CHAPTER IX.
Dr. and Mrs. Leete were evidently not a little startled to learn, whenthey presently appeared, that I had been all over the city alone thatmorning, and it was apparent that they were agreeably surprised to seethat I seemed so little agitated after the experience.
"Your stroll could scarcely have failed to be a very interesting one,"said Mrs. Leete, as we sat down to table soon after. "You must haveseen a good many new things."
"I saw very little that was not new," I replied. "But I think whatsurprised me as much as anything was not to find any stores onWashington Street, or any banks on State. What have you done with themerchants and bankers? Hung them all, perhaps, as the anarchistswanted to do in my day?"
"Not so bad as that," replied Dr. Leete. "We have simply dispensedwith them. Their functions are obsolete in the modern world."
"Who sells you things when you want to buy them?" I inquired.
"There is neither selling nor buying nowadays; the distribution ofgoods is effected in another way. As to the bankers, having no moneywe have no use for those gentry."
"Miss Leete," said I, turning to Edith, "I am afraid that your fatheris making sport of me. I don't blame him, for the temptation myinnocence offers must be extraordinary. But, really, there are limitsto my credulity as to possible alterations in the social system."
"Father has no idea of jesting, I am sure," she replied, with areassuring smile.
The conversation took another turn then, the point of ladies' fashionsin the nineteenth century being raised, if I remember rightly, by Mrs.Leete, and it was not till after breakfast, when the doctor hadinvited me up to the house-top, which appeared to be a favorite resortof his, that he recurred to the subject.
"You were surprised," he said, "at my saying that we got along withoutmoney or trade, but a moment's reflection will show that trade existedand money was needed in your day simply because the business ofproduction was left in private hands, and that, consequently, they aresuperfluous now."
"I do not at once see how that follows," I replied.
"It is very simple," said Dr. Leete. "When innumerable different andindependent persons produced the various things needful to life andcomfort, endless exchanges between individuals were requisite inorder that they might supply themselves with what they desired. Theseexchanges constituted trade, and money was essential as their medium.But as soon as the nation became the sole producer of all sorts ofcommodities, there was no need of exchanges between individuals thatthey might get what they required. Everything was procurable from onesource, and nothing could be procured anywhere else. A system ofdirect distribution from the national storehouses took the place oftrade, and for this money was unnecessary."
"How is this distribution managed?" I asked.
"On the simplest possible plan," replied Dr. Leete. "A creditcorresponding to his share of the annual product of the nation isgiven to every citizen on the public books at the beginning of eachyear, and a credit card issued him with which he procures at thepublic storehouses, found in every community, whatever he desireswhenever he desires it. This arrangement, you will see, totallyobviates the necessity for business transactions of any sort betweenindividuals and consumers. Perhaps you would like to see what ourcredit-cards are like.
"You observe," he pursued as I was curiously examining the piece ofpasteboard he gave me, "that this card is issued for a certain numberof dollars. We have kept the old word, but not the substance. Theterm, as we use it, answers to no real thing, but merely serves as analgebraical symbol for comparing the values of products with oneanother. For this purpose they are all priced in dollars and cents,just as in your day. The value of what I procure on this card ischecked off by the clerk, who pricks out of these tiers of squares theprice of what I order."
"If you wanted to buy something of your neighbor, could you transferpart of your credit to him as consideration?" I inquired.
"In the first place," replied Dr. Leete, "our neighbors have nothingto sell us, but in any event our credit would not be transferable,being strictly personal. Before the nation could even think ofhonoring any such transfer as you speak of, it would be bound toinquire into all the circumstances of the transaction, so as to beable to guarantee its absolute equity. It would have been reasonenough, had there been no other, for abolishing money, that itspossession was no indication of rightful title to it. In the hands ofthe man who had stolen it or murdered for it, it was as good as inthose which had earned it by industry. People nowadays interchangegifts and favors out of friendship, but buying and selling isconsidered absolutely inconsistent with the mutual benevolence anddisinterestedness which should prevail between citizens and the senseof community of interest which supports our social system. Accordingto our ideas, buying and selling is essentially anti-social in allits tendencies. It is an education in self-seeking at the expense ofothers, and no society whose citizens are trained in such a school canpossibly rise above a very low grade of civilization."
"What if you have to spend more than your card in any one year?" Iasked.
"The provision is so ample that we are more likely not to spend itall," replied Dr. Leete. "But if extraordinary expenses should exhaustit, we can obtain a limited advance on the next year's credit, thoughthis practice is not encouraged, and a heavy discount is charged tocheck it. Of course if a man showed himself a reckless spendthrift hewould receive his allowance monthly or weekly instead of yearly, or ifnecessary not be permitted to handle it all."
"If you don't spend your allowance, I suppose it accumulates?"
"That is also permitted to a certain extent when a special outlay isanticipated. But unless notice to the contrary is given, it ispresumed that the citizen who does not fully expend his credit did nothave occasion to do so, and the balance is turned into the generalsurplus."
"Such a system does not encourage saving habits on the part ofcitizens," I said.
