist production stands out clearly in the ludicrous wording of the so- called education clauses in the Factory Acts, in the absence of an administrativ e machinery, an absence that again makes the compulsion illusory, in the opposition of the manufacturers themselves to these education clauses, and in the tricks and dodges they put in practice for evading them. âFor this the legislature is alone to blame, by having passed a delusive law, which, while it would seem to provide that the children employed in factories shall be educated, contains no enactment by
đ Educational Sham in Factory System
đ Factory education requirements exist only as formalities, with children receiving worthless certificates from "teachers" who often cannot even write their own names properly
đ§ Children are systematically exploited through manipulative schedulingâattending school in fragmented sessions that satisfy legal requirements while maximizing their availability for factory work
âïž Machinery transforms from a potential labor-saving tool into a mechanism for extending working hours beyond human limits, as capitalists seek to maximize the value extracted from their expensive equipment
â±ïž When legal restrictions finally limit working hours, factory owners respond by intensifying laborâcompressing more work into fewer hours through increased pace and vigilance
đ° The contradiction of capitalism reveals itself: machinery that could liberate workers instead becomes the justification for their increased exploitation, as owners chase profits by extending or intensifying labor
đ This system creates a cruel paradox where technological advancement, rather than benefiting workers, becomes "the most unfailing means for placing every moment of the labourer's time at the disposal of the capitalist"
which that professed end can be secured. It provides nothing more than that the children shall on ce rtain days of the week, and for a certain number of hours (three) in each day, be inclosed within the four walls of a place called a school, and that the employer of the child shall receive weekly a certificate to that effect signed by a person designated by the subscriber as a schoolmaster or schoolmistress.â 54 Previous to the passing of the amended Factory Act, 1844, it happened, not unfrequently, that the certificates of attendance at school were signed by the schoolmaster or schoolmistress with a cross , as they themselves were unable to write. âOn one occasion, on visiting a place called a school, from which certificates of school attendance, had issued, I was so struck with the ignorance of the master, that I said to him: âPray, sir, can you read?â His reply was: âAye, summat!â and as a justification of his right to grant certificates, he added: âAt any rate, I am before my scholars.ââ The inspectors, when the Bill of 1844 was in preparation, did not fail to represent the disgraceful state of the places called schools, certificates from which they were obliged to admit as a 274 Chapter 15 compliance with the laws, but they were successful only in obtaining thus much, that since the passing of the Act of 1845, the figures in the school certificate must be filled up in the handwriting of the schoolmaster, who must also sign his Christian and surname in full.â55 Sir John Kincaid, factory inspector for Scotland, relates experiences of the same kind. âThe first school we visited was kept by a Mrs. Ann Killin. Upon asking her to spell her name, she straightway made a mistake, by beginning with the letter C, but correcting herself immediately, she said her name began with a K. On looking at her signature, however, in the school certificate books, I noticed that she spelt it in various ways, while her handwriting left no doubt as to her unfitness to teach. She herself also acknowledged that she could not keep the register ... In a second school I found the schoolroom 15 feet long, and 10 feet wide, and counted in this space 75 children, who were gabbling something unintelligibleâ56 But it is not only in the miserable places above referred to that the children obtain certificates of school attendance without having received instruction of any value, for in many schools where the re is a competent teacher, his efforts are of little avail from the distracting crowd of children of all ages, from infants of 3 years old and upwards; his livelihood, miserable at the best, depending on the pence received from the greatest number of child ren whom it is possible to cram into the space. To this is to be added scanty school furniture, deficiency of books, and other materials for teaching, and the depressing effect upon the poor children themselves of a close, noisome atmosphere. I have been i n many such schools, where I have seen rows of children doing absolutely nothing; and this is certified as school attendance, and, in statistical returns, such children are set down as being educated.â57 In Scotland the manufacturers try all they can to do without the children that are obliged to attend school. âIt requires no further argument to prove that the educational clauses of the Factory Act, being held in such disfavour among mill -owners, tend in a great measure to exclude that class of children al ike from the employment and the benefit of education contemplated by this Act.â58 Horribly grotesque does this appear in print works, which are regulated by a special Act. By that Act, âevery child, before being employed in a print work must have attended school for at least 30 days, and not less than 150 hours, during the six months immediately preceding such first day of employment, and during the continuance of its employment in the print works, it must attend for a like period of 30 days, and 150 hours during every successive period of six months.... The attendance at school must be between 8 a.m. and 6 p.m. No attendance of less than 2œ hours, nor more than 5 hours on any one day, shall be reckoned as part of the 150 hours. Under ordinary circumstances the children attend school morning and afternoon for 30 days, for at least 5 hours each day, and upon the expiration of the 30 days, the statutory total of 150 hours having been attained, having, in their language, made up their book, they return to the pr int work, where they continue until the six months have expired, when another instalment of school attendance becomes due, and they again seek the school until the book is again made up.... Many boys having attended school for the required number of hours, when they return to 275 Chapter 15 school after the expiration of their six monthsâ work in the print work, are in the same condition as when they first attended school as print -work boys, that they have lost all they gained by their previous school attendance.... In ot her print works the childrenâs attendance at school is made to depend altogether upon the exigencies of the work in the establishment. The requisite number of hours is made up each six months, by instalments consisting of from 3 to 5 hours at a time, sprea ding over, perhaps, the whole six months.... For instance, the attendance on one day might be from 8 to 11 a.m., on another day from 1 p.m. to 4 p.m., and the child might not appear at school again for several days, when it would attend from 3 p.m. to 6 p.m.; then it might attend for 3 or 4 days consecutively, or for a week, then it would not appear in school for 3 weeks or a month, after that upon some odd days at some odd hours when the operative who employed it chose to spare it; and thus the child was, as it were, buffeted from school to work, from work to school, until the tale of 150 hours was told.â59 By the excessive addition of women and children to the ranks of the workers, machinery at last breaks down the resistance which the male operatives in the manufacturing period continued to oppose to the despotism of capital. 60 B. Prolongation of the Working day If machinery be the most powerful means for increasing the productiveness of labour â i.e., for shortening the working- time required in the production of a commodity, it becomes in the hands of capital the most powerful means, in those industries first invaded by it, for lengthening the working day beyond all bounds set by human nature. It creates, on the one hand, new conditions by which capital is enabled to give free scope to this its constant tendency, and on the other hand, new motives with which to whet capitalâs appetite for the labour of others. In the first place, in the form of machinery, the implements of labour become automatic, things moving and working independent of the workman. They are thenceforth an industrial perpetuum mobile , that would go on producing forever, did it not meet with certain natural obstructions in the weak bodies and the strong wills of its human attendants. The automaton, as capital, and because it is capital, is endowed, in the person of the capitalist, with intelligence and will; it is therefore animated by the longing to reduce to a minimum the resistance offered by that repellent yet elastic natural barrier, man.61 This resistance is moreover lessened by the apparent lightness of machine work, and by the more pliant and docile character of the women and children employed on it.62 The productiveness of machinery is, as we saw, inversely proportional to the val ue transferred by it to the product. The longer the life of the machine, the greater is the mass of the products over which the value transmitted by the machine is spread, and the less is the portion of that value added to each single commodity. The active lifetime of a machine is, however, clearly dependent on the length of the working day, or on the duration of the daily labour -process multiplied by the number of days for which the process is carried on. The wear and tear of a machine is not exactly prop ortional to its working -time. And even if it were so, a machine working 16 hours daily for 7œ years, covers as long a working period as, and transmits to the total product no more value than, the same machine would if it worked only 8 hours daily for 15 ye ars. But in the first case the value of the machine would be reproduced twice as quickly as in the latter, and the capitalist would, by this use of the machine, absorb in 7œ years as much surplus -value as in the second case he would in 15. 276 Chapter 15 The material we ar and tear of a machine is of two kinds. The one arises from use, as coins wear away by circulating, the other from non- use, as a sword rusts when left in its scabbard. The latter kind is due to the elements. The former is more or less directly proportion al, the latter to a certain extent inversely proportional, to the use of the machine.63 But in addition to the material wear and tear, a machine also undergoes, what we may call a moral depreciation. It loses exchange -value, either by machines of the same sort being produced cheaper than it, or by better machines entering into competition with it.64 In both cases, be the machine ever so young and full of life, its value is no longer determined by the labour actually materialised in it, but by the labour -time requisite to reproduce either it or the better machine. It has, therefore, lost value more or less. The shorter the period taken to reproduce its total value, the less is the danger of moral depreciation; and the longer the working day, the shorter is t hat period. When machinery is first introduced into an industry, new methods of reproducing it more cheaply follow blow upon blow 65, and so do improvements, that not only affect individual parts and details of the machine, but its entire build. It is, ther efore, in the early days of the life of machinery that this special incentive to the prolongation of the working day makes itself felt most acutely. 66 Given the length of the working day, all other circumstances remaining the same, the exploitation of double the number of workmen demands, not only a doubling of that part of constant capital which is invested in machinery and buildings, but also of that part which is laid out in raw material and auxiliary substances. The lengthening of the working day, on t he other hand, allows of production on an extended scale without any alteration in the amount of capital laid out on machinery and buildings.67 Not only is there, therefore, an increase of surplus -value, but the outlay necessary to obtain it diminishes. It is true that this takes place, more or less, with every lengthening of the working day; but in the case under consideration, the change is more marked, because the capital converted into the instruments of labour preponderates to a greater degree. 68 The development of the factory system fixes a constantly increasing portion of the capital in a form, in which, on the one hand, its value is capable of continual self -expansion, and in which, on the other hand, it loses both use -value and exchange -value whene ver it loses contact with living labour. âWhen a labourer,â said Mr. Ashworth, a cotton magnate, to Professor Nassau W. Senior, âlays down his spade, he renders useless, for that period, a capital worth eighteen- pence. When one of our people leaves the mil l, he renders useless a capital that has cost ÂŁ100,000.â 69 Only fancy! making âuselessâ for a single moment, a capital that has cost ÂŁ100,000! It is, in truth, monstrous, that a single one of our people should ever leave the factory! The increased use of machinery, as Senior after the instruction he received from Ashworth clearly perceives, makes a constantly increasing lengthening of the working day âdesirable.â 70 Machinery produces relative surplus- value; not only by directly depreciating the value of la bour- power, and by indirectly cheapening the same through cheapening the commodities that enter into its reproduction, but also, when it is first introduced sporadically into an industry, by converting the labour employed by the owner of that machinery, into labour of a higher degree and greater efficacy, by raising the social value of the article produced above its individual value, and thus enabling the capitalist to replace the value of a dayâs labour -power by a smaller portion of the value of a dayâs pr oduct. During this transition period, when the use of machinery is a sort of monopoly, the profits are therefore exceptional, and the capitalist endeavours to exploit thoroughly âthe sunny time of this his first love,â by prolonging the working day as much as possible. The magnitude of the profit whets his appetite for more profit. As the use of machinery becomes more general in a particular industry, the social value of the product sinks down to its individual value, and the law that surplus -value does not arise from the 277 Chapter 15 labour -power that has been replaced by the machinery, but from the labour -power actually employed in working with the machinery, asserts itself. Surplus -value arises from variable capital alone, and we saw that the amount of surplus -value depends on two factors, viz., the rate of surplus -value and the number of the workmen simultaneously employed. Given the length of the working day, the rate of surplus -value is determined by the relative duration of the necessary labour and of the surplus labour in a day. The number of the labourers simultaneously employed depends, on its side, on the ratio of the variable to the constant capital. Now, however much the use of machinery may increase the surplus labour at the expense of the necessary labour b y heightening the productiveness of labour, it is clear that it attains this result, only by diminishing the number of workmen employed by a given amount of capital. It converts what was formerly variable capital, invested in labour -power, into machinery w hich, being constant capital, does not produce surplus -value. It is impossible, for instance, to squeeze as much surplus -value out of 2 as out of 24 labourers. If each of these 24 men gives only one hour of surplus labour in 12, the 24 men give together 24 hours of surplus labour, while 24 hours is the total labour of the two men. Hence, the application of machinery to the production of surplus -value implies a contradiction which is immanent in it, since of the two factors of the surplus -value created by a given amount of capital, one, the rate of surplus -value, cannot be increased, except by diminishing the other, the number of workmen. This contradiction comes to light, as soon as by the general employment of machinery in a given industry, the value of the machine- produced commodity regulates the value of all commodities of the same sort; and it is this contradiction, that in its turn, drives the capitalist, without his being conscious of the fact, 71 to excessive lengthening of the working day, in order tha t he may compensate the decrease in the relative number of labourers exploited, by an increase not only of the relative, but of the absolute surplus labour. If, then, the capitalistic employment of machinery, on the one hand, supplies new and powerful motives to an excessive lengthening of the working day, and radically changes, as well the methods of labour, as also the character of the social working organism, in such a manner as to break down all opposition to this tendency, on the other hand it produce s, partly by opening out to the capitalist new strata of the working -class, previously inaccessible to him, partly by setting free the labourers it supplants, a surplus working population,72 which is compelled to submit to the dictation of capital. Hence t hat remarkable phenomenon in the history of modern industry, that machinery sweeps away every moral and natural restriction on the length of the working day. Hence, too, the economic paradox, that the most powerful instrument for shortening labour -time, becomes the most unfailing means for placing every moment of the labourerâs time and that of his family, at the disposal of the capitalist for the purpose of expanding the value of his capital. âIf,â dreamed Aristotle, the greatest thinker of antiquity, âif every tool, when summoned, or even of its own accord, could do the work that befits it, just as the creations of Daedalus moved of themselves, or the tripods of Hephaestos went of their own accord to their sacred work, if the weaversâ shuttles were to weav e of themselves, then there would be no need either of apprentices for the master workers, or of slaves for the lords.â 73And Antipatros, a Greek poet of the time of Cicero, hailed the invention of the water -wheel for grinding corn, an invention that is th e elementary form of all machinery, as the giver of freedom to female slaves, and the bringer back of the golden age.74 Oh! those heathens! They understood, as the learned Bastiat, and before him the still wiser MacCulloch have discovered, nothing of Polit ical Economy and Christianity. They did not, for example, comprehend that machinery is the surest means of lengthening the working day. They perhaps excused the slavery of one on the ground that it was a means to the full development of another. But to pre ach slavery of the masses, in order that a few crude and half - educated parvenus, might become âeminent spinners,â âextensive sausage- makers,â and âinfluential shoe -black dealers,â to do this, they lacked the bump of Christianity. 278 Chapter 15 C. Intensification of Labour The immoderate lengthening of the working day, produced by machinery in the hands of capital, leads to a reaction on the part of society, the very sources of whose life are menaced; and, thence, to a normal working day whose length is fixed by law. The nceforth a phenomenon that we have already met with, namely, the intensification of labour, develops into great importance. Our analysis of absolute surplus- value had reference primarily to the extension or duration of the labour, its intensity being assum ed as given. We now proceed to consider the substitution of a more intensified labour for labour of more extensive duration, and the degree of the former. It is self -evident, that in proportion as the use of machinery spreads, and the experience of a special class of workmen habituated to machinery accumulates, the rapidity and intensity of labour increase as a natural consequence. Thus in England, during half a century, lengthening of the working day went hand in hand with increasing intensity of factory labour. Nevertheless the reader will clearly see, that where we have labour, not carried on by fits and starts, but repeated day after day with unvarying uniformity, a point must inevitably be reached, where extension of the working day and intensity of th e labour mutually exclude one another, in such a way that lengthening of the working day becomes compatible only with a lower degree of intensity, and a higher degree of intensity, only with a shortening of the working day. So soon as the gradually surging revolt of the working- class compelled Parliament to shorten compulsorily the hours of labour, and to begin by imposing a normal working day on factories proper, so soon consequently as an increased production of surplus -value by the prolongation of the working day was once for all put a stop to, from that moment capital threw itself with all its might into the production of relative surplus- value, by hastening on the further improvement of machinery. At the same time a change took place in the nature of re lative surplus -value. Generally speaking, the mode of producing relative surplus -value consists in raising the productive power of the workman, so as to enable him to produce more in a given time with the same expenditure of labour. Labour -time continues t o transmit as before the same value to the total product, but this unchanged amount of exchange -value is spread over more use- value; hence the value of each single commodity sinks. Otherwise, however, so soon as the compulsory shortening of the hours of la bour takes place. The immense impetus it gives the development of productive power, and to economy in the means of production, imposes on the workman increased expenditure of labour in a given time, heightened tension of labour -power, and closer filling up of the pores of the working day, or condensation of labour to a degree that is attainable only within the limits of the shortened working day. This condensation of a greater mass of labour into a given period thenceforward counts for what it really is, a greater quantity of labour. In addition to a measure of its extension, i.e., duration, labour now acquires a measure of its intensity or of the degree of its condensation or density. 75 The denser hour of the ten hoursâ working day contains more labour, i.e., expended labour -power than the more porous hour of the twelve hoursâ working day. The product therefore of one of the former hours has as much or more value than has the product of 1 1/5 of the latter hours. Apart from the increased yield of relative surplus -value through the heightened productiveness of labour, the same mass of value is now produced for the capitalist say by 3 1/3 hours of surplus labour, and 6 2/3 hours of necessary labour, as was previously produced by four hours of surplus labour and eight hours of necessary labour. We now come to the question: How is the labour intensified? The first effect of shortening the working day results from the self -evident law, that the efficiency of labour -power is in an inverse ratio to the duration of its expenditure. Hence, within certain limits what is lost by shortening the duration is gained by the increasing tension of labour -power. That the workman moreover really does expend more labour -power, is ensured by the mode in 279 Chapter 15 which the capitalist pay s him.76 In those industries, such as potteries, where machinery plays little or no part, the introduction of the Factory Acts has strikingly shown that the mere shortening of the working day increases to a wonderful degree the regularity, uniformity, orde r, continuity, and energy of the labour.77 It seemed, however, doubtful whether this effect was produced in the factory proper, where the dependence of the workman on the continuous and uniform motion of the machinery had already created the strictest disc ipline. Hence, when in 1844 the reduction of the working day to less than twelve hours was being debated, the masters almost unanimously declared âthat their overlookers in the different rooms took good care that the hands lost no time,â that âthe extent o f vigilance and attention on the part of the workmen was hardly capable of being increased,â and, therefore, that the speed of the machinery and other conditions remaining unaltered, âto expect in a well -managed factory any important result from increased attention of the workmen was an absurdity.â 78
đ Industrial Intensification Revolution
â±ïž Reduced working hours paradoxically increased productivity as workers achieved the same output in less time through more focused effort and improved efficiency
đ When shorter hours became mandatory, capitalists responded by systematically intensifying labor through faster machinery, technological improvements, and requiring workers to operate multiple machines simultaneously
đ Steam engine advancements between 1848-1852 yielded 50% more power from the same machinery, while factory systems expanded rapidly with fewer workers managing more equipment
đȘ The Ten Hours Act of 1847 triggered massive productivity gainsâfactories produced as much in 10 hours as previously in 12, with industry growth jumping from 32% (1838-1850) to 86% (1850-1856)
đ€ Modern factories transformed workers from skilled craftspeople into mere "appendages" of machines, creating a system where "machines employ the workman" rather than workers employing tools
đ„ This intensification created an "exhausting state of excitement" among workers, contributing to increased mortality from lung disease and other health problems
This assertion was contradicted by experiments. Mr. Robert Gardner reduced the hours of labour in his two large factories at Preston, on and after the 20th April, 1844, from twelve to eleven hours a day. The re sult of about a yearâs working was that âthe same amount of product for the same cost was received, and the workpeople as a whole earned in eleven hours as much wages as they did before in twelve.â 79 I pass over the experiments made in the spinning and car ding rooms, because they were accompanied by an increase of 2% in the speed of the machines. But in the weaving department, where, moreover, many sorts of figured fancy articles were woven, there was not the slightest alteration in the conditions of the wo rk. The result was: âFrom 6th January to 20th April, 1844, with a twelve hoursâ day, average weekly wages of each hand 10s. 1œd., from 20th April to 29th June, 1844, with day of eleven hours, average weekly wages 10s. 3œd.â 80 Here we have more produced in eleven hours than previously in twelve, and entirely in consequence of more steady application and economy of time by the workpeople. While they got the same wages and gained one hour of spare time, the capitalist got the same amount produced and saved the cost of coal, gas, and other such items, for one hour. Similar experiments, and with the like success, were carried out in the mills of Messrs. Horrocks and Jacson.81 The shortening of the hours of labour creates, to begin with, the subjective conditions for the condensation of labour, by enabling the workman to exert more strength in a given time. So soon as that shortening becomes compulsory, machinery becomes in the hands of capital the objective means, systematically employed for squeezing out more lab our in a given time. This is effected in two ways: by increasing the speed of the machinery, and by giving the workman more machinery to tent. Improved construction of the machinery is necessary, partly because without it greater pressure cannot be put on the workman, and partly because the shortened hours of labour force the capitalist to exercise the strictest watch over the cost of production. The improvements in the steam -engine have increased the piston speed, and at the same time have made it possible, by means of a greater economy of power, to drive with the same or even a smaller consumption of coal more machinery with the same engine. The improvements in the transmitting mechanism have lessened friction, and, what so strikingly distinguishes modern from the older machinery, have reduced the diameter and weight of the shafting to a constantly decreasing minimum. Finally, the improvements in the operative machines have, while reducing their size, increased their speed and efficiency, as in the modern p ower -loom; or, while increasing the size of their framework, have also increased the extent and number of their working parts, as in spinning - mules, or have added to the speed of these working parts by imperceptible alterations of detail, such as those whi ch ten years ago increased the speed of the spindles in self -acting mules by one - fifth. 280 Chapter 15 The reduction of the working day to 12 hours dates in England from 1832. In 1836 a manufacturer stated: âThe labour now undergone in the factories is much greater than it used to be ... compared with thirty or forty years ago ... owing to the greater attention and activity required by the greatly increased speed which is given to the machinery.â 82 In the year 1844, Lord Ashley, now Lord Shaftesbury, made in the House of Commons the following statements, supported by documentary evidence: âThe labour performed by those engaged in the processes of manufacture, is three times as great as in the beginning of such operations. Machinery has executed, no doubt, the work that would demand the sinews of millions of men; but it has also prodigiously multiplied the labour of those who are governed by its fearful movements.... In 1815, the labour of following a pair of mules spinning cotton of No. 40 â reckoning 12 hours to the worki ng day â involved a necessity of walking 8 miles. In 1832, the distance travelled in following a pair of mules, spinning cotton yarn of the same number, was 20 miles, and frequently more. In 1835â (query â 1815 or 1825?) âthe spinner put up daily, on each of these mules, 820 stretches, making a total of 1,640 stretches in the course of the day. In 1832, the spinner put up on each mule 2,200 stretches, making a total of 4,400. In 1844, 2,400 stretches, making a total of 4,800; and in some cases the amount of labour required is even still greater.... I have another document sent to me in 1842, stating that the labour is progressively increasing â increasing not only because the distance to be travelled is greater, but because the quantity of goods produced is multiplied, while the hands are fewer in proportion than before; and, moreover, because an inferior species of cotton is now often spun, which it is more difficult to work.... In the carding- room there has also been a great increase of labour. One person t here does the work formerly divided between two. In the weaving- room, where a vast number of persons are employed, and principally females ... the labour has increased within the last few years fully 10 per cent., owing to the increased speed of the machin ery in spinning. In 1838, the number of hanks spun per week was 18,000, in 1843 it amounted to 21,000. In 1819, the number of picks in power -loom -weaving per minute was 60 â in 1842 it was 140, showing a vast increase of labour.â 83 In the face of this rem arkable intensity of labour which had already been reached in 1844 under the Twelve Hoursâ Act, there appeared to be a justification for the assertion made at that time by the English manufacturers, that any further progress in that direction was impossibl e, and therefore that every further reduction of the hours of labour meant a lessened production. The apparent correctness of their reasons will be best shown by the following contemporary statement by Leonard Horner, the factory inspector, their ever watc hful censor. âNow, as the quantity produced must, in the main, be regulated by the speed of the machinery, it must be the interest of the mill -owner to drive it at the utmost rate of speed consistent with these following conditions, viz., the preservation of the machin ery from too rapid deterioration; the preservation of the quality of the article manufactured; and the capability of the workman to follow the motion without a greater exertion than he can sustain for a constancy. One of the most important problems, theref ore, which the owner of a factory has to solve is to find out the maximum speed at which he can run, with a due regard to the above 281 Chapter 15 conditions. It frequently happens that he finds he has gone too fast, that breakages and bad work more than counterbalance t he increased speed, and that he is obliged to slacken his pace. I therefore concluded, that as an active and intelligent mill- owner would find out the safe maximum, it would not be possible to produce as much in eleven hours as in twelve. I further assumed that the operative paid by piecework, would exert himself to the utmost consistent with the power of continuing at the same rate.â84 Horner, therefore, came to the conclusion that a reduction of the working hours below twelve would necessarily diminish production. 85 He himself, ten years later, cites his opinion of 1845 in proof of how much he under -estimated in that year the elasticity of machinery, and of manâs labour -power, both of which are simultaneously stretched to an extreme by the compulsory shortening of the working day. We now come to the period that follows the introduction of the Ten Hoursâ Act in 1847 into the English cotton, woollen, silk, and flax mills. âThe speed of the spindles has increased upon throstles 500, and upon mules 1,000 rev olutions a minute, i.e., the speed of the throstle spindle, which in 1839 was 4,500 times a minute, is now (1862) 5,000; and of the mule spindle, that was 5,000, is now 6,000 times a minute, amounting in the former case to one -tenth, and in the second case to one -fifth additional increase.â 86 James Nasmyth, the eminent civil engineer of Patricroft, near Manchester, explained in a letter to Leonard Horner, written in 1852, the nature of the improvements in the steam -engine that had been made between the years 1848 and 1852. After remarking that the horse -power of steam - engines, being always estimated in the official returns according to the power of similar engines in 182887, is only nominal, and can serve only as an index of their real power, he goes on to say: âI am confident that from the same weight of steam -engine machinery, we are now obtaining at least 50 per cent. more duty or work performed on the average, and that in many cases the identical steam -engines which in the days of the restricted speed of 220 feet per minute, yielded 50 horsepower, are now yielding upwards of 100...â "The modern steam -engine of 100 horse -power is capable of being driven at a much greater force than formerly, arising from improvements in its construction, the capacity and c onstruction of the boilers, &c....â âAlthough the same number of hands are employed in proportion to the horse -power as at former periods, there are fewer hands employed in proportion to the machinery.â88 âIn the year 1850, the factories of the United King dom employed 134,217 nominal horse - power to give motion to 25,638,716 spindles and 301,445 looms. The number of spindles and looms in 1856 was respectively 33,503,580 of the former, and 369,205 of the latter, which, reckoning the force of the nominal horse -power required to be the same as in 1850, would require a force equal to 175,000 horses, but the actual power given in the return for 1856 is 161,435, less by above 10,000 horses than, calculating upon the basis of the return of 1850, the factories ought to have required in 1856.â 89 âThe facts thus brought out by the Return (of 1856) appear to be that the factory system is increasing rapidly; that although the same number of hands are employed in proportion to the horse -power as at former periods, there a re fewer hands employed in proportion to the machinery; that the steam -engine is enabled to drive an increased weight of machinery by economy of force and other methods, and that an increased quantity of work can be turned off 282 Chapter 15 by improvements in machinery, and in methods of manufacture, by increase of speed of the machinery, and by a variety of other causes.â 90 âThe great improvements made in machines of every kind have raised their productive power very much. Without any doubt, the shortening of the hours of labour... gave the impulse to these improvements. The latter, combined with the more intense strain on the workman, have had the effect, that at least as much is produced in the shortened (by two hours or one -sixth) working day as was previously produc ed during the longer one.â91 One fact is sufficient to show how greatly the wealth of the manufacturers increased along with the more intense exploitation of labour -power. From 1838 to 1850, the average proportional increase in English cotton and other fa ctories was 32%, while from 1850 to 1856 it amounted to 86%. But however great the progress of English industry had been during the 8 years from 1848 to 1856 under the influence of a working day of 10 hours, it was far surpassed during the next period of 6 years from 1856 to 1862. In silk factories, for instance, there were in 1856, spindles 1,093,799; in 1862, 1,388,544; in 1856, looms 9,260; in 1862, 10,709. But the number of operatives was, in 1856, 56,131; in 1862, 52,429. The increase in the spindles was therefore 26.9% and in the looms 15.6%, while the number of the operatives decreased 7%. In the year 1850 there were employed in worsted mills 875,830 spindles; in 1856, 1,324,549 (increase 51.2%), and in 1862, 1,289,172 (decrease 2.7%). But if we dedu ct the doubling spindles that figure in the numbers for 1856, but not in those for 1862, it will be found that after 1856 the number of spindles remained nearly stationary. On the other hand, after 1850, the speed of the spindles and looms was in many cases doubled. The number of power -looms in worsted mills was, in 1850, 32,617; in 1856, 38,956; in 1862, 43,048. The number of the operatives was, in 1850, 79,737; in 1856, 87,794; in 1862, 86,063; included in these, however, the children under 14 years of ag e were, in 1850, 9,956; in 1856, 11,228; in 1862, 13,178. In spite, therefore, of the greatly increased number of looms in 1862, compared with 1856, the total number of the workpeople employed decreased, and that of the children exploited increased. 92 On the 27th April, 1863, Mr. Ferrand said in the House of Commons: âI have been informed by delegates from 16 districts of Lancashire and Cheshire, in whose behalf I speak, that the work in the factories is, in consequence of the improvements in machinery, constantly on the increase. Instead of as formerly one person with two helps tenting two looms, one person now tents three looms without helps, and it is no uncommon thing for one person to tent four. Twelve hoursâ work, as is evident from the facts adduced, is now compressed into less than 10 hours. It is therefore self -evident, to what an enormous extent the toil of the factory operative has increased during the last 10 years.â 93 Although, therefore, the Factory Inspectors unceasingly and with justice, commend the results of the Acts of 1844 and 1850, yet they admit that the shortening of the hours of labour has already called forth such an intensification of the labour as is injurious to the health of the workman and to his capacity for work. âIn most of the cotton, worsted, and silk mills, an exhausting state of excitement necessary to enable the workers satisfactorily to mind the machinery, the motion of which has been greatly accelerated within the last few years, seems to me not unlikely to be one of the causes of that excess of mortality from lung disease, which Dr. Greenhow has pointed out in his recent report on this subject.â94 283 Chapter 15 There cannot be the slightest doubt that the tendency that urges capital, so soon as a prolongation of the hours of labour is once for all forbidden, to compensate itself, by a systematic heightening of the intensity of labour, and to convert every improvement in machinery into a more perfect means of exhausting the workman, must soon lead to a state of things in which a re duction of the hours of labour will again be inevitable.95 On the other hand, the rapid advance of English industry between 1848 and the present time, under the influence of a day of 10 hours, surpasses the advance made between 1833 and 1847, when the day was 12 hours long, by far more than the latter surpasses the advance made during the half century after the first introduction of the factory system, when the working day was without limits.96 Section 4: The Factory At the commencement of this chapter we considered that which we may call the body of the factory, i.e., machinery organised into a system. We there saw how machinery, by annexing the labour of women and children, augments the number of human beings who form the material for capitalistic exploit ation, how it confiscates the whole of the workmanâs disposable time, by immoderate extension of the hours of labour, and how finally its progress, which allows of enormous increase of production in shorter and shorter periods, serves as a means of systematically getting more work done in a shorter time, or of exploiting labour -power more intensely. We now turn to the factory as a whole, and that in its most perfect form. Dr. Ure, the Pindar of the automatic factory, describes it, on the one hand, as âComb ined co- operation of many orders of workpeople, adult and young, in tending with assiduous skill, a system of productive machines, continuously impelled by a central powerâ (the prime mover); on the other hand, as âa vast automaton, composed of various mec hanical and intellectual organs, acting in uninterrupted concert for the production of a common object, all of them being subordinate to a self -regulated moving force.â These two descriptions are far from being identical. In one, the collective labourer, or social body of labour, appears as the dominant subject, and the mechanical automaton as the object; in the other, the automaton itself is the subject, and the workmen are merely conscious organs, co- ordinate with the unconscious organs of the automaton, and together with them, subordinated to the central moving- power. The first description is applicable to every possible employment of machinery on a large scale, the second is characteristic of its use by capital, and therefore of the modern factory syste m. Ure prefers therefore, to describe the central machine, from which the motion comes, not only as an automaton, but as an autocrat. âIn these spacious halls the benignant power of steam summons around him his myriads of willing menials.â 97 Along with the tool, the skill of the workman in handling it passes over to the machine. The capabilities of the tool are emancipated from the restraints that are inseparable from human labour -power. Thereby the technical foundation on which is based the division of labour in Manufacture, is swept away. Hence, in the place of the hierarchy of specialised workmen that characterises manufacture, there steps, in the automatic factory, a tendency to equalise and reduce to one and the same level every kind of work that has to be done by the minders of the machines;98 in the place of the artificially produced differentiations of the detail workmen, step the natural differences of age and sex. So far as division of labour re -appears in the factory, it is primarily a distributio n of the workmen among the specialised machines; and of masses of workmen, not however organised into groups, among the various departments of the factory, in each of which they work at a number of similar 284 Chapter 15 machines placed together; their co -operation, ther efore, is only simple. The organised group, peculiar to manufacture, is replaced by the connexion between the head workman and his few assistants. The essential division is, into workmen who are actually employed on the machines (among whom are included a few who look after the engine), and into mere attendants (almost exclusively children) of these workmen. Among the attendants are reckoned more or less all âFeedersâ who supply the machines with the material to be worked. In addition to these two principal classes, there is a numerically unimportant class of persons, whose occupation it is to look after the whole of the machinery and repair it from time to time; such as engineers, mechanics, joiners, &c. This is a superior class of workmen, some of them sci entifically educated, others brought up to a trade; it is distinct from the factory operative class, and merely aggregated to it.99 This division of labour is purely technical. To work at a machine, the workman should be taught from childhood, in order th at he may learn to adapt his own movements to the uniform and unceasing motion of an automaton. When the machinery, as a whole, forms a system of manifold machines, working simultaneously and in concert, the co- operation based upon it, requires the distribution of various groups of workmen among the different kinds of machines. But the employment of machinery does away with the necessity of crystallising this distribution after the manner of Manufacture, by the constant annexation of a particular man to a particular function.100 Since the motion of the whole system does not proceed from the workman, but from the machinery, a change of persons can take place at any time without an interruption of the work. The most striking proof of this is afforded by the relays system , put into operation by the manufacturers during their revolt from 1848- 1850. Lastly, the quickness with which machine work is learnt by young people, does away with the necessity of bringing up for exclusive employment by machinery, a special c lass of operatives.101 With regard to the work of the mere attendants, it can, to some extent, be replaced in the mill by machines,102 and owing to its extreme simplicity, it allows of a rapid and constant change of the individuals burdened with this drudg ery. Although then, technically speaking, the old system of division of labour is thrown overboard by machinery, it hangs on in the factory, as a traditional habit handed down from Manufacture, and is afterwards systematically re -moulded and established i n a more hideous form by capital, as a means of exploiting labour -power. The life -long speciality of handling one and the same tool, now becomes the life -long speciality of serving one and the same machine. Machinery is put to a wrong use, with the object of transforming the workman, from his very childhood, into a part of a detail- machine.103 In this way, not only are the expenses of his reproduction considerably lessened, but at the same time his helpless dependence upon the factory as a whole, and theref ore upon the capitalist, is rendered complete. Here as everywhere else, we must distinguish between the increased productiveness due to the development of the social process of production, and that due to the capitalist exploitation of that process. In handicrafts and manufacture, the workman makes use of a tool, in the factory, the machine makes use of him. There the movements of the instrument of labour proceed from him, here it is the movements of the machine that he must follow. In manufacture the workm en are parts of a living mechanism. In the factory we have a lifeless mechanism independent of the workman, who becomes its mere living appendage. âThe miserable routine of endless drudgery and toil in which the same mechanical process is gone through over and over again, is like the labour of Sisyphus. The burden of labour, like the rock, keeps ever falling back on the worn- out labourer.â104 At the same time that factory work exhausts the nervous system to the uttermost, it does away with the many- sided pl ay of the muscles, and confiscates every atom of freedom, both in bodily 285 Chapter 15 and intellectual activity.105 The lightening of the labour, even, becomes a sort of torture, since the machine does not free the labourer from work, but deprives the work of all inter est. Every kind of capitalist production, in so far as it is not only a labour -process, but also a process of creating surplus -value, has this in common, that it is not the workman that employs the instruments of labour, but the instruments of labour that employ the workman. But it is only in the factory system that this inversion for the first time acquires technical and palpable reality. By means of its conversion into an automaton, the instrument of labour confronts the labourer, during the labour -proces
