12. The Two Aphorisms

Modern moralists who contrast the maxim Chacun pour tous, tous pour chacun, to the old proverb Chacun pour soi, chacun chez soi, have formed a very incomplete, and for that reason a very false, and, I would add, a very melancholy idea of Society.

Let us eliminate, in the first place, from these two celebrated sayings what is superfluous. All for each is a redundancy, introduced from love of antithesis, for it is expressly included in each for all. As regards the saying chacun chez soi, the idea has no direct relation with the others; but, as it is of great importance in Political Economy, we shall make it hereafter the subject of inquiry.

It remains for us to consider the assumed opposition between these two members of the adages we have quoted, namely, each for all—each for himself. The one, it is said, expresses the sympathetic principle, the other the individualist or selfish principle. The first unites, the second divides.

Now, if we refer exclusively to the motive that determines the effort, the opposition is incontestable. But I maintain that if we consider the aggregate of human efforts in their results, the case is different. Examine Society, as it actually exists, obeying, as regards services that are capable of remuneration, the individualist or selfish principle; and you will be at once convinced that every man in working for himself is in fact working for all. This is beyond doubt. If the reader of these lines exercises a profession or trade, I entreat him for a moment to turn his regards upon himself; and I would ask him whether all his labors have not the satisfaction of others for their object, and, on the other hand, whether it is not to the exertions of others that he himself owes all his satisfactions.

It is evident that they who assert that each for himself and each for all are contradictory, conceive that an incompatibility exists between individualism and association. They think that each for himself implies isolation, or a tendency to isolation; that personal interest divides men, in place of uniting them, and that this principle tends to that of each by himself, that is to say, to the absence of all social relations.

In taking this view, I repeat, they form a false, because incomplete, idea of society. Even when moved only by personal interest, men seek to draw nearer each other, to combine their efforts, to unite their forces, to work for one another, to render reciprocal services, to associate. It would not be correct to say that they act in this way in spite of self-interest; they do so in obedience to self-interest. They associate because they find their benefit in it. If they did not find it to their advantage, they would not associate. Individualism, then, or a regard to personal interest, performs the work that the sentimentalists of our day would confide to Fraternity, to self-sacrifice, or some other motive opposed to self-love. And this just establishes the conclusion at which we never fail to arrive—that Providence has provided for the social state much better than the men can who call themselves its prophets. For of two things, choose only one; either union is injurious to individuality, or it is advantageous to it. If it injures it, what are the Socialist gentlemen to do, how can they manage, and what rational motive can they have to bring about a state of things that is hurtful to everybody? If, on the contrary, union is advantageous, it will be brought about by the action of personal interest, which is the strongest, the most permanent, the most uniform, the most universal, of all motives, let men say what they will.

Just look at how the thing actually works in practice. A squatter goes away to clear a field in the Far West. Not a day passes without his experiencing the difficulties isolation creates. A second squatter now makes his way to the desert. Where does he pitch his tent? Does he retire naturally to a distance from the first? No; he draws near to him naturally—and why? Because he knows all the advantages that men derive, with equal exertion, from the very circumstance of proximity. He knows that on various occasions they can accommodate each other by lending and borrowing tools and instruments, by uniting their action, by conquering difficulties insurmountable by individual exertion, by creating reciprocally a market for produce, by interchanging their views and opinions, and by providing for their common safety. A third, a fourth, a fifth squatter penetrates into the desert, and is invariably attracted by the smoke of the first settlements. Other people will then step in with larger capital, knowing that they will find hands there ready to be set to work. A colony is formed. They change somewhat the mode of culture; they form a path to the highway, by which the mail passes; they import and export; construct a church, a school-house, etc., etc. In a word, the power of the colonists is augmented by the very fact of their proximity, and to such a degree as to exceed, to an incalculable extent, the sum of their isolated and individual forces; and this is the motive that has attracted them toward each other.

But it may be said that every man for himself is a frigid maxim, which all the reasoning and paradoxes in the world cannot render otherwise than repugnant; that it smells of greed a mile off, and that greed is more than an evil in society, being itself the source of most other evils.

Now, listen a little, if you please.