"It is not intended to," was the reply. "The nation is rich, and doesnot wish the people to deprive themselves of any good thing. In yourday, men were bound to lay up goods and money against coming failureof the means of support and for their children. This necessity madeparsimony a virtue. But now it would have no such laudable object,and, having lost its utility, it has ceased to be regarded as avirtue. No man any more has any care for the morrow, either forhimself or his children, for the nation guarantees the nurture,education, and comfortable maintenance of every citizen from thecradle to the grave."
"That is a sweeping guarantee!" I said. "What certainty can there bethat the value of a man's labor will recompense the nation for itsoutlay on him? On the whole, society may be able to support all itsmembers, but some must earn less than enough for their support, andothers more; and that brings us back once more to the wages question,on which you have hitherto said nothing. It was at just this point, ifyou remember, that our talk ended last evening; and I say again, as Idid then, that here I should suppose a national industrial system likeyours would find its main difficulty. How, I ask once more, can youadjust satisfactorily the comparative wages or remuneration of themultitude of avocations, so unlike and so incommensurable, which arenecessary for the service of society? In our day the market ratedetermined the price of labor of all sorts, as well as of goods. Theemployer paid as little as he could, and the worker got as much. Itwas not a pretty system ethically, I admit; but it did, at least,furnish us a rough and ready formula for settling a question whichmust be settled ten thousand times a day if the world was ever goingto get forward. There seemed to us no other practicable way of doingit."
"Yes," replied Dr. Leete, "it was the only practicable way under asystem which made the interests of every individual antagonistic tothose of every other; but it would have been a pity if humanity couldnever have devised a better plan, for yours was simply the applicationto the mutual relations of men of the devil's maxim, 'Your necessityis my opportunity.' The reward of any service depended not upon itsdifficulty, danger, or hardship, for throughout the world it s
eemsthat the most perilous, severe, and repulsive labor was done by theworst paid classes; but solely upon the strait of those who needed theservice."
"All that is conceded," I said. "But, with all its defects, the planof settling prices by the market rate was a practical plan; and Icannot conceive what satisfactory substitute you can have devised forit. The government being the only possible employer, there is ofcourse no labor market or market rate. Wages of all sorts must bearbitrarily fixed by the government. I cannot imagine a more complexand delicate function than that must be, or one, however performed,more certain to breed universal dissatisfaction."
"I beg your pardon," replied Dr. Leete, "but I think you exaggeratethe difficulty. Suppose a board of fairly sensible men were chargedwith settling the wages for all sorts of trades under a system which,like ours, guaranteed employment to all, while permitting the choiceof avocations. Don't you see that, however unsatisfactory the firstadjustment might be, the mistakes would soon correct themselves? Thefavored trades would have too many volunteers, and those discriminatedagainst would lack them till the errors were set right. But this isaside from the purpose, for, though this plan would, I fancy, bepracticable enough, it is no part of our system."
"How, then, do you regulate wages?" I once more asked.
Dr. Leete did not reply till after several moments of meditativesilence. "I know, of course," he finally said, "enough of the oldorder of things to understand just what you mean by that question; andyet the present order is so utterly different at this point that I ama little at loss how to answer you best. You ask me how we regulatewages; I can only reply that there is no idea in the modern socialeconomy which at all corresponds with what was meant by wages in yourday."
"I suppose you mean that you have no money to pay wages in," said I."But the credit given the worker at the government storehouse answersto his wages with us. How is the amount of the credit givenrespectively to the workers in different lines determined? By whattitle does the individual claim his particular share? What is thebasis of allotment?"
"His title," replied Dr. Leete, "is his humanity. The basis of hisclaim is the fact that he is a man."
"The fact that he is a man!" I repeated, incredulously. "Do youpossibly mean that all have the same share?"
"Most assuredly."
The readers of this book never having practically known any otherarrangement, or perhaps very carefully considered the historicalaccounts of former epochs in which a very different system prevailed,cannot be expected to appreciate the stupor of amazement into whichDr. Leete's simple statement plunged me.
"You see," he said, smiling, "that it is not merely that we have nomoney to pay wages in, but, as I said, we have nothing at allanswering to your idea of wages."
By this time I had pulled myself together sufficiently to voice someof the criticisms which, man of the nineteenth century as I was, cameuppermost in my mind, upon this to me astounding arrangement. "Somemen do twice the work of others!" I exclaimed. "Are the clever workmencontent with a plan that ranks them with the indifferent?"
"We leave no possible ground for any complaint of injustice," repliedDr. Leete, "by requiring precisely the same measure of service fromall."
"How can you do that, I should like to know, when no two men's powersare the same?"
"Nothing could be simpler," was Dr. Leete's reply. "We require of eachthat he shall make the same effort; that is, we demand of him the bestservice it is in his power to give."
"And supposing all do the best they can," I answered, "the amount ofthe product resulting is twice greater from one man than fromanother."