đ Machinery vs. Labor
đ Dead labor in the form of machinery dominates and extracts value from living labor-power, completing the separation of intellectual production from manual labor under industrial capitalism
đ€ Factory discipline transforms workers into mere appendages of machines, subjecting them to barrack-like conditions, penalties, and dangerous environments while systematically robbing them of basic necessities
âïž The worker-machine conflict represents a direct antagonism where instruments of labor become competitors to the workers themselves, destroying livelihoods and making skilled labor increasingly obsolete
đ Technological "improvements" deliberately displace workers, with manufacturers proudly reporting how new machinery allows them to produce more with fewer hands, particularly targeting women, children, and the less skilled
đ Capitalists strategically deploy machinery as a weapon against worker resistance, with many inventions specifically designed to break strikes and restore management's "legitimate rule" over rebellious laborers
đ The resulting labor displacement creates chronic misery among affected populations, flooding other sectors with desperate workers and driving wages below their value while being dismissed as merely "temporary inconvenience"
đŒ Capitalist machinery simultaneously displaces workers while creating new forms of employment, contradicting economists' "compensation theory" that claims displaced workers are automatically reabsorbed
đ When machines replace workers, the capital previously used for wages isn't "set free" to employ those same workers elsewhereâit becomes locked into constant capital (machinery and raw materials)
đ Displaced workers face dire prospects: their specialized skills become worthless outside their trade, forcing them into overcrowded, underpaid sectors while many "starve and perish" during transition periods
đ Machinery increases productivity and creates new industries (gas works, railways, telegraphs), but these employ relatively few workers compared to those displaced
đ§ The fundamental contradiction: machinery itself lightens labor and increases wealth, but under capitalism, it intensifies work, extends working hours, and creates poverty
and interruptions resulting from erroneous views among the factory operatives, the factory system would have been developed still more rapidly and beneficially for all concerned.â Then he exclaims again: âFortunate ly for the state of society in the cotton districts of Great Britain, the improvements in machinery are gradual.â âItâ (improvement in machinery) âis said to lower the rate of earnings of adults by displacing a portion of them, and thus rendering their num ber superabundant as compared with the demand for their labour. It certainly augments the demand for the labour of children and increases the rate of their wages.â On the other hand, this same dispenser of consolation defends the lowness of the childrenâs wages on the ground that it prevents parents from sending their children at too early an age into the factory. The whole of his book is a vindication of a working day of unrestricted length; that Parliament should forbid children of 13 years to be exhaust ed by working 12 hours a day, reminds his liberal soul of the darkest days of the Middle Ages. This does not prevent him from calling upon the factory operatives to thank Providence, who by means of machinery has given them the leisure to think of their âi mmortal interests.â 131 292 Chapter 15 Section 6: The Theory of Compensation as Regards the Workpeople Displaced by Machinery James Mill, MacCulloch, Torrens, Senior, John Stuart Mill, and a whole series besides, of bourgeois political economists, insist that all machine ry that displaces workmen, simultaneously and necessarily sets free an amount of capital adequate to employ the same identical workmen. 132 Suppose a capitalist to employ 100 workmen, at ÂŁ30 a year each, in a carpet factory. The variable capital annually l aid out amounts, therefore, to ÂŁ3,000. Suppose, also, that he discharges 50 of his workmen, and employs the remaining 50 with machinery that costs him ÂŁ1,500. To simplify matters, we take no account of buildings, coal, &c. Further suppose that the raw mate rial annually consumed costs ÂŁ3,000, both before and after the change. 133 Is any capital set free by this metamorphosis? Before the change, the total sum of ÂŁ6,000 consisted half of constant, and half of variable capital. After the change it consists of ÂŁ4 ,500 constant ( ÂŁ3,000 raw material and ÂŁ1,500 machinery), and ÂŁ1,500 variable capital. The variable capital, instead of being one half, is only one quarter, of the total capital. Instead of being set free, a part of the capital is here locked up in such a way as to cease to be exchanged against labour -power: variable has been changed into constant capital. Other things remaining unchanged, the capital of ÂŁ6,000, can, in future, employ no more than 50 men. With each improvement in the machinery, it will employ fewer. If the newly introduced machinery had cost less than did the labour -power and implements displaced by it, if, for instance, instead of costing ÂŁ1,500, it had cost only ÂŁ1,000, a variable capital of ÂŁ1,000 would have been converted into constant capital, and locked up; and a capital of ÂŁ500 would have been set free. The latter sum, supposing wages unchanged, would form a fund sufficient to employ about 16 out of the 50 men discharged; nay, less than 16, for, in order to be employed as capital, a p art of this ÂŁ500 must now become constant capital, thus leaving only the remainder to be laid out in labour -power. But, suppose, besides, that the making of the new machinery affords employment to a greater number of mechanics, can that be called compensa tion to the carpet -makers, thrown on the streets? At the best, its construction employs fewer men than its employment displaces. The sum of ÂŁ1,500 that formerly represented the wages of the discharged carpet -makers, now represents in the shape of machinery : (1) the value of the means of production used in the construction of that machinery, (2) the wages of the mechanics employed in its construction, and (3) the surplus -value falling to the share of their âmaster.â Further, the machinery need not be renewed till it is worn out. Hence, in order to keep the increased number of mechanics in constant employment, one carpet manufacturer after another must displace workmen by machines. As a matter of fact the apologists do not mean this sort of setting free. They have in their minds the means of subsistence of the liberated work -people. It cannot be denied, in the above instance, that the machinery not only liberates 50 men, thus placing them at othersâ disposal, but, at the same time, it withdraws from their con sumption, and sets free, means of subsistence to the value of ÂŁ1,500. The simple fact, by no means a new one, that machinery cuts off the workmen from their means of subsistence is, therefore, in economic parlance tantamount to this, that machinery liberat es means of subsistence for the workman, or converts those means into capital for his employment. The mode of expression, you see, is everything. Nominibus mollire licet mala. This theory implies that the ÂŁ1,500 worth of means of subsistence was capital t hat was being expanded by the labour of the 50 men discharged. That, consequently, this capital falls out of employment so soon as they commence their forced holidays, and never rests till it has found a fresh investment, where it can again be productively consumed by these same 50 men. That 293 Chapter 15 sooner or later, therefore, the capital and the workmen must come together again, and that, then, the compensation is complete. That the sufferings of the workmen displaced by machinery are therefore as transient as are the riches of this world. In relation to the discharged workmen, the ÂŁ1,500 worth of means of subsistence never was capital. What really confronted them as capital, was the sum of ÂŁ1,500, afterwards laid out in machinery. On looking closer it will be seen that this sum represented part of the carpets produced in a year by the 50 discharged men, which part they received as wages from their employer in money instead of in kind. With the carpets in the form of money, they bought means of subsistence to the v alue of ÂŁ1,500. These means, therefore, were to them, not capital, but commodities, and they, as regards these commodities, were not wage -labourers, but buyers. The circumstance that they were âfreedâ by the machinery, from the means of purchase, changed t hem from buyers into non- buyers. Hence a lessened demand for those commodities â voilĂ tout. If this diminution be not compensated by an increase from some other quarter, the market price of the commodities falls. If this state of things lasts for some tim e, and extends, there follows a discharge of workmen employed in the production of these commodities. Some of the capital that was previously devoted to production of necessary means of subsistence, has to become reproduced in another form. While prices fa ll, and capital is being displaced, the labourers employed in the production of necessary means of subsistence are in their turn âfreedâ from a part of their wages. Instead, therefore, of proving that, when machinery frees the workman from his means of sub sistence, it simultaneously converts those means into capital for his further employment, our apologists, with their cut -and-dried law of supply and demand, prove, on the contrary, that machinery throws workmen on the streets, not only in that branch of pr oduction in which it is introduced, but also in those branches in which it is not introduced. The real facts, which are travestied by the optimism of economists, are as follows: The labourers, when driven out of the workshop by the machinery, are thrown upon the labour market, and there add to the number of workmen at the disposal of the capitalists. In Part VII of this book it will be seen that this effect of machinery, which, as we have seen, is represented to be a compensation to the working class, is o n the contrary a most frightful scourge. For the present I will only say this: The labourers that are thrown out of work in any branch of industry, can no doubt seek for employment in some other branch. If they find it, and thus renew the bond between them and the means of subsistence, this takes place only by the intermediary of a new and additional capital that is seeking investment; not at all by the intermediary of the capital that formerly employed them and was afterwards converted into machinery. And even should they find employment, what a poor look -out is theirs! Crippled as they are by division of labour, these poor devils are worth so little outside their old trade, that they cannot find admission into any industries, except a few of inferior kind, that are over -supplied with underpaid workmen. 134 Further, every branch of industry attracts each year a new stream of men, who furnish a contingent from which to fill up vacancies, and to draw a supply for expansion. So soon as machinery sets free a part of the workmen employed in a given branch of industry, the reserve men are also diverted into new channels of employment, and become absorbed in other branches; meanwhile the original victims, during the period of transition, for the most part starve and perish. It is an undoubted fact that machinery, as such, is not responsible for âsetting freeâ the workman from the means of subsistence. It cheapens and increases production in that branch which it seizes on, and at first makes no change in the mass of t he means of subsistence produced in other branches. Hence, after its introduction, the society possesses as much, if not more, of the necessaries of life than before, for the labourers thrown out of work; and that quite apart from the enormous share of the annual produce wasted by the non- workers. And this is the point relied on 294 Chapter 15 by our apologists! The contradictions and antagonisms inseparable from the capitalist employment of machinery, do not exist, they say, since they do not arise out of machinery, as such, but out of its capitalist employment! Since therefore machinery, considered alone, shortens the hours of labour, but, when in the service of capital, lengthens them; since in itself it lightens labour, but when employed by capital, heightens the inten sity of labour; since in itself it is a victory of man over the forces of Nature, but in the hands of capital, makes man the slave of those forces; since in itself it increases the wealth of the producers, but in the hands of capital, makes them paupers â for all these reasons and others besides, says the bourgeois economist without more ado, it is clear as noon- day that all these contradictions are a mere semblance of the reality, and that, as a matter of fact, they have neither an actual nor a theoretical existence. Thus he saves himself from all further puzzling of the brain, and what is more, implicitly declares his opponent to be stupid enough to contend against, not the capitalistic employment of machinery, but machinery itself. No doubt he is far from denying that temporary inconvenience may result from the capitalist use of machinery. But where is the medal without its reverse! Any employment of machinery, except by capital, is to him an impossibility. Exploitation of the workman by the machine is therefore, with him, identical with exploitation of the machine by the workman. Whoever, therefore, exposes the real state of things in the capitalistic employment of machinery, is against its employment in any way, and is an enemy of social progress! 135 Exactly the reasoning of the celebrated Bill Sykes. âGentlemen of the jury, no doubt the throat of this commercial traveller has been cut. But that is not my fault, it is the fault of the knife. Must we, for such a temporary inconvenience, abolish the use of the knife? Only consider! where would agriculture and trade be without the knife? Is it not as salutary in surgery, as it is knowing in anatomy? And in addition a willing help at the festive board? If you abolish the knife â you hurl us back into the depths of barbarism.â136 Although machinery necessarily throws men out of work in those industries into which it is introduced, yet it may, notwithstanding this, bring about an increase of employment in other industries. This effect, however, has nothing in com mon with the so- called theory of compensation. Since every article produced by a machine is cheaper than a similar article produced by hand, we deduce the following infallible law: If the total quantity of the article produced by machinery, be equal to the total quantity of the article previously produced by a handicraft or by manufacture, and now made by machinery, then the total labour expended is diminished. The new labour spent on the instruments of labour, on the machinery, on the coal, and so on, must necessarily be less than the labour displaced by the use of the machinery; otherwise the product of the machine would be as dear, or dearer, than the product of the manual labour. But, as a matter of fact, the total quantity of the article produced by mac hinery with a diminished number of workmen, instead of remaining equal to, by far exceeds the total quantity of the hand- made article that has been displaced. Suppose that 400,000 yards of cloth have been produced on power -looms by fewer weavers than could weave 100,000 yards by hand. In the quadrupled product there lies four times as much raw material. Hence the production of raw material must be quadrupled. But as regards the instruments of labour, such as buildings, coal, machinery, and so on, it is diff erent; the limit up to which the additional labour required for their production can increase, varies with the difference between the quantity of the machine -made article, and the quantity of the same article that the same number of workmen could make by hand. Hence, as the use of machinery extends in a given industry, the immediate effect is to increase production in the other industries that furnish the first with means of production. How far 295 Chapter 15 employment is thereby found for an increased number of men, de pends, given the length of the working day and the intensity of labour, on the composition of the capital employed, i.e., on the ratio of its constant to its variable component. This ratio, in its turn, varies considerably with the extent to which machiner y has already seized on, or is then seizing on, those trades. The number of the men condemned to work in coal and metal mines increased enormously owing to the progress of the English factory system; but during the last few decades this increase of number has been less rapid, owing to the use of new machinery in mining. 137 A new type of workman springs into life along with the machine, namely, its maker. We have already learnt that machinery has possessed itself even of this branch of production on a scale that grows greater every day. 138 As to raw material,139 there is not the least doubt that the rapid strides of cotton spinning, not only pushed on with tropical luxuriance the growth of cotton in the United States, and with it the African slave trade, but also made the breeding of slaves the chief business of the border slave -states. When, in 1790, the first census of slaves was taken in the United States, their number was 697,000; in 1861 it had nearly reached four millions. On the other hand, it is no les s certain that the rise of the English woollen factories, together with the gradual conversion of arable land into sheep pasture, brought, about the superfluity of agricultural labourers that led to their being driven in masses into the towns. Ireland, hav ing during the last twenty years reduced its population by nearly one half, is at this moment undergoing the process of still further reducing the number of its inhabitants, so as exactly to suit the requirements of its landlords and of the English woollen manufacturers. When machinery is applied to any of the preliminary or intermediate stages through which the subject of labour has to pass on its way to completion, there is an increased yield of material in those stages, and simultaneously an increased d emand for labour in the handicrafts or manufactures supplied by the produce of the machines. Spinning by machinery, for example, supplied yarn so cheaply and so abundantly that the hand- loom weavers were, at first, able to work full time without increased outlay. Their earnings accordingly rose. 140 Hence a flow of people into the cotton- weaving trade, till at length the 800,000 weavers, called into existence by the Jenny, the throstle and the mule, were overwhelmed by the power -loom. So also, owing to the abundance of clothing materials produced by machinery, the number of tailors, seamstresses and needlewomen, went on increasing until the appearance of the sewing -machine. In proportion as machinery, with the aid of a relatively small number of workpeople, increases the mass of raw materials, intermediate products, instruments of labour, &c., the working -up of these raw materials and intermediate products becomes split up into numberless branches; social production increases in diversity. The factory system carries the social division of labour immeasurably further than does manufacture, for it increases the productiveness of the industries it seizes upon, in a far higher degree. The immediate result of machinery is to augment surplus -value and the mass of products in which surplus -value is embodied. And, as the substances consumed by the capitalists and their dependents become more plentiful, so too do these orders of society. Their growing wealth, and the relatively diminished number of workmen required to produce the necessaries of life beget, simultaneously with the rise of new and luxurious wants, the means of satisfying those wants. A larger portion of the produce of society is changed into surplus -produce, and a larger part of the surplus -produce is supplied for consumption in a multiplicity of refined shapes. In other words, the production of luxuries increases. 141 The refined and varied forms of the products are also due to new relations with the markets of the world, relations that are created by mod ern industry. Not only are greater quantities of foreign articles of luxury exchanged for home products, but a greater mass of foreign raw materials, ingredients, and intermediate products, are used as means 296 Chapter 15 of production in the home industries. Owing to t hese relations with the markets of the world, the demand for labour increases in the carrying trades, which split up into numerous varieties.142 The increase of the means of production and subsistence, accompanied by a relative diminution in the number of labourers, causes an increased demand for labour in making canals, docks, tunnels, bridges, and so on, works that can only bear fruit in the far future. Entirely new branches of production, creating new fields of labour, are also formed, as the direct result either of machinery or of the general industrial changes brought about by it. But the place occupied by these branches in the general producti on is, even in the most developed countries, far from important. The number of labourers that find employment in them is directly proportional to the demand, created by those industries, for the crudest form of manual labour. The chief industries of this k ind are, at present, gas- works, telegraphs, photography, steam navigation, and railways. According to the census of 1861 for England and Wales, we find in the gas industry (gas -works, production of mechanical apparatus, servants of the gas companies, &c), 15,211 persons; in telegraphy, 2,399; in photography, 2,366; steam navigation, 3,570; and in railways, 70,599, of whom the unskilled ânavvies,â more or less permanently employed, and the whole administrative and commercial staff, make up about 28,000. The total number of persons, therefore, employed in these five new industries amounts to 94,145. Lastly, the extraordinary productiveness of modern industry, accompanied as it is by both a more extensive and a more intense exploitation of labour -power in all other spheres of production, allows of the unproductive employment of a larger and larger part of the working- class, and the consequent reproduction, on a constantly extending scale, of the ancient domestic slaves under the name of a servant class, includi ng men -servants, women -servants, lackeys, &c. According to the census of 1861, the population of England and Wales was 20,066,244; of these, 9,776,259 males, and 10,289,965 females. If we deduct from this population all who are too old or too young for wor k, all unproductive women, young persons and children, the âideologicalâ classes, such as government officials, priests, lawyers, soldiers, &c.; further, all who have no occupation but to consume the labour of others in the form of rent, interest, &c.; and, lastly, paupers, vagabonds, and criminals, there remain in round numbers eight millions of the two sexes of every age, including in that number every capitalist who is in any way engaged in industry, commerce, or finance. Among these 8 millions are: PERSONS Agricultural labourers (including shepherds, farm servants, and maidservants living in the houses of farmers) 1,098,261 All who are employed in cotton, woollen, worsted, flax, hemp, silk, and jute factories, in stocking making and lace making by machinery 143642,607 All who are employed in coal mines and metal mines 565,835 All who are employed in metal works (blastfurnaces, rolling mills, &c.), and metal manufactures of every kind 144 396,998 297 Chapter 15 The servant class 1451,208,648 All the persons employed in textile factories and in mines, taken together, number 1,208,442; those employed in textile factories and metal industries, taken together, number 1,039,605; in both cases less than the number of modern domestic slaves. What a splendid result of the capitalist exploitation of machinery! Section 7: Repulsion and Attraction of Workpeople by the Factory System. Crises in the Cotton Trade All political economists of any standing admit that the introduction of new machinery has a baneful effect on the workmen in the old handicrafts and manufactures with which this machinery at first competes. Almost all of them bemoan the slavery of the factory operative. And what is the great trump -card that they play? That machinery, after the horro rs of the period of introduction and development have subsided, instead of diminishing, in the long run increases the number of the slaves of labour! Yes, Political Economy revels in the hideous theory, hideous to every âphilanthropistâ who believes in the eternal Nature -ordained necessity for capitalist production, that after a period of growth and transition, even its crowning success, the factory system based on machinery, grinds down more workpeople than on its first introduction it throws on the street s. 146 It is true that in some cases, as we saw from instances of English worsted and silk factories, an extraordinary extension of the factory system may, at a certain stage of its development, be accompanied not only by a relative, but by an absolute decr ease in the number of operatives employed. In the year 1860, when a special census of all the factories in the United Kingdom was taken by order of Parliament, the factories in those parts of Lancashire, Cheshire, and Yorkshire, included in the district of Mr. Baker, the factory inspector, numbered 652; 570 of these contained 85,622 power -looms, 6,819,146 spindles (exclusive of doubling spindles), employed 27,439 horse -power (steam), and 1,390 (water), and 94,119 persons. In the year 1865, the same factorie s contained, looms 95,163, spindles 7,025,031, had a steam -power of 28,925 horses,
đ Industrial Transformation Dynamics
đ Factory system expansion between 1835-1861 created complex employment patterns where worker numbers simultaneously increased absolutely while decreasing relatively to capital invested, revealing capitalism's fundamental contradiction
đ The mechanization process transformed industries in wavesâfirst creating extraordinary profits that attracted capital, then establishing self-reinforcing systems where machinery produced machinery, creating unprecedented "elasticity" for rapid expansion
đ Modern industry established a new international division of labor, forcing agricultural production in colonies (like cotton in India and wool in Australia) to supply raw materials for manufacturing centers, fundamentally restructuring global economic relationships
đ The industrial cycle became characterized by boom-bust patterns of "moderate activity, prosperity, over-production, crisis and stagnation," creating chronic employment instability and driving manufacturers to reduce wages during downturns
đ§” The cotton famine of 1861-1863 during the American Civil War revealed how manufacturers exploited crisis conditionsâsubstituting inferior materials, reducing wages, charging rent to workers, and conducting "experiments" at workers' expense
đ„ Modern machinery systematically overthrew traditional production systems based on handicraft cooperation and division of labor, with small-scale operations serving only as temporary transitions to full factory systems
and a water - power of 1,445 horses, and employed 88,913 persons. Between 1860 and 1865, therefore, the increase in looms was 11%, in spindles 3%, and in engine -power 3%, whil e the number of persons employed decreased 5œ%. 147 Between 1852 and 1862, considerable extension of the English woollen manufacture took place, while the number of hands employed in it remained almost stationary, âshowing how greatly the introduction of n ew machines had superseded the labour of preceding periods.â 148 In certain cases, the increase in the number of hands employed is only apparent; that is, it is not due to the extension of the factories already established, but to the gradual annexation of connected trades; for instance, the increase in power -looms, and in the hands employed by them between 1838 and 1856, was, in the cotton trade, simply owing to the extension of this branch of industry; but in the other trades to the application of steam -power to the carpet -loom, to the ribbon- loom, and to the linen- loom, which previously had been worked by the power of men.149 Hence the increase of the hands in these latter trades was merely a symptom of a diminution in the total number employed. Finally, we have considered this question entirely apart from the fact, that everywhere, except in the metal industries, young persons (under 18), and women and children form the preponderating element in the class of factory hands. 298 Chapter 15 Nevertheless, in spite of the m ass of hands actually displaced and virtually replaced by machinery, we can understand how the factory operatives, through the building of more mills and the extension of old ones in a given industry, may become more numerous than the manufacturing workmen and handicraftsman that have been displaced. Suppose, for example, that in the old mode of production, a capital of ÂŁ500 is employed weekly, two -fifths being constant and three -fifths variable capital, i.e., ÂŁ200 being laid out in means of production, and ÂŁ300, say ÂŁ1 per man, in labour -power. On the introduction of machinery the composition of this capital becomes altered. We will suppose it to consist of four -fifths constant and one -fifth variable, which means that only ÂŁ100 is now laid out in labour -power. Consequently, two -thirds of the workmen are discharged. If now the business extends, and the total capital employed grows to ÂŁ1,500 under unchanged conditions, the number of operatives employed will increase to 300, just as many as before the introduct ion of the machinery. If the capital further grows to ÂŁ2,000, 400 men will be employed, or one -third more than under the old system. Their numbers have, in point of fact, increased by 100, but relatively, i.e., in proportion to the total capital advanced, they have diminished by 800, for the ÂŁ2,000 capital would, in the old state of things, have employed 1,200 instead of 400 men. Hence, a relative decrease in the number of hands is consistent with an actual increase. We assumed above that while the total ca pital increases, its composition remains the same, because the conditions of production remain constant. But we have already seen that, with every advance in the use of machinery, the constant component of capital, that part which consists of machinery, raw material, &c., increases, while the variable component, the part laid out in labour -power, decreases. We also know that in no other system of production is improvement so continuous, and the composition of the capital employed so constantly changing as in the factory system. These changes are, however, continually interrupted by periods of rest, during which there is a mere quantitative extension of the factories on the existing technical basis. During such periods the operatives increase in number. Thus, in 1835, the total number of operatives in the cotton, woollen, worsted, flax, and silk factories of the United Kingdom was only 354,684; while in 1861 the number of the power -loom weavers alone (of both sexes and of all ages, from eight years upwards), amounted to 230,654. Certainly, this growth appears less important when we consider that in 1838 the hand- loom weavers with their families still numbered 800,000,150 not to mention those thrown out of work in Asia, and on the Continent of Europe. In the fe w remarks I have still to make on this point, I shall refer to some actually existing relations, the existence of which our theoretical investigation has not yet disclosed. So long as, in a given branch of industry, the factory system extends itself at the expense of the old handicrafts or of manufacture, the result is as sure as is the result of an encounter between an army furnished with breach- loaders, and one armed with bows and arrows. This first period, during which machinery conquers its field of ac tion, is of decisive importance owing to the extraordinary profits that it helps to produce. These profits not only form a source of accelerated accumulation, but also attract into the favoured sphere of production a large part of the additional social cap ital that is being constantly created, and is ever on the look -out for new investments. The special advantages of this first period of fast and furious activity are felt in every branch of production that machinery invades. So soon, however, as the factory system has gained a certain breadth of footing and a definite degree of maturity, and, especially, so soon as its technical basis, machinery, is itself produced by machinery; so soon as coal mining and iron mining, the metal industries, and the means of t ransport have been revolutionised; so soon, in short, as the general conditions requisite for production by the modern industrial system have been established, this mode of production acquires an elasticity, a capacity for sudden extension by leaps and bounds 299 Chapter 15 that finds no hindrance except in the supply of raw material and in the disposal of the produce. On the one hand, the immediate effect of machinery is to increase the supply of raw material in the same way, for example, as the cotton gin augmented the production of cotton.151 On the other hand, the cheapness of the articles produced by machinery, and the improved means of transport and communication furnish the weapons for conquering foreign markets. By ruining handicraft production in other countries, machinery forcibly converts them into fields for the supply of its raw material. In this way East India was compelled to produce cotton, wool, hemp, jute, and indigo for Great Britain.152 By constantly making a part of the hands âsupernumerary,â modern industry, in all countries where it has taken root, gives a spur to emigration and to the colonisation of foreign lands, which are thereby converted into settlements for growing the raw material of the mother country; just as Australia, for example, was conve rted into a colony for growing wool.153 A new and international division of labour, a division suited to the requirements of the chief centres of modern industry springs up, and converts one part of the globe into a chiefly agricultural field of production , for supplying the other part which remains a chiefly industrial field. This revolution hangs together with radical changes in agriculture which we need not here further inquire into.154 On the motion of Mr. Gladstone, the House of Commons ordered, on the 17th February, 1867, a return of the total quantities of grain, corn, and flour, of all sorts, imported into, and exported from, the United Kingdom, between the years 1831 and 1866. I give below a summary of the result. The flour is given in quarters of corn. (See the Table on p. 426.) QUINQUENNIAL PERIODS AND THE YEAR 1866 ANNUAL AVERAGE 1831- 1835 1836- 1840 1841- 1845 1846- 1850 1851- 1855 1856- 1860 1861- 1865 1866 Import 1,096,373 2,389,729 2,843,865 8,776,552 8,345,237 10,913,612 15,009,871 16,457,340 Export 225,263 251,770 139,056 155,461 307,491 341,150 302,754 216,218 Excess of import over export 871,110 2,137,959 2,704,809 8,621,091 8,037,746 10,572,462 14,707,117 16,241,122 POPULATION Yearly average in each period 24,621,107 25,929,507 27,262,569 27,797,598 27,572,923 28,391,544 29,381,460 29,935,404 Average quantity of corn etc,. in qrs., consumed annually per head over and above the home produce consumed 0.036 0.082 0.099 0.310 0.291 0.372 0.501 0.543 300 Chapter 15 The enormous power, inherent in the factory system, of expanding by jumps, and the dependence of that system on the markets of the world, necessarily beget feverish production, followed by over-filling of the markets, whereupon contraction of the markets b rings on crippling of production. The life of modern industry becomes a series of periods of moderate activity, prosperity, over -production, crisis and stagnation. The uncertainty and instability to which machinery subjects the employment, and consequently the conditions of existence, of the operatives become normal, owing to these periodic changes of the industrial cycle. Except in the periods of prosperity, there rages between the capitalists the most furious combat for the share of each in the markets. T his share is directly proportional to the cheapness of the product. Besides the rivalry that this struggle begets in the application of improved machinery for replacing labour - power, and of new methods of production, there also comes a time in every indust rial cycle, when a forcible reduction of wages beneath the value of labour -power, is attempted for the purpose of cheapening commodities.155 A necessary condition, therefore, to the growth of the number of factory hands, is a proportionally much more rapid growth of the amount of capital invested in mills. This growth, however, is conditioned by the ebb and flow of the industrial cycle. It is, besides, constantly interrupted by the technical progress that at one time virtually supplies the place of new work men, at another, actually displaces old ones. This qualitative change in mechanical industry continually discharges hands from the factory, or shuts its doors against the fresh stream of recruits, while the purely quantitative extension of the factories absorbs not only the men thrown out of work, but also fresh contingents. The workpeople are thus continually both repelled and attracted, hustled from pillar to post, while, at the same time, constant changes take place in the sex, age, and skill of the levies. The lot of the factory operatives will be best depicted by taking a rapid survey of the course of the English cotton industry. From 1770 to 1815 this trade was depressed or stagnant for 5 years only. During this period of 45 years the English manufacturers had a monopoly of machinery and of the markets of the world. From 1815 to 1821 depression; 1822 and 1823 prosperity; 1824 abol ition of the laws against Tradesâ Unions, great extension of factories everywhere; 1825 crisis; 1826 great misery and riots among the factory operatives; 1827 slight improvement; 1828 great increase in power -looms, and in exports; 1829 exports, especially to India, surpass all former years; 1830 glutted markets, great distress; 1831 to 1833 continued depression, the monopoly of the trade with India and China withdrawn from the East India Company; 1834 great increase of factories and machinery, shortness of hands. The new poor law furthers the migration of agricultural labourers into the factory districts. The country districts swept of children. White slave trade; 1835 great prosperity, contemporaneous starvation of the hand -loom weavers; 1836 great prosperi ty; 1837 and 1838 depression and crisis; 1839 revival; 1840 great depression, riots, calling out of the military; 1841 and 1842 frightful suffering among the factory operatives; 1842 the manufacturers lock the hands out of the factories in order to enforce the repeal of the Corn Laws. The operatives stream in thousands into the towns of Lancashire and Yorkshire, are driven back by the military, and their leaders brought to trial at Lancaster; 1843 great misery; 1844 revival; 1845 great prosperity; 1846 continued improvement at first, then reaction. Repeal of the Corn Laws; 1847 crisis, general reduction of wages by 10 and more per cent. in honour of the âbig loaf"; 1848 continued depression; Manchester under military protection; 1849 revival; 1850 prosperity ; 1851 falling prices, low wages, frequent strikes; 1852 improvement begins, strikes continue, the manufacturers threaten to import foreign hands; 1853 increasing exports. Strike for 8 months, and great misery at Preston; 1854 prosperity, glutted markets; 1855 news of failures stream in from 301 Chapter 15 the United States, Canada, and the Eastern markets; 1856 great prosperity; 1857 crisis; 1858 improvement; 1859 great prosperity, increase in factories; 1860 Zenith of the English cotton trade, the Indian, Australian, and other markets so glutted with goods that even in 1863 they had not absorbed the whole lot; the French Treaty of Commerce, enormous growth of factories and machinery; 1861 prosperity continues for a time, reaction, the American Civil War, cotton famine: 1 862 to 1863 complete collapse. The history of the cotton famine is too characteristic to dispense with dwelling upon it for a moment. From the indications as to the condition of the markets of the world in 1860 and 1861, we see that the cotton famine came in the nick of time for the manufacturers, and was to some extent advantageous to them, a fact that was acknowledged in the reports of the Manchester Chamber of Commerce, proclaimed in Parliament by Palmerston and Derby, and confirmed by events.156 No doubt, among the 2,887 cotton mills in the United Kingdom in 1861, there were many of small size. According to the report of Mr. A. Redgrave, out of the 2,109 mills included in his district, 392, or 19% employed less than ten horse -power each; 345, or 16% employed 10 H. P., and less than 20 H. P.; while 1,372 employed upwards of 20 H. P.157 The majority of the small mills were weaving sheds, built during the period of prosperity after 1858, for the most part by speculators, of whom one supplied the yarn, anoth er the machinery, a third the buildings, and were worked by men who had been overlookers, or by other persons of small means. These small manufacturers mostly went to the wall. The same fate would have overtaken them in the commercial crisis that was staved off only by the cotton famine. Although they formed one -third of the total number of manufacturers, yet their mills absorbed a much smaller part of the capital invested in the cotton trade. As to the extent of the stoppage, it appears from authentic esti mates, that in October 1862, 60.3% of the spindles, and 58% of the looms were standing. This refers to the cotton trade as a whole, and, of course, requires considerable modification for individual districts. Only very few mills worked full time (60 hours a week), the remainder worked at intervals. Even in those few cases where full time was worked, and at the customary rate of piece- wage, the weekly wages of the operatives necessarily shrank, owing to good cotton being replaced by bad, Sea Island by Egypti an (in fine spinning mills), American and Egyptian by Surat, and pure cotton by mixings of waste and Surat. The shorter fibre of the Surat cotton and its dirty condition, the greater fragility of the thread, the substitution of all sorts of heavy ingredients for flour in sizing the warps, all these lessened the speed of the machinery, or the number of the looms that could be superintended by one weaver, increased the labour caused by defects in the machinery, and reduced the piece -wage by reducing the mass of the product turned off. Where Surat cotton was used, the loss to the operatives when on full time, amounted to 20, 30, and more per cent. But besides this, the majority of the manufacturers reduced the rate of piece- wage by 5, 7œ, and 10 per cent. We ca n therefore conceive the situation of those hands who were employed for only 3, 3œ or 4 days a week, or for only 6 hours a day. Even in 1863, after a comparative improvement had set in, the weekly wages of spinners and of weavers were 3s. 4d., 3s. 10d., 4s . 6d. and 5s. 1d. 158 Even in this miserable state of things, however, the inventive spirit of the master never stood still, but was exercised in making deductions from wages. These were to some extent inflicted as a penalty for defects in the finished arti cle that were really due to his bad cotton and to his unsuitable machinery. Moreover, where the manufacturer owned the cottages of the workpeople, he paid himself his rents by deducting the amount from these miserable wages. Mr. Redgrave tells us of self -acting minders (operatives who manage a pair of self -acting mules) âearning at the end of a fortnightâs full work 8s. 11d., and that from this sum was deducted the rent of the house, the manufacturer, however, returning half the rent as a gift. The minders took away the sum of 6s. 11d. In many places the self - 302 Chapter 15 acting minders ranged from 5s. to 9s. per week, and the weavers from 2s. to 6s. per week, during the latter part of 1862.â159 Even when working short time the rent was frequently deducted from the wages of the operatives.160 No wonder that in some parts of Lancashire a kind of famine fever broke out. But more characteristic than all this, was, the revolution that took place in the process of production at the expense of the workpeople. Experimenta in cor pore vili, like those of anatomists on frogs, were formally made. âAlthough,â says Mr. Redgrave, âI have given the actual earnings of the operatives in the several mills, it does not follow that they earn the same amount week by week. The operatives are s ubject to great fluctuation from the constant experimentalising of the manufacturers ... the earnings of the operatives rise and fall with the quality of the cotton mixings; sometimes they have been within 15 per cent. of former earnings, and then, in a we ek or two, they have fallen off from 50 to 60 per cent.â161 These experiments were not made solely at the expense of the workmanâs means of subsistence. His five senses also had to pay the penalty. âThe people who are employed in making up Surat cotton complain very much. They inform me, on opening the bales of cotton there is an intolerable smell, which causes sickness.... In the mixing, scribbling and carding rooms, the dust and dirt which are disengaged, irritate the air passages, and give rise to cough and difficulty of breathing. A disease of the skin, no doubt from the irritation of the dirt contained in the Surat cotton, also prevails.... The fibre being so short, a great amount of size, both animal and vegetable, is used.... Bronchitis is more preva lent owing to the dust. Inflammatory sore throat is common, from the same cause. Sickness and dyspepsia are produced by the frequent breaking of the weft, when the weaver sucks the weft through the eye of the shuttle.â On the other hand, the substitutes for flour were a Fortunatusâ purse to the manufacturers, by increasing the weight of the yarn. They caused â15 lbs. of raw material to weigh 26 lbs. after it was woven.â 162 In the Report of Inspectors of Factories for 30th April, 1864, we read as follows: âThe trade is availing itself of this resource at present to an extent which is even discreditable. I have heard on good authority of a cloth weighing 8 lbs. which was made of 5 1/4 lbs. cotton and 2 3/4 lbs. size; and of another cloth weighing 5 1/4 lbs., of which 2 lbs. was size. These were ordinary export shirtings. In cloths of other descriptions, as much as 50 per cent. size is sometimes added; so that a manufacturer may, and does truly boast, that he is getting rich by selling cloth for less money per pound than he paid for the mere yarn of which they are composed.â 163 But the workpeople had to suffer, not only from the experiments of the manufacturers inside the mills, and of the municipalities outside, not only from reduced wages and absence of work , from want and from charity, and from the eulogistic speeches of lords and commons. âUnfortunate females who, in consequence of the cotton famine, were at its commencement thrown out of employment, and have thereby become outcasts of society; and now, though trade has revived, and work is plentiful, continue members of that unfortunate class, and are likely to continue so. There are also in the borough more youthful prostitutes than I have known for the last 25 years.â 164 303 Chapter 15 We find then, in the first 45 yea rs of the English cotton trade, from 1770 to 1815, only 5 years of crisis and stagnation; but this was the period of monopoly. The second period from 1815 to 1863 counts, during its 48 years, only 20 years of revival and prosperity against 28 of depression and stagnation. Between 1815 and 1830 the competition with the continent of Europe and with the United States sets in. After 1833, the extension of the Asiatic markets is enforced by âdestruction of the human raceâ (the wholesale extinction of Indian hand- loom weavers). After the repeal of the Corn Laws, from 1846 to 1863, there are 8 years of moderate activity and prosperity against 9 years of depression and stagnation. The condition of the adult male operatives, even during the years of prosperity, may b e judged from the note subjoined.165 Section 8: Revolution Effected in Manufacture, Handicrafts, and Domestic Industry by Modern Industry A. Overthrow of Co -operation Based on Handicraft and on the Division of Labour We have seen how machinery does away wi th co -operation based on handicrafts, and with manufacture based on the division of handicraft labour. An example of the first sort is the mowing- machine; it replaces co -operation between mowers. A striking example of the second kind, is the needle -making machine. According to Adam Smith, 10 men, in his day, made in co- operation, over 48,000 needles a -day. On the other hand, a single needle -machine makes 145,000 in a working day of 11 hours. One woman or one girl superintends four such machines, and so produces near upon 600,000 needles in a day, and upwards of 3,000,000 in a week.166 A single machine, when it takes the place of co -operation or of manufacture, may itself serve as the basis of an industry of a handicraft character. Still, such a return to handicrafts is but a transition to the factory system, which, as a rule, makes its appearance so soon as the human muscles are replaced, for the purpose of driving the machines, by a mechanical motive power, such as steam or water. Here and there, but in any case only for a time, an industry may be carried on, on a small scale, by means of mechanical power. This is effected by hiring steam -power, as is done in some of the Birmingham trades, or by the use of small caloric- engines, as in some branches of weaving .167 In the Coventry silk weaving industry the experiment of âcottage factoriesâ was tried. In the centre of a square surrounded by rows of cottages, an engine -house was built and the engine connected by shafts with the looms in the cottages. In all cases the power was hired at so much per loom. The rent was payable weekly, whether the looms worked or not. Each cottage held from 2 to 6 looms; some belonged to the weaver, some were bought on credit, some were hired. The struggle between these cottage factori es and the factory proper, lasted over 12 years. It ended with the complete ruin of the 300 cottage factories. 168 Wherever the nature of the process did not involve production