If the maxim every man for himself is understood in this sense, that it is to regulate all our thoughts, acts, and relations, that we are to find it at the root of all our family and domestic affections, as fathers, sons, brothers, husbands, friends, citizens, or rather that it is to repress and to extinguish these affections, then I admit that it is frightful, horrible, and such, that were there one man upon the earth heartless enough to make it the rule of his conduct, that man dared not even proclaim it in theory.

But will the Socialists, in the teeth of fact and experience, always refuse to admit that there are two orders of human relations—one dependent on the sympathetic principle, and which we leave to the domain of morals—another springing from self-interest, and regulating transactions between men who know nothing of each other, and owe each other nothing but justice,— transactions regulated by voluntary covenants freely adjusted? Covenants of this last species are precisely those which come within the domain of Political Economy. It is, in truth, no more possible to base commercial transactions on the principle of sympathy, than it is to base family and friendly relations on self-interest. To the Socialists I shall never cease to address this remonstrance: You wish to mix up two things that cannot be confounded. If you were fools enough to wish to confound them, you have not the power to do it. The blacksmith, the carpenter, and the laborer, who exhaust their strength in rude avocations, may be excellent fathers, admirable sons; they may have the moral sense thoroughly developed, and carry in their breasts hearts of large and expansive sympathy. In spite of all that, you will never persuade them to labor from morning to night with the sweat of their brow, and impose upon themselves the hardest privations, upon a mere principle of devotion to their fellow-men. Your sentimental lectures on this subject are, and always will be, powerless. If, unfortunately, they could mislead a few operatives, they would just make so many dupes. Let a merchant set to work to sell his wares on the principle of Fraternity, and I venture to predict that, in less than a month, he will see himself and his children reduced to beggary.

Providence has done well, then, in giving to the social state very different guarantees. Taking man as we find him—sensibility and individuality, benevolence and self-love being inseparable— we cannot hope, we cannot desire to see the motive of personal interest universally eradicated—nor can we understand how it could be. And yet nothing short of this would be necessary in order to restore the equilibrium of human relations; for if you break this mainspring of action only in certain chosen spirits, you create two classes—scoundrels whom you thus tempt to make victims of their fellow-men—and the virtuous, for whom the part of victims is reserved.

Seeing, then, that as regards labor and exchanges, the principle each for himself must inevitably have the predominance as a motive of action, the marvelous and admirable thing is that the Author of all should have made use of that principle in order to realize in the social order the maxim of the advocates of Fraternity, each for all. In His skillful hand, the obstacle has become the instrument. The general interest has been entrusted to personal interest, and the one has become infallible because the other is indestructible. To me it would seem that, in presence of these wondrous results, the constructors of artificial societies might, without any excess of humility, acknowledge that, as regards organization, the Divine Architect has far surpassed them.

Remark, too, that in the natural order of society, the principle of each for all, based upon the principle of each for himself, is much more complete, much more absolute, much more personal, than it would be in the Socialist and Communist point of view. Not only do we work for all, but we cannot realize a single step of progress without its being profitable to the Community at large. (See part 1, chapters 10 and 11.) The order of things has been so marvelously arranged, that when we have invented a new process, or discovered the liberality of nature in any department—some new source of fertility in the soil, or some new mode of action in one of the laws of the physical world—the profit is ours temporarily, transiently, so long as to prove just as a recompense, and useful as an encouragement—after which the advantage escapes from our grasp, in spite of all our efforts to retain it. From individual it becomes social, and falls forever into the domain of the common and gratuitous. And while we thus impart the fruits of our progress to our fellow-men, we ourselves become participators in the progress that other men have achieved.

In short, by the rule each for himself, individual efforts, reinforced and invigorated, act in the direction of each for all, and every partial step of progress brings a thousand times more to society, in gratuitous utility, than it has brought to its inventor in direct profits.

With the maxim each for all no one would act exclusively for himself. What producer would take it into his head to double his labor in order to add a thirty-millionth part to his wages?

It may be said, then, why refute the Socialist aphorism? What harm can it do? Undoubtedly it will not introduce into workshops, counting-rooms, warehouses, nor establish in fairs and markets, the principle of self-sacrifice. But then it will either tend to nothing, and then we may let it sleep in peace, or it will bend somewhat that stiffness of the egotistical principle, that, excluding all sympathy, has scarcely right to claim any.