"Very true," replied Dr. Leete; "but the amount of the resultingproduct has nothing whatever to do with the question, which is one ofdesert. Desert is a moral question, and the amount of the product amaterial quantity. It would be an extraordinary sort of logic whichshould try to determine a moral question by a material standard. Theamount of the effort alone is pertinent to the question of desert. Allmen who do their best, do the same. A man's endowments, howevergodlike, merely fix the measure of his duty. The man of greatendowments who does not do all he might, though he may do more than aman of small endowments who does his best, is deemed a less deservingworker than the latter, and dies a debtor to his fellows. The Creatorsets men's tasks for them by the faculties he gives them; we simplyexact their fulfillment."
"No doubt that is very fine philosophy," I said; "nevertheless itseems hard that the man who produces twice as much as another, even ifboth do their best, should have only the same share."
"Does it, indeed, seem so to you?" responded Dr. Leete. "Now, do youknow, that seems very curious to me? The way it strikes peoplenowadays is, that a man who can produce twice as much as another withthe same effort, instead of being rewarded for doing so, ought to bepunished if he does not do so. In the nineteenth century, when a horsepulled a heavier load than a goat, I suppose you rewarded him. Now, weshould have whipped him soundly if he had not, on the ground that,being much stronger, he ought to. It is singular how ethical standardschange." The doctor said this with such a twinkle in his eye that Iwas obliged to laugh.
"I suppose," I said, "that the real reason that we rewarded men fortheir endowments, while we considered those of horses and goats merelyas fixing the service to be severally required of them, was that theanimals, not being reasoning beings, naturally did the best theycould, whereas men could only be induced to do so by rewarding themaccording to the amount of their product. That brings me to ask why,unless human nature has mightily changed in a hundred years, you arenot under the same necessity."
"We are," replied Dr. Leete. "I don't think there has been any changein human nature in that respect since your day. It is still soconstituted that special incentives in the form of prizes, andadvantages to be gained, are requisite to call out the best endeavorsof the average man in any direction."
"But what inducement," I asked, "can a man have to put forth his bestendeavors when, however much or little he accomplishes, his incomeremains the same? High characters may be moved by devotion to thecommon welfare under such a system, but does not the average man tendto rest back on his oar, reasoning that it is of no use to make aspecial effort, since the effort will not increase his income, nor itswithholding diminish it?"
"Does it then really seem to you," answered my companion, "that humannature is insensible to any motives save fear of want and love ofluxury, that you should expect security and equality of livelihood toleave them without possible incentives to effort? Your contemporariesdid not really think so, though they might fancy they did. When it wasa question of the grandest class of efforts, the most absoluteself-devotion, they depended on quite other incentives. Not higherwages, but honor and the hope of men's gratitude, patriotism and theinspiration of duty, were the motives which they set before theirsoldiers when it was a question of dying for the nation, and neverwas there an age of the world when those motives did not call out whatis best and noblest in men. And not only this, but when you come toanalyze the love of money which was the general impulse to effort inyour day, you find that the dread of want and desire of luxury was butone of several motives which the pursuit of money represented; theothers, and with many the more influential, being desire of power, ofsocial position, and reputation for ability and success. So you seethat though we have abolished poverty and the fear of it, andinordinate luxury with the hope of it, we have not touched the greaterpart of the motives which underlay the love of money in former times,or any of those which prompted the supremer sorts of effort. Thecoarser motives, which no longer move us, have been replaced by highermotives wholly unknown to the mere wage earners of your age. Now thatindustry of whatever sort is no longer self-service, but service ofthe nation, patriotism, passion for humanity, impel the worker as inyour day they did the soldier. The army of industry is an army, notalone by virtue of its perfect organization, but by reason also of theardor of self-devotion which animates its members.
"But as you used to supplement th
e motives of patriotism with the loveof glory, in order to stimulate the valor of your soldiers, so do we.Based as our industrial system is on the principle of requiring thesame unit of effort from every man, that is, the best he can do, youwill see that the means by which we spur the workers to do their bestmust be a very essential part of our scheme. With us, diligence in thenational service is the sole and certain way to public repute, socialdistinction, and official power. The value of a man's services tosociety fixes his rank in it. Compared with the effect of our socialarrangements in impelling men to be zealous in business, we deem theobject-lessons of biting poverty and wanton luxury on which youdepended a device as weak and uncertain as it was barbaric. The lustof honor even in your sordid day notoriously impelled men to moredesperate effort than the love of money could."
"I should be extremely interested," I said, "to learn something ofwhat these social arrangements are."
"The scheme in its details," replied the doctor, "is of course veryelaborate, for it underlies the entire organization of our industrialarmy; but a few words will give you a general idea of it."
At this moment our talk was charmingly interrupted by the emergenceupon the aerial platform where we sat of Edith Leete. She was dressedfor the street, and had come to speak to her father about somecommission she was to do for him.
"By the way, Edith," he exclaimed, as she was about to leave us toourselves, "I wonder if Mr. West would not be interested in visitingthe store with you? I have been telling him something about our systemof distribution, and perhaps he might like to see it in practicaloperation."
"My daughter," he added, turning to me, "is an indefatigable shopper,and can tell you more about the stores than I can."
The proposition was naturally very agreeable to me, and Edith beinggood enough to say that she should be glad to have my company, we leftthe house together.
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