đ Industrial Evolution Stages
đ Manufacturing transitions from handicraft to factory systems through distinct phases, illustrated by steel-pen production dropping from ÂŁ7 to pennies per gross between 1820-1830
đ Domestic industry transforms from independent craftwork into an exploitative extension of factory systems, with worse conditions than factories themselves due to workers' isolation and competition
đ Health consequences are devastating, with mortality rates in tailoring and printing more than doubling factory workers' death rates, and consumption affecting 1 in 8 lace-makers by 1861
đ¶ Child labor reaches horrific extremes in industries like lace-making and straw-plaiting, with children as young as 2-4 years old working in overcrowded "schools" with no education
đ Mechanization eventually arrives when exploitation reaches natural limits, rapidly converting domestic and manufacturing industries into factory systems
on a large scale, the new industries that have sprung up in the last few decades , such as envelope making, steel -pen making, &c., have, as a general rule, first passed through the handicraft stage, and then the manufacturing stage, as short phases of transition to the factory stage. The transition is very difficult in those cases wher e the production of the article by manufacture consists, not of a series of graduated processes, but of a great number of disconnected ones. This circumstance formed a great hindrance to the establishment of steel -pen factories. Nevertheless, about 15 year s ago, a machine was invented that automatically performed 6 separate operations at once. The first steel -pens were supplied by the handicraft system, in the year 1820, at ÂŁ7 4s. the gross; in 1830 they -were supplied by manufacture at 8s., and today the factory system supplies them to the trade at from 2 to 6d. the gross. 169 304 Chapter 15 B. Reaction of the Factory System on Manufacture and Domestic Industries Along with the development of the factory system and of the revolution in agriculture that accompanies it, prod uction in all the other branches of industry not only extends, but alters its character. The principle, carried out in the factory system, of analysing the process of production into its constituent phases, and of solving the problems thus proposed by the application of mechanics, of chemistry, and of the whole range of the natural sciences, becomes the determining principle everywhere. Hence, machinery squeezes itself into the manufacturing industries first for one detail process, then for another. Thus the solid crystal of their organisation, based on the old division of labour, becomes dissolved, and makes way for constant changes. Independently of this, a radical change takes place in the composition of the collective labourer, a change of the persons wo rking in combination. In contrast with the manufacturing period, the division of labour is thenceforth based, wherever possible, on the employment of women, of children of all ages, and of unskilled labourers, in one word, on cheap labour, as it is charact eristically called in England. This is the case not only with all production on a large scale, whether employing machinery or not, but also with the so- called domestic industry, whether carried on in the houses of the workpeople or in small workshops. This modern so- called domestic industry has nothing, except the name, in common with the old- fashioned domestic industry, the existence of which pre-supposes independent urban handicrafts, independent peasant farming, and above all, a dwelling -house for the la bourer and his family. That old- fashioned industry has now been converted into an outside department of the factory, the manufactory, or the warehouse. Besides the factory operatives, the manufacturing workmen and the handicraftsman, whom it concentrates in large masses at one spot, and directly commands, capital also sets in motion, by means, of invisible threads, another army; that of the workers in the domestic industries, who dwell in the large towns and are also scattered over the face of the country. An example: The shirt factory of Messrs. Tillie at Londonderry, which employs 1,000 operatives in the factory itself, and 9,000 people spread up and down the country and working in their own houses. 170 The exploitation of cheap and immature labour -power i s carried out in a more shameless manner in modern Manufacture than in the factory proper. This is because the technical foundation of the factory system, namely, the substitution of machines for muscular power, and the light character of the labour, is al most entirely absent in Manufacture, and at the same time women and over - young children are subjected, in a most unconscionable way, to the influence of poisonous or injurious substances. This exploitation is more shameless in the so -called domestic indust ry than in manufactures, and that because the power of resistance in the labourers decreases with their dissemination; because a whole series of plundering parasites insinuate themselves between the employer and the workman; because a domestic industry has always to compete either with the factory system, or with manufacturing in the same branch of production; because poverty robs the workman of the conditions most essential to his labour, of space, light and ventilation; because employment becomes more and more irregular; and, finally, because in these the last resorts of the masses made âredundantâ by modern industry and Agriculture, competition for work attains its maximum. Economy in the means of production, first systematically carried out in the factor y system, and there, from the very beginning, coincident with the most reckless squandering of labour -power, and robbery of the conditions normally requisite for labour â this economy now shows its antagonistic and murderous side more and more in a given branch of industry, the less the social productive power of labour and the technical basis for a combination of processes are developed in that branch. 305 Chapter 15 C. Modern Manufacture I now proceed, by a few examples, to illustrate the principles laid down above. As a matter of fact, the reader is already familiar with numerous instances given in the chapter on the working day. In the hardware manufactures of Birmingham and the neighbourhood, there are employed, mostly in very heavy work, 30,000 children and young pe rsons, besides 10,000 women. There they are to be seen in the unwholesome brass -foundries, button factories, enamelling, galvanising, and lackering works.171 Owing to the excessive labour of their workpeople, both adult and non- adult, certain London houses where newspapers and books are printed, have got the ill -omened name of âslaughterhouses.â172 Similar excesses are practised in book -binding, where the victims are chiefly women, girls, and children; young persons have to do heavy work in rope -walks and night -work in salt mines, candle manufactories, and chemical works; young people are worked to death at turning the looms in silk weaving, when it is not carried on by machinery.173 One of the most shameful, the most dirty, and the worst paid kinds of labour, and one on which women and young girls are by preference employed, is the sorting of rags. It is well known that Great Britain, apart from its own immense store of rags, is the emporium for the rag trade of the whole world. They flow in from Japan, from the most remote States of South America, and from the Canary Islands. But the chief sources of their supply are Germany, France, Russia, Italy, Egypt, Turkey, Belgium, and Holland. They are used for manure, for making bedflocks, for shoddy, and they serve as the raw material of paper. The rag -sorters are the medium for the spread of small -pox and other infectious diseases, and they themselves are the first victims. 174 A classical example of over-work, of hard and inappropriate labour, and of its brutalising effects on the workman from his childhood upwards, is afforded not only by coal -mining and miners generally, but also by tile and brick making, in which industry the recently invented machinery is, in England, used only here and there. Between May and September the work lasts from 5 in the morning till 8 in the evening, and where the drying is done in the open air, it often lasts from 4 in the morning till 9 in the evening. Work from 5 in the morning till 7 in the evening is considered âreducedâ and âmode rate.â Both boys and girls of 6 and even of 4 years of age are employed. They work for the same number of hours, often longer, than the adults. The work is hard and the summer heat increases the exhaustion. In a certain tile- field at Mosley, e.g., a young woman, 24 years of age, was in the habit of making 2,000 tiles a day, with the assistance of 2 little girls, who carried the clay for her, and stacked the tiles. These girls carried daily 10 tons up the slippery sides of the clay pits, from a depth of 30 f eet, and then for a distance of 210 feet. âIt is impossible for a child to pass through the purgatory of a tile -field without great moral degradation... the low language, which they are accustomed to hear from their tenderest years, the filthy, indecent, a nd shameless habits, amidst which, unknowing, and half wild, they grow up, make them in after -life lawless, abandoned, dissolute.... A frightful source of demoralisation is the mode of living. Each moulder, who is always a skilled labourer, and the chief o f a group, supplies his 7 subordinates with board and lodging in his cottage. Whether members of his family or not, the men, boys, and girls all sleep in the cottage, which contains generally two, exceptionally 3 rooms, all on the ground floor, and badly ventilated. These people are so exhausted after the dayâs hard work, that neither the rules of health, of cleanliness, nor of decency are in the least observed. Many of these cottages are models of untidiness, dirt, and dust.... The greatest evil of the system that employs young girls on this sort of work, consists in this, that, as a rule, it chains them fast from childhood for the whole of their after -life to the most abandoned rabble. They become rough, foul -mouthed boys, before Nature has 306 Chapter 15 taught them tha t they are women. Clothed in a few dirty rags, the legs naked far above the knees, hair and face besmeared with dirt, they learn to treat all feelings of decency and of shame with contempt. During meal -times they lie at full length in the fields, or watch the boys bathing in a neighbouring canal. Their heavy dayâs work at length completed, they put on better clothes, and accompany the men to the public houses.â That excessive insobriety is prevalent from childhood upwards among the whole of this class, is only natural. âThe worst is that the brickmakers despair of themselves. You might as well, said one of the better kind to a chaplain of Southallfield, try to raise and improve the devil as a brickie, sir!â 175 As to the manner, in which capital effects an economy in the requisites of labour, in modern Manufacture (in which I include all workshops of larger size, except factories proper), official and most ample material bearing on it is to be found in the Public Health Reports IV. (1863) and VI. (1864). The description of the workshops, more especially those of the London printers and tailors, surpasses the most loathsome phantasies of our romance writers. The effect on the health of the workpeople is self -evident. Dr. Simon, the chief medical officer of the Privy Council and the official editor of the âPublic Health Reports,â says: âIn my fourth Report (1863) I showed, how it is practically impossible for the workpeople to insist upon that which is their first sanitary right, viz., the right that, no matter what the work for which their employer brings them together, the labour, so far as it depends upon him, should be freed from all avoidably unwholesome conditions. I pointed out, that while the workpeople are practically incapable of doing themselves this sanitary justice, they are unable to obtain any effective support from the paid administrations of the sanitary police.... The life of myriads of workmen and workwomen is now uselessly tortured and shortened by the never -ending physical suffering that their mere occupation begets.â 176 In illustration of the way in which the workrooms influence the state of health Dr. Simon gives the following table of mortality. 177 Number of Persons of all ages in the respective industries Industry compared as regards health Death -rate per 100,000 men in the respective industries between the stated ages Age 25 -35 Age 35 -45 Age 45 -55 958,265 Agriculture in England & Wales 743 805 1141 22,301 men 12,379 women } London tailors 958 1,262 2,093 13,803 London printers 894 1,747 2,367 307 Chapter 15 D. Modern Domestic Industry I now come to the so- called domestic industry. In order to get an idea of the horrors of this sphere, in which capital conducts its exploitation in the background of modern mechanical industry, one must go to the apparently quite idyllic trade of nail -making,178 carried on in a few remote villages of England. In this place, however, it will be enough to give a few examples from those branches of the lace -making and straw -plaiting industries that are not yet carried on by the aid of machinery, and that as yet do not compete with branches carried on in factories or in manufactories. Of the 150,000 persons employed in England in the production of lace, about 10,000 fall under the authority of the Factory Ac t, 1861. Almost the whole of the remaining 140,000 are women, young persons, and children of both sexes, the male sex, however, being weakly represented. The state of health of this cheap material for exploitation will be seen from the following table, computed by Dr. Trueman, physician to the Nottingham General Dispensary. Out of 686 female patients who were lace- makers, most of them between the ages of 17 and 24, the number of consumptive ones were: 1852 . â 1 in 45. 1857 . â 1 in 13. 1853 . â 1 in 28. 1858 . â 1 in 15. 1854 . â 1 in 17. 1859 . â 1 in 9. 1856 . â 1 in 15. 1861 . â 1 in 8.179 This progress in the rate of consumption ought to suffice for the most optimist of progressists, and for the biggest hawker of lies among the Free- trade bagmen of Ger many. The Factory Act of 1861 regulates the actual making of the lace, so far as it is done by machinery, and this is the rule in England. The branches that we are now about to examine, solely with regard to those of the workpeople who work at home, and not those who work in manufactories or warehouses, fall into two divisions, viz. (1), finishing; (2), mending. The former gives the finishing touches to the machine -made lace, and includes numerous sub- divisions. The lace finishing is done either in what a re called âmistressesâ houses,â or by women in their own houses, with or without the help of their children. The women who keep the âmistressesâ housesâ are themselves poor. The workroom is in a private house. The mistresses take orders from manufacturers, or from warehousemen, and employ as many women, girls, and young children as the size of their rooms and the fluctuating demand of the business will allow. The number of the workwomen employed in these workrooms varies from 20 to 40 in some, and from 10 to 20 in others. The average age at which the children commence work is six years, but in many cases it is below five. The usual working -hours are from 8 in the morning till eight in the evening, with 1œ hours for meals, which are taken at irregular intervals, and often in the foul workrooms. When business is brisk, the labour frequently lasts from 8 or even 6 oâclock in the morning till 10, 11, or 12 oâclock at night. In English barracks the regulation space allotted to each soldier is 500 -600 cubic feet, a nd in the military hospitals 1,200 cubic feet. But in those finishing sties there are but 67 to 100 cubic feet to each person. At the same time the oxygen of the air is consumed by gas -lights. In order to keep the lace clean, and although the floor is tile d or gagged, the children are often compelled, even in winter, to pull off their shoes. âIt is not at all uncommon in Nottingham to find 14 to 20 children huddled together in a small room, of, perhaps, not more than 12 feet square, and employed for 15 hour s out of the 24, at work that of itself is exhausting, from its weariness and monotony, and is besides carried on under every possible unwholesome condition.... Even the very youngest children work with a strained attention and a 308 Chapter 15 rapidity that is astonishi ng, hardly ever giving their fingers rest or glowering their motion. If a question be asked them, they never raise their eyes from their work from fear of losing a single moment.â The âlong stickâ is used by the mistresses as a stimulant more and more as the working hours are prolonged. âThe children gradually tire and become as restless as birds towards the end of their long detention at an occupation that is monotonous, eye -straining, and exhausting from the uniformity in the posture of the body. Their work is like slavery.â 180 When women and their children work at home, which now -a-days means in a hired room, often in a garret, the state of things is, if possible, still worse. This sort of work is given out within a circle of 80 miles radius from Notti ngham. On leaving the warehouses at 9 or 10 oâclock at night, the children are often given a bundle of lace to take home with them and finish. The Pharisee of a capitalist represented by one of his servants, accompanies this action, of course, with the unctuous phrase: âThatâs for mother,â yet he knows well enough that the poor children must sit up and help. 181 Pillow lace -making is chiefly carried on in England in two agricultural districts; one, the Honiton lace district, extending from 20 to 30 miles along the south coast of Devonshire, and including a few places in North Devon; the other comprising a great pa rt of the counties of Buckingham, Bedford, and Northampton, and also the adjoining portions of Oxfordshire and Huntingdonshire. The cottages of the agricultural labourers are the places where the work is usually carried on. Many manufacturers employ upwards of 3,000 of these lace -makers, who are chiefly children and young persons of the female sex exclusively. The state of things described as incidental to lace finishing is here repeated, save that instead of the âmistressesâ houses,â we find what are calle d âlace- schools,â kept by poor women in their cottages. From their fifth year and often earlier, until their twelfth or fifteenth year, the children work in these schools; during the first year the very young ones work from four to eight hours, and later on, from six in the morning till eight and ten oâclock at night. âThe rooms are generally the ordinary living rooms of small cottages, the chimney stopped up to keep out draughts, the inmates kept warm by their own animal heat alone, and this frequently in winter. In other cases, these so -called school -rooms are like small store- rooms without fire -places.... The over -crowding in these dens and the consequent vitiation of the air are often extreme. Added to this is the injurious effect of drains, privies, dec omposing substances, and other filth usual in the purlieus of the smaller cottages.â With regard to space: âIn one lace- school 18 girls and a mistress, 35 cubic feet to each person; in another, where the smell was unbearable, 18 persons and 24œ cubic feet per head. In this industry are to be found employed children of 2 and 2œ years.â 182 Where lace- making ends in the counties of Buckingham and Bedford, straw -plaiting begins, and extends over a large part of Hertfordshire and the westerly and northerly parts of Essex. In 1861, there were 40,043 persons employed in straw -plaiting and straw -hat making; of these 3,815 were males of all ages, the rest females, of whom 14,913, including about 7,000 children, were under 20 years of age. In the place of the lace- schools we find here the âstraw -plait schools.â The children commence their instruction in straw -plaiting generally in their 4th, often between their 3rd and 4th year. Education, of course, they get none. The children themselves call the elementary schools, ânatural schools,â to distinguish them from these blood- sucking institutions, in whic h they are kept at work simply to get through the task, generally 30 yards daily, prescribed 309 Chapter 15 by their half -starved mothers. These same mothers often make them work at home, after school is over, till 10, 11, and 12 oâclock at night. The straw cuts their mouths, with which they constantly moisten it, and their fingers. Dr. Ballard gives it as the general opinion of the whole body of medical officers in London, that 300 cubic feet is the minimum space proper for each person in a bedroom or workroom. But in the straw -plait schools space is more sparingly allotted than in the lace- schools, â12 2/3, 17, 18œ and below 22 cubic feet for each person.â âThe smaller of these numbers, says one of the commissioners, Mr. White, represents less space than the half of wha t a child would occupy if packed in a box measuring 3 feet in each direction.â Thus do the children enjoy life till the age of 12 or 14. The wretched half -starved parents think of nothing but getting as much as possible out of their children. The latter, as soon as they are grown up, do not care a farthing, and naturally so, for their parents, and leave them. âIt is no wonder that ignorance and vice abound in a population so brought up.... Their morality is at the lowest ebb,... a great number of the women have illegitimate children, and that at such an immature age that even those most conversant with criminal statistics are astounded.â 183 And the native land of these model families is the pattern Christian country for Europe; so says at least Count Monta lembert, certainly a competent authority on Christianity! Wages in the above industries, miserable as they are (the maximum wages of a child in the straw - plait schools rising in rare cases to 3 shillings), are reduced far below their nominal amount by the prevalence of the truck system everywhere, but especially in the lace districts. 184 E. Passage of Modern Manufacture, and Domestic Industry into Modern Mechanical Industry. The Hastening of this Revolution by the Application of the Factory Acts to those Industries The cheapening of labour -power, by sheer abuse of the labour of women and children, by sheer robbery of every normal condition requisite for working and living, and by the sheer brutality of overwork and night -work, meets at last with natural ob stacles that cannot be overstepped. So also, when based on these methods, do the cheapening of commodities and capitalist exploitation in general. So soon as this point is at last reached â and it takes many years â the hour has struck for the introduction of machinery, and for the thenceforth rapid conversion of the scattered domestic industries and also of manufactures into factory industries. An example, on the most colossal scale, of this movement is afforded by the production of wearing apparel. This industry, according to the classification of the Childrenâs Employment Commission, comprises straw -hat makers, ladiesâ -hat makers, cap -makers, tailors, milliners and dressmakers, shirt -makers, corset -makers, glove -makers, shoemakers, besides many minor branches, such as the making of neck -ties, collars, &c. In 1861, the number of females employed in these industries, in England and Wales, amounted to 586,299, of these 115,242 at the least were under 20, and 16,650. under 15 years of age. The number of these workwomen in the United Kingdom in 1861, was 750,334. The number of males employed in England and Wales, in hat - making, shoemaking, glove -making and tailoring was 437,969; of these 14,964 under 15 years, 89,285 between 15 and 20, and 333,117 over 20 years . Many of the
đ Industrial Revolution's Human Cost
đ§” Sewing machines transformed clothing production, replacing traditional handicrafts and domestic industries with factory systems that concentrated workers and machinery under single management
đ° Capitalists exploited cheap labor through "domestic workers" and small workshops, creating brutal working conditions with minimal wages and maximum hours to expand markets through inexpensive goods
â±ïž Factory Acts imposed crucial regulations on working hours, child labor, and safety measures, despite manufacturers' claims that such restrictions would make production impossible
đ Technical "impossibilities" cited by manufacturers consistently vanished when regulations forced innovation, proving that most production obstacles were artificial rather than natural
đ„ Sanitary clauses in factory legislation remained woefully inadequate, with capitalists fiercely opposing even minimal expenditures on worker safety despite horrific accidents in industries like flax processing
đ§± Factory legislation faces fierce resistance from capitalists who view regulations on space, safety, and education as direct attacks on their profit margins and exploitation rights
đ Educational innovation emerges from factory systems, combining productive labor with instruction and gymnasticsâcreating a model for developing "fully developed human beings" rather than specialized fragments
đ Modern industry simultaneously creates specialized labor divisions while demanding worker flexibility, creating a fundamental contradiction that threatens worker security and livelihoods
đ± Revolutionary potential exists in technical education and the development of versatile workers, directly opposing the capitalistic production model that reduces humans to mere appendages of machines
đïž Legislative reform gradually expands from textile factories to broader industrial regulation, though often undermined by exceptions, compromises, and uneven application across different workplaces
đ§ Child labor persists in mines with children as young as 10 working 14-15 hour days underground, causing physical exhaustion that prevents education despite laws requiring school certificates
âïž Regulatory failures plague the system through deliberately understaffed inspections, corrupt coroner inquests, false measurements, and mine owners appointing their own safety arbitrators
đ Parliamentary hypocrisy reveals itself as ruling classes reluctantly pass protective legislation while simultaneously undermining enforcement through "hesitation, repugnance, and bad faith"
đ Workers demand weekly pay by accurate weight measurements, proper ventilation, impartial accident investigations, and sufficient inspectors who aren't "afraid" to enforce existing laws
đ° Profit motives consistently override safety concerns as owners place operations "on the most economical basis," sacrificing workers who dare report violations to inspectors
letter in the hands of the municipal and local authorities who were charged with its execution. When, in 1871, Parliament withdrew from them this power, in order to con fer it on the Factory Inspectors, to whose province it thus added by a single stroke more than one hundred thousand workshops, and three hundred brickworks, care was taken at the same time not to add more than eight assistants to their already undermanned staff. 243 What strikes us, then, in the English legislation of 1867, is, on the one hand, the necessity imposed on the parliament of the ruling classes, of adopting in principle measures so extraordinary, and on so great a scale, against the excesses of capitalistic exploitation; and on the other hand, the hesitation, the repugnance, and the bad faith, with which it lent itself to the task of carrying those measures into practice. 322 Chapter 15 The Inquiry Commission of 1862 also proposed a new regulation of the mining industry, an industry distinguished from others by the exceptional characteristic that the interests of landlord and capitalist there join hands. The antagonism of these two interests had been favourable to Factory legislation, while on the other hand the absence of that antagonism is sufficient to explain the delays and chicanery of the legislation on mines. The Inquiry Commission of 1840 had made revelations so terrible, so shocking, and creating such a scandal all over Europe, that to salve its conscience Parliament passed the Mining Act of 1842, in which it limited itself to forbidding the employment underground in mines of children under 10 years of age and females. Then another Act, The Minesâ Inspecting Act of 1860, provides that mines shall be ins pected by public officers nominated specially for that purpose, and that boys between the ages of 10 and 12 years shall not be employed, unless they have a school certificate, or go to school for a certain number of hours. This Act was a complete dead lett er owing to the ridiculously small number of inspectors, the meagreness of their powers, and other causes that will become apparent as we proceed. One of the most recent Blue books on mines is the âReport from the Select Committee on Mines, together with &c. Evidence, 23rd July, 1866.â This Report is the work of a Parliamentary Committee selected from members of the House of Commons, and authorised to summon and examine witnesses. It is a thick folio volume in which the Report itself occupies only five lin es to this effect; that the committee has nothing to say, and that more witnesses must be examined! The mode of examining the witnesses reminds one of the cross -examination of witnesses in English courts of justice, where the advocate tries, by means of i mpudent, unexpected, equivocal and involved questions, put without connexion, to intimidate, surprise, and confound the witness, and to give a forced meaning to the answers extorted from him. In this inquiry the members of the committee themselves are the cross- examiners, and among them are to be found both mine - owners and mine exploiters; the witnesses are mostly working coal miners. The whole farce is too characteristic of the spirit of capital, not to call for a few extracts from this Report. For the sak e of conciseness I have classified them. I may also add that every question and its answer are numbered in the English Blue books. 1. Employment in mines of boys of 10 years and upwards. â In the mines the work, inclusive of going and returning, usually lasts 14 or 15 hours, sometimes even from 3, 4 and 5 oâclock a.m., till 5 and 6 oâclock p.m. (n. 6, 452, 83). The adults work in two shifts, of eight hours each; but there is no alternatio n with the boys, on account of the expense (n. 80, 203, 204). The younger boys are chiefly employed in opening and shutting the ventilating doors in the various parts of the mine; the older ones are employed on heavier work, in carrying coal, &c. (n. 122, 739, 1747). They work these long hours underground until their 18th or 22nd year, when they are put to minerâs work proper (n. 161). Children and young persons are at present worse treated, and harder worked than at any previous period (n. 1663- 1667). The miners demand almost unanimously an act of Parliament prohibiting the employment in mines of children under 14. And now Hussey Vivian (himself an exploiter of mines) asks: âWould not the opinion of the workman depend upon the poverty of the workmanâs famil y?â Mr. Bruce: âDo you not think it would be a very hard case, where a parent had been injured, or where he was sickly, or where a father was dead, and there was only a mother, to prevent a child between 12 and 14 earning 1s. 7d. a day for the good of the family? ... You must lay down a general rule? ... Are you prepared to recommend legislation which would prevent the employment of children under 12 and 14, whatever the state of their parents might be?â âYes.â 323 Chapter 15 (ns. 107- 110). Vivian: âSupposing that an enac tment were passed preventing the employment of children under the age of 14, would it not be probable that ... the parents of children would seek employment for their children in other directions, for instance, in manufacture?â âNot generally I thinkâ (n. 174). Kinnaird: âSome of the boys are keepers of doors?â âYes.â âIs there not generally a very great draught every time you open a door or close it?â âYes, generally there is.â âIt sounds a very easy thing, but it is in fact rather a painful one?â âHe is i mprisoned there just the same as if he was in a cell of a gaol.â Bourgeois Vivian: âWhenever a boy is furnished with a lamp cannot he read?â âYes, he can read, if he finds himself in candles.... I suppose he would be found fault with if he were discovered reading; he is there to mind his business, he has a duty to perform, and he has to attend to it in the first place, and I do not think it would be allowed down the pit.â (ns. 139, 141, 143, 158, 160). II. Education. â The working miners want a law for the compulsory education of their children, as in factories. They declare the clauses of the Act of 1860, which require a school certificate to be obtained before employing boys of 10 and 12 years of age, to be quite illusory. The examination of the witnesses on this subject is truly droll. âIs it (the Act) required more against the masters or against the parents?â âIt is required against both I think.â âYou cannot say whether it is required against one more than against the other?â âNo; I can hardly answer th at question.â (ns. 115, 116). âDoes there appear to be any desire on the part of the employers that the boys should have such hours as to enable them to go to school?â âNo; the hours are never shortened for that purpose.â (n. 137) Mr. Kinnaird: âShould you say that the colliers generally improve their education; have you any instances of men who have, since they began to work, greatly improved their education, or do they not rather go back, and lose any advantage that they may have gained?â âThey generally become worse: they do not improve; they acquire bad habits; they get on to drinking and gambling and such like, and they go completely to wreck.â (n. 211.) âDo they make any attempt of the kind (for providing instruction) by having schools at night?â âTher e are few collieries where night schools are held, and perhaps at those collieries a few boys do go to those schools; but they are so physically exhausted that it is to no purpose that they go there.â (n. 454.) âYou are then,â concludes the bourgeois, âaga inst education?â âMost certainly not; but,â &c. (n. 443.) âBut are they (the employers) not compelled to demand them (school certificates)?â âBy law they are; but I am not aware that they are demanded by the employers.â âThen it is your opinion, that this provision of the Act as to requiring certificates, is not generally carried out in the collieries?â âIt is not carried out.â (ns. 443, 444.) âDo the men take a great interest in this question (of education)?â âThe majority of them do.â (n. 717.) âAre they very anxious to see the law enforced?â âThe majority are.â (n. 718.) âDo you think that in this country any law that you pass ... can really be effectual unless the population themselves assist in putting it into operation?â âMany a man might wish to object to employing a boy, but he would perhaps become marked by it.â (n. 720.) âMarked by whom?â âBy his employers.â (n. 721.) âDo you think that the employers would find any fault with a man who obeyed the law... ?â âI believe they would.â (n. 722.) âHave you ever heard of any workman objecting to employ a boy between 10 and 12, who could not write or read?â âIt is not left to menâs 324 Chapter 15 option.â (n. 123.) âWould you call for the interference of Parliament?â âI think that if anything effectual is to be done in the education of the colliersâ children, it will have to be made compulsory by Act of Parliament.â (n. 1634.) âWould you lay that obligation upon the colliers only, or all the workpeople of Great Britain?â âI came to speak for the colliers.â (n. 1636.) âWhy sh ould you distinguish them (colliery boys) from other boys?â âBecause I think they are an exception to the rule.â (n. 1638.) âIn what respect?â âIn a physical respect.â (n. 1639.) âWhy should education be more valuable to them than to other classes of lads? â âI do not know that it is more valuable; but through the over -exertion in mines there is less chance for the boys that are employed there to get education, either at Sunday schools, or at day schools.â (n. 1640.) âIt is impossible to look at a question of this sort absolutely by itself?â (n. 1644.) âIs there a sufficiency of schools?â â âNo"... (n. 1646). âIf the State were to require that every child should be sent to school, would there be schools for the children to go to?â âNo; but I think if the circumstances were to spring up, the schools would be forthcoming.â (n. 1647.) âSome of them (the boys) cannot read and write at all, I suppose?â âThe majority cannot... The majority of the men themselves cannot.â (ns. 705, 725.) III. Employment of women. â Since 1842 women are no more employed underground, but are occupied on the surface in loading the coal, &c., in drawing the tubs to the canals and railway waggons, in sorting, &c. Their numbers have considerably increased during the last three or four years. (n. 1727.) They are mostly the wives, daughters, and widows of the working miners, and their ages range from 12 to 50 or 60 years. (ns. 645, 1779.) âWhat is the feeling among the working miners as to the employment of women?â âI think they generally condemn it.â (n. 648.) âWhat objection do you see to it?â âI think it is degrading to the sex.â (n. 649.) âThere is a peculiarity of dress?â âYes ... it is rather a manâs dress, and I believe in some cases, it drowns all sense of decency.â âDo the women smoke? â âSome do.â âAnd I suppose it is very dirty work?â âVery dirty.â âThey get black and grimy?â âAs black as those who are down the mines ... I believe that a woman having children (and there are plenty on the banks that have) cannot do her duty to her child ren.â (ns. 650- 654, 701.) âDo you think that those widows could get employment anywhere else, which would bring them in as much wages as that (from 8s. to 10s. a week)?â âI cannot speak to that.â (n. 709.) âYou would still be prepared, would you,â (flint -hearted fellow!) âto prevent their obtaining a livelihood by these means?â âI would.â (n. 710.) âWhat is the general feeling in the district ... as to the employment of women?â âThe feeling is that it is degrading; and we wish as miners to have more respect to the fair sex than to see them placed on the pit bank... Some part of the work is very hard; some of these girls have raised as much as 10 tons of stuff a day.â (ns. 1715,1717.) âDo you think that the women employed about the collieries are less moral t han the women employed in the factories?â â. ..the percentage of bad ones may be a little more ... than with the girls in the factories.â (n. 1237.) âBut you are not quite satisfied with the state of morality in the factories?â âNo.â (n. 1733.) âWould you prohibit the employment of women in factories also?â âNo, I would not.â (n. 1734.) âWhy not?â âI think it a more honourable occupation for them in the mills.â (n. 1735.) âStill it is injurious to their morality, you think?â âNot so much as working on the p it bank; but it is more on the social position I take it; I do not take it on its moral ground alone. The 325 Chapter 15 degradation, in its social bearing on the girls, is deplorable in the extreme. When these 400 or 500 girls become colliersâ wives, the men suffer grea tly from this degradation, and it causes them to leave their homes and drink.â (n. 1736.) âYou would be obliged to stop the employment of women in the ironworks as well, would you not, if you stopped it in the collieries?â âI cannot speak for any other trade.â (n. 1737.) âCan you see any difference in the circumstances of women employed in ironworks, and the circumstances of women employed above ground in collieries?â âI have not ascertained anything as to that.â (n. 1740.) âCan you see anything that makes a distinction between one class and the other?â âI have not ascertained that, but I know from house to house visitation, that it is a deplorable state of things in our district....â (n. 1741.) âWould you interfere in every case with the employment of women where that employment was degrading?â âIt would become injurious, I think, in this way: the best feelings of Englishmen have been gained from the instruction of a mother. ...â (n. 1750.) âThat equally applies to agricultural employments, does it not?â âYe s, but that is only for two seasons, and we have work all the four seasons.â (n. 1751.) âThey often work day and night, wet through to the skin, their constitution undermined and their health ruined.â âYou have not inquired into that subject perhaps?â âI have certainly taken note of it as I have gone along, and certainly I have seen nothing parallel to the effects of the employment of women on the pit bank.... It is the work of a man... a strong man.â (ns. 1753, 1793, 1794.) âYour feeling upon the whole subject is that the better class of colliers who desire to raise themselves and humanise themselves, instead of deriving help from the women, are pulled down by them?â âYes.