What is false is always dangerous. It is always a dangerous thing to represent as detestable and pernicious an eternal and universal principle that God has evidently destined to the conservation and advancement of the human race; a principle, I allow, as far as motive is concerned, that does not come home to our heart, but that, when viewed with reference to its results, astonishes and satisfies the mind; a principle, moreover, that leaves the field perfectly free to the action of those more elevated motives God has implanted in the heart of man.

But, then, what happens? The Socialist public adopts only one-half the Socialist maxim—the last half, all for each. They continue as before to work each for himself, but they require, over and above, that all should work for them.

It must be so. When dreamers desired to change the grand mainspring of human exertion by substituting fraternity for individualism, they found it necessary to invent a hypocritical contradiction. They set themselves to call out to the masses, “Stifle self-love in your hearts and follow us; you will be rewarded for it by unbounded wealth and enjoyment.” When men try to parody the Gospel, they should come to a Gospel conclusion. Self-denial implies sacrifice and pain—self-devotion means “Take the lowest seat, be poor, and suffer voluntarily.” But under pretense of abnegation to promise enjoyment; to exhibit wealth and prosperity behind the pretended sacrifice; to combat a passion they brand with the name of greed by addressing themselves to the grossest and most material tendencies; this is not only to render homage to the indestructible vitality of the principle they desire to overthrow, but to exalt it to the highest point while declaiming against it; it is to double the forces of the enemy, instead of conquering him; to substitute unjust covetousness for legitimate individualism; and, in spite of all the artifice of a mystical jargon, to excite the grossest sensualism. Let avarice answer this appeal.¹

And is that not the position in which we now are? What is the universal cry among all ranks and classes? All for each. In pronouncing the word each, we are thinking of ourselves, and what we ask is to have a share that we have not merited in the fruits of other men’s labor. In other words, we systematize spoliation. No doubt spoliation simple and naked is so unjust that we repudiate it; but by dint of the maxim, all for each, we allay the scruples of conscience. We impose upon others the duty of working for us, and we arrogate to ourselves the right to enjoy the fruits of other men’s labor. We summon the State, the law, to impose the pretended duty, to protect the pretended right, and we arrive at the whimsical result of robbing one another in the sacred name of Fraternity. We live at other men’s expense, and attribute heroism to the sacrifice. What an odd, strange thing the human mind is! and how subtle is covetousness! It is not enough that each of us should endeavor to increase his share at the expense of his fellows, it is not enough that we should desire to profit by labor that we have not performed; we persuade ourselves that in acting thus we are displaying a sublime example of self-sacrifice. We almost go the length of comparing ourselves to the primitive Christians, and yet we blind ourselves so far as not to see that the sacrifices that make us weep in fond admiration of our own virtue are sacrifices we do not make, but which, on the contrary, we exact.

It is worth observing the manner in which this mystification is effected.

Steal! Horrors, that is mean—besides it leads to jail, for the law forbids it. But if the law authorized it, and lent its aid, would not that be very convenient? . . . What a happy thought!

No time is lost in soliciting from the law some trifling privilege, a small monopoly, and as it may cost some pains to protect it, the State is asked to take it under its charge. The State and the law come to an understanding to realize exactly that which it was their business to prevent or to punish. By degrees the taste for monopolies gains ground. There is no class but desires a monopoly. All for each, they cry; we desire also to appear as philanthropists, and show that we understand solidarity.

It happens that the privileged classes, in thus robbing each other, lose at least as much by the exactions to which they are subject as they gain by the contributions they levy. Besides, the great body of the working classes, to whom no monopolies can be accorded, suffer from them until they can endure it no longer. They rise up, and cover the streets with barricades and blood; and then we must come to a reckoning with them.

What is their demand? Do they require the abolition of the abuses, privileges, monopolies, and restrictions under which they suffer? Not at all. They also are imbued with philanthropy. They have been told that the celebrated apothegm, all for each, is the solution to the social problem. They have had it demonstrated to them over and over again that monopoly (which in reality is only a theft) is nevertheless quite moral if sanctioned by law. Then they demand. . . . What? . . . Monopolies! They also summon the State to supply them with education, employment, credit, assistance, at the expense of the people. What a strange illusion! and how long will it last? We can very well conceive how all the higher classes, beginning with the highest, can come to demand favors and privileges. Below them there is a great popular mass upon whom the burden falls. But that the people, when once conquerors, should take it into their heads to enter into the privileged