â (n. 1808.) After some further crooked questions from these bourgeois, the secret of their âsympathyâ for widows, poor families, &c., comes out at last. âThe coal proprietor appoints certain gentlemen to take the oversight of the workings, and it is their policy, in order to receive approbation, to place things on the most economical basis they can, and these girls are employed at from 1s. up to 1s. 6d. a day, where a man at the rate of 2s. 6d. a day would have to be employed.â (n. 1816.) IV. Coronerâs inquests. â âWith regard to coronerâs inquests in your district, have the workmen confidence in the proceedings at those inquests when accidents occur?â âNo; they have not.â (n. 360.) âWhy not?â âChiefly because the men who are generally chosen, are men who know nothing about mines and such like.â âAre not workmen summoned at all upon the jur ies?â âNever but as witnesses to my knowledge.â âWho are the people who are generally summoned upon these juries?â âGenerally tradesmen in the neighbourhood ... from their circumstances they are sometimes liable to be influenced by their employers ... the owners of the works. They are generally men who have no knowledge, and can scarcely understand the witnesses who are called before them, and the terms which are used and such like.â âWould you have the jury composed of persons who had been employed in mini ng?â âYes, partly... they (the workmen) think that the verdict is not in accordance with the evidence given generally.â (ns. 361, 364, 366, 368, 371, 375.) âOne great object in summoning a jury is to have an impartial one, is it not?â âYes, I should think so.â âDo you think that the juries would be impartial if they were composed to a considerable extent of workmen?â âI cannot see any motive which the 326 Chapter 15 workmen would have to act partially ... they necessarily have a better knowledge of the operations in conne xion with the mine.â âYou do not think there would be a tendency on the part of the workmen to return unfairly severe verdicts?â âNo, I think not.â (ns. 378, 379, 380.) V. False weights and measures. â The workmen demand to be paid weekly instead of fortn ightly, and by weight instead of by cubical contents of the tubs; they also demand protection against the use of false weights, &c. (n. 1071.) âIf the tubs were fraudulently increased, a man could discontinue working by giving 14 daysâ notice?â âBut if he goes to another place, there is the same thing going on there.â (n. 1071.) âBut he can leave that place where the wrong has been committed?â âIt is general; wherever he goes, he has to submit to it.â (n. 1072.) âCould a man leave by giving 14 daysâ notice? â âYes.â (n. 1073.) And yet they are not satisfied! VI. Inspection of mines. â Casualties from explosions are not the only things the workmen suffer from. (n. 234, sqq.) âOur men complained very much of the bad ventilation of the collieries ... the ventilation is so bad in general that the men can scarcely breathe; they are quite unfit for employment of any kind after they have been for a length of time in connexion with their work; indeed, just at the part of the mine where I am working, men have be en obliged to leave their employment and come home in consequence of that ... some of them have been out of work for weeks just in consequence of the bad state of the ventilation where there is not explosive gas ... there is plenty of air generally in the main courses, yet pains are not taken to get air into the workings where men are working.â âWhy do you not apply to the inspector?â âTo tell the truth there are many men who are timid on that point; there have been cases of men being sacrificed and losing their employment in consequence of applying to the inspector.â âWhy is he a marked man for having complained?â âYes...... And he finds it difficult to get employment in another mine?â âYes.â âDo you think the mines in your neighbourhood are sufficiently inspected to insure a compliance with the provisions of the Act?â âNo; they are not inspected at all ... the inspector has been down just once in the pit, and it has been going seven years.... In the district to which I belong there are not a sufficient number of inspectors. We have one old man more than 70 years of age to inspect more than 130 collieries.â âYou wish to have a class of sub - inspectors?â âYes.â (ns. 234, 241, 251, 254, 274, 275, 554, 276, 293.) âBut do you think it would be possible for Governm ent to maintain such an army of inspectors as would be necessary to do all that you want them to do, without information from the men?â âNo, I should think it would be next to impossible....â âIt would be desirable the inspectors should come oftener?â âYes, and without being sent for.â (n. 280, 277.) âDo you not think that the effect of having these inspectors examining the collieries so frequently would be to shift the responsibility (!) of supplying proper ventilation from the owners of the collieries to the Government officials?â âNo, I do not think that, I think that they should make it their business to enforce the Acts which are already in existence.â (n. 285.) âWhen you speak of sub-inspectors, do you mean men at a less salary, and of an inferior stam p to the present inspectors?â âI would not have them inferior, if you could get them otherwise.â (n. 294.) âDo you merely want more inspectors, or do you want a 327 Chapter 15 lower class of men as an inspector?â âA man who would knock about, and see that things are kept right; a man who would not be afraid of himself.â (n. 295.) âIf you obtained your wish in getting an inferior class of inspectors appointed, do you think that there would be no danger from want of skill, &c?â âI think not, I think that the Government woul d see after that, and have proper men in that position.â (n. 297.) This kind of examination becomes at last too much even for the chairman of the committee, and he interrupts with the observation: âYou want a class of men who would look into all the detail s of the mine, and would go into all the holes and corners, and go into the real facts ... they would report to the chief inspector, who would then bring his scientific knowledge to bear on the facts they have stated?â (ns. 298, 299.) âWould it not entail very great expense if all these old workings were kept ventilated?â âYes, expense might be incurred, but life would be at the same time protected.â (n. 531.) A working miner objects to the 17th section of the Act of 1860; he says, âAt the present time, if the inspector of mines finds a part of the mine unfit to work in, he has to report it to the mine -owner and the Home Secretary. After doing that, there is given to the owner 20 days to look over the matter; at the end of 20 days he has the power to refuse making any alteration in the mine; but, when he refuses, the mine -owner writes to the Home Secretary, at the same time nominating five engineers, and from those five engineers named by the mine - owner himself, the Home Secretary appoints one, I think, as ar bitrator, or appoints arbitrators from them; now we think in that case the mine- owner virtually appoints his own arbitrator.â (n. 581.) Bourgeois examiner, himself a mine -owner: âBut ... is this a merely speculative objection?â (n. 586.) âThen you have a v ery poor opinion of the integrity of mining engineers?â âIt is most certainly unjust and inequitable.â (n. 588.) âDo not mining engineers possess a sort of public character, and do not you think that they are above making such a partial decision as you apprehend?â âI do not wish to answer such a question as that with respect to the personal character of those men. I believe that in many cases they would act very partially indeed, and that it ought not to be in their hands
đ Capitalism's Industrial Revolution
đŒ Factory legislation initially faced resistance from capitalists who prioritized profits over worker safety, but eventually became inevitable as a means to protect laborers' physical and mental wellbeing
đ The spread of industrial regulations accelerated the concentration of capital, destroying small-scale production while simultaneously creating more direct opposition to capitalist exploitation
đ Modern industry revolutionized agriculture by replacing peasants with wage-laborers, bringing urban-style class antagonisms to rural areas and destroying traditional farming methods
đ± Capitalist production creates a dangerous metabolic rift between humans and nature by disrupting the circulation of matter between people and soil, threatening both environmental sustainability and human health
đ§ Technological advancement under capitalism develops productive forces while simultaneously exploiting both workers and natural resources, creating a system that undermines its own foundations
đ The transformation from manual to machine labor represents not just technical progress but a fundamental shift in social relations, concentrating power and reorganizing production around capital's needs
đȘ Mechanization fundamentally alters the relationship between workers and production, creating both opportunities for human advancement and tools for increased exploitation
đ The introduction of machinery extends working hours paradoxically, as capitalists seek to maximize returns on fixed capital investments despite machinery's capacity to reduce necessary labor time
đââïž Labor intensity increases with mechanization, as employers extract more productivity from workers through speed-ups, reduced breaks, and more efficient work organization
đ± The potential for machinery to liberate humanity from drudgery exists, but remains unrealized under capitalist relations where technology primarily serves profit rather than human development
đ Industrial expansion creates massive growth in production capacity and global trade, transforming entire regions while concentrating economic power in manufacturing centers
đš Factory system creates a harsh power imbalance where owners wield absolute control over workers' lives, dictating when they eat, sleep, and work through despotic regulations and punitive fines
â±ïž Time discipline transforms workers into mere appendages of machinery, with manufacturers extracting maximum productivity through speed-ups, reduced breaks, and financial penalties for even minutes of tardiness
đ€ Workplace safety remains secondary to profit, with accidents increasing due to pressure for continuous production and management's "inexcusable levity" toward injuries that devastate workers' livelihoods
đ Machinery introduction serves not to lighten labor but to extend working hours, replace skilled workers with cheaper unskilled labor, and suppress wages through creating an "industrial reserve army"
đ° Class conflict permeates the factory system, with owners using every "artifice" to reduce labor costs while workers struggle against deteriorating conditions through strikes and resistance
đ¶ Child labor persists as a cost-saving measure, with manufacturers reluctant to implement safety improvements unless their own children would be affected
đ Factory system dramatically shifts labor patterns, replacing skilled artisans with machinery while creating new employment hierarchies and class divisions
đ° Wage depression occurs systematically as manufacturers exploit workers, with documented cases of 30-40% reductions despite maintained or increased profits
đ¶ Child labor proliferates across industries from match-making to ribbon weaving, with young workers replacing both adults and machines in pursuit of cheaper production
đ Global trade networks emerge as colonial relationships intensify, with raw material exports (cotton, wool) from India, Australia, and America feeding British manufacturing
đ°ïž Work irregularity becomes endemic outside factory regulation, with "slaving" periods following idle days, creating harmful cycles of overwork and economic insecurity
đ§ Compulsory education emerges as a necessary counterbalance to exploitative labor practices, establishing minimum standards for child workers' intellectual development
đŒ Child labor controversies reveal shifting attitudes, with some advocating for combining education with light work while others condemn exploitation that denies children schooling and basic welfare
đ Technological displacement transforms workers' roles dramaticallyâfirst machines replace humans, then humans must adapt to become machine operators under increasingly demanding conditions
đ The bourgeois revolution continuously disrupts traditional production methods and social relations, melting "all that is solid into air" and forcing workers to confront their changing conditions
đ§ Versatile labor emerges as workers adapt to multiple occupations, challenging the hyper-specialization that creates "hypertrophy and atrophy at the two opposite extremities of society"
đ± Productive labor under capitalism is redefined not merely as creating useful products but specifically as generating surplus value for capitalists, transforming skilled work into "a misfortune" rather than "a piece of luck"
đŹ The transition from absolute surplus-value (extending working hours) to relative surplus-value (increasing efficiency) marks capitalism's evolution from formal to real subjection of labor
đ Absolute and relative surplus-value become distinct concepts once capitalism is established, with the former requiring longer working days and the latter demanding increased productivity or labor intensity
đ± Surplus labor emerges from social development rather than natural lawârequiring both sufficient productivity and social structures that enable one class to appropriate another's labor
đ Natural conditions (fertile soil, favorable climate, abundant resources) influence surplus production but don't determine itâsocieties with too-abundant resources often develop capitalism more slowly than those in temperate zones
đ As industry advances, natural limitations recede, creating the illusion that producing surplus is an inherent quality of human labor rather than a specific social arrangement
đ The rate of profit depends on three key variables: working day length, labor intensity, and labor productivityâwith complex interactions between these factors determining how much surplus value capitalists extract
đŒ Economists like Ricardo and Mill fundamentally misunderstand surplus-value's origin, attributing it to labor's natural productivity rather than specific social relations of production
đ Surplus-value and labor-power value move in opposite directions when productivity changesâwhen one rises, the other falls, maintaining their sum as a constant quantity
đ Changes in labor productivity directly impact value distributionâincreased productivity lowers labor-power value and raises surplus-value, while decreased productivity does the opposite
â±ïž Working day length, labor intensity, and productivity function as three interconnected variables that determine total value creation and its distribution between worker and capitalist
đ§ź The proportional change in surplus-value depends on its original magnitudeâsmaller initial surplus-value results in greater proportional change when productivity shifts
đȘ When labor intensity increases, both labor-power value and surplus-value can rise simultaneously, unlike with productivity changes where they must move inversely
đ Different national labor intensities modify the international application of value lawâmore intense labor in one nation represents greater monetary value than less intense labor elsewhere
đ°ïž Capitalist society acquires leisure time for one class by converting the entire lifetime of workers into labor time, revealing the fundamental class division at capitalism's core
đ The transformation of labor-power's value into "wages" creates the illusion that workers are paid for all their labor, when they're actually paid only for a portion (necessary labor) while surplus labor remains unpaid
đ The rate of surplus-value (degree of exploitation) is obscured by formulas that falsely represent it as a ratio of surplus-labor to the entire working day rather than to necessary labor
đ§ź Classical economists failed to distinguish between "value of labor" (an irrational concept) and "value of labor-power" (the actual commodity being sold), creating theoretical contradictions
đŒ Capital is fundamentally "command over unpaid labor" - all surplus value (profit, interest, rent) represents the materialization of labor that workers perform but aren't compensated for
đ The wage form mystifies the real relationship between capital and labor, making exploitation appear as a fair exchange and concealing the extraction of surplus value
đŒ The money relation transforms labor-power (a commodity) into "labor" (an activity), making the exploitation invisible and forming the basis for capitalist legal fictions and false notions of freedom
đ§ Workers mistakenly perceive changes in their wages as reflecting changes in the value of their work, rather than recognizing the fixed value of their labor-power and the surplus they generate
â±ïž Time-wages further mystify exploitation through hourly rates that can remain constant while total compensation falls through reduced hours, or rise without proportional compensation for increased productivity
đ The price of labor systematically falls as working days extend, creating a vicious cycle where competition drives capitalists to extract more unpaid labor while appearing to maintain fair compensation
đ Even classical economists like Adam Smith approached but never fully articulated this reality, as they remained constrained by their bourgeois perspective
đ Competition between capitalists drives down prices, forcing employers to extract maximum labor from workers while minimizing wagesâcreating a system where workers perform significant unpaid labor beyond what their wages actually cover
â±ïž Time-wages and piece-wages represent different forms of the same exploitation, with piece-wages appearing to pay for completed work but actually functioning as a disguised form of time-wages that intensifies labor without proportionally increasing compensation
đ Piece-wages create powerful incentives for workers to self-exploit through increased intensity and longer hours, while simultaneously providing capitalists with precise measurements to control labor output and quality
đ„ The hierarchical exploitation system enables parasitic middlemen ("sweating system") and head laborers to further extract value from workers, creating exploitation-within-exploitation
đ Despite temporary individual advantages for highly productive workers, piece-wages ultimately drive down average wages across industries while increasing competition between workersâperfectly aligning with capitalist production needs
đ§ź Both wage systems mathematically conceal the reality that workers consistently produce more value than they receive, with the surplus value being appropriated by the capitalist regardless of payment method
becomes fixed by degrees; a lower selling price which henceforward becomes the constant basis of a miserable wage for an excessive working -time, as originally it was the product of these very circumstances. This movement is simply indicated here, as the analysis of competition does not belong to this part of our subject. Nevertheless, the capitalist may, for a moment, speak for himself. âIn Birmingham there is so much competition of masters one against another that many are obliged to do things as employers that they would otherwise be ashamed of ; and yet no more money is made, but only the public gets the benefit.â 14 The reader will remember the two sorts of 385 Chapter 20 London bakers, of whom one sold the bread at its full price (the âfull -pricedâ bakers), the other below its normal price (âthe under -priced,â âthe undersellersâ). The âfull -pricedâ denounced their rivals before the Parliamentary Committee of Inquiry: âThey only exist now by first defrauding the public, and next getting 18 hoursâ work out of their men for 12 hoursâ wages.... The unpaid labour o f the men was made ... the source whereby the competition was carried on, and continues so to this day.... The competition among the master bakers is the cause of the difficulty in getting rid of night -work. An underseller, who sells his bread below the cost -price according to the price of flour, must make it up by getting more out of the labour of the men.... If I got only 12 hoursâ work out of my men, and my neighbor got 18 or 20, he must beat me in the selling price. If the men could insist on payment fo r over -work, this would be set right.... A large number of those employed by the undersellers are foreigners and youths, who are obliged to accept almost any wages they can obtain.â 15 This jeremiad is also interesting because it shows how the appearance o nly of the relations of production mirrors itself in the brain of the capitalist. The capitalist does not know that the normal price of labour also includes a definite quantity of unpaid labour, and that this very unpaid labour is the normal source of his gain. The category of surplus labour -time does not exist at all for him, since it is included in the normal working day, which he thinks he has paid for in the dayâs wages. But over -time does exist for him, the prolongation of the working day beyond the limits corresponding with the usual price of labour. Face to face with his underselling competitor, he even insists upon extra pay for this over -time. He again does not know that this extra pay includes unpaid labour, just as well as does the price of the customary hour of labour. For example, the price of one hour of the 12 hoursâ working day is 3d., say the value -product of half a working- hour, whilst the price of the over -time working -hour is 4d., or the value -product of 2/3 of a working hour. In the first case the capitalist appropriates to himself one- half, in the second, one-third of the working -hour without paying for it. 1 The value of money itself is here always supposed constant. 2 âThe price of labour is the sum paid for a given quantity of labour.â (Sir Edward West, âPrice of Corn and Wages of Labour,â London, 1836, p. 67.) West is the author of the anonymous âEssay on the Application of Capital to Land.â by a Fellow of the University College of Oxford, London, 1815. An epoch- making work in the history of Political Economy. 3 âThe wages of labour depend upon the price of labour and the quantity of labour performed.... An increase in the wages of labour does not necessarily imply an enhancement of the price of labour. From fuller employment, and greater exertions, the wages of l abour may be considerably increased, while the price of labour may continue the same.â (West, op. cit., pp. 67, 68, 112.) The main question: âHow is the price of labour determined?â West, however, dismisses with mere banalities. 4 This is perceived by the fanatical representative of the industrial bourgeoisie of the 18th century, the author of the âEssay on Trade and Commerceâ often quoted by us, although he puts the matter in a confused way: âIt is the quantity of labour and not the price of itâ (he means by this the nominal daily or weekly wages) âthat is determined by the price of provisions and other necessaries: reduce the price of necessaries very low, and of course you reduce the quantity of labour in proportion. Master manufacturers know that there a re various ways of raising and felling the price of labour, besides that of altering its nominal amount.â (op. cit., pp. 48, 61.) In his âThree Lectures on the Rate of Wages,â London, 1830, in which N. W. Senior uses Westâs work without mentioning it, he s ays: âThe labourer is principally interested in the amount of wagesâ (p. 14), that is to say, the labourer is principally 386 Chapter 20 interested in what he receives, the nominal sum of his wages, not in that which he gives, the amount of labour! 5 The effect of such an abnormal lessening of employment is quite different from that of a general reduction of the working day, enforced by law. The former has nothing to do with the absolute length of the working day, and may occur just as well in a working day of 15, as of 6 hours. The normal price of labour is in the first case calculated on the labourer working 15 hours, in the second case on his working 6 hours a day on the average. The result is therefore the same, if he in the one case is employed only for 7œ, in the other only for 3 hours. 6 âThe rate of payment for overtime (in lace -making) is so small, from œ d. and Ÿ d. to 2d. per hour, that it stands in painful contrast to the amount of injury produced to the health and stamina of the workpeople.... The small amount thus earned is also often obliged to be spent in extra nourishment.â (âChild.Empl.Com., II. Rep.,â p. xvi., n. 117.) 7 E.g., in paper -staining before the recent introduction into this trade of the Factory Act. âWe work on with no stoppage for meals, so tha t the dayâs work of 10œ hours is finished by 4:30 p.m., and all after that is over -time, and we seldom leave off working before 6 p.m., so that we are really working over - time the whole year round.â (Mr. Smithâs âEvidence in Child. Empl. Com., 1. Rep.,â p. 125.) 8 E.g., in the Scotch bleaching- works. âIn some parts of Scotland this tradeâ (before the introduction of the Factory Act in 1862) âwas carried on by a system of over -time, i.e., ten hours a day were the regular hours of work, for which a nominal wa ge of 1s. 2d. per day was paid to a man, there being every day over -time for three or four hours, paid at the rate of 3d. per hour. The effect of this system ... a man could not earn more than 8s. per week when working the ordinary hours ... without over -time they could not earn a fair dayâs wages.â (âRept. of Insp. of Factories,â April 30th, 1863, p. 10.) âThe higher wages, for getting adult males to work longer hours, are a temptation too strong to be resisted.â (âRept. of Insp. of Fact.,â April 30th, 1848, p. 5.) The book- binding trade in the city of London employs very many young girls from 14 to 15 years old, and that under indentures which prescribe certain definite hours of labour. Nevertheless, they work in the last week of each month until 10, 11, 12, or 1 oâclock at night, along with the older labourers, in a very mixed company. âThe masters tempt them by extra pay and supper,â which they eat in neighboring public houses. The great debauchery thus produced among these âyoung immortalsâ (âChildrenâs Employment Comm., V. Rept.,â p. 44, n. 191) is compensated by the fact that among the rest many Bibles and religious books are bound by them. 9 See âReports of lnsp. of Fact.,â 30th April, 1863, p. 10. With very accurate appreciation of the state of things , the London labourers employed in the building trades declared, during the great strike and lock-out of 1860, that they would only accept wages by the hour under two conditions: (1), that, with the price of the working -hour, a normal working day of 9 and 10 hours respectively should be fixed, and that the price of the hour for the 10 hoursâ working day should be higher than that for the hour of the 9 hours working day; (2), that every hour beyond the normal working day should be reckoned as over-time and p roportionally more highly paid. 10 âIt is a very notable thing, too, that where long hours are the rule, small wages are also so.â (âReport of Insp. of Fact.,â 31st. Oct., 1863, p. 9.) âThe work which obtains the scanty pittance of food, is, for the most part, excessively prolonged.â (âPublic Health, Sixth Report,â 1864, p. 15.) 11 âReport of Inspectors of Fact.,â 30th April, 1860, pp. 31, 32. 12 The hand nail -makers in England, e.g., have, on account of the low price of labour, to work 15 hours a day in order to hammer out their miserable weekly wage. âItâs a great many hours in a day (6 a.m. to 8 p.m.), and he has to work hard all the time to ge t 11 d. or 1s., and there is the wear of the tools, the cost of firing, and something for waste iron to go out of this, which takes off altogether 2œd. 387 Chapter 20 or 3d.â (âChildrenâs Employment Com., III. Report,â p. 136, n. 671.) The women earn by the same working- time a weekâs wage of only 5 shillings. (l.c., p. 137, n. 674.) 13 If a factory -hand, e.g., refused to work the customary long hours, âhe would very shortly be replaced by somebody who would work any length of time, and thus be thrown out of employment.â (âReports of Inspectors of Factories,â 30th April, 1848. Evidence, p. 39, n. 58.) âIf one man performs the work of two... the rate of profits will generally be raised ... in consequence of the additional supply of labour having diminished its price.â (Senior, l.c., p. 15.) 14 âChildrenâs Employment Com., III Rep.,â Evidence, p. 66, n. 22. 15 âReport, &c., Relative to the Grievances Complained of by the Journeymen Bakers.â London, 1862, p. 411, and ib. Evidence, notes 479, 359, 27. Anyhow the full -priced bake rs, as was mentioned above, and as their spokesman, Bennett, himself admits, make their men âgenerally begin work at 11 p.m. ... up to 8 oâclock the next morning.... They are then engaged all day long ... as late as 7 oâclock in the evening.â (l.c., p. 22.) Chapter 21: Piece Wages Wages by the piece are nothing else than a converted form of wages by time, just as wages by time are a converted form of the value or price of labour -power. In piece wages it seems at first sight as if the use- value bought from the labourer was, not the function of his labour -power, living labour, but labour already realized in the product, and as if the price of this labour was determined, not as with time- wages, by the fraction daily value of labour -power the working day of a given number of hours but by the capacity for work of the producer.1 The confidence that trusts in this appearance ought to receive a first severe shock from the fact that both forms of wages exist side by side, simultaneously, in the same branches of industry; e.g., âthe compositors of London, as a general rule, work by the piece, time -work being the exception, while those in the country work by the day, the exception being work by th e piece. The shipwrights of the port of London work by the job or piece, while those of all other parts work by the day.â2 In the same saddlery shops of London, often for the same work, piece wages are paid to the French, time -wages to the English. In the regular factories in which throughout piece wages predominate, particular kinds of work are unsuitable to this form of wage, and are therefore paid by time. 3 But it is, moreover, self -evident that the difference of form in the payment of wages alters in n o way their essential nature, although the one form may be more favorable to the development of capitalist production than the other. Let the ordinary working day contain 12 hours of which 6 are paid, 6 unpaid. Let its value - product be 6 shillings, that of one hourâs labour therefore 6d. Let us suppose that, as the result of experience, a labourer who works with the average amount of intensity and skill, who, therefore, gives in fact only the time socially necessary to the production of an article, supplie s in 12 hours 24 pieces, either distinct products or measurable parts of a continuous whole. Then the value of these 24 pieces, after. subtraction of the portion of constant capital contained in them, is 6 shillings, and the value of a single piece 3d. The labourer receives 1 œd. per piece, and thus earns in 12 hours 3 shillings. Just as, with time -wages, it does not matter whether we assume that the labourer works 6 hours for himself and 6 hours for the capitalist, or half of every hour for himself, and the other half for the capitalist, so here it does not matter whether we say that each individual piece is half paid, and half unpaid for, or that the price of 12 pieces is the equivalent only of the value of the labour -power, whilst in the other 12 pieces s urplus -value is incorporated. The form of piece wages is just as irrational as that of time- wages. Whilst in our example two pieces of a commodity, after subtraction of the value of the means of production consumed in them, are worth 6d. as being the product of one hour, the labourer receives for them a price of 3d. Piece wages do not, in fact, distinctly express any relation of value. It is not, therefore, a question of measuring the value of the piece by the working- time incorporated in it, but on the contrary, of measuring the working- time the labourer has expended by the number of pieces he has produced. In time -wages, the labour is measured by its immediate duration; in piece wages, by the quantity of products in which the labour has embodied itself du ring a given time. 4 The price of labour time 389 Chapter 21 itself is finally determined by the equation: value of a dayâs labour = daily value of labour -power. Piece- wage is, therefore, only a modified form of time -wage. Let us now consider a little more closely the ch aracteristic peculiarities of piece wages. The quality of the labour is here controlled by the work itself, which must be of average perfection if the piece- price is to be paid in full. Piece wages become, from this point of view, the most fruitful source of reductions of wages and capitalistic cheating. They furnish to the capitalist an exact measure for the intensity of labour. Only the working -time which is embodied in a quantum of commodities determined beforehand, and experimentally fixed, counts as socially necessary working -time, and is paid as such. In the larger workshops of the London tailors, therefore, a certain piece of work, a waistcoat, e.g., is called an hour, or half an hour, the hour at 6d. By practice it is known how much is the average product of one hour. With new fashions, repairs, &c., a contest arises between master and labourer as to whether a particular piece of work is one hour, and so on, until here also experience decides. Similarly in the London furniture workshops, &c. If the labourer does not possess the average capacity, if he cannot in consequence supply a certain minimum of work per day, he is dismissed.5 Since the quality and intensity of the work are here controlled by the form of wage itself, superintendence of labour be comes in great part superfluous. Piece wages therefore lay the foundation of the modern âdomestic labour,â described above, as well as of a hierarchically organized system of exploitation and oppression. The latter has two fundamental forms. On the one han d, piece wages facilitate the interposition of parasites between the capitalist and the wage- labourer, the âsub- letting of labour.â The gain of these middlemen comes entirely from the difference between the labour -price which the capitalist pays, and the p art of that price which they actually allow to reach the labourer. 6 In England this system is characteristically called the âsweating system.â On the other hand, piece -wage allows the capitalist to make a contract for so much per piece with the head labour er â in manufactures with the chief of some group, in mines with the extractor of the coal, in the factory with the actual machine -worker â at a price for which the head labourer himself undertakes the enlisting and payment of his assistant work people. Th e exploitation of the labourer by capital is here effected through the exploitation of the labourer by the labourer.7 Given piece -wage, it is naturally the personal interest of the labourer to strain his labour -power as intensely as possible; this enables the capitalist to raise more easily the normal degree of intensity of labour.8 It is moreover now the personal interest of the labourer to lengthen the working day, since with it his daily or weekly wages rise.9 This gradually brings on a reaction like tha t already described in time -wages, without reckoning that the prolongation of the working day, even if the piece wage remains constant, includes of necessity a fall in the price of the labour. In time -wages, with few exceptions, the same wage holds for th e same kind of work, whilst in piece wages, though the price of the working time is measured by a certain quantity of product, the dayâs or weekâs wage will vary with the individual differences of the labourers, of whom one supplies in a given time the minimum of product only, another the average, a third more than the average. With regard to actual receipts there is, therefore, great variety according to the different skill, strength, energy, staying- power, &c., of the individual labourers.10 Of course thi s does not alter the general relations between capital and wage- labour. First, the individual differences balance one another in the workshop as a whole, which thus supplies in a given working- time the average product, and the total wages paid will be the average wages of that particular branch of industry. Second, the proportion between wages and surplus -value remains unaltered, since the mass of surplus labour supplied by each particular labourer corresponds with the wage received by him. But the wider sc ope that piece -wage gives to individuality tends to develop on the one 390 Chapter 21 hand that individuality, and with it the sense of liberty, independence, and self -control of the labourers, and on the other, their competition one with another. Piece -work has, therefore, a tendency, while raising individual wages above the average, to lower this average itself. But where a particular rate of piece- wage has for a long time been fixed by tradition, and its lowering, therefore, presented especial difficulties, the masters, in such exceptional cases, sometimes had recourse to its compulsory transformation into time -wages. Hence, e.g., in 1860 a great strike among the ribbon- weavers of Coventry. 11 Piece- wage is finally one of the chief supports of the hour-system described i n the preceding chapter.12 From what has been shown so far, it follows that piece -wage is the form of wages most in harmony with the capitalist mode of production. Although by no means new â it figures side by side with time -wages officially in the French and English labour statutes of the 14th century â it only conquers a larger field for action during the period of manufacture, properly so- called. In the stormy youth of modern industry, especially from 1797 to 1815, it served as a lever for the lengtheni ng of the working day, and the lowering of wages. Very important materials for the fluctuation of wages during that period are to be found in the Blue books: âReport and Evidence from the Select Committee on Petitions respecting the Corn Lawsâ (Parliamentary Session of 1813- 14), and âReport from the Lordsâ Committee, on the State of the Growth, Commerce, and Consumption of Grain, and all Laws relating theretoâ (Session of 1814- 15). Here we find documentary evidence of the constant lowering of the price of l abour from the beginning of the anti-Jacobin War. In the weaving industry, e.g., piece wages had fallen so low that, in spite of the very great lengthening of the working day, the daily wages were then lower than before. âThe real earnings of the cotton weaver are now far less than they were; his superiority over the common labourer, which at first was very great, has now almost entirely ceased. Indeed... the difference in the wages of skillful and common labour is far less now than at any former period.â13 How little the increased intensity and extension of labour through piece wages benefited the agricultural proletariat, the following passage borrowed from a work on the side of the landlords and farmers shows: âBy far the greater part of agricultural operations is done by people who are hired for the day or on piece -work. Their weekly wages are about 12s., and although it may be assumed that a man earns on piece- work under the greater stimulus to labour, 1s. or perhaps 2s. more than on weekly wages, yet it is found, on calculating his total income, that his loss of employment, during the year, outweighs this gain...Further, it will generally be found that the wages of these men bear a certain proportion to the pr ice of the necessary means of subsistence, so that a man with two children is able to bring up his family without recourse to parish relief.â 14 Malthus at that time remarked with reference to the facts published by Parliament: âI confess that I see, with misgiving, the great extension of the practice of piece-wage. Really hard work during 12 or 14 hours of the day, or for any longer time, is too much for any human being.â 15 In the workshops under the Factory Acts, piece wages become the general rule, because capital can there only increase the efficacy of the working day by intensifying labour.16 With the changing productiveness of labour the same quantum of product represents a varying working- time. Therefore, piece- wage also v aries, for it is the money expression of a determined working- time. In our example above, 24 pieces were produced in 12 hours, whilst the value of the 391 Chapter 21 product of the 12 hours was 6s., the daily value of the labour -power 3s., the price of the labour - hour 3d ., and the wage for one piece œd. In one piece half -an-hourâs labour was absorbed. If the same
đ° Piece-Wage Dynamics
đ Piece-wage rates automatically decrease when worker productivity increases, creating a system where producing twice as many items in the same time results in payment per item being cut by half
đ„ The system creates constant class conflict as workers resist wage reductions while capitalists insist that increased productivity shouldn't benefit laborers
đ National wage differences reflect variations in labor intensity and productivity across countries, with seemingly higher wages in developed nations often representing lower relative labor costs for capitalists
đ Factory statistics reveal striking disparities in worker-to-spindle ratios (74 spindles per worker in Britain versus 14 in France), demonstrating how advanced capitalist nations extract more value from each worker
đ The piece-wage system represents a transitional phase between pure wage labor and cooperative production, giving workers illusory autonomy while maintaining capitalist control
đ Employers strategically manipulate both time-wages and piece-wages simultaneously, using one form to exploit workers paid under the other form
đ Simple reproduction occurs when capitalists consume all surplus-value as revenue, maintaining production at the same scale while continuously converting labor into capital
đ§ The illusion of wages masks how workers essentially pay themselvesâtheir previous labor creates the fund from which their current wages flow, while capitalists appropriate the surplus
âïž Workers are perpetually reproduced as wage-laborers through a system that separates them from the means of production, binding them to capital through "invisible threads" rather than physical fetters
đœïž Worker consumption serves dual purposes: "productive consumption" benefits capitalists by maintaining labor-power, while "individual consumption" allows workers to survive and reproduce
đ The entire process ensures capital constantly converts material wealth into means of creating more wealth, while laborers remain sources of wealth without means to make that wealth their own
đ This system perpetuates itself through continuous cycles, transforming what began as a starting point into the defining characteristic of capitalist production
cheaper in rich countries than in those that are poorer, although the price of grain and other provisions is usually much lower in the last than in the first.... Labour estimated by the day is much lower in Scotland than in England.... Labour by the piece is generally cheaper in England.â (James Anderson, âObservations on the Means of Exciting a Spirit of National Industry,â &tc., Edin. 1777, pp. 350, 351.) On the contrary, lowness of wages produces, in its turn, dearness of labour. âLabour being dearer in Ireland than it is in England ... because the wages are so much lower.â (N. 2079 in âRoyal Commission on Railways, Minutes,â 1867.) 4 (Ure, op. cit., p. 314.) 5 (âReports of Insp. of Fact.,â 31st Oct., 1866, pp. 31- 37, passim.) 6 âEssay on the Rate of Wages, with an Examination of the Causes of the Differences in the Condition of the Labouring Population throughout the World,â Philadelphia, 1835. Part 7: The Accumulation of Capital The conversion of a sum of money into means of production and labour -power, is the first step taken by the quantum of value that is going to function as capital. This conversion takes place in the market, within the sphere of circulation. The second step, the process of production, is complete so so on as the means of production have been converted into commodities whose value exceeds that of their component parts, and, therefore, contains the capital originally advanced, plus a surplus -value. These commodities must then be thrown into circulation. They must be sold, their value realised in money, this money afresh converted into capital, and so over and over again. This circular movement, in which the same phases are continually gone through in succession, forms the circulation of capital. The first condition of accumulation is that the capitalist must have contrived to sell his commodities, and to reconvert into capital the greater part of the money so received. In the following pages we shall assume that capital circulates in its normal way. The detailed analysis of the process will be found in Book II. The capitalist who produces surplus -value â i.e., who extracts unpaid labour directly from the labourers, and fixes it in commodities, is, indeed, the first appropriator, but by no means the ultimate owner, of this surplus -value. He has to share it with capitalists, with landowners, &c., who fulfil other functions in the complex of social production. Surplus -value, therefore, splits up into various parts. Its fragments fall to various catego ries of persons, and take various forms, independent the one of the other, such as profit, interest, merchantsâ profit, rent, &c. It is only in Book III. that we can take in hand these modified forms of surplus -value. On the one hand, then, we assume that the capitalist sells at their value the commodities he has produced, without concerning ourselves either about the new forms that capital assumes while in the sphere of circulation, or about the concrete conditions of reproduction hidden under these forms . On the other hand, we treat the capitalist producer as owner of the entire surplus -value, or, better perhaps, as the representative of all the sharers with him in the booty. We, therefore, first of all consider accumulation from an abstract point of view â i.e., as a mere phase in the actual process of production. So far as accumulation takes place, the capitalist must have succeeded in selling his commodities, and in reconverting the sale -money into capital. Moreover, the breaking -up of surplus -value in to fragments neither alters its nature nor the conditions under which it becomes an element of accumulation. Whatever be the proportion of surplus -value which the industrial capitalist retains for himself, or yields up to others, he is the one who, in the first instance, appropriates it. We, therefore, assume no more than what actually takes place. On the other hand, the simple fundamental form of the process of accumulation is obscured by the incident of the circulation which brings it about, and by the sp litting up of surplus -value. An exact analysis of the process, therefore, demands that we should, for a time, disregard all phenomena that hide the play of its inner mechanism. 399 Chapter 23 Chapter 23: Simple Reproduction Whatever the form of the process of production in a society, it must be a continuous process, must continue to go periodically through the same phases. A society can no more cease to produce than it can cease to consume. When viewed, therefore, as a connected whole, and as flowing on with incessant renewal, every social process of production is, at the same time, a process of reproduction. The conditions of production are also those of reproduction. No society can go on producing, in other words, no society can reproduce, unless it constantly reconvert s a part of its products into means of production, or elements of fresh products. All other circumstances remaining the same, the only mode by which it can reproduce its wealth, and maintain it at one level, is by replacing the means of production â i.e., the instruments of labour, the raw material, and the auxiliary substances consumed in the course of the year â by an equal quantity of the same kind of articles; these must be separated from the mass of the yearly products, and thrown afresh into the proce ss of production. Hence, a definite portion of each yearâs product belongs to the domain of production. Destined for productive consumption from the very first, this portion exists, for the most part, in the shape of articles totally unfitted for individua l consumption. If production be capitalistic in form, so, too, will be reproduction. Just as in the former the labour process figures but as a means towards the self -expansion of capital, so in the latter it figures but as a means of reproducing as capita l â i.e., as self -expanding value â the value advanced. It is only because his money constantly functions as capital that the economic guise of a capitalist attaches to a man. If, for instance, a sum of ÂŁ100 has this year been converted into capital, and produced a surplus -value of ÂŁ20, it must continue during next year, and subsequent years, to repeat the same operation. As a periodic increment of the capital advanced, or periodic fruit of capital in process, surplus- value acquires the form of a revenue fl owing out of capital. 1 If this revenue serve the capitalist only as a fund to provide for his consumption, and be spent as periodically as it is gained, then, caeteris paribus, simple reproduction will take place. And although this reproduction is a mere repetition of the process of production on the old scale, yet this mere repetition, or continuity, gives a new character to the process, or, rather, causes the disappearance of some apparent characteristics which it possessed as an isolated discontinuous process. The purchase of labour -power for a fixed period is the prelude to the process of production; and this prelude is constantly repeated when the stipulated term comes to an end, when a definite period of production, such as a week or a month, has ela psed. But the labourer is not paid until after he has expended his labour -power, and realised in commodities not only its value, but surplus -value. He has, therefore, produced not only surplus -value, which we for the present regard as a fund to meet the pr ivate consumption of the capitalist, but he has also produced, before it flows back to him in the shape of wages, the fund out of which he himself is paid, the variable capital; and his employment lasts only so long as he continues to reproduce this fund. Hence, that formula of the economists, referred to in Chapter XVIII, which represents wages as a share in the product itself. 2 What flows back to the labourer in the shape of wages is a portion of the product that is continuously reproduced by him. The capitalist, it is true, pays him in money, but this money is merely the transmuted form of the product of his labour. While he is converting a portion of the means of production into products, a portion of his former product is being turned into money. It is his labour of last week, or of last year, that pays for his labour -power this week 400 Chapter 23 or this year. The illusion begotten by the intervention of money vanishes immediately, if, instead of taking a single capitalist and a single labourer, we take the class of capitalists and the class of labourers as a whole. The capitalist class is constantly giving to the labouring class order -notes, in the form of money, on a portion of the commodities produced by the latter and appropriated by the former. The labourers give these order -notes back just as constantly to the capitalist class, and in this way get their share of their own product. The transaction is veiled by the commodity form of the product and the money form of the commodity. Variable capital is therefore only a particular historical form of appearance of the fund for providing the necessaries of life, or the labour -fund which the labourer requires for the maintenance of himself and family, and which, whatever be the system of social production, he must himsel f produce and reproduce. If the labour -fund constantly flows to him in the form of money that pays for his labour, it is because the product he has created moves constantly away from him in the form of capital. But all this does not alter the fact, that it is the labourerâs own labour, realised in a product, which is advanced to him by the capitalist. 3 Let us take a peasant liable to do compulsory service for his lord. He works on his own land, with his own means of production, for, say, 3 days a week. The 3 other days he does forced work on the lordâs domain. He constantly reproduces his own labour -fund, which never, in his case, takes the form of a money payment for his labour, advanced by another person. But in return, his unpaid forced labour for the lor d, on its side, never acquires the character of voluntary paid labour. If one fine morning the lord appropriates to himself the land, the cattle, the seed, in a word, the, means of production of this peasant, the latter will thenceforth be obliged to sell his labour -power to the lord. He will, ceteris paribus, labour 6 days a week as before, 3 for himself, 3 for his lord, who thenceforth becomes a wages- paying capitalist. As before, he will use up the means of production as means of production, and transfer their value to the product. As before, a definite portion of the product will be devoted to reproduction. But from the moment that the forced labour is changed into wage labour, from that moment the labour -fund, which the peasant himself continues as before to produce and reproduce, takes the form of a capital advanced in the form of wages by the lord. The bourgeois economist whose narrow mind is unable to separate the form of appearance from the thing that appears, shuts his eyes to the fact, that it is but here and there on the face of the earth, that even nowadays the labour fund crops up in the form of capital. 4 Variable capital, it is true, only then loses its character of a value advanced out of the capitalistâs funds, 5 when we view the process of capitalist production in the flow of its constant renewal. But that process must have had a beginning of some kind. From our present standpoint it therefore seems likely that the capitalist, once upon a time, became possessed of money, by some accumulation that took place independently of the unpaid labour of others, and that this was, therefore, how he was enabled to frequent the market as a buyer of labour -power. However this may be, the mere continuity of the process, the simple reproduction, brings about some other wonderful changes, which affect not only the variable, but the total capital. If a capital of ÂŁ1,000 beget yearly a surplus -value of ÂŁ200, and if this surplus -value be consumed every year, it is clear that at the end of 5 years the surplus- value consumed will amount to 5 Ă ÂŁ200 or the ÂŁ1,000 originally advanced. If only a part, say one half, were consumed, the same result would follow at the end of 10 years, since 10 Ă ÂŁ100= ÂŁ1,000. General Rule: The value of the capital advanced divided by the surplus -value annually consumed, gives the number of years, or reproduction periods, at the expiration of which the capital originally advanced has been consumed by the capitalist and has disappeared. The capitalist thinks, that he is consuming the produc e of the unpaid labour of others, i.e., the surplus -value, and is keeping intact his original capital; but what he thinks cannot alter facts. After the lapse of a certain number of years, the 401 Chapter 23 capital value he then possesses is equal to the sum total of the surplus -value appropriated by him during those years, and the total value he has consumed is equal to that of his original capital. It is true, he has in hand a capital whose amount has not changed, and of which a part, viz., the buildings, machinery, &c., were already there when the work of his business began. But what we have to do with here, is not the material elements, but the value, of that capital. When a person gets through all his property, by taking upon himself debts equal to the value of that property, it is clear that his property represents nothing but the sum total of his debts. And so it is with the capitalist; when he has consumed the equivalent of his original capital, the value of his present capital represents nothing but the total amount of the surplus -value appropriated by him without payment. Not a single atom of the value of his old capital continues to exist. Apart then from all accumulation, the mere continuity of the process of production, in other words simple reproduction, soone r or later, and of necessity, converts every capital into accumulated capital, or capitalised surplus- value. Even if that capital was originally acquired by the personal labour of its employer, it sooner or later becomes value appropriated without an equiv alent, the unpaid labour of others materialised either in money or in some other object. We saw in Chapt. IV. -VI. that in order to convert money into capital something more is required than the production and circulation of commodities. We saw that on the one side the possessor of value or money, on the other, the possessor of the value -creating substance; on the one side, the possessor of the means of production and subsistence, on the other, the possessor of nothing but labour -power, must confront one ano ther as buyer and seller. The separation of labour from its product, of subjective labour -power from the objective conditions of labour, was therefore the real foundation in fact, and the starting -point of capitalist production. But that which at first wa s but a starting- point, becomes, by the mere continuity of the process, by simple reproduction, the peculiar result, constantly renewed and perpetuated, of capitalist production. On the one hand, the process of production incessantly converts material weal th into capital, into means of creating more wealth and means of enjoyment for the capitalist. On the other hand, the labourer, on quitting the process, is what he was on entering it, a source of wealth, but devoid of all means of making that wealth his ow n. Since, before entering on the process, his own labour has already been alienated from himself by the sale of his labour -power, has been appropriated by the capitalist and incorporated with capital, it must, during the process, be realised in a product t hat does not belong to him. Since the process of production is also the process by which the capitalist consumes labour -power, the product of the labourer is incessantly converted, not only into commodities, but into capital, into value that sucks up the v alue-creating power, into means of subsistence that buy the person of the labourer, into means of production that command the producers. 6 The labourer therefore constantly produces material, objective wealth, but in the form of capital, of an alien power t hat dominates and exploits him; and the capitalist as constantly produces labour -power, but in the form of a subjective source of wealth, separated from the objects in and by which it can alone be realised; in short he produces the labourer, but as a wage labourer.7 This incessant reproduction, this perpetuation of the labourer, is the sine quĂą non of capitalist production. The labourer consumes in a two- fold way. While producing he consumes by his labour the means of production, and converts them into products with a higher value than that of the capital advanced. This is his productive consumption. It is at the same time consumption of his labour - power by the capitalist who bought it. On the other hand, the labourer turns the money paid to him for his labour -power, into means of subsistence: this is his individual consumption. The labourerâs productive consumption, and his individual consumption, are therefore totally distinct. In the former, he acts as the motive power of capital, and belongs to the capit alist. In the latter, he 402 Chapter 23 belongs to himself, and performs his necessary vital functions outside the process of production. The result of the one is, that the capitalist lives; of the other, that the labourer lives. When treating of the working day, we saw that the labourer is often compelled to make his individual consumption a mere incident of production. In such a case, he supplies himself with necessaries in order to maintain his labour -power, just as coal and water are supplied to the steam -engine and oil to the wheel. His means of consumption, in that case, are the mere means of consumption required by a means of production; his individual consumption is directly productive consumption. This, however, appears to be an abuse not essentially appertaining to capitalist production.8 The matter takes quite another aspect, when we contemplate, not the single capitalist, and the single labourer, but the capitalist class and the labouring class, not an isolated process of production, but capitalist production i n full swing, and on its actual social scale. By converting part of his capital into labour -power, the capitalist augments the value of his entire capital. He kills two birds with one stone. He profits, not only by what he receives from, but by what he giv es to, the labourer. The capital given in exchange for labour -power is converted into necessaries, by the consumption of which the muscles, nerves, bones, and brains of existing labourers are reproduced, and new labourers are begotten. Within the limits of what is strictly necessary, the individual consumption of the working class is, therefore, the reconversion of the means of subsistence given by capital in exchange for labour -power, into fresh labour -power at the disposal of capital for exploitation. It is the production and reproduction of that means of production so indispensable to the capitalist: the labourer himself. The individual consumption of the labourer, whether it proceed within the workshop or outside it, whether it be part of the process of production or not, forms therefore a factor of the production and reproduction of capital; just as cleaning machinery does, whether it be done while the machinery is working or while it is standing. The fact that the labourer consumes his means of subsistence for his own purposes, and not to please the capitalist, has no bearing on the matter. The consumption of food by a beast of burden is none the less a necessary factor in the process of production, because the beast enjoys what it eats. The maintenance and reproduction of the working class is, and must ever be, a necessary condition to the reproduction of capital. But the capitalist may safely leave its fulfilment to the labourerâs instincts of self -preservation and of propagation. All the capitalist cares for, is to reduce the labourerâs individual consumption as far as possible to what is strictly necessary, and he is far away from imitating those brutal South Americans, who force their labourers to take the more substantial, rather than the less substantial, kind of food. 9 Hence both the capitalist and his ideological representative, the political economist, consider that part alone of the labourerâs individual consumption to be productive, which is requisite for the perpetuation of the class, and which therefore must take place in order that the capitalist may have labour -power to consume; what the labourer consumes for his own pleasure beyond that part, is unproductive consumption. 10 If the accumulation of capital were to cause a rise of wages and an i ncrease in the labourerâs consumption, unaccompanied by increase in the consumption of labour -power by capital, the additional capital would be consumed unproductively.11 In reality, the individual consumption of the labourer is unproductive as regards him self, for it reproduces nothing but the needy individual; it is productive to the capitalist and to the State, since it is the production of the power that creates their wealth.12 From a social point of view, therefore, the working class, even when not dir ectly engaged in the labour process, is just as much an appendage of capital as the ordinary instruments of labour. Even its individual consumption is, within certain limits, a mere factor in the process of production. That process, however, takes good car e to prevent these self -conscious instruments 403 Chapter 23 from leaving it in the lurch, for it removes their product, as fast as it is made, from their pole to the opposite pole of capital. Individual consumption provides, on the one hand, the means for their maintena nce and reproduction: on the other hand, it secures by the annihilation of the necessaries of life, the continued re- appearance of the workman in the labour -market. The Roman slave was held by fetters: the wage labourer is bound to his owner by invisible t hreads. The appearance of independence is kept up by means of a constant change of employers, and by the fictio juris of a contract. In former times, capital resorted to legislation, whenever necessary, to enforce its proprietary rights over the free labo urer. For instance, down to 1815, the emigration of mechanics employed in machine making was, in England, forbidden, under grievous pains and penalties. The reproduction of the working class carries with it the accumulation of skill, that is handed down from one generation to another.13 To what extent the capitalist reckons the existence of such a skilled class among the factors of production that belong to him by right, and to what extent he actually regards it as the reality of his variable capital, is seen so soon as a crisis threatens him with its loss. In consequence of the civil war in the United States and of the accompanying cotton famine, the majority of the cotton operatives in Lancashire were, as is well known, thrown out of work. Both from the working class itself, and from other ranks of society, there arose a cry for State aid, or for voluntary national subscriptions, in order to enable the âsuperfluousâ hands to emigrate to the colonies or to the United States. Thereupon, The Times
đ° Capital's Human Machinery
đ Capitalist production treats workers as living machineryâvaluable assets that can be maintained, controlled, and prevented from emigrating despite their wishes
đ The system perpetually reproduces the capital-labor relationship by forcing workers to repeatedly sell their labor-power while enabling capitalists to purchase it for profit
đ Workers' economic bondage exists before they even sell themselves to capitalâtheir dependence is both created and concealed by the periodic sale of their labor and changing of masters
đŒ Unlike physical machinery which depreciates quickly, human "machinery" becomes more valuable over time as skills accumulate across generations
đ± Accumulation of capital occurs when surplus-value is converted back into capital, allowing production to expand progressively and requiring additional labor-power
đź The capitalist system automatically ensures its own continuation by maintaining a working class dependent on wages just sufficient for both survival and reproduction
đ Capital accumulation operates as a self-perpetuating spiral where surplus value extracted from workers becomes new capital, which then generates more surplus value in an endless cycle
đ The apparent "fair exchange" of labor for wages masks a fundamental deceptionâcapitalists appropriate unpaid labor while maintaining the illusion of equivalent exchange through legal formalities
đ Property rights undergo a profound transformationâinitially based on one's own labor, they evolve into the capitalist's right to appropriate others' unpaid labor while workers cannot claim their own product
đ§ź When surplus value is converted to capital, it divides into both constant capital (means of production) and variable capital (labor power), contradicting economists who incorrectly claim it becomes only variable capital
đ The capitalist alone determines how surplus value is divided between personal consumption (revenue) and reinvestment (accumulation), with the proportion directly affecting accumulation's magnitude
đ Capitalist production fully reveals its nature only when wage labor becomes its foundation, transforming commodity production's inherent laws into laws of capitalist appropriation
đŒ The capitalist exists only as personified capital, driven not by enjoyment but by the fanatical pursuit of value expansion, ruthlessly forcing humanity to "produce for production's sake"
đ Accumulation becomes the capitalist's sacred mission ("Accumulate, accumulate! That is Moses and the prophets!"), compelling constant expansion through competition while treating personal consumption as theft from potential growth
đ° The historical evolution of capitalism transforms the miserly, ascetic capitalist of early periods into the modern capitalist who balances accumulation with luxury consumption, creating a "Faustian conflict" between saving and spending
đ§ Vulgar economics reframes exploitation as "abstinence," portraying capitalists as martyrs sacrificing consumption rather than acknowledging their appropriation of surplus labor-power
đ Capital's remarkable elasticity allows accumulation to expand beyond apparent limits by intensifying labor exploitation, extending working hours, and harnessing nature's resources without proportional increases in constant capital
đ± The capitalist mode ultimately creates the material conditions for "a higher form of society" where "full and free development of every individual forms the ruling principle"
enriches himself. Except as personified capital, the capitalist has no historical value, and no right to that historical existence, which, to use an expression of the witty Lichnowsky, âhasnât got no date.â And so far only is the necessity for his own transitory existence implied in the transitory necessity for the capitalist mode of production. But, so far as he is personified capital, it is not values in use and the enjoyment of them, but exchange -value and its augmentation, that spur him into action. Fanatically bent on making value expand itself, he ruthlessly forces the human race to produce for productionâ s sake; he thus forces the development of the productive powers of society, and creates those material conditions, which alone can form the real basis of a higher form of society, a society in which the full and free development of every individual forms t he ruling principle. Only as personified capital is the capitalist respectable. As such, he shares with the miser the passion for wealth as wealth. But that which in the miser is a mere idiosyncrasy, is, in the capitalist, the effect of the social mechanism, of which he is but one of the wheels. Moreover, the development of capitalist production makes it constantly necessary to keep increasing the amount of the capital laid out in a given industrial undertaking, and competition makes the immanent laws of ca pitalist production to be felt by each individual capitalist, as external coercive laws. It compels him to keep constantly extending his capital, in order to preserve it, but extend it he cannot, except by means of progressive accumulation. So far, theref ore, as his actions are a mere function of capital â endowed as capital is, in his person, with consciousness and a will â his own private consumption is a robbery perpetrated on accumulation, just as in book- keeping by double entry, the private expenditur e of the capitalist is placed on the debtor side of his account against his capital. To accumulate, is to conquer the world of social wealth, to increase the mass of human beings exploited by him, and thus to extend both the direct and the indirect sway of the capitalist. 20 But original sin is at work everywhere. As capitalist production, accumulation, and wealth, become developed, the capitalist ceases to be the mere incarnation of capital. He has a fellow - feeling for his own Adam, and his education gradu ally enables him to smile at the rage for asceticism, as a mere prejudice of the old -fashioned miser. While the capitalist of the classical type brands individual consumption as a sin against his function, and as âabstinenceâ from accumulating, the moderni sed capitalist is capable of looking upon accumulation as âabstinenceâ from pleasure. âTwo souls, alas, do dwell with in his breast; The one is ever parting from the other.â21 416 Chapter 24 At the historical dawn of capitalist production, â and every capitalist upstar t has personally to go through this historical stage â avarice, and desire to get rich, are the ruling passions. But the progress of capitalist production not only creates a world of delights; it lays open, in speculation and the credit system, a thousand sources of sudden enrichment. When a certain stage of development has been reached, a conventional degree of prodigality, which is also an exhibition of wealth, and consequently a source of credit, becomes a business necessity to the âunfortunateâ capitali st. Luxury enters into capitalâs expenses of representation. Moreover, the capitalist gets rich, not like the miser, in proportion to his personal labour and restricted consumption, but at the same rate as he squeezes out the labour -power of others, and enforces on the labourer abstinence from all lifeâs enjoyments. Although, therefore, the prodigality of the capitalist never possesses the bona fide character of the open- handed feudal lordâs prodigality, but, on the contrary, has always lurking behind it th e most sordid avarice and the most anxious calculation, yet his expenditure grows with his accumulation, without the one necessarily restricting the other. But along with this growth, there is at the same time developed in his breast, a Faustian conflict between the passion for accumulation, and the desire for enjoyment. Dr. Aikin says in a work published in 1795: âThe trade of Manchester may be divided into four periods. First, when manufacturers were obliged to work hard for their livelihood.â They enriched themselves chiefly by robbing the parents, whose children were bound as apprentices to them; the parents paid a high premium, while the apprentices were starved. On the other hand, the average profits were low, and to accumulate, extreme parsimony was requisite. They lived like misers and were far from consuming even the interest on their capital. âThe second period, when they had begun to acquire little fortunes, but worked as hard as before,â â for direct exploitation of labour costs labour, as e very slave - driver knows â âand lived in as plain a manner as before.... The third, when luxury began, and the trade was pushed by sending out riders for orders into every market town in the Kingdom.... It is probable that few or no capitals of ÂŁ3,000 to ÂŁ4,000 acquired by trade existed here before 1690. However, about that time, or a little later, the traders had got money beforehand, and began to build modern brick houses, instead of those of wood and plaster.â Even in the early part of the 18th century, a Manchester manufacturer, who placed a pint of foreign wine before his guests, exposed himself to the remarks and headshakings of all his neighbours. Before the rise of machinery, a manufacturerâs evening expenditure at the public house where they all met , never exceeded sixpence for a glass of punch, and a penny for a screw of tobacco. It was not till 1758, and this marks an epoch, that a person actually engaged in business was seen with an equipage of his own. âThe fourth period,â the last 30 years of the 18th century, âis that in which expense and luxury have made great progress, and was supported by a trade extended by means of riders and factors through every part of Europe.â 22 What would the good Dr. Aikin say if he could rise from his grave and see the Manchester of today? Accumulate, accumulate! That is Moses and the prophets! âIndustry furnishes the material which saving accumulates.â23 Therefore, save, save, i.e. , reconvert the greatest possible portion of surplus -value, or surplus -product into c apital! Accumulation for accumulationâs sake, production for productionâs sake: by this formula classical economy expressed the historical mission of the bourgeoisie, and did not for a single instant deceive itself over the birth- throes of wealth.24 But 417 Chapter 24 what avails lamentation in the face of historical necessity? If to classical economy, the proletarian is but a machine for the production of surplus -value; on the other hand, the capitalist is in its eyes only a machine for the conversion of this surplus -value into additional capital. Political Economy takes the historical function of the capitalist in bitter earnest. In order to charm out of his bosom the awful conflict between the desire for enjoyment and the chase after riches, Malthus, about the year 1820, advocated a division of labour, which assigns to the capitalist actually engaged in production, the business of accumulating, and to the other sharers in surplus -value, to the landlords, the place -men, the beneficed clergy, &c., the business of spending. It is of the highest importance, he says, âto keep separate the passion for expenditure and the passion for accumulation.â25 The capitalists having long been good livers and men of the world, uttered loud cries. What, exclaimed one of their spokesmen, a disciple of Ricardo, Mr. Malthus preaches high rents, heavy taxes, &c., so that the pressure of the spur may constantly be kept on the industrious by unproductive consumers! By all means, production, production on a constantly increasing scale, runs the shibboleth; but âproduction will, by such a process, be far more curbed in than spurred on. Nor is it quite fair thus to maintain in idleness a number of persons, only to pinch others, who are likely, from their characters, if you can force them to work, to work with success.â 26 Unfair as he finds it to spur on the industrial capitalist, by depriving his bread of its butter, yet he thinks it necessary to reduce the labourerâs wages to a minimum "to keep him industrious.â Nor does he for a moment conceal the fact, that the appropriation of unpaid labour is the secret of surplus -value. âIncreased demand on the part of the labourers means nothing more than their willingness to take less of their own product for themselves, and leave a greater part of it to thei r employers; and if it be said, that this begets glut, by lessening consumptionâ (on the part of the labourers), âI can only reply that glut is synonymous with large profits.â 27 The learned disputation, how the booty pumped out of the labourer may be divi ded, with most advantage to accumulation, between the industrial capitalist and the rich idler, was hushed in face of the revolution of July. Shortly afterwards, the town proletariat at Lyons sounded the tocsin of revolution, and the country proletariat in England began to set fire to farm -yards and corn- stacks. On this side of the Channel Owenism began to spread; on the other side, St. Simonism and Fourierism. The hour of vulgar economy had struck. Exactly a year before Nassau W. Senior discovered at Manch ester, that the profit (including interest) of capital is the product of the last hour of the twelve, he had announced to the world another discovery. âI substitute,â he proudly says, âfor the word capital, considered as an instrument of production, the word abstinence.â An unparalleled sample this, of the discoveries of vulgar economy! It substitutes for an economic category, a sycophantic phrase â voilĂ tout. [thatâs all] âWhen the savage,â says Senior, âmakes bows, he exercises an industry, but he does not practise abstinence.â 28 This explains how and why, in the earlier states of society, the implements of labour were fabricated without abstinence on the part of the capitalist. âThe more society progresses, the more abstinence is demanded,â29 418 Chapter 24 Namely, from those who ply the industry of appropriating the fruits of othersâ industry. All the conditions for carrying on the labour process are suddenly converted into so many acts of abstinence on the part of the capitalist. If the corn is not all eaten, but part of it also sown â abstinence of the capitalist. If the wine gets time to mature â abstinence of the capitalist30 The capitalist robs his own self, whenever he âlends (!) the instruments of production to the labourer,â that is, whenever by incorporating labour -power with them, he uses them to extract surplus -value out of that labour -power, instead of eating them up, steam -engines, cotton, railways, manure, horses, and all; or as the vulgar economist childishly puts it, instead of dissipating âtheir valueâ in luxuries and other articles of consumption.31 How the capitalists as a class are to perform that feat, is a secret that vulgar economy has hitherto obstinately refused to divulge. Enough, that the world still jogs on, solely through the self -chastisem ent of this modern penitent of Vishnu, the capitalist. Not only accumulation, but the simple âconservation of a capital requires a constant effort to resist the temptation of consuming it.â32 The simple dictates of humanity therefore plainly enjoin the rel ease of the capitalist from this martyrdom and temptation, in the same way that the Georgian slave -owner was lately delivered, by the abolition of slavery, from the painful dilemma, whether to squander the surplus -product, lashed out of his niggers, entire ly in champagne, or whether to reconvert a part of it into more niggers and more land. In economic forms of society of the most different kinds, there occurs, not only simple reproduction, but, in varying degrees, reproduction on a progressively increasing scale. By degrees more is produced and more consumed, and consequently more products have to be converted into means of production. This process, however, does not present itself as accumulation of capital, nor as the function of a capitalist, so long as the labourerâs means of production, and with them, his product and means of subsistence, do not confront him in the shape of capital. 33 Richard Jones, who died a few years ago, and was the successor of Malthus in the chair of Political Economy at Haileybu ry College, discusses this point well in the light of two important facts. Since the great mass of the Hindu population are peasants cultivating their land themselves, their products, their instruments of labour and means of subsistence never take âthe shape of a fund saved from revenue, which fund has, therefore, gone through a previous process of accumulation.â34 On the other hand, the non- agricultural labourers in those provinces where the English rule has least disturbed the old system, are directly emp loyed by the magnates, to whom a portion of the agricultural surplus -product is rendered in the shape of tribute or rent. One portion of this product is consumed by the magnates in kind, another is converted, for their use, by the labourers, into articles of luxury and such like things, while the rest forms the wages of the labourers, who own their implements of labour. Here, production and reproduction on a progressively increasing scale, go on their way without any intervention from that queer saint, that knight of the woeful countenance, the capitalist âabstainer.â 419 Chapter 24 Section 4: Circumstances that, Independently of the Proportional Division of Surplus -Value into Capital and Revenue, Determine the Amount of Accumulation. Degree of Exploitation of Labour -Power. Productivity of Labour. Growing Difference in Amount Between Capital Employed and Capital Consumed. Magnitude of Capital Advanced The proportion in which surplus -value breaks up into capital and revenue being given, the magnitude of the capital accumulated clearly depends on the absolute magnitude of the surplus - value. Suppose that 80 per cent. were capitalised and 20 per cent. eaten up, the accumulated capital will be ÂŁ2,400 or ÂŁ200, according as the total surplus -value has amounted to ÂŁ3,000 or ÂŁ500. Hence all the circumstances that determine the mass of surplus- value operate to determine the magnitude of the accumulation. We sum them up once again, but only in so far as they afford new points of view in regard to accumulation. It will be remembered that the rate of surplus -value depends, in the first place, on the degree of exploitation of labour -power. Political Economy values thi s fact so highly, that it occasionally identifies the acceleration of accumulation due to increased productiveness of labour, with its acceleration due to increased exploitation of the labourer.35 In the chapters on the production of surplus -value it was constantly presupposed that wages are at least equal to the value of labour - power. Forcible reduction of wages below this value plays, however, in practice too important a part, for us not to pause upon it for a moment. It, in fact, transforms, within certain limits, the labourerâs necessary consumption fund into a fund for the accumulation of capital. âWages,â says John Stuart Mill, âhave no productive power; they are the price of a productive pow er. Wages do not contribute, along with labour, to the production of commodities, no more than the price of tools contributes along with the tools themselves. If labour could be had without purchase, wages might be dispensed with.â36 But if the labourers could live on air they could not be bought at any price. The zero of their cost is therefore a limit in a mathematical sense, always beyond reach, although we can always approximate more and more nearly to it. The constant tendency of capital is to force t he cost of labour back towards this zero. A writer of the 18th century, often quoted already, the author of the âEssay on Trade and Commerce,â only betrays the innermost secret soul of English capitalism, when he declares the historic mission of England to be the forcing down of English wages to the level of the French and the Dutch. 37 With other things he says naĂŻve ly: âBut if our poorâ (technical term for labourers) âwill live luxuriously ... then labour must, of course, be dear ... When it is considered what luxuries the manufacturing populace consume, such as brandy, gin, tea, sugar, foreign fruit, strong beer, printed linens, snuff, tobacco, &c.â38 He quotes the work of a Northamptonshire manufacturer, who, with eyes squinting heavenward moans: âLabour is one -third cheaper in France than in England; for their poor work hard, and fare hard, as to their food and clothing. Their chief diet is bread, fruit, herbs, roots, and dried fish; for they very seldom eat flesh; and when wheat is dear, they 420 Chapter 24 eat very l ittle bread.â39 âTo which may be added,â our essayist goes on, âthat their drink is either water or other small liquors, so that they spend very little money.... These things are very difficult to be brought about; but they are not impracticable, since they have been effected both in France and in Holland.â40 Twenty years later, an American humbug, the baronised Yankee, Benjamin Thompson ( alias Count Rumford) followed the same line of philanthropy to the great satisfaction of God and man. His âEssaysâ are a cookery book with receipts of all kinds for replacing by some succedaneum the ordinary dear food of the labourer. The following is a particularly successful receipt of this wonderful philosopher: â5 lbs. of barleymeal, 7œd.; 5 lbs. of Indian corn, 6ÂŒd.; 3d. worth of red herring, 1d. salt, 1d. vinegar, 2d. pepper and sweet herbs, in all 20Ÿ.; make a soup for 64 men, and at the medium price of barley and of Indian corn ... this soup may be provided at ÂŒd., the portion of 20 ounces.â 41 With the advance of c apitalistic production, the adulteration of food rendered Thompsonâs ideal superfluous.42 At the end of the 18th and during the first ten years of the 19th century, the English farmers and landlords enforced the absolute minimum of wage, by paying the agri cultural labourers less than the minimum in the form of wages, and the remainder in the shape of parochial relief. An example of the waggish way in which the English Dogberries acted in their âlegalâ fixing of a wages tariff: âThe squires of Norfolk had di ned, says Mr. Burke, when they fixed the rate of wages; the squires of Berks evidently thought the labourers ought not to do so, when they fixed the rate of wages at Speenhamland, 1795.... There they decide that âincome (weekly) should be 3s. for a man,â w hen the gallon or half -peck loaf of 8 lbs. 11 oz. is at 1s., and increase regularly till bread is 1s. 5d.; when it is above that sum decrease regularly till it be at 2s., and then his food should be 1/5 th less.â 43 Before the Committee of Inquiry of the H ouse of Lords, 1814, a certain A. Bennett, a large farmer, magistrate, poor -law guardian, and wage -regulator, was asked: âHas any proportion of the value of daily labour been made up to the labourers out of the poorsâ rate?â Answer: âYes, it has; the weekl y income of every family is made up to the gallon loaf (8 lbs. 11 oz.), and 3d. per head!... The gallon loaf per week is what we suppose sufficient for the maintenance of every person in the family for the week; and the 3d. is for clothes, and if the paris h think proper to find clothes; the 3d. is deducted. This practice goes through all the western part of Wiltshire, and, I believe, throughout the country.â44 âFor years,â exclaims a bourgeois author of that time, âthey (the farmers) have degraded a respect able class of their countrymen, by forcing them to have recourse to the workhouse ... the farmer, while increasing his own gains, has prevented any accumulation on the part of his labouring dependents.â 45 The part played in our days by the direct robbery from the labourerâs necessary consumption fund in the formation of surplus -value, and, therefore, of the accumulation fund of capital, the so- called domestic industry has served to show. (Ch. xv., sect. 8, c.) Further facts on this subject will be given la ter. Although in all branches of industry that part of the constant capital consisting of instruments of labour must be sufficient for a certain number of labourers (determined by the magnitude of the undertaking), it by no means always necessarily increases in the same proportion as the quantity 421 Chapter 24 of labour employed. In a factory, suppose that 100 labourers working 8 hours a day yield 800 working- hours. If the capitalist wishes to raise this sum by one half, he can employ 50 more workers; but then he must a lso advance more capital, not merely for wages, but for instruments of labour. But he might also let the 100 labourers work 12 hours instead of 8, and then the instruments of labour already to hand would be enough. These would then simply be more rapidly consumed. Thus additional labour, begotten of the greater tension of labour -power, can augment surplus -product and surplus -value ( i.e., the subject -matter of accumulation), without corresponding augmentation in the constant part of capital. In the extracti ve industries, mines, &c., the raw materials form no part of the capital advanced. The subject of labour is in this case not a product of previous labour, but is furnished by Nature gratis, as in the case of metals, minerals, coal, stone, &c. In these cases the constant capital consists almost exclusively of instruments of labour, which can very well absorb an increased quantity of labour (day and night shifts of labourers, e.g.). All other things being equal, the mass and value of the product will rise in direct proportion to the labour expended. As on the first day of production, the original produce -formers, now turned into the creators of the material elements of capital â man and Nature â still work together. Thanks to the elasticity of labour -power, the domain of accumulation has extended without any previous enlargement of constant capital. In agriculture the land under cultivation cannot be increased without the advance of more seed and manure. But this advance once made, the purely mechanical working of the soil itself produces a marvellous effect on the amount of the product. A greater quantity of labour, done by the same number of labourers as before, thus increases the fertility, without requiring any new advance in the instruments of labour. It i s once again the direct action of man on Nature which becomes an immediate source of greater accumulation, without the intervention of any new capital. Finally, in what is called manufacturing industry, every additional expenditure of labour presupposes a corresponding additional expenditure of raw materials, but not necessarily of instruments of labour. And as extractive industry and agriculture supply manufacturing industry with its raw materials and those of its instruments of labour, the additional product the former have created without additional advance of capital, tells also in favour of the latter. General result: by incorporating with itself the two primary creators of wealth, labour -power and the land, capital acquires a power of expansion that permits it to augment the elements of its accumulation beyond the limits apparently fixed by its own magnitude, or by the value and the mass of the means of production, already produced, in
đ° Capital Accumulation Dynamics
đ Surplus-value drives capital accumulation, with productivity increases enabling capitalists to expand both consumption and accumulation funds simultaneously
đ Technological advancement creates a powerful multiplier effectâimproving both new and existing capital while reducing costs and expanding production capacity without proportional investment
đšâđ§ Past labor embedded in machinery provides "gratuitous service" when activated by living labor, yet capitalists claim this value-creation as inherent to capital rather than labor
đ The so-called "labor fund" isn't a fixed magnitude but an elastic portion of social wealth that fluctuates with capital accumulation and exploitation rates
đž Capitalist appropriation transforms from seemingly fair exchange (where labor owns its product) into its oppositeâa system where capitalists claim ownership of others' labor
đ The division between consumption and accumulation funds remains under exclusive capitalist control, with workers systematically excluded from decisions about social wealth distribution
đ° Capitalist accumulation inevitably reproduces the fundamental relationship between capitalists and wage workers, creating more capitalists at one pole and more wage workers at the other
đ§ Classical economists like Smith and Ricardo recognized that capital accumulation increases the proletariat, though they incorrectly equated it with consumption by productive laborers
đ The composition of capital (both value-based and technical) determines how growth affects labor demand, with constant composition initially raising wages when accumulation outpaces labor supply
đž Early economic thinkers like Bellers and Mandeville explicitly acknowledged that the wealthy depend on poor laborers, with Mandeville arguing poor workers should "almost never be idle, and yet continually spend what they get"
đ Abstinence theory attempts to justify capitalist profits as reward for "sacrifice," but this notion is exposed as absurd when examining how capitalists actually behave and accumulate wealth
đ The system ultimately aims to maintain workers in a perpetual state of dependence, with their "enslavement to capital concealed by the variety of individual capitalists to whom they sell themselves"
đ Accumulation of capital creates a system where workers become increasingly dependent on capitalists, forming an "easy and liberal dependence" that expands rather than intensifies as capital grows
đž The wage relationship fundamentally serves capital's self-expansion, with workers receiving just enough payment to maintain productivity while generating surplus value that becomes additional capital
đ As productivity increases, the technical composition of capital shiftsâmore means of production (constant capital) relative to labor power (variable capital)âreflecting capital's growing command over labor
đ Centralization occurs alongside accumulation, as larger capitals absorb smaller ones through competition, increasing the concentration of wealth and production in fewer hands
đ The system creates its own equilibriumâwhen wages rise too high, accumulation slows, reducing demand for labor until wages fall again, ensuring capitalism's foundations remain intact
đ§ Workers' ignorance is beneficial to the system, as "knowledge both enlarges and multiplies our desires," making the laboring poor easier to manage when their expectations remain limited
can render the labouring man industrious, is a moderate quantity of money, for as too little will, according as his temper is, either dispirit or make him desperate, so too much will make him insolent and lazy.... From what has been said, it is manifest, that, in a free nation, where slaves are not allowed of, the surest wealth consists in a multitude of laborious poor; for besides, that they are the never -failing nursery of fleets and armies, without them there could be no enjoyment, and no product of any country could be valuable. âTo make the societyâ [which of course consists of non -workers] âhappy and people easier under the meanest circumstances, it is requisite that great numbers of them should be ignorant as well as poor; knowledge both enlarges and multiplies our desires, and the fewer things a man wishes for, the more easily his necessities may be supplied.â 3 What Mandeville, an honest, clear -headed man, had not yet seen, is that the mechanism of t he process of accumulation itself increases, along with the capital, the mass of âlabouring poor,â i.e ., the wage labourers, who turn their labour power into an increasing power of self -expansion of the 434 Chapter 25 growing capital, and even by doing so must eternise t heir dependent relation on their own product, as personified in the capitalists. In reference to this relation of dependence, Sir F. M. Eden in his âThe State of the Poor, an History of the Labouring Classes in England,â says, âthe natural produce of our soil is certainly not fully adequate to our subsistence; we can neither be clothed, lodged nor fed but in consequence of some previous labour. A portion at least of the society must be indefatigably employed .... There are others who, though they âneither toil nor spin,â can yet command the produce of industry, but who owe their exemption from labour solely to civilisation and order .... They are peculiarly the creatures of civil institutions, 4 which have recognised that individuals may acquire property by various other means besides the exertion of labour.... Persons of independent fortune ... owe their superior advantages by no means to any superior abilities of their own, but almost entirely ... to the industry of others. It is not the possession of land, or of money, but the command of labour which distinguishes the opulent from the labouring part of the community .... This [scheme approved by Eden] would give the people of property sufficient (but by no means too much) influence and authority over those who ... work for them; and it would place such labourers, not in an abject or servile condition, but in such a state of easy and liberal dependence as all who know human nature, and its history, will allow to be necessary for their own comfort.â5 Sir F. M. Eden, it may be remarked in passing, is the only disciple of Adam Smith during the eighteenth century that produced any work of importance.6 Under the conditions of accumulation supposed thus far, which conditions are those most favourable to the labourers, their relation of dependence upon capital takes on a form endurable or, as Eden says: âeasy and liberal.â Instead of becoming more intensive with the growth of capital, this relation of dependence only becomes more extensive, i.e ., the sphere of capi talâs exploitation and rule merely extends with its own dimensions and the number of its subjects. A larger part of their own surplus -product, always increasing and continually transformed into additional capital, comes back to them in the shape of means o f payment, so that they can extend the circle of their enjoyments; can make some additions to their consumption -fund of clothes, furniture, &c., and can lay by small reserve funds of money. But just as little as better clothing, food, and treatment, and a larger peculium, do away with the exploitation of the slave, so little do they set aside that of the wage worker. A rise in the price of labour, as a consequence of accumulation of capital, only means, in fact, that the length and weight of the golden chai n the wage worker has already forged for himself, allow of a relaxation of the tension of it. In the controversies on this subject the chief fact has generally been overlooked, viz., the differentia specifica [defining characteristic] of capitalistic production. Labour power is sold today, not with a view of satisfying, by its service or by its product, the personal needs of the buyer. His aim is augmentation of his capital, production of commodities containing more labour than he pays for, containing therefore a portion of value that costs him nothing, and that is nevertheless realised when the commodities are sold. Production of surplus -value is the absolute law of this mode of production. Labour -power is onl y saleable so far as it preserves the means of production in their capacity of capital, reproduces its own value as capital, and yields in unpaid labour a source of additional capital. 7 The conditions of its sale, whether more or less favourable to the lab ourer, include therefore the necessity of its constant re- selling, and the constantly extended reproduction of all wealth in the shape of capital. Wages, as we have seen, by their very nature, always imply the performance of a certain quantity of unpaid la bour on the part of the labourer. Altogether, 435 Chapter 25 irrespective of the case of a rise of wages with a falling price of labour, &c., such an increase only means at best a quantitative diminution of the unpaid labour that the worker has to supply. This diminution can never reach the point at which it would threaten the system itself. Apart from violent conflicts as to the rate of wages (and Adam Smith has already shown that in such a conflict, taken on the whole, the master is always master), a rise in the price o f labour resulting from accumulation of capital implies the following alternative: Either the price of labour keeps on rising, because its rise does not interfere with the progress of accumulation. In this there is nothing wonderful, for, says Adam Smith, âafter these (profits) are diminished, stock may not only continue to increase, but to increase much faster than before.... A great stock, though with small profits, generally increases faster than a small stock with great profits.â (l. c., ii, p. 189.) I n this case it is evident that a diminution in the unpaid labour in no way interferes with the extension of the domain of capital. â Or, on the other hand, accumulation slackens in consequence of the rise in the price of labour, because the stimulus of gai n is blunted. The rate of accumulation lessens; but with its lessening, the primary cause of that lessening vanishes, i.e., the disproportion between capital and exploitable labour power. The mechanism of the process of capitalist production removes the very obstacles that it temporarily creates. The price of labour falls again to a level corresponding with the needs of the self -expansion of capital, whether the level be below, the same as, or above the one which was normal before the rise of wages took pla ce. We see thus: In the first case, it is not the diminished rate either of the absolute, or of the proportional, increase in labour power, or labouring population, which causes capital to be in excess, but conversely the excess of capital that makes explo itable labour power insufficient. In the second case, it is not the increased rate either of the absolute, or of the proportional, increase in labour power, or labouring population, that makes capital insufficient; but, conversely, the relative diminution of capital that causes the exploitable labour power, or rather its price, to be in excess. It is these absolute movements of the accumulation of capital which are reflected as relative movements of the mass of exploitable labour power, and therefore seem p roduced by the latterâs own independent movement. To put it mathematically: the rate of accumulation is the independent, not the dependent, variable; the rate of wages, the dependent, not the independent, variable. Thus, when the industrial cycle is in the phase of crisis, a general fall in the price of commodities is expressed as a rise in the value of money, and, in the phase of prosperity, a general rise in the price of commodities, as a fall in the value of money. The so - called currency school concludes from this that with high prices too much, with low prices too little 8 money is in circulation. Their ignorance and complete misunderstanding of facts9 are worthily paralleled by the economists, who interpret the above phenomena of accumulation by saying that there are now too few, now too many wage labourers. The law of capitalist production, that is at the bottom of the pretended ânatural law of population,â reduces itself simply to this: The correlation between accumulation of capital and rate of wages is nothing else than the correlation between the unpaid labour transformed into capital, and the additional paid labour necessary for the setting in motion of this additional capital. It is therefore in no way a relation between two magnitudes, independe nt one of the other: on the one hand, the magnitude of the capital; on the other, the number of the labouring population; it is rather, at bottom, only the relation between the unpaid and the paid labour of the same labouring population. If the quantity of unpaid labour supplied by the working class, and accumulated by the capitalist class, increases so rapidly that its conversion into capital requires an extraordinary addition of paid labour, then wages rise, and, all other circumstances remaining equal, t he unpaid labour diminishes in proportion. But as soon as this diminution touches the point at which the surplus labour that nourishes capital is no longer supplied in normal quantity, a 436 Chapter 25 reaction sets in: a smaller part of revenue is capitalised, accumulat ion lags, and the movement of rise in wages receives a check. The rise of wages therefore is confined within limits that not only leave intact the foundations of the capitalistic system, but also secure its reproduction on a progressive scale. The law of capitalistic accumulation, metamorphosed by economists into pretended law of Nature, in reality merely states that the very nature of accumulation excludes every diminution in the degree of exploitation of labour, and every rise in the price of labour, whic h could seriously imperil the continual reproduction, on an ever -enlarging scale, of the capitalistic relation. It cannot be otherwise in a mode of production in which the labourer exists to satisfy the needs of self -expansion of existing values, instead o f, on the contrary, material wealth existing to satisfy the needs of development on the part of the labourer. As, in religion, man is governed by the products of his own brain, so in capitalistic production, he is governed by the products of his own hand.10 Section 2: Relative Diminution of the Variable Part of Capital Simultaneously with the Progress of Accumulation and of the Concentration that Accompanies it According to the economists themselves, it is neither the actual extent of social wealth, nor th e magnitude of the capital already functioning, that lead to a rise of wages, but only the constant growth of accumulation and the degree of rapidity of that growth. (Adam Smith, Book I., chapter 8.) So far, we have only considered one special phase of thi s process, that in which the increase of capital occurs along with a constant technical composition of capital. But the process goes beyond this phase. Once given the general basis of the capitalistic system, then, in the course of accumulation, a point i s reached at which the development of the productivity of social labour becomes the most powerful lever of accumulation. âThe same cause,â says Adam Smith, âwhich raises the wages of labour, the increase of stock, tends to increase its productive powers, and to make a smaller quantity of labour produce a greater quantity of work.â 11 Apart from natural conditions, such as fertility of the soil, &c., and from the skill of independent and isolated producers (shown rather qualitatively in the goodness than qua ntitatively in the mass of their products), the degree of productivity of labour, in a given society, is expressed in the relative extent of the means of production that one labourer, during a given time, with the same tension of labour power, turns into products. The mass of the means of production which he thus transforms, increases with the productiveness of his labour. But those means of production play a double part. The increase of some is a consequence, that of the others a condition of the increasin g productivity of labour. E.g., with the division of labour in manufacture, and with the use of machinery, more raw material is worked up in the same time, and, therefore, a greater mass of raw material and auxiliary substances enter into the labour process. That is the consequence of the increasing productivity of labour. On the other hand, the mass of machinery, beasts of burden, mineral manures, drain -pipes, &c., is a condition of the increasing productivity of labour. So also is it with the means of pro duction concentrated in buildings, furnaces, means of transport, &c. But whether condition or consequence, the growing extent of the means of production, as compared with the labour power incorporated with them, is an expression of the growing productivene ss of labour. The increase of the latter appears, therefore, in the diminution of the mass of labour in proportion to the mass of means of production moved by it, or in the diminution of the subjective factor of the labour process as compared with the obje ctive factor. 437 Chapter 25 This change in the technical composition of capital, this growth in the mass of means of production, as compared with the mass of the labour power that vivifies them, is reflected again in its value composition, by the increase of the consta nt constituent of capital at the expense of its variable constituent. There may be, e.g., originally 50 per cent. of a capital laid out in means of production, and 50 per cent. in labour power; later on, with the development of the productivity of labour, 80 per cent. in means of production, 20 per cent. in labour power, and so on. This law of the progressive increase in constant capital, in proportion to the variable, is confirmed at every step (as already shown) by the comparative analysis of the prices o f commodities, whether we compare different economic epochs or different nations in the same epoch. The relative magnitude of the element of price, which represents the value of the means of production only, or the constant part of capital consumed, is in direct, the relative magnitude of the other element of price that pays labour (the variable part of capital) is in inverse proportion to the advance of accumulation. This diminution in the variable part of capital as compared with the constant, or the alt ered value - composition of the capital, however, only shows approximately the change in the composition of its material constituents. If, e.g., the capital -value employed today in spinning is 7/8 constant and 1/8 variable, whilst at the beginning of the 18t h century it was œ constant and œ variable, on the other hand, the mass of raw material, instruments of labour, &c., that a certain quantity of spinning labour consumes productively today, is many hundred times greater than at the beginning of the 18th cen tury. The reason is simply that, with the increasing productivity of labour, not only does the mass of the means of production consumed by it increase, but their value compared with their mass diminishes. Their value therefore rises absolutely, but not in proportion to their mass. The increase of the difference between constant and variable capital, is, therefore, much less than that of the difference between the mass of the means of production into which the constant, and the mass of the labour power into which the variable, capital is converted. The former difference increases with the latter, but in a smaller degree. But, if the progress of accumulation lessens the relative magnitude of the variable part of capital, it by no means, in doing this, exclude s the possibility of a rise in its absolute magnitude. Suppose that a capital -value at first is divided into 50 per cent. of constant and 50 per cent. of variable capital; later into 80 per cent. of constant and 20 per cent. of variable. If in the meantime the original capital, say ÂŁ6,000, has increased to ÂŁ18,000, its variable constituent has also increased. It was ÂŁ3,000, it is now ÂŁ3,600. But where as formerly an increase of capital by 20 per cent. would have sufficed to raise the demand for labour 20 pe r cent., now this latter rise requires a tripling of the original capital. In Part IV, it was shown, how the development of the productiveness of social labour presupposes co-operation on a large scale; how it is only upon this supposition that division a nd combination of labour can be organised, and the means of production economised by concentration on a vast scale; how instruments of labour which, from their very nature, are only fit for use in common, such as a system of machinery, can be called into b eing; how huge natural forces can be pressed into the service of production; and how the transformation can be effected of the process of production into a technological application of science. On the basis of the production of commodities, where the means of production are the property of private persons, and where the artisan therefore either produces commodities, isolated from and independent of others, or sells his labour power as a commodity, because he lacks the means for independent industry, co - operation on a large scale can realise itself only in the increase of individual capitals, only in proportion as the means of social production and the means of subsistence are transformed into the private property of capitalists. The basis of the production of commodities can admit of 438 Chapter 25 production on a large scale in the capitalistic form alone. A certain accumulation of capital, in the hands of individual producers of commodities, forms therefore the necessary preliminary of the specifically capitalistic mode o f production. We had, therefore, to assume that this occurs during the transition from handicraft to capitalistic industry. It may be called primitive accumulation, because it is the historic basis, instead of the historic result of specifically capitalist production. How it itself originates, we need not here inquire as yet. It is enough that it forms the starting point. But all methods for raising the social productive power of labour that are developed on this basis, are at the same time methods for the increased production of surplus -value or surplus - product, which in its turn is the formative element of accumulation. They are, therefore, at the same time methods of the production of capital by capital, or methods of its accelerated accumulation. The con tinual re -transformation of surplus -value into capital now appears in the shape of the increasing magnitude of the capital that enters into the process of production. This in turn is the basis of an extended scale of production, of the methods for raising the productive power of labour that accompany it, and of accelerated production of surplus -value. If, therefore, a certain degree of accumulation of capital appears as a condition of the specifically capitalist mode of production, the latter causes convers ely an accelerated accumulation of capital. With the accumulation of capital, therefore, the specifically capitalistic mode of production develops, and with the capitalist mode of production the accumulation of capital. Both these economic factors bring about, in the compound ratio of the impulses they reciprocally give one another, that change in the technical composition of capital by which the variable constituent becomes always smaller and smaller as compared with the constant. Every individual capital is a larger or smaller concentration of means of production, with a corresponding command over a larger or smaller labour -army. Every accumulation becomes the means of new accumulation. With the increasing mass of wealth which functions as capital, accumu lation increases the concentration of that wealth in the hands of individual capitalists, and thereby widens the basis of production on a large scale and of the specific methods of capitalist production. The growth of social capital is effected by the grow th of many individual capitals. All other circumstances remaining the same, individual capitals, and with them the concentration of the means of production, increase in such proportion as they form aliquot parts of the total social capital. At the same tim e portions of the original capitals disengage themselves and function as new independent capitals. Besides other causes, the division of property, within capitalist families, plays a great part in this. With the accumulation of capital, therefore, the numb er of capitalists grows to a greater or less extent. Two points characterise this kind of concentration which grows directly out of, or rather is identical with, accumulation. First: The increasing concentration of the social means of production in the hands of individual capitalists is, other things remaining equal, limited by the degree of increase of social wealth. Second: The part of social capital domiciled in each particular sphere of production is divided among many capitalists who face one another a s independent commodity- producers competing with each other. Accumulation and the concentration accompanying it are, therefore, not only scattered over many points, but the increase of each functioning capital is thwarted by the formation of new and the sub-division of old capitals. Accumulation, therefore, presents itself on the one hand as increasing concentration of the means of production, and of the command over labour; on the other, as repulsion of many individual capitals one from another. This spli tting-up of the total social capital into many individual capitals or the repulsion of its fractions one from another, is counteracted by their attraction. This last does not mean that simple concentration of the means of production and of the command over labour, which is identical with accumulation. It is concentration of capitals already formed, destruction of their individual 439 Chapter 25 independence, expropriation of capitalist by capitalist, transformation of many small into few large capitals. This process differs from the former in this, that it only presupposes a change in the distribution of capital already to hand, and functioning; its field of action is therefore not limited by the absolute growth of social wealth, by the absolute limits of accumulation. Cap ital grows in one place to a huge mass in a single hand, because it has in another place been lost by many. This is centralisation proper, as distinct from accumulation and concentration. The laws of this centralisation of capitals, or of the attraction o f capital by capital, cannot be developed here. A brief hint at a few facts must suffice. The battle of competition is fought by cheapening of commodities. The cheapness of commodities demands, caeteris paribus, on the productiveness of labour, and this ag ain on the scale of production. Therefore, the larger capitals beat the smaller. It will further be remembered that, with the development of the capitalist mode of production, there is an increase in the minimum amount of individual capital necessary to ca rry on a business under its normal conditions. The smaller capitals, therefore, crowd into spheres of production which Modern Industry has only sporadically or incompletely got hold of.
đ° Capital Centralization Dynamics
đ Competition and đŠ credit systems function as powerful levers of capital centralization, drawing scattered money resources into fewer hands and accelerating the concentration of economic power
đȘïž Centralization transforms capital distribution rapidly compared to gradual accumulation, enabling massive industrial undertakings (like railways) through joint-stock companies that would be impossible through individual capital growth alone
đ€ As capital accumulates and centralizes, its technical composition shifts dramaticallyâconstant capital (machinery, raw materials) grows while variable capital (labor) diminishes proportionally, creating a "relative surplus population"
đ„ This industrial reserve army becomes both a product of and essential condition for capitalist production, providing readily exploitable labor during expansion while enabling wage suppression through competition
đ The cyclical nature of modern industryâperiods of activity, high production, crisis, and stagnationâdepends on this constant formation and absorption of surplus population, which capitalists manipulate to maximize profits
đž Wage movements are regulated not by absolute population changes but by the expansion and contraction of the industrial reserve army, contradicting economists who claim wages rise simply due to capital accumulation
Here competition rages in direct proportion to the number, and in inve rse proportion to the magnitudes, of the antagonistic capitals. It always ends in the ruin of many small capitalists, whose capitals partly pass into the hands of their conquerors, partly vanish. Apart from this, with capitalist production an altogether ne w force comes into play â the credit system, which in its first stages furtively creeps in as the humble assistant of accumulation, drawing into the hands of individual or associated capitalists, by invisible threads, the money resources which lie scattere d, over the surface of society, in larger or smaller amounts; but it soon becomes a new and terrible weapon in the battle of competition and is finally transformed into an enormous social mechanism for the centralisation of capitals. Commensurately with t he development of capitalist production and accumulation there develop the two most powerful levers of centralisation â competition and credit. At the same time the progress of accumulation increases the material amenable to centralisation, i.e ., the indiv idual capitals, whilst the expansion of capitalist production creates, on the one hand, the social want, and, on the other, the technical means necessary for those immense industrial undertakings which require a previous centralisation of capital for their accomplishment. Today, therefore, the force of attraction, drawing together individual capitals, and the tendency to centralisation are stronger than ever before. But if the relative extension and energy of the movement towards centralisation is determine d, in a certain degree, by the magnitude of capitalist wealth and superiority of economic mechanism already attained, progress in centralisation does not in any way depend upon a positive growth in the magnitude of social capital. And this is the specific difference between centralisation and concentration, the latter being only another name for reproduction on an extended scale. Centralisation may result from a mere change in the distribution of capitals already existing, from a simple alteration in the qu antitative grouping of the component parts of social capital. Here capital can grow into powerful masses in a single hand because there it has been withdrawn from many individual hands. In any given branch of industry centralisation would reach its extreme limit if all the individual capitals invested in it were fused into a single capital. 12 In a given society the limit would be reached only when the entire social capital was united in the hands of either a single capitalist or a single capitalist company. Centralisation completes the work of accumulation by enabling industrial capitalists to extend the scale of their operations. Whether this latter result is the consequence of accumulation or centralisation, whether centralisation is accomplished by the v iolent method of annexation â when certain capitals become such preponderant centres of attraction for others that they shatter the individual cohesion of the latter and then draw the separate fragments to themselves â or 440 Chapter 25 whether the fusion of a number of capitals already formed or in process of formation takes place by the smoother process of organising joint -stock companies â the economic effect remains the same. Everywhere the increased scale of industrial establishments is the starting point for a more comprehensive organisation of the collective work of many, for a wider development of their material motive forces â in other words, for the progressive transformation of isolated processes of production, carried on by customary methods, into processes of production socially combined and scientifically arranged. But accumulation, the gradual increase of capital by reproduction as it passes from the circular to the spiral form, is clearly a very slow procedure compared with centralisation, which has only to change the quantitative groupings of the constituent parts of social capital. The world would still be without railways if it had had to wait until accumulation had got a few individual capitals far enough to be adequate for the construction of a railway. Centralisation, on the contrary, accomplished this in the twinkling of an eye, by means of joint -stock companies. And whilst centralisation thus intensifies and accelerates the effects of accumulation, it simultaneously extends and speeds those revolutions in the technical composition of capital which raise its constant portion at the expense of its variable portion, thus diminishing the relative demand for labour. The masses of capital fused together overnight by centralisation reproduce and multiply as the others do, only more rapidly, thereby becoming new and powerful levers in social accumulation. Therefore, when we speak of the progress of social accumulation we tacitly include â today â the effects of centralisation. The additional capitals formed i n the normal course of accumulation (see Chapter XXIV, Section 1) serve particularly as vehicles for the exploitation of new inventions and discoveries, and industrial improvements in general. But in time the old capital also reaches the moment of renewal from top to toe, when it sheds its skin and is reborn like the others in a perfected technical form, in which a smaller quantity of labour will suffice to set in motion a larger quantity of machinery and raw materials. The absolute reduction in the demand for labour which necessarily follows from this is obviously so much the greater the higher the degree in which the capitals undergoing this process of renewal are already massed together by virtue of the centralisation movement. On the one hand, therefore , the additional capital formed in the course of accumulation attracts fewer and fewer labourers in proportion to its magnitude. On the other hand, the old capital periodically reproduced with change of composition, repels more and more of the labourers formerly employed by it. Section 3: Progressive Production of a Relative surplus population or Industrial Reserve Army The accumulation of capital, though originally appearing as its quantitative extension only, is effected, as we have seen, under a progres sive qualitative change in its composition, under a constant increase of its constant, at the expense of its variable constituent.13 The specifically capitalist mode of production, the development of the productive power of labour corresponding to it, and the change thence resulting in the organic composition of capital, do not merely keep pace with the advance of accumulation, or with the growth of social wealth. They develop at a much quicker rate, because mere accumulation, the absolute increase of the total social capital, is accompanied by the centralisation of the individual capitals of which that total is made up; and because the change in the technological composition of the additional capital goes 441 Chapter 25 hand in hand with a similar change in the technolog ical composition of the original capital. With the advance of accumulation, therefore, the proportion of constant to variable capital changes. If it was originally say 1:1, it now becomes successively 2:1, 3:1, 4:1, 5:1, 7:1, &c., so that, as the capital i ncreases, instead of œ of its total value, only 1/3, 1/4, 1/5, 1/6, 1/8, &c., is transformed into labour -power, and, on the other hand, 2/3, 3/4, 4/5, 5/6, 7/8 into means of production. Since the demand for labour is determined not by the amount of capital as a whole, but by its variable constituent alone, that demand falls progressively with the increase of the total capital, instead of, as previously assumed, rising in proportion to it. It falls relatively to the magnitude of the total capital, and at an accelerated rate, as this magnitude increases. With the growth of the total capital, its variable constituent or the labour incorporated in it, also does increase, but in a constantly diminishing proportion. The intermediate pauses are shortened, in which accumulation works as simple extension of production, on a given technical basis. It is not merely that an accelerated accumulation of total capital, accelerated in a constantly growing progression, is needed to absorb an additional number of labourers, or even, on account of the constant metamorphosis of old capital, to keep employed those already functioning. In its turn, this increasing accumulation and centralisation becomes a source of new changes in the composition of capital, of a more accelerated di minution of its variable, as compared with its constant constituent. This accelerated relative diminution of the variable constituent, that goes along with the accelerated increase of the total capital, and moves more rapidly than this increase, takes the inverse form, at the other pole, of an apparently absolute increase of the labouring population, an increase always moving more rapidly than that of the variable capital or the means of employment. But in fact, it is capitalistic accumulation itself that c onstantly produces, and produces in the direct ratio of its own energy and extent, a relatively redundant population of labourers, i.e., a population of greater extent than suffices for the average needs of the self - expansion of capital, and therefore a su rplus population. Considering the social capital in its totality, the movement of its accumulation now causes periodical changes, affecting it more or less as a whole, now distributes its various phases simultaneously over the different spheres of product ion. In some spheres a change in the composition of capital occurs without increase of its absolute magnitude, as a consequence of simple centralisation; in others the absolute growth of capital is connected with absolute diminution of its variable constit uent, or of the labour power absorbed by it; in others again, capital continues growing for a time on its given technical basis, and attracts additional labour power in proportion to its increase, while at other times it undergoes organic change, and lesse ns its variable constituent; in all spheres, the increase of the variable part of capital, and therefore of the number of labourers employed by it, is always connected with violent fluctuations and transitory production of surplus population, whether this takes the more striking form of the repulsion of labourers already employed, or the less evident but not less real form of the more difficult absorption of the additional labouring population through the usual channels. 14 With the magnitude of social capit al already functioning, and the degree of its increase, with the extension of the scale of production, and the mass of the labourers set in motion, with the development of the productiveness of their labour, with the greater breadth and fulness of all sour ces of wealth, there is also an extension of the scale on which greater attraction of labourers by capital is accompanied by their greater repulsion; the rapidity of the change in the organic composition of capital, and in its technical form increases, and an increasing number of spheres of production becomes involved in this change, now simultaneously, now alternately. The labouring population therefore produces, along with the accumulation of capital produced by it, the means by which it itself is made relatively superfluous, is turned into a relative surplus population; and it does this to an always increasing extent. 15 This is a law of population peculiar to the capitalist mode of 442 Chapter 25 production; and in fact every special historic mode of production has its own special laws of population, historically valid within its limits and only in so far as man has not interfered with them. But if a surplus labouring population is a necessary product of accumulation or of the development of wealth on a capitalist basis, this surplus population becomes, conversely, the lever of capitalistic accumulation, nay, a condition of existence o f the capitalist mode of production. It forms a disposable industrial reserve army, that belongs to capital quite as absolutely as if the latter had bred it at its own cost. Independently of the limits of the actual increase of population, it creates, for the changing needs of the self -expansion of capital, a mass of human material always ready for exploitation. With accumulation, and the development of the productiveness of labour that accompanies it, the power of sudden expansion of capital grows also; it grows, not merely because the elasticity of the capital already functioning increases, not merely because the absolute wealth of society expands, of which capital only forms an elastic part, not merely because credit, under every special stimulus, at once places an unusual part of this wealth at the disposal of production in the form of additional capital; it grows, also, because the technical conditions of the process of production themselves â machinery, means of transport, &c. â now admit of the rapides t transformation of masses of surplus- product into additional means of production. The mass of social wealth, overflowing with the advance of accumulation, and transformable into additional capital, thrusts itself frantically into old branches of productio n, whose market suddenly expands, or into newly formed branches, such as railways, &c., the need for which grows out of the development of the old ones. In all such cases, there must be the possibility of throwing great masses of men suddenly on the decisi ve points without injury to the scale of production in other spheres. Overpopulation supplies these masses. The course characteristic of modern industry, viz., a decennial cycle (interrupted by smaller oscillations), of periods of average activity, product ion at high pressure, crisis and stagnation, depends on the constant formation, the greater or less absorption, and the re- formation of the industrial reserve army or surplus population. In their turn, the varying phases of the industrial cycle recruit the surplus population, and become one of the most energetic agents of its reproduction. This peculiar course of modern industry, which occurs in no earlier period of human history, was also impossible in the childhood of capitalist production. The composition of capital changed but very slowly. With its accumulation, therefore, there kept pace, on the whole, a corresponding growth in the demand for labour. Slow as was the advance of accumulation compared with that of more modern times, it found a check in the natural limits of the exploitable labouring population, limits which could only be got rid of by forcible means to be mentioned later. The expansion by fits and starts of the scale of production is the preliminary to its equally sudden contraction; the la tter again evokes the former, but the former is impossible without disposable human material, without an increase, in the number of labourers independently of the absolute growth of the population. This increase is effected by the simple process that const antly âsets freeâ a part of the labourers; by methods which lessen the number of labourers employed in proportion to the increased production. The whole form of the movement of modern industry depends, therefore, upon the constant transformation of a part of the labouring population into unemployed or half -employed hands. The superficiality of Political Economy shows itself in the fact that it looks upon the expansion and contraction of credit, which is a mere symptom of the periodic changes of the industri al cycle, as their cause. As the heavenly bodies, once thrown into a certain definite motion, always repeat this, so is it with social production as soon as it is once thrown into this movement of alternate expansion and contraction. Effects, in their turn, become causes, and the varying accidents of the whole process, which always reproduces its own conditions, take on the form of periodicity. When this periodicity is once consolidated, even Political Economy then sees 443 Chapter 25 that the production of a relative sur plus population â i.e., surplus with regard to the average needs of the self -expansion of capital â is a necessary condition of modern industry. âSuppose,â says H. Merivale, formerly Professor of Political Economy at Oxford, subsequently employed in the E nglish Colonial Office, âsuppose that, on the occasion of some of these crises, the nation were to rouse itself to the effort of getting rid by emigration of some hundreds of thousands of superfluous arms, what would be the consequence? That, at the first returning demand for labour, there would be a deficiency. However rapid reproduction may be, it takes, at all events, the space of a generation to replace the loss of adult labour. Now, the profits of our manufacturers depend mainly on the power of making use of the prosperous moment when demand is brisk, and thus compensating themselves for the interval during which it is slack. This power is secured to them only by the command of machinery and of manual labour. They must have hands ready by them, they mus t be able to increase the activity of their operations when required, and to slacken it again, according to the state of the market, or they cannot possibly maintain that pre -eminence in the race of competition on which the wealth of the country is founded.â 16 Even Malthus recognises overpopulation as a necessity of modern industry, though, after his narrow fashion, he explains it by the absolute over -growth of the labouring population, not by their becoming relatively supernumerary. He says: âPrudential habits with regard to marriage, carried to a considerable extent among the labouring class of a country mainly depending upon manufactures and commerce, might injure it.... From the nature of a population, an increase of labourers cannot be brought into market in consequence of a particular demand till after the lapse of 16 or 18 years, and the conversion of revenue into capital, by saving, may take place much more rapidly: a country is always liable to an increase in the quantity of the funds f or the maintenance of labour faster than the increase of population.â 17 After Political Economy has thus demonstrated the constant production of a relative surplus population of labourers to be a necessity of capitalistic accumulation, she very aptly, in the guise of an old maid, puts in the mouth of her âbeau idealâ of a capitalist the following words addressed to those supernumeraries thrown on the streets by their own creation of additional capital: â âWe manufacturers do what we can for you, whilst we are increasing that capital on which you must subsist, and you must do the rest by accommodating your numbers to the means of subsistence.â18 Capitalist production can by no means content itself with the quantity of disposable labour power which the natur al increase of population yields. It requires for its free play an industrial reserve army independent of these natural limits. Up to this point it has been assumed that the increase or diminution of the variable capital corresponds rigidly with the incre ase or diminution of the number of labourers employed. The number of labourers commanded by capital may remain the same, or even fall, while the variable capital increases. This is the case if the individual labourer yields more labour, and therefore his wages increase, and this although the price of labour remains the same or even falls, only more slowly than the mass of labour rises. Increase of variable capital, in this case, becomes an index of more labour, but not of more labourers employed. It is the absolute interest of every capitalist to press a given quantity of labour out of a smaller, rather than a greater number of 444 Chapter 25 labourers, if the cost is about the same. In the latter case, the outlay of constant capital increases in proportion to the mass of labour set in action; in the former that increase is much smaller. The more extended the scale of production, the stronger this motive. Its force increases with the accumulation of capital. We have seen that the development of the capitalist mode of prod uction and of the productive power of labour â at once the cause and effect of accumulation â enables the capitalist, with the same outlay of variable capital, to set in action more labour by greater exploitation (extensive or intensive) of each individual labour power. We have further seen that the capitalist buys with the same capital a greater mass of labour power, as he progressively replaces skilled labourers by less skilled, mature labour power by immature, male by female, that of adults by that of yo ung persons or children. On the one hand, therefore, with the progress of accumulation, a larger variable capital sets more labour in action without enlisting more labourers; on the other, a variable capital of the same magnitude sets in action more labou r with the same mass of labour power; and, finally, a greater number of inferior labour powers by displacement of higher. The production of a relative surplus population, or the setting free of labourers, goes on therefore yet more rapidly than the techni cal revolution of the process of production that accompanies, and is accelerated by, the advance of accumulation; and more rapidly than the corresponding diminution of the variable part of capital as compared with the constant. If the means of production, as they increase in extent and effective power, become to a less extent means of employment of labourers, this state of things is again modified by the fact that in proportion as the productiveness of labour increases, capital increases its supply of labou r more quickly than its demand for labourers. The overwork of the employed part of the working class swells the ranks of the reserve, whilst conversely the greater pressure that the latter by its competition exerts on the former, forces these to submit to overwork and to subjugation under the dictates of capital. The condemnation of one part of the working class to enforced idleness by the overwork of the other part, and the converse, becomes a means of enriching the individual capitalists, 19 and accelerates at the same time the production of the industrial reserve army on a scale corresponding with the advance of social accumulation. How important is this element in the formation of the relative surplus population, is shown by the example of England. Her te chnical means for saving labour are colossal. Nevertheless, if to -morrow morning labour generally were reduced to a rational amount, and proportioned to the different sections of the working class according to age and sex, the working population to hand would be absolutely insufficient for the carrying on of national production on its present scale. The great majority of the labourers now âunproductiveâ would have to be turned into âproductiveâ ones. Taking them as a whole, the general movements of wages are exclusively regulated by the expansion and contraction of the industrial reserve army, and these again correspond to the periodic changes of the industrial cycle. They are, therefore, not determined by the variations of the absolute number of the working population, but by the varying proportions in which the working class is divided into active and reserve army, by the increase or diminution in the relative amount of the surplus population, by the extent to which it is now absorbed, now set free. For Modern Industry with its decennial cycles and periodic phases, which, moreover, as accumulation advances, are complicated by irregular oscillations following each other more and more quickly, that would indeed be a beautiful law, which pretends to make the a ction of capital dependent on the absolute variation of the population, instead of regulating the demand and supply of labour by the alternate expansion and contraction of capital, the labour -market now appearing relatively under -full, because capital is e xpanding, now again over -full, because it is contracting. Yet this is 445 Chapter 25 the dogma of the economists. According to them, wages rise in consequence of accumulation of capital. The higher wages stimulate the working population to more rapid multiplication, and this goes on until the labour -market becomes too full, and therefore capital, relatively to the supply of labour, becomes insufficient. Wages fall, and now we have the reverse of the medal. The working population is little by little decimated as the result of the fall in wages, so that capital is again in excess relatively to them, or, as others explain it, falling wages and the corresponding increase in the exploitation
đ° Capitalism's Labor Paradox
đ Wage fluctuations create a cyclical pattern where rising wages trigger employers to introduce more machinery, making workers "redundant" and pushing wages back downârevealing how capital maintains control over labor markets
đ The industrial reserve army (unemployed workers) serves as the pivot of supply and demand, confining labor within limits convenient for capital exploitation while neutralizing potential wage increases
đ„ Relative surplus population exists in three forms: the floating (temporarily unemployed industrial workers), the latent (agricultural workers ready to move to cities), and the stagnant (irregularly employed workers with below-average conditions)
đ¶ Worker populations show inverse relationships between wages and family sizeâlower-paid workers have larger families, creating a self-perpetuating cycle that maintains the surplus labor pool
đ The absolute general law of capitalist accumulation: as wealth and capital grow, so does the industrial reserve army and the misery of workersâ"accumulation of wealth at one pole is accumulation of misery at the opposite pole"
đ All methods for increasing labor productivity under capitalism come at the worker's expenseâmutilating them into "fragments," degrading them to machine appendages, and transforming their lifetime into working-time
đ° Capitalist accumulation creates an "intoxicating augmentation of wealth" for property owners while workers remain "tempered by poverty" despite producing this wealth
đ England (1846-1866) demonstrates how rapid industrial growth and capital concentration coincides with deteriorating living conditions for laborers
đœïž Nutritional studies reveal widespread malnutrition among working classes, with many industrial workers consuming below minimum requirements for survival
đïž Housing conditions worsen with urban development, creating overcrowded "colonies" described as "infernal" where human dignity becomes "bestial rather than human"
đ Official statistics mask the true extent of poverty, as income inequality widens despite claims that "the poor have been growing less poor"
đŠ The "antagonistic character of capitalist accumulation" becomes most visible in urban areas where "improvements" for the wealthy directly displace the poor into worse conditions
then reposes; but it is because the one works that the other rests.... The indefinite multiplication of the productive powers of labour can then only have for result the increase of luxury and enjoyment of the idle rich.â 29 Finally Destutt de Tracy, the fish -blooded bourgeois doctrinaire, blurts out brutally: âIn poor nations the people are comfortable, in rich nations they are generally poor.â30 Section 5: Illustrations of the General Law of Capitalist Accumulation A. England from 1846 -1866 No period of modern society is so favourable for the study of capitalist accumulation as the period of the last 20 years. It is as if this period had found Fortunatusâ purse. But of all countries Englan d again furnishes the classical example, because it holds the foremost place in the world - market, because capitalist production is here alone completely developed, and lastly, because the introduction of the Free -trade millennium since 1846 has cut off the last retreat of vulgar economy. The titanic advance of production â the latter half of the 20 yearsâ period again far surpassing the former â has been already pointed out sufficiently in Part IV. Although the absolute increase of the English population i n the last half century was very great, the relative increase or rate of growth fell constantly, as the following table borrowed from the census shows. Annual increase per cent. of the population of England and Wales in decimal numbers: 1811 -1821 1.533 per cent. 1821 -1831 1.446 per cent. 1831 -1841 1.326 per cent. 1841 -1851 1.216 per cent. 1851 -1861 1.141 per cent. Let us now, on the other hand, consider the increase of wealth. Here the movement of profit, rent of land, &c., that come under the income tax, furnishes the surest basis. The increase of profits liable to income tax (farmers and some other categories not included) in Great Britain from 1853 to 1864 amounted to 50.47% or 4.58% as the annual average, 31 that of the population during the same p eriod to about 12%. The augmentation of the rent of land subject to taxation (including houses, railways, mines, fisheries, &c.), amounted for 1853 to 1864 to 38% or 3 5/12% annually. Under this head the following categories show the greatest increase: Excess of annual income of 1864 over that of 1853 Increase per year Houses 38.60% 3.50% Quarries 84.76% 7.70% Mines 68.85% 6.26% Ironworks 39.92% 3.63% Fisheries 57.37% 5.21% 452 Chapter 25 Gasworks 126.02% 11.45% Railways 83.29% 7.57% If we compare the years from 1853 to 1864 in three sets of four consecutive years each, the rate of augmentation of the income increases constantly.32 It is, e.g., for that arising from profits between 1853 to 1857, 1.73% yearly; 1857- 1861, 2.74%, and for 1861- 64, 9.30% yearly. The sum of the incomes of the United Kingdom that come under the income tax was in 1856, ÂŁ307,068,898; in 1859, ÂŁ328,127,416; in 1862, ÂŁ351,745,241; in 1863, ÂŁ359,142,897; in 1864, ÂŁ362,462,279; in 1865, ÂŁ385,530,020.33 The accumulation of capital was attended at the same time by its concentration and centralisation. Although no official statistics of agriculture existed for England (they did for Ireland), they were voluntarily given in 10 counties. These statistics gave the result that from 1851 to 1861 the number of farms of less than 100 acres had fallen from 31,583 to 26,597, so that 5,016 had been thrown together into larger farms.34 From 1815 to 1825 no personal estate of more than ÂŁ1,000,000 came under the succession duty; from 1825 to 1855, however, 8 did; and 4 from 1856 to June, 1859, i.e. , in 4œ years. 35 The centralisation will, however, be best seen from a short analysis of the Income Tax Schedule D (profits, exclusive of farms, &c.), in the years 1864 and 1865. I note beforehand that incomes from this source pay income tax on everything over ÂŁ60. These incomes liable to taxation in England, Wales and Scotland, amounted in 1864 to ÂŁ95,844,222, in 1865 to ÂŁ105,435,579. 36 The number of persons taxed were in 1864, 308,416, out of a population of 23,891,009; in 1865, 332,431 out of a population of 24,127,003. The following table shows the distribution of these incomes in the two years: Year ending April 5th, 1864. Year ending April 5th, 1865. Income from Profits Income from People Income from Profits Income from People Total Income ÂŁ95,844,222 308,416 105,435,738 332,431 of these 57,028,289 23,334 64,554,297 24,265 of these 36,415,225 3,619 42,535,576 4,021 of these 22,809,781 832 27,555,313 973 of these 8,744,762 91 11,077,238 107 In 1855 there were produced in the United Kingdom 61,453,079 tons of coal, of value ÂŁ16,113,167; in 1864, 92,787,873 tons, of value ÂŁ23,197,968; in 1855, 3,218,154 tons of pig -iron, of value ÂŁ8,045,385; 1864, 4,767,951 tons, of value ÂŁ11,919,877. In 1854 t he length of the railroads worked in the United Kingdom was 8,054 miles, with a paid- up capital of ÂŁ286,068,794; in 1864 the length was 12,789 miles, with capital paid up of ÂŁ425,719,613. In 1854 the total sum of the exports and imports of the United Kingdom was ÂŁ268,210,145; in 1865, ÂŁ489,923,285. The following table shows the movement of the exports: 1846 ÂŁ58,842,377 1849 63,596,052 1856 115,826,948 1860 135,842,817 1865 165,862,402 18663188,917,563 453 Chapter 25 7 After these few examples one understands the cry of triumph of the Registrar -General of the British people: âRapidly as the population has increased, it has not kept pace with the progress of industry and wealth.â38 Let us turn now to the direct agents of this industry, or the producers of this wealth, to the working class. âIt is one of the most melancholy features in the social state of this country,â says Gladstone, âthat while there was a decrease in the consuming powers of the people, and while there was an increase in the privations and dis tress of the labouring class and operatives, there was at the same time a constant accumulation of wealth in the upper classes, and a constant increase of capital.â 39 Thus spake this unctuous minister in the House of Commons of February 13th, 1843. On Apr il 16th, 1863, 20 years later, in the speech in which he introduced his Budget: âFrom 1842 to 1852 the taxable income of the country increased by 6 per cent.... In the 8 years from 1853 to 1861 it had increased from the basis taken in 1853 by 20 per cent.! The fact is so astonishing as to be almost incredible ... this intoxicating augmentation of wealth and power ... entirely confined to classes of property ... must be of indirect benefit to the labouring population, because it cheapens the commodities of g eneral consumption. While the rich have been growing richer, the poor have been growing less poor. At any rate, whether the extremes of poverty are less, I do not presume to say.â40 How lame an anti -climax! If the working class has remained âpoor,â only âless poorâ in proportion as it produces for the wealthy class âan intoxicating augmentation of wealth and power,â then it has remained relatively just as poor. If the extremes of poverty have not lessened, they have increased, because the extremes of wealt h have. As to the cheapening of the means of subsistence, the official statistics, e.g., the accounts of the London Orphan Asylum, show an increase in price of 20% for the average of the three years 1860 -1862, compared with 1851- 1853. In the following thre e years, 1863- 1865, there was a progressive rise in the price of meat, butter, milk, sugar, salt, coals, and a number of other necessary means of subsistence.41 Gladstoneâs next Budget speech of April 7th, 1864, is a Pindaric dithyrambus on the advance of surplus - value -making and the happiness of the people âtempered by poverty.â He speaks of masses âon the borderâ of pauperism, of branches of trade in which âwa ges have not increased,â and finally sums up the happiness of the working class in the words: âhuman life is but, in nine cases out of ten, a struggle for existence.â 42 Professor Fawcett, not bound like Gladstone by official considerations, declares roundly: âI do not, of course, deny that money wages have been augmented by this increase of capital (in the last ten years), but this apparent advantage is to a great extent lost, because many of the necessaries of life are becoming dearerâ (he believes because of the fall in value of the precious metals)..."the rich grow rapidly richer, whilst there is no perceptible advance in the comfort enjoyed by the industrial classes.... They (the labourers) become almost the slaves of the tradesman, to whom they owe money.â 43 In the chapters on the âworking dayâ and âmachinery,â the reader has seen under what circumstances the British working class created an âintoxicating augmentation of wealth and 454 Chapter 25 powerâ for the propertied classes. There we were chiefly concerned with the social functioning of the labourer. But for a full elucidation of the law of accumulation, his condition outside the workshop must also be looked at, his condition as to food and dwelling. The limits of this book compel us to concern ourselves chiefly with the worst paid part of the industrial proletariat, and with the agricultural labourers, who together form the majority of the working class. But first, one word on official pauperism, or on that part of the working class which has forfeited its cond ition of existence (the sale of labour power), and vegetates upon public alms. The official list of paupers numbered in England44 851,369 persons; in 1856, 877,767; in 1865, 971,433. In consequence of the cotton famine, it grew in the years 1863 and 1864 t o 1,079,382 and 1,014,978. The crisis of 1866, which fell most heavily on London, created in this centre of the world market, more populous than the kingdom of Scotland, an increase of pauperism for the year 1866 of 19.5% compared with 1865, and of 24.4% c ompared with 1864, and a still greater increase for the first months of 1867 as compared with 1866. From the analysis of the statistics of pauperism, two points are to be taken. On the one hand, the fluctuation up and down of the number of paupers, reflect s the periodic changes of the industrial cycle. On the other, the official statistics become more and more misleading as to the actual extent of pauperism in proportion as, with the accumulation of capital, the class- struggle, and, therefore, the class consciousness of the working men, develop. E.g ., the barbarity in the treatment of the paupers, at which the English Press ( The Times, Pall Mall Gazette, etc.) have cried out so loudly during the last two years, is of ancient date. F. Engels showed in 1844 exactly the same horrors, exactly the same transient canting outcries of âsensational literature.â But frightful increase of âdeaths by starvationâ in London during the last ten years proves beyond doubt the growing horror in which the working- people hold the slavery of the workhouse, that place of punishment for misery.45 B. The Badly Paid Strata of the British Industrial Class During the cotton famine of 1862, Dr. Smith was charged by the Privy Council with an inquiry into the conditions of nourishment of the distressed operatives in Lancashire and Cheshire. His observations during many preceding years had led him to the conclusion that âto avert starvation diseases,â the daily food of an average woman ought to contain at least 3,900 grains of carbon with 1 80 grains of nitrogen; the daily food of an average man, at least 4,300 grains of carbon with 200 grains of nitrogen; for women, about the same quantity of nutritive elements as are contained in 2 lbs. of good wheaten bread, for men 1/9 more; for the weekl y average of adult men and women, at least 28,600 grains of carbon and 1,330 grains of nitrogen. His calculation was practically confirmed in a surprising manner by its agreement with the miserable quantity of nourishment to which want had forced down the consumption of the cotton operatives. This was, in December, 1862, 29,211 grains of carbon, and 1,295 grains of nitrogen weekly. In the year 1863, the Privy Council ordered an inquiry into the state of distress of the worst - nourished part of the English w orking class. Dr. Simon, medical officer to the Privy Council, chose for this work the above -mentioned Dr. Smith. His inquiry ranges on the one hand over the agricultural labourers, on the other, over silk -weavers, needlewomen, kid -glovers, stocking- weaver s, glove -weavers, and shoemakers. The latter categories are, with the exception of the stocking -weavers, exclusively town -dwellers. It was made a rule in the inquiry to select in each category the most healthy families, and those comparatively in the best circumstances. As a general result it was found that âin only one of the examined classes of in -door operatives did the average nitrogen supply just exceed, while in another it nearly reached, the estimated standard of bare sufficiency [ i.e., sufficient to avert starvation diseases], and that 455 Chapter 25 in two classes there was defect â in one, a very large defect â of both nitrogen and carbon. Moreover, as regards the examined families of the agricultural population, it appeared that more than a fifth were with less than the estimated sufficiency of carbonaceous food, that more than one -third were with less than the estimated sufficiency of nitrogenous food, and that in three counties (Berkshire, Oxfordshire, and Somersetshire), insufficiency of nitrogenous food was the average local diet.â 46 Among the agricultural labourers, those of England, the wealthiest part of the United Kingdom, were the worst fed. 47 The insufficiency of food among the agricultural labourers, fell, as a rule, chiefly on the women and children, for âthe man must eat to do his work.â Still greater penury ravaged the town -workers examined. âThey are so ill fed that assuredly among them there must be many cases of severe and injurious privation.â48 (âPrivationâ of the capitalist all this! i.e., âabstinenceâ from paying for the means of subsistence absolutely necessary for the mere vegetation of his âhands.â) 49 The following table shows the conditions of nourishment of the above -named categories of purely town -dwelling work -people, as compared with the minimum assumed by Dr. Smith, and with the food- allowance of the cotton operatives during the time of their greatest distress: Both Sexes Average weekly carbon Average weekly nitrogen Five in -door occupations 28,876 grains 1,192 grains Unemployed Lancashire Operatives 28,211 grains 1,295 grains Minimum quantity to be allowed to the Lancashire Operatives, equal number of males and females 28,600 grains 1,330 grains One half, or 60/125, of the industrial labour categories investigated, had absolutely no beer, 28% no milk. The weekly average of the liquid means of nourishment in the families varied from seven ounces in the needle -women to 24Ÿ ounces in the stocking -makers. The majority of those who did not obtain milk were needle- women in London. The quantity of bread- stuffs consumed weekly varied from 7Ÿ lbs. for the needle -women to 11œ lbs. for the shoemakers, and gave a total average of 9.9 lbs. per adult weekly. Sugar (treacle, etc.) varied from 4 ounces weekly for the ki d-glovers to 11 ounces for the stocking -makers; and the total average per week for all categories was 8 ounces per adult weekly. Total weekly average of butter (fat, etc.) 5 ounces per adult. The weekly average of meat (bacon, etc.) varied from 7ÂŒ ounces f or the silk -weavers, to 18ÂŒ ounces for the kid- glovers; total average for the different categories 13.6 ounces. The weekly cost of food per adult, gave the following average figures; silk -weavers 2s. 2œd., needle -women 2s. 7d., kid -glovers 2s. 9œd., shoema kers 2s 7Ÿd., stocking- weavers 2s. 6ÂŒd. For the silk - weavers of Macclesfield the average was only 1s. 8œd. The worst categories were the needle- women, silk- weavers and kid -glovers. 50 Of these facts, Dr. Simon in his General Health Report says: âThat cases are innumerable in which defective diet is the cause or the aggravator of disease, can be affirmed by any one who is conversant with poor law medical 456 Chapter 25 practice, or with the wards and out -patient rooms of hospitals.... Yet in this point of view, there is, in my opinion, a very important sanitary context to be added. It must be remembered that privation of food is very reluctantly borne, and that as a rule great poorness of diet will only come when other privations have preceded it. Long before insufficiency of diet is a matter of hygienic concern, long before the physiologist would think of counting the grains of nitrogen and carbon which intervene between life and starvation, the household will have been utterly destitute of material comfort; clothing and fue l will have been even scantier than food â against inclemencies of weather there will have been no adequate protection â dwelling space will have been stinted to the degree in which overcrowding produces or increases disease; of household utensils and furn iture there will have been scarcely any â even cleanliness will have been found costly or difficult, and if there still be self -respectful endeavours to maintain it, every such endeavour will represent additional pangs of hunger. The home, too, will be where shelter can be cheapest bought; in quarters where commonly there is least fruit of sanitary supervision, least drainage, least scavenging, least suppression of public nuisances, least or worst water supply, and, if in town, least light and air. Such are the sanitary dangers to which poverty is almost certainly exposed, when it is poverty enough to imply scantiness of food. And while the sum of them is of terrible magnitude against life, the mere scantiness of food is in itself of very serious moment.... These are painful reflections, especially when it is remembered that the poverty to which they advert is not the deserved poverty of idleness. In all cases it is the poverty of working populations. Indeed, as regards the in- door operatives, the work which obtains the scanty pittance of food, is for the most part excessively prolonged. Yet evidently it is only in a qualified sense that the work can be deemed self -supporting.... And on a very large scale the nominal self - support can be only a circuit, longer or shorter, to pauperism.â 51 The intimate connexion between the pangs of hunger of the most industrious layers of the working class, and the extravagant consumption, coarse or refined, of the rich, for which capitalist accumulation is the basis, reveals i tself only when the economic laws are known. It is otherwise with the âhousing of the poor.â Every unprejudiced observer sees that the greater the centralisation of the means of production, the greater is the corresponding heaping together of the labourers , within a given space; that therefore the swifter capitalistic accumulation, the more miserable are the dwellings of the working -people. âImprovementsâ of towns, accompanying the increase of wealth, by the demolition of badly built quarters, the erection of palaces for banks, warehouses, &c., the widening of streets for business traffic, for the carriages of luxury, and for the introduction of tramways, &c., drive away the poor into even worse and more crowded hiding places. On the other hand, every one knows that the dearness of dwellings is in inverse ratio to their excellence, and that the mines of misery are exploited by house speculators with more profit or less cost than ever were the mines of Potosi. The antagonistic character of capitalist accumulat ion, and therefore of the capitalistic relations of property generally,52 is here so evident, that even the official English reports on this subject teem with heterodox onslaughts on âproperty and its rights.â With the development of industry, with the acc umulation of capital, with the growth and âimprovementâ of towns, the evil makes such progress that the mere fear of contagious diseases which do not spare even ârespectability,â brought into existence from 1847 to 1864 no less than 10 Acts of Parliament on sanitation, and that the frightened bourgeois in some towns, as Liverpool, Glasgow, &c., took strenuous measures through their municipalities. Nevertheless Dr. Simon, in his report of 1865, says: 457 Chapter 25 âSpeaking generally, it may be said that the evils are uncontrolled in England.â By order of the Privy Council, in 1864, an inquiry was made into the conditions of the housing of the agricultural labourers, in 1865 of the poorer classes in the towns. The results of the admirable work of Dr. Julian Hunter are to be found in the seventh (1865) and eighth (1866) reports on âPublic Health.â To the agricultural labourers, I shall come later. On the condition of town dwellings, I quote, as preliminary, a general remark of Dr. Simon. âAlthough my official point of view, â he says, âis one exclusively physical, common humanity requires that the other aspect of this evil should not be ignored .... In its higher degrees it [ i.e., over -crowding] almost necessarily involves such negation of all delicacy, such unclean confusion of bodies and bodily functions, such exposure of animal and sexual nakedness, as is rather bestial than human. To be subject to these influences is a degradation which must become deeper and deeper for those on whom it continues to work. To children who a re born under its curse, it must often be a very baptism into infamy. And beyond all measure hopeless is the wish that persons thus circumstanced should ever in other respects aspire to that atmosphere of civilisation which has its essence in physical and moral cleanliness.â 53 London takes the first place in over -crowded habitations, absolutely unfit for human beings. âHe feels clear,â says Dr. Hunter, âon two points; first, that there are about 20 large colonies in London, of about 10,000 persons each, whose miserable condition exceeds almost anything he has seen elsewhere in England, and is almost entirely the result of their bad house accommodation; and second, that the crowded and dilapidated condition of the houses of these colonies is much worse than was the case 20 years ago.â54 âIt is not too much to say that life in parts of London and Newcastle is infernal.â55 Further, the better -off part of the working class, together with the small shopkeepers and other elements of the lower middle class, falls in London more and more under the curse of these vile conditions of dwelling, in proportion as âimprovements,â and with them the demolition of old streets and houses, advance, as factories and the afflux of human beings grow in the metropolis, and finally as house rents rise with the ground -rents. âRents have become so heavy that few labouring men can afford more than one room.â 56 There is almost no house -property in London that is not overburdened with a number of middlemen. For the price of land in London is always very high in comparison with its yearly revenue, and therefore every buyer speculates on getting rid of it again at a jury price (the expropriation valuation fixed by jurymen), or on pocketing an extraordinary increase of value arising from the neighbourhood of some large establishment. As a consequence of this there is a regular trade in the purchase of âfag -ends of leases.â âGentlemen in this business may be fairly expected to do as they do â get all they can from the tenants while they have them, and leave as little as they can for their successors.â 57 The rents are weekly, and these gentlemen run no risk. In consequence of the making of railroads in the City, âthe spectacle has lately been seen in the East of London of a number of families wandering about some Saturday night
đïž Urban Housing Crisis
đ Industrial growth creates severe housing shortages as workers crowd into cities, forcing families to live in single rooms with inadequate ventilation, water, and sanitation
đ° Capital accumulation directly correlates with deteriorating living conditionsâthe faster wealth grows in commercial centers like London and Newcastle, the more miserable the improvised dwellings become
đŠ Disease epidemics (typhus, smallpox, cholera) flourish in these overcrowded spaces, spreading from worker settlements to wealthier neighborhoods, creating public health emergencies
đïž When "improvements" demolish poor housing, displaced workers remain nearby their workplaces, creating even denser concentrations in remaining dwellings
đ· Mining communities suffer particularly harsh conditions, with workers essentially bound to company housing that prioritizes profit over basic human needs
đ„ Economic crises devastate even skilled workers, forcing thousands into workhouses and destitution despite previous periods of high wages
with their scanty worldly goods on their backs, without any resting place but the workhouse.â 58 458 Chapter 25 The workhouses are already over -crowded, and the âimprovementsâ already sanctioned by Parliament are only just begun. If la bourers are driven away by the demolition of their old houses, they do not leave their old parish, or at most they settle down on its borders, as near as they can get to it. âThey try, of course, to remain as near as possible to their workshops. The inhabi tants do not go beyond the same or the next parish, parting their two- room tenements into single rooms, and crowding even those.... Even at an advanced rent, the people who are displaced will hardly be able to get an accommodation so good as the meagre one they have left.... Half the workmen ... of the Strand ... walked two miles to their work.â59 This same Strand, a main thoroughfare which gives strangers an imposing idea of the wealth of London, may serve as an example of the packing together of human be ings in that town. In one of its parishes, the Officer of Health reckoned 581 persons per acre, although half the width of the Thames was reckoned in. It will be self -understood that every sanitary measure, which, as has been the case hitherto in London, hunts the labourers from one quarter, by demolishing uninhabitable houses, serves only to crowd them together yet more closely in another. âEither,â says Dr. Hunter, âthe whole proceeding will of necessity stop as an absurdity, or the public compassion (!) be effectually aroused to the obligation which may now be without exaggeration called national, of supplying cover to those who by reason of their having no capital, cannot provide it for themselves, though they can by periodical payments reward those who will provide it for them.â 60 Admire this capitalistic justice! The owner of land, of houses, the businessman, when expropriated by âimprovementsâ such as railroads, the building of new streets, &c., not only receives full indemnity. He must, according to law, human and divine, be comforted for his enforced âabstinenceâ over and above this by a thumping profit. The labourer, with his wife and child and chattels, is thrown out into the street, and â if he crowds in too large numbers towards quarters of the t own where the vestries insist on decency, he is prosecuted in the name of sanitation! Except London, there was at the beginning of the 19th century no single town in England of 100,000 inhabitants. Only five had more than 50,000. Now there are 28 towns wi th more than 50,000 inhabitants. âThe result of this change is not only that the class of town people is enormously increased, but the old close -packed little towns are now centres, built round on every side, open nowhere to air, and being no longer agreea ble to the rich are abandoned by them for the pleasanter outskirts. The successors of these rich are occupying the larger houses at the rate of a family to each room [... and find accommodation for two or three lodgers ...] and a population, for which the houses were not intended and quite unfit, has been created, whose surroundings are truly degrading to the adults and ruinous to the children.â 61 The more rapidly capital accumulates in an industrial or commercial town, the more rapidly flows the stream of exploitable human material, the more miserable are the improvised dwellings of the labourers. Newcastle- on-Tyne, as the centre of a coal and iron district of growing productiveness, takes the next place after London in the housing inferno. Not less than 34,000 persons live there in single rooms. Because of their absolute danger to the community, houses in great numbers have lately 459 Chapter 25 been destroyed by the authorities in Newcastle and Gateshead. The building of new houses progresses very slowly, business very quickly. The town was, therefore, in 1865, more full than ever. Scarcely a room was to let. Dr. Embleton, of the Newcastle Fever Hospital, says: âThere can be little doubt that the great cause of the continuance and spread of the typhus has been the over-crowding of human beings, and the uncleanliness of their dwellings. The rooms, in which labourers in many cases live, are situated in confined and unwholesome yards or courts, and for space, light, air, and cleanliness, are models of insufficiency and insalubrity, and a disgrace to any civilised community; in them men, women, and children lie at night huddled together: and as regards the men, the night -shift succeed the day -shift, and the day-shift the night- shift in unbroken series for some time toget her, the beds having scarcely time to cool; the whole house badly supplied with water and worse with privies; dirty, unventilated, and pestiferous.â 62 The price per week of such lodgings ranges from 8d. to 3s. âThe town of Newcastle- on-Tyne,â says Dr. Hun ter, âcontains a sample of the finest tribe of our countrymen, often sunk by external circumstances of house and street into an almost savage degradation.â63 As a result of the ebbing and flowing of capital and labour, the state of the dwellings of an industrial town may today be bearable, tomorrow hideous. Or the aedileship of the town may have pulled itself together for the removal of the most shocking abuses. Tomorrow, like a swarm of locusts, come crowding in masses of ragged Irishmen or decayed English agricultural labourers. They are stowed away in cellars and lofts, or the hitherto respectable labourerâs dwelling is transformed into a lodging house whose personnel changes as quickly as the billets in the 30 yearsâ war. Example: Bradford (Yorkshire). There the municipal philistine was just busied with urban improvements. Besides, there were still in Bradford, in 1861, 1,751 uninhabited houses. But now comes that revival of trade which the mildly liberal Mr. Forster, the negroâs friend, recently crowed over with so much grace. With the revival of trade came of course an overflow from the waves of the ever fluctuating âreserve armyâ or ârelative surplus population.â The frightful cellar habitations and rooms registered in the list, 64 which Dr. Hunter obta ined from the agent of an Insurance Company, were for the most part inhabited by well -paid labourers. They declared that they would willingly pay for better dwellings if they were to be had. Meanwhile, they become degraded, they fall ill, one and all, whil st the mildly liberal Forster, M. P., sheds tears over the blessings of Free Trade, and the profits of the eminent men of Bradford who deal in worsted. In the Report of September, 1865, Dr. Bell, one of the poor law doctors of Bradford, ascribes the fright ful mortality of fever- patients in his district to the nature of their dwellings. âIn one small cellar measuring 1,500 cubic feet ... there are ten persons .... Vincent Street, Green Aire Place, and the Leys include 223 houses having 1,450 inhabitants, 435 beds, and 36 privies.... The beds â and in that term I include any roll of dirty old rags, or an armful of shavings â have an average of 3.3 persons to each, many have 5 and 6 persons to each, and some people, I am told, are absolutely without beds; they sleep in their ordinary clothes, on the bare boards â young men and women, married and unmarried, all together. I need scarcely add that many of these dwellings are dark, damp, dirty, stinking holes, utterly unfit for human habitations; they are the centre s from which disease and death are distributed amongst those in better circumstances, who have allowed them thus to fester in our midst.â 65 460 Chapter 25 Bristol takes the third place after London in the misery of its dwellings. âBristol, where the blankest poverty and domestic misery abound in the wealthiest town of Europe.â 66 C. The Nomad Population We turn now to a class of people whose origin is agricultural, but whose occupation is in great part industrial. They are the light infantry of capital, thrown by it, according to its needs, now to this point, now to that. When they are not on the march, they âcamp.â Nomad labour is used for various operations of building and draining, brick- making, lime -burning, railway -making, &c. A flying column of pestilence, it carries into the places in whose neighbourhood it pitches its camp, small -pox, typhus, cholera, scarlet fever, &c. 67 In undertakings that involve much capital outlay, such as railways, &c., the contractor himself generally provides his army with wooden huts and the like, thus improvising villages without any sanitary provisions, outside the control of the local boards, very profitable to the contractor, who exploits the labourers in two- fold fashion â as soldiers of industr y and as tenants. According as the wooden hut contains 1, 2, or 3 holes, its inhabitant, navvy, or whatever he may be, has to pay 1, 3, or 4 shillings weekly.68 One example will suffice. In September, 1864, Dr. Simon reports that the Chairman of the Nuisances Removal Committee of the parish of Sevenoaks sent the following denunciation to Sir George Grey, Home Secretary: â âSmall -pox cases were rarely heard of in this parish until about twelve months ago. Shortly before that time, the works for a railway fr om Lewisham to Tunbridge were commenced here, and, in addition to the principal works being in the immediate neighbourhood of this town, here was also established the depĂŽt for the whole of the works, so that a large number of persons was of necessity empl oyed here. As cottage accommodation could not be obtained for them all, huts were built in several places along the line of the works by the contractor, Mr. Jay, for their especial occupation. These huts possessed no ventilation nor drainage, and, besides, were necessarily over -crowded, because each occupant had to accommodate lodgers, whatever the number in his own family might be, although there were only two rooms to each tenement. The consequences were, according to the medical report we received, that in the night -time these poor people were compelled to endure all the horror of suffocation to avoid the pestiferous smells arising from the filthy, stagnant water, and the privies close under their windows. Complaints were at length made to the Nuisances R emoval Committee by a medical gentleman who had occasion to visit these huts, and he spoke of their condition as dwellings in the most severe terms, and he expressed his fears that some very serious consequences might ensue, unless some sanitary measures w ere adopted. About a year ago, Mr. Jay promised to appropriate a hut, to which persons in his employ, who were suffering from contagious diseases, might at once be removed. He repeated that promise on the 23rd July last, but although since the date of the last Promise there have been several cases of small - pox in his huts, and two deaths from the same disease, yet he has taken no steps whatever to carry out his promise. On the 9th September instant, Mr. Kelson, surgeon, reported to me further cases of small -pox in the same huts, and he described their condition as most disgraceful. I should add, for your (the Home Secretaryâs) information that an isolated house, called the Pest -house, which is set apart for parishioners who might be suffering from infectious diseases, has been continually occupied by such patients for many months past, and is also now 461 Chapter 25 occupied; that in one family five children died from small -pox and fever; that from the 1st April to the 1st September this year, a period of five months, there have been no fewer than ten deaths from small -pox in the parish, four of them being in the huts already referred to; that it is impossible to ascertain the exact number of persons who have suffered from that disease although they are known to be many, from the fact of the families keeping it as private as possible.â69 The labourers in coal and other mines belong to the best paid categories of the British proletariat. The price at which they buy their wages was shown on an earlier page. 70 Here I merely cast a hurried glance over the conditions of their dwellings. As a rule, the exploiter of a mine, whether its owner or his tenant, builds a number of cottages for his hands. They receive cottages and coal for firing âfor nothingâ â i.e., these form part of th eir wages, paid in kind. Those who are not lodged in this way receive in compensation ÂŁ4 per annum. The mining districts attract with rapidity a large population, made up of the miners themselves, and the artisans, shopkeepers, &c., that group themselves a round them. The ground- rents are high, as they are generally where population is dense. The master tries, therefore, to run up, within the smallest space possible at the mouth of the pit, just so many cottages as are necessary to pack together his hands an d their families. If new mines are opened in the neighbourhood, or old ones are again set working, the pressure increases. In the construction of the cottages, only one point of view is of moment, the âabstinenceâ of the capitalist from all expenditure that is not absolutely unavoidable. âThe lodging which is obtained by the pitman and other labourers connected with the collieries of Northumberland and Durham,â says Dr. Julian Hunter, âis perhaps, on the whole, the worst and the dearest of which any large s pecimens can be found in England, the similar parishes of Monmouthshire excepted.... The extreme badness is in the high number of men found in one room, in the smallness of the ground- plot on which a great number of houses are thrust, the want of water, th e absence of privies, and the frequent placing of one house on the top of another, or distribution into flats, ... the lessee acts as if the whole colony were encamped, not resident.â 71 âIn pursuance of my instructions,â says Dr. Stevens, âI visited most of the large colliery villages in the Durham Union.... With very few exceptions, the general statement that no means are taken to secure the health of the inhabitants would be true of all of them.... All colliers are bound ['bound,â an expression which, li ke bondage, dates from the age of serfdom] to the colliery lessee or owner for twelve months.... If the colliers express discontent, or in any way annoy the âviewer,â a mark of memorandum is made against their names, and, at the annual âbinding,â such men are turned off... It appears to me that no part of the âtruck systemâ could be worse than what obtains in these densely -populated districts. The collier is bound to take as part of his hiring a house surrounded with pestiferous influences; he cannot help h imself, and it appears doubtful whether anyone else can help him except his proprietor (he is, to all intents and purposes, a serf), and his proprietor first consults his balance- sheet, and the result is tolerably certain. The collier is also often supplie d with water by the proprietor, which, whether it be good or bad, he has to pay for, or rather he suffers a deduction for from his wages.â 72 In conflict with âpublic opinion,â or even with the Officers of Health, capital makes no difficulty about âjustify ingâ the conditions partly dangerous, partly degrading, to which it confines the working and domestic life of the labourer, on the ground that they are necessary for profit. It is the same thing when capital âabstainsâ from protective measures against dang erous machinery in 462 Chapter 25 the factory, from appliances for ventilation and for safety in mines, &c. It is the same here with the housing of the miners. Dr. Simon, medical officer of the Privy Council, in his official Report says: âIn apology for the wretched hous ehold accommodation ... it is alleged that miners are commonly worked on lease; that the duration of the lesseeâs interest (which in collieries is commonly for 21 years), is not so long that he should deem it worth his while to create good accommodation for his labourers, and for the tradespeople and others whom the work attracts; that even if he were disposed to act liberally in the matter, this disposition would commonly be defeated by his landlordâs tendency to fix on him, as ground- rent, an exorbitant a dditional charge for the privilege of having on the surface of the ground the decent and comfortable village which the labourers of the subterranean property ought to inhabit, and that prohibitory price (if not actual prohibition) equally excludes others w ho might desire to build. It would be foreign to the purpose of this report to enter upon any discussion of the merits of the above apology. Nor here is it even needful to consider where it would be that, if decent accommodation were provided, the cost ... would eventually fall â whether on landlord, or lessee, or labourer, or public. But in presence of such shameful facts as are vouched for in the annexed reports [those of Dr. Hunter, Dr. Stevens, &c.] a remedy may well be claimed.... Claims of landlordshi p are being so used as to do great public wrong. The landlord in his capacity of mine -owner invites an industrial colony to labour on his estate, and then in his capacity of surface- owner makes it impossible that the labourers whom he collects, should find proper lodging where they must live. The lessee [the capitalist exploiter] meanwhile has no pecuniary motive for resisting that division of the bargain; well knowing that if its latter conditions be exorbitant, the consequences fall, not on him, that his labourers on whom they fall have not education enough to know the value of their sanitary rights, that neither obscenest lodging nor foulest drinking water will be appreciable inducements towards a âstrike.ââ 73 D. Effect of Crises on the Best Paid Part of the working class Before I turn to the regular agricultural labourers, I may be allowed to show, by one example, how industrial revulsions affect even the best -paid, the aristocracy, of the working class. It will be remembered that the year 1857 brought on e of the great crises with which the industrial cycle periodically ends. The next termination of the cycle was due in 1866. Already discounted in the regular factory districts by the cotton famine, which threw much capital from its wonted sphere into the g reat centres of the money - market, the crisis assumed, at this time, an especially financial character. Its outbreak in 1866 was signalised by the failure of a gigantic London Bank, immediately followed by the collapse of countless swindling companies. One of the great London branches of industry involved in the catastrophe was iron shipbuilding. The magnates of this trade had not only over -produced beyond all measure during the overtrading time, but they had, besides, engaged in enormous contracts on the speculation that credit would be forthcoming to an equivalent extent. Now, a terrible reaction set in, that even at this hour 463 Chapter 25 (the end of March, 1867) continues in this and other London industries.74 To show the condition of the labourers, I quote the follow ing from the circumstantial report of a correspondent of the Morning Star, who, at the end of 1866, and beginning of 1867, visited the chief centres of distress: âIn the East End districts of Poplar, Millwall, Greenwich, Deptford, Limehouse and Canning Tow n, at least 15,000 workmen and their families were in a state of utter destitution, and 3,000 skilled mechanics were breaking stones in the workhouse yard (after distress of over half a yearâs duration).... I had great difficulty in reaching the workhouse door, for a hungry crowd besieged it.... They were waiting for their tickets, but the time had not yet arrived for the distribution. The yard was a great square place with an open shed running all round it, and several large heaps of snow covered the pavin g-stones in the middle. In the middle, also, were little wicker -fenced spaces, like sheep pens, where in finer weather the men worked; but on the day of my visit the pens were so snowed up that nobody could sit in them. Men were busy, however, in the open shed breaking paving- stones into macadam. Each man had a big paving- stone for a seat, and he chipped away at the rime -covered granite with a big hammer until he had broken up, and think! five bushels of it, and then he had done his dayâs work, and got his dayâs pay â threepence and an allowance of food. In another part of the yard was a rickety little wooden house, and when we opened the door of it, we found it filled with men who were huddled together shoulder to shoulder for the warmth of one anotherâs bodies and breath. They were picking oakum and disputing the while as to which could work the longest on a given quantity of food â for endurance was the point of honour. Seven thousand ... in this one workhouse ... were recipients of relief ... many hundreds of them ... it appeared, were, six or eight months ago, earning the highest wages paid to artisans.... Their number would be more than doubled by the count of those who, having exhausted all their savings, still refuse to apply to the parish, because the y have a little left to pawn. Leaving the workhouse, I took a walk through the streets, mostly of little one -storey houses, that abound in the neighbourhood of Poplar. My guide was a member of the Committee of the Unemployed.... My first call was on an ironworker who had been seven and twenty weeks out of employment. I found the man with his family sitting in a little back room. The room was not bare of furniture, and there was a fire in it. This was necessary to keep the naked feet of the young children fr om getting frost bitten, for it was a bitterly cold day. On a tray in front of the fire lay a quantity of oakum, which the wife and children were picking in return for their allowance from the parish. The man worked in the stone yard of the workhouse for a certain ration of food, and threepence per day. He had now come home to dinner quite hungry, as he told us with a melancholy smile, and his dinner consisted of a couple of slices of bread and dripping, and a cup of milkless tea.... The next door at which we knocked was opened by a middle -aged woman, who, without saying a word, led us into a little back parlour, in which sat all her family, silent and fixedly staring at a rapidly dying fire. Such desolation, such hopelessness was about these people and thei r little room, as I should not care to witness again. âNothing have they done, sir,â said the woman, pointing to her boys, âfor six and twenty weeks; and all our money gone â all the twenty pounds 464 Chapter 25 that me and father saved when times were better, thinking i t would yield a little to keep us when we got past work. Look at it,â she said, almost fiercely, bringing out a bank -book with all its well kept entries of money paid in, and money taken out, so that we could see how the little fortune had begun with the f irst five shilling deposit, and had grown by little and little to be twenty pounds, and how it had melted down again
đž Poverty Amid Plenty
đ Industrial capitalism creates extreme inequality where workers face starvation wages while living "cheek by jowl with the most enormous accumulation of wealth the world ever saw"
đ Subsistence living forces laborers to adopt desperate "expedients" including reduced rations, overcrowded housing, and pawning necessities, pushing families to the edge where "the least rise in food prices" causes complete ruin
đŸ Agricultural workers suffer particularly harsh conditions, with their status degrading from relative prosperity in earlier centuries to becoming "white slaves" and "paupers" despite increased agricultural productivity
đ Nutritional analysis reveals that prisoners and soldiers receive significantly better food than agricultural laborers, creating the perverse incentive where imprisonment offers better living conditions than freedom
đïž Housing conditions deteriorate as families crowd into single rooms where "boys and girls sleep side by side, often on the same pallet," sacrificing privacy and decency for economic survival
đ§ź Statistical evidence reveals agricultural laborers in England are the worst fed in the UK, consuming significantly less carbon and nitrogen than their counterparts in Wales, Scotland, and Ireland
đïž Deplorable housing conditions plague rural workers, with widespread overcrowding, structural decay, and sanitation failures creating environments where "decency must always be outraged, and morality almost of necessity must suffer"
đ° Landlord exploitation thrives through a system where property owners can evict laborers at will, charge excessive rents for dilapidated dwellings, and deliberately reduce available housing to minimize poor-rate responsibilities
đ¶ Forced displacement pushes workers miles from employment, creating "open villages" where cottage-speculators build overcrowded hovels while "show villages" maintain only essential staff
đŠ Public health crisis emerges as medical investigators document how overcrowding (often 8-10 people per bedroom) facilitates disease spread and creates moral degradation
đ Systematic depopulation occurs across counties as house destruction outpaces population movement, with detailed evidence from twelve counties showing the deliberate reduction of rural housing stock
98 One of the most remarkable results of the inquiry was that the agricultural labourer of England, as compared with other parts of the United Kingdom, âis considerably the worst fed,â as the appended table shows: Quantities of Carbon and Nitrogen weekly consumed by an average agricultural adult: Carbon, grains Nitrogen, grains England 46,673 1,594 Wales 48,354 2,031 Scotland 48,980 2,348 Ireland99 43,366 2,434 âTo the insufficient quantity and miserable quality of the house accommodation generally had,â says Dr. Simon, in his official Health Report, âby our agricultural 472 Chapter 25 labourers, almost every page of Dr. Hunterâs report bears testimony. And gradually, for many years past, the state of the labourer in the se respects has been deteriorating, house -room being now greatly more difficult for him to find, and, when found, greatly less suitable to his needs than, perhaps, for centuries had been the case. Especially within the last twenty or thirty years, the evil has been in very rapid increase, and the household circumstances of the labourer are now in the highest degree deplorable. Except in so far as they whom his labour enriches, see fit to treat him with a kind of pitiful indulgence, he is quite peculiarly he lpless in the matter. Whether he shall find house -room on the land which he contributes to till, whether the house -room which he gets shall be human or swinish, whether he shall have the little space of garden that so vastly lessens the pressure of his poverty â all this does not depend on his willingness and ability to pay reasonable rent for the decent accommodation he requires, but depends on the use which others may see fit to make of their âright to do as they will with their own.â However large may be a farm, there is no law that a certain proportion of labourersâ dwellings (much less of decent dwellings) shall be upon it; nor does any law reserve for the labourer ever so little right in that soil to which his industry is as needful as sun and rain.... An extraneous element weighs the balance heavily against him ... the influence of the Poor Law in its provisions concerning settlement and chargeability.100 Under this influence, each parish has a pecuniary interest in reducing to a minimum the number of its resident labourers: â for, unhappily, agricultural labour instead of implying a safe and permanent independence for the hardworking labourer and his family, implies for the most part only a longer or shorter circuit to eventual pauperism â a pauperism which, during the whole circuit, is so near, that any illness or temporary failure of occupation necessitates immediate recourse to parochial relief â and thus all residence of agricultural population in a parish is glaringly an addition to its poor - rates .... Large proprietors 101 ... have but to resolve that there shall be no labourersâ dwellings on their estates, and their estates will thenceforth be virtually free from half their responsibility for the poor. How far it has been intended, in the English constitution and law, that this kind of unconditional property in land should be acquirable, and that a landlord âdoing as he wills with his own,â should be able to treat the cultivators of the soil as aliens, whom he may expel from his territory, is a que stion which I do not pretend to discuss.... For that (power) of eviction ... does not exist only in theory. On a very large scale it prevails in practice â prevails ... as a main governing condition in the household circumstances of agricultural labour.... As regards the extent of the evil, it may suffice to refer to the evidence which Dr. Hunter has compiled from the last census, that destruction of houses, notwithstanding increased local demands for them, had, during the last ten years, been in progress i n 821 separate parishes or townships of England, so that irrespectively of persons who had been forced to become non- resident (that is in the parishes in which they work), these parishes and townships were receiving in 1861, as compared with 1851, a popula tion 5 1/3 per cent. greater, into houseroom 4œ per cent. less... When the process of depopulation has completed itself, the result, says Dr. Hunter, is a show -village where the cottages have been reduced to a few, and where none but persons who are needed as shepherds, gardeners, or game -keepers, are allowed to live; regular servants who receive the good treatment usual to their class. 102 But the land 473 Chapter 25 requires cultivation, and it will be found that the labourers employed upon it are not the tenants of the owner, but that they come from a neighbouring open village, perhaps three miles off, where a numerous small proprietary had received them when their cottages were destroyed in the close villages around. Where things are tending to the above result, often t he cottages which stand, testify, in their unrepaired and wretched condition, to the extinction to which they are doomed. They are seen standing in the various stages of natural decay. While the shelter holds together, the labourer is permitted to rent it, and glad enough he will often be to do so, even at the price of decent lodging. But no repair, no improvement shall it receive, except such as its penniless occupants can supply. And when at last it becomes quite uninhabitable â uninhabitable even to the humblest standard of serfdom â it will be but one more destroyed cottage, and future poor -rates will be somewhat lightened. While great owners are thus escaping from poor -rates through the depopulation of lands over which they have control, the nearest tow n or open village receive the evicted labourers: the nearest, I say, but this ânearestâ may mean three or four miles distant from the farm where the labourer has his daily toil. To that daily toil there will then have to be added, as though it were nothing , the daily need of walking six or eight miles for power of earning his bread. And whatever farm work is done by his wife and children, is done at the same disadvantage. Nor is this nearly all the toil which the distance occasions him. In the open village, cottage -speculators buy scraps of land, which they throng as densely as they can with the cheapest of all possible hovels. And into those wretched habitations (which, even if they adjoin the open country, have some of the worst features of the worst town residences) crowd the agricultural labourers of England. 103.... Nor on the other hand must it be supposed that even when the labourer is housed upon the lands which he cultivates, his household circumstances are generally such as his life of productive in dustry would seem to deserve. Even on princely estates ... his cottage ... may be of the meanest description. There are landlords who deem any stye good enough for their labourer and his family, and who yet do not disdain to drive with him the hardest possible bargain for rent. 104 It may be but a ruinous one -bedroomed hut, having no fire-grate, no privy, no opening window, no water supply but the ditch, no garden â but the labourer is helpless against the wrong.... And the Nuisances Removal Acts ... are ... a mere dead letter ... in great part dependent for their working on such cottage -owners as the one from whom his (the labourerâs) hovel is rented.... From brighter, but exceptional scenes, it is requisite in the interests of justice, that attention should again be drawn to the overwhelming preponderance of facts which are a reproach to the civilisation of England. Lamentable indeed, must be the case, when, notwithstanding all that is evident with regard to the quality of the present accommodation, it is the common conclusion of competent observers that even the general badness of dwellings is an evil infinitely less urgent than their mere numerical insufficiency. For years the over -crowding of rural labourersâ dwellings has been a matter of deep concern, no t only to persons who care for sanitary good, but to persons who care for decent and moral life. For, again and again in phrases so uniform that they seem stereotyped, reporters on the spread of epidemic disease in rural districts, have insisted on the ext reme importance of that over-crowding, as an influence which renders it a quite hopeless task, to attempt the limiting of any infection which is introduced. And again and again it has been 474 Chapter 25 pointed out that, notwithstanding the many salubrious influences which there are in country life, the crowding which so favours the extension of contagious disease, also favours the origination of disease which is not contagious. And those who have denounced the over -crowded state of our rural population have not been silent as to a further mischief. Even where their primary concern has been only with the injury to health, often almost perforce they have referred to other relations on the subject. In showing how frequently it happens that adult persons of both sexes, marri ed and unmarried, are huddled together in single small sleeping rooms, their reports have carried the conviction that, under the circumstances they describe, decency must always be outraged, and morality almost of necessity must suffer.105 Thus, for instance, in the appendix of my last annual report, Dr. Ord, reporting on an outbreak of fever at Wing, in Buckinghamshire, mentions how a young man who had come thither from Wingrave with fever, âin the first days of his illness slept in a room with nine other persons. Within a fortnight several of these persons were attacked, and in the course of a few weeks five out of the nine had fever, and one died...â From Dr. Harvey, of St. Georgeâs Hospital, who, on private professional business, visited Wing during the time of the epidemic, I received information exactly in the sense of the above report.... âA young woman having fever, lay at night in a room occupied by her father and mother, her bastard child, two young men (her brothers), and her two sisters, each with a bastard child â 10 persons in all. A few weeks ago 13 persons slept in it.â106 Dr. Hunter investigated 5,375 cottages of agricultural labourers, not only in the purely agricultural districts, but in all counties of England. Of these, 2,195 had only one bedroom (often at the same time used as living -room), 2,930 only two, and 250, more than two. I will give a few specimens culled from a dozen counties. (1.) Bedfordshire Wrestlingworth. Bedrooms about 12 feet long and 10 broad, although many are smaller than this. The small, one -storied cots are often divided by partitions into two bedrooms, one bed frequently in a kitchen, 5 feet 6 inches in height. Rent, ÂŁ3 a year. The tenants have to make their own privies, the landlord only supplies a hole. As soon as one has made a privy, it is made use of by the whole neighbourhood. One house, belonging to a family called Richardson, was of quite unapproachable beauty. âIts plaster walls bulged very like a ladyâs dress in a curtsey. One gable end was convex, the othe r concave, and on this last, unfortunately, stood the chimney, a curved tube of clay and wood like an elephantâs trunk. A long stick served as prop to prevent the chimney from falling. The doorway and window were rhomboidal.â Of 17 houses visited, only 4 had more than one bedroom, and those four overcrowded. The cots with one bedroom sheltered 3 adults and 3 children, a married couple with 6 children, &c. Dunton. High rents, from ÂŁ4 to ÂŁ5; weekly wages of the man, 10s. They hope to pay the rent by the straw -plaiting of the family. The higher the rent, the greater the number that must work together to pay it. Six adults, living with 4 children in one sleeping apartment, pay ÂŁ3 10s. for it. The cheapest house in Dunton, 15 feet long externally, 10 broad, let for ÂŁ3. Only one of the houses investigated had 2 bedrooms. A little outside the village, a house whose âtenants dunged against the house -side,â the lower 9 inches of the door eaten away through sheer rottenness; the doorway, a single opening closed at nig ht by a few bricks, ingeniously pushed up after shutting and covered with some matting. Half a window, with glass and frame, had gone the way of all 475 Chapter 25 flesh. Here, without furniture, huddled together were 3 adults and 5 children. Dunton is not worse than the rest of Biggleswade Union. (2.) Berkshire Beenham. In June, 1864, a man, his wife and 4 children lived in a cot (one -storied cottage). A daughter came home from service with scarlet fever. She died. One child sickened and died. The mother and one child w ere down with typhus when Dr. Hunter was called in. The father and one child slept outside, but the difficulty of securing isolation was seen here, for in the crowded market of the miserable village lay the linen of the fever -stricken household, waiting for the wash. The rent of H.âs house, 1s. a -week; one bedroom for man, wife, and 6 children. One house let for 8d. a -week, 14 feet 6 inches long, 7 feet broad, kitchen, 6 feet high; the bedroom without window, fire -place, door, or opening, except into the lobby; no garden. A man lived here for a little while, with two grown -up daughters and one grown -up son; father and son slept on the bed, the girls in the passage. Each of the latter had a child while the family was living here, but one went to the workhouse for her confinement and then came home. (3.) Buckinghamshire 30 cottages â on 1,000 acres of land â contained here about 130- 140 persons. The parish of Bradenham comprises 1,000 acres; it numbered, in 1851, 36 houses and a population of 84 males and 54 f emales. This inequality of the sexes was partly remedied in 1861, when they numbered 98 males and 87 females; increase in 10 years of 14 men and 33 women. Meanwhile, the number of houses was one less. Winslow. Great part of this newly built in good style; demand for houses appears very marked, since very miserable cots let at 1s. to 1s. 3d. per week. Water Eaton. Here the landlords, in view of the increasing population, have destroyed about 20 per cent. of the existing houses. A poor labourer, who had to go about 4 miles to his work, answered the question, whether he could not find a cot nearer: âNo; they know better than to take a man in with my large family.â Tinkerâs End, near Winslow. A bedroom in which were 4 adults and 4 children; 11 feet long, 9 feet broad, 6 feet 5 inches high at its highest part; another 11 feet 3 inches by 9 feet, 5 feet 10 inches high, sheltered 6 persons. Each of these families had less space than is considered necessary for a convict. No house had more than one bedroom, not one of them a back -door; water very scarce; weekly rent from 1s. 4d. to 2s. In 16 of the houses visited, only 1 man that earned 10s. a- week. The quantity of air for each person under the circumstances just described corresponds to that which he would have if he were shut up in a box of 4 feet measuring each way, the whole night. But then, the ancient dens afforded a certain amount of unintentional ventilation. (4.) Cambridgeshire Gamblingay belongs to several landlords. It contains the wretchedest cots to be found anywhere. Much straw -plaiting. âA deadly lassitude, a hopeless surrendering up to filth,â reigns in Gamblingay. The neglect in its centre, becomes mortification at its extremities, north and south, where the houses are rotting to pieces. The absente e landlords bleed this poor rookery too freely. The rents are very high; 8 or 9 persons packed in one sleeping apartment, in 2 cases 6 adults, each with 1 or 2 children in one small bedroom. (5.) Essex In this county, diminutions in the number of persons and of cottages go, in many parishes, hand in hand. In not less than 22 parishes, however, the destruction of houses has not prevented increase 476 Chapter 25 of population, or has not brought about that expulsion which, under the name âmigration to towns,â generally occ urs. In Fingringhoe, a parish of 3,443 acres, were in 1851, 145 houses; in 1861, only 110. But the people did not wish to go away, and managed even to increase under these circumstances. In 1851, 252 persons inhabited 61 houses, but in 1861, 262 persons we re squeezed into 49 houses. In Basilden, in 1851, 157 persons lived on 1,827 acres, in 35 houses; at the end of ten years, 180 persons in 27 houses. In the parishes of Fingringhoe, South Fambridge, Widford, Basilden, and Ramsden Crags, in 1851, 1,392 perso ns were living on 8,449 acres in 316 houses; in 1861, on the same area, 1,473 persons in 249 houses. (6.) Herefordshire This little county has suffered more from the âeviction- spiritâ than any other in England. At Nadby, overcrowded cottages generally, wi th only 2 bedrooms, belonging for the most part to the farmers. They easily let them for ÂŁ3 or ÂŁ4 a -year, and paid a weekly wage of 9s. (7.) Huntingdon Hartford had, in 1851, 87 houses; shortly after this, 19 cottages were destroyed in this small parish o f 1,720 acres; population in 1831, 452; in 1852, 382; and in 1861, 341. 14 cottages, each with 1 bedroom, were visited. In one, a married couple, 3 grown- up sons, 1 grown- up daughter, 4 children â in all 10 in another, 3 adults, 6 children. One of these rooms, in which 8 people slept, was 12 feet 10 inches long, 12 feet 2 inches broad, 6 feet 9 inches high: the average, without making any deduction for projections into the apartment, gave about 130 cubic feet per head. In the 14 sleeping rooms, 34 adults and 33 children. These cottages are seldom provided with gardens, but many of the inmates are able to farm small allotments at 10s. or 12s. per rood. These allotments are at a distance from the houses, which are without privies. The family âmust either go to the allotment to deposit their ordures,â or, as happens in this place, saving your presence, âuse a closet with a trough set like a drawer in a chest of drawers, and drawn out weekly and conveyed to the allotment to be emptied where its contents were want ed.â In Japan, the circle of life-conditions moves more decently than this. (8.) Lincolnshire Langtoft. A man lives here, in Wrightâs house, with his wife, her mother, and 5 children; the house has a front kitchen, scullery, bedroom over the front kitchen; front kitchen and bedroom, 12 feet 2 inches by 9 feet 5 inches; the whole ground floor, 21 feet 2 inches by 9 feet 5 inches. The bedroom is a garret: the walls run together into the roof like a sugar -loaf, a dormer -window opening in front. âWhy did he li ve here? On account of the garden? No; it is very small. Rent? High, 1s. 3d. per week. Near his work? No; 6 miles away, so that he walks daily, to and fro, 12 miles. He lived there, because it was a tenantable cot,â and because he wanted to have a cot for himself alone, anywhere, at any price, and in any conditions. The following are the statistics of 12 houses in Langtoft, with 12 bedrooms, 38 adults, and 36 children. TWELVE HOUSES IN LANGTOFT House No. 1. No. 2. No. 3. No. 4. No. 5. No. 6. No. 7. No. 8. No. 9. No. 10. No. 11. No. 12. Bedrooms. 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 Adults. 3 4 4 5 2 5 3 3 2 2 3 2 Children. 5 3 4 4 2 3 3 2 0 3 3 4 Number of Persons. 8 7 8 9 4 8 6 5 2 .5 6 6 477 Chapter 25 (9.) Kent Kennington, very seriously over -populated in 1859, when diphtheria appeared, and the parish doctor instituted a medical inquiry into the condition of the poorer classes. He found that in this locality, where much labour is employed, various cots had been destroyed and no new ones built. In one district stood four houses, named birdcages; each had 4 rooms of the following dimensions in feet and inches: Kitchen: 9 ft. 5 by 8 ft. 11 by 6 ft. 6 Scullery: 8 ft. 6 by 4 ft. 6 by 6 ft. 6 Bedroom: 8 ft. 5 by 5 ft. 10 by 6 ft. 3 Bedroom: 8 ft. 3 by 8 ft. 4 by 6 ft. 3 (10.) Northamptonshire Brinworth, Pickford and Floore: in these villages in the winter 20 -30 men were lounging about the streets from want of work. The farmers do not always till sufficientl y the corn and turnip lands, and the landlord has found it best to throw all his farms together into 2 or 3. Hence want of employment. Whilst on one side of the wall, the land calls for labour, on the other side the defrauded labourers are casting at it longing glances. Feverishly overworked in summer, and half - starved in winter, it is no wonder if they say in their peculiar dialect, âthe parson and gentlefolk seem frit to death at them.â At Floore, instances, in one bedroom of the smallest size, of couples with 4, 5, 6 children; 3 adults with 5 children; a couple with grandfather and 6 children down with scarlet fever, &c.; in two houses with two bedrooms, two families of 8 and 9 adults re spectively. (11.) Wiltshire Stratton. 31 houses visited, 8 with only one bedroom. Pentill, in the same parish: a cot let at Is. 3d. weekly with 4 adults and 4 children, had nothing good about it, except the walls, from the floor of rough -hewn pieces of st ones to the roof of worn- out thatch. (12.) Worcestershire House -destruction here not quite so excessive; yet from 1851 to 1861, the number of inhabitants to each house on the average, has risen from 4.2 to 4.6. Badsey. Many cots and little gardens here. Some of the farmers declare that the cots are âa great nuisance here, because they bring the poor.â On the statement of one gentleman: âThe poor are none the better for them; if you build 500 they will let fast enough, in fact, the more you build, the more they wantâ (according to him the houses give birth to the inhabitants, who then by a law of Nature press on âthe means of housingâ). Dr. Hunter remarks: âNow these poor must come from somewhere, and as there is no particular attraction, such as doles, at Badsey, it must be repulsion from some other unfit place, which will send them here. If each could find an allotment near his work, he would not prefer Badsey, where he pays for his scrap of ground twice as much as the farmer pays for his.â The continual emigration to the towns, the continual formation of surplus population in the country through the concentration of farms, conversion of arable land into pasture, machinery, &c., and the continual eviction of the agricultural population by the destruction of their cottages, go hand in hand. The more empty the district is of men, the greater is its ârelative surplus population,â the greater is their pressure on the means of employment, the greater is the absolute
đïž Rural Exploitation Unveiled
đ§ Agricultural depopulation creates a vicious cycle where farmers evict laborers despite needing them for seasonal work, forcing women and children into exploitative labor through the đ gang-system
đźđȘ Ireland's population crisis (1846-1865) saw over 1.5 million emigrants flee while agricultural land shifted from crops to pasture, benefiting landlords who increased profits despite producing less food
đ° The paradox of rural capitalism emerges as depopulation actually increases landlord wealth through consolidation of holdings and conversion to more profitable livestock farming, while remaining laborers face worsening conditions
đ This systematic exploitation represents capitalism's ability to extract maximum profit by maintaining a precise balance - keeping enough workers to meet peak demands while ensuring a permanent "surplus population" that prevents wage increases
đ The cycle perpetuates itself as emigration becomes a "lucrative export trade" that continuously drains population while concentrating wealth, creating a permanent state of rural poverty despite apparent economic "progress"
đ§âđŸ Agricultural laborers in Ireland underwent dramatic transformation from small farmers with land access to pure wage laborers, severing traditional connections to the land and creating deep economic vulnerability
đ° The shift from payment in kind to money wages masked deteriorating living conditions, as workers lost crucial survival resources like potato plots, pig-raising capabilities, and adequate housing
đïž Mass displacement forced rural workers into overcrowded urban slums, creating a permanent surplus population that landlords exploited through irregular employment and below-market wages
đ Depopulation through emigration became the landlords' preferred solution, allowing them to convert farmland to more profitable pastures while their rent rolls swelled despite (or because of) the declining population
đ The resulting agricultural revolution (conversion to pasture, mechanization, labor reduction) created a cycle of poverty where workers faced "sombre discontent" with only America offering escape from systematic exploitation
đ While Irish workers suffered in "strictest frugality," a tiny elite of land magnates accumulated massive wealth, demonstrating how depopulation benefited landlords at the expense of the working population
đ° Capital accumulation creates a fundamental paradox: as wealth grows, the proportion of variable capital (wages) to total capital decreases, generating a đ§ââïž relative surplus population of workers
đ Industrial development transforms labor relations dramaticallyâworkers who once controlled capital as its creators become subordinated to it, creating stark class divisions between bourgeoisie and growing proletariat
đïž Urbanization accelerates alongside capital concentration, with cities growing 17.3% while rural areas grow only 6.5%, forcing workers into overcrowded, unsanitary housing where families of 8-16 people often share single rooms
đ Despite overall economic growth, wealth inequality intensifiesâgovernment statistics show the rich growing richer while workers face stagnant wages, increased poverty, and deteriorating living conditions
đ The system produces contradictory outcomes where increased productivity and national wealth coexist with widespread miseryâas Gladstone noted, "while there is at this moment a decrease in the consuming powers of the people, an increase of privations and distress; there is at the same time a constant accumulation of wealth in the upper classes"
đ§âđŸ Agricultural laborers face systematic oppression through manipulative housing arrangements where landlords and farmers extract additional profit by charging excessive rents for substandard cottages
đ° The gang-system exploits women and children as cheap agricultural labor, creating moral degradation and physical suffering while landlords and farmers defend it as economically necessary
đźđȘ Ireland's transformation from cropland to pasture deliberately thinned the population through famine and forced emigration, serving landlord interests while devastating rural communities
đïž "Open" and "closed" village systems strategically concentrate poverty, with overcrowded lodgings in open villages enabling wealthy landowners to maintain pristine estates while externalizing social costs
đ These conditions represent deliberate economic strategies rather than natural developments, with authorities and employers actively resisting reforms that would improve living standards
đȘ Family life collapses under these conditions, with multiple generations forced to share single rooms, leading to documented cases of incest and moral deterioration that officials acknowledge but fail to address
đ° Capital formation began not through idyllic savings but through violent expropriation of peasants from their land, transforming independent producers into propertyless wage laborers forced to sell their labor power to survive
đ The capitalist system requires a complete separation between laborers and the means of productionâa historical process written in "letters of blood and fire" that transformed feudal exploitation into capitalist exploitation
đ° Enclosure movements in England (15th-18th centuries) forcibly drove peasants from common lands, with landlords using both violence and parliamentary legislation to convert arable farmland into sheep pastures and consolidate formerly communal property
đ The Reformation accelerated this process through massive church property confiscation, while the "glorious Revolution" empowered landlords who legalized their theft of state lands and created the foundation of modern aristocratic estates
đ§ Political economists mythologize this brutal history as an "idyllic" process where wealth came from "labor" and "right," concealing how the capitalist class violently created the propertyless proletariat necessary for industrial capitalism
đ Once established, capitalism continuously reproduces and expands this separation between workers and means of production, presenting what was actually a historical process of dispossession as the "natural" economic order
đ° Enclosure movements transformed communal lands into private property, violently displacing small farmers and peasants who had subsisted independently for generations
đ The ruling class systematically stole land through parliamentary acts, fraudulent state domain alienation, and outright forceâcreating the foundation for capitalist agriculture
đ§ââïž Former independent farmers were converted into landless laborers, forced to sell their labor to survive while their wages fell below subsistence levels
đŽó §ó ąó łó Łó Žó ż The Highland Clearances exemplify this process at its most extremeâentire communities were forcibly removed to make way for sheep farming and later deer forests
đ This primitive accumulation created two essential conditions for capitalism: agricultural land as capital and a "free" proletariat with no means of subsistence except wage labor
đ The process continues today through different mechanisms, with profit-seeking consistently prioritized over human welfare and traditional rights
đ Forced displacement of rural populations transformed free peasants into landless laborers through systematic land seizures by wealthy landowners across Europe, particularly in Scotland's Highland Clearances
đ Slave labor replaced free workers in ancient Rome and medieval Europe, allowing wealthy elites to accumulate vast estates while avoiding military service obligations and maximizing profits
đïž Deer forests replaced productive farmland in Scotland as aristocrats evicted entire communities to create hunting grounds, deliberately converting fertile agricultural land into barren recreational spaces for the elite
âïž Bloody legislation criminalized the displaced poor through brutal laws that punished "vagabonds" with whipping, branding, enslavement, and executionâcreating a terrorized workforce desperate for any employment
đ Wage suppression laws established maximum (but never minimum) wages, outlawed worker organizations, and used state power to ensure capitalists could extract maximum surplus value from laborers
đ± Primitive accumulation reveals capitalism's violent originsânot through thrift and industry but through systematic expropriation, creating both the capital and the desperate workforce needed for industrial development
đ Wage suppression through legal mechanisms persisted for centuries, with authorities empowered to fix maximum wages while criminalizing workers who sought better conditions through collective action
đ Anti-coalition laws criminalized workers' attempts to organize, with the French bourgeoisie declaring workers' associations "an attempt against liberty" while English Parliament maintained a 500-year "permanent Trades' Union of the capitalists against the labourers"
đ§âđŸ The agricultural revolution (15th-16th centuries) transformed independent peasants into wage laborers while creating a class of wealthy capitalist farmers who profited from both depressed wages and rising agricultural prices
đ° Primitive accumulation operated through systematic expropriation, forcing self-sufficient producers to become wage laborers while simultaneously creating the home market for industrial capitalism
đ The concentration of previously scattered production (like flax spinning) into large manufacturing operations transformed independent producers' tools into "means for commanding them and sucking out of them unpaid labour"
đïž Discrete workshops (small, independent producers) historically provided economic stability and autonomy for laborers, while đą large manufactories primarily enriched entrepreneurs while reducing workers to mere wage-earners
đšâđŸ The expropriation of peasants created the industrial workforce and domestic market simultaneouslyâtransforming self-sufficient producers into wage laborers who must purchase the very goods they once made themselves
đ° Primitive accumulation fueled early capitalism through brutal colonial exploitation, with European powers using enslavement, plunder, and state-sanctioned violence to generate massive wealth transfers
đ The colonial system operated as a "forcing-house" for capitalism, with stolen resources from Africa, Asia, and the Americas flowing back to Europe to be transformed into capital
đ National debt and public credit became powerful levers of capitalist development, creating new financial instruments and institutions (banks, stock exchanges) that accelerated wealth concentration
đ The transition from feudalism to capitalism required both economic transformation and state powerâusing "brute force" as the "midwife" to birth the new economic order
đïž Fiscal systems serve as powerful tools for wealth concentration, using taxes on necessities, public debt, and protective tariffs to systematically expropriate peasants and artisans while creating conditions for capitalist accumulation
đ¶ The early factory system relied on child exploitation of horrific proportions, with workhouses "ransacked for poor children" who faced torture, starvation, and endless labor in the manufacturing districts of England
âïž Colonial exploitation and slavery formed the essential foundation for European capitalism, with Liverpool growing wealthy from the slave trade while cotton industries transformed "patriarchal slavery" into commercial exploitation
đ The primitive accumulation process violently separated workers from their means of production through "merciless Vandalism," transforming self-earned private property into capitalistic private property based on wage labor
đ This system contains the seeds of its own destructionâas capital centralizes, the socialization of labor and growing revolt of the working class eventually make the capitalist "integument" incompatible with production methods it created
đ In colonies, this process meets resistance from producers who own their conditions of labor and work to enrich themselves rather than capitalists, revealing the contradiction at capitalism's core
đ° Capitalist exploitation requires the separation of workers from their means of production, creating a dependent class forced to sell their labor for wages
đïž Colonies reveal the true nature of capitalism by showing how free access to land prevents wage labor from taking root, as independent producers can work for themselves
đ Capital is not a thing but a social relation between persons established through things, requiring both owners of capital and propertyless workers to function
đ§± Systematic colonization artificially creates wage dependency by imposing high land prices, preventing workers from becoming independent too quickly
đ Centralization of capital depends on destroying self-earned private property and maintaining a surplus population of workers with no alternative but wage labor
đ When workers can easily become independent producers (as in early colonies), they "vanish from the labor market" and undermine capitalist control, revealing capitalism's dependence on worker dispossession
đ° Individual appropriation of soil and capital creates a system where laborers possess only their physical strength, forcing them to seek employment on terms dictated by landowners
đ This relationship represents a form of economic coercion - removing access to land is equivalent to placing someone in a vacuum without air, leaving them dependent on the landowner's wishes for survival
đïž Wakefield's analysis reveals how land ownership structures fundamentally shape economic power dynamics and class relationships
đŠđș Australia's experience demonstrates how colonial land policies create lasting impacts - even after gaining self-governance and passing settler-friendly laws, the damage from earlier government land squandering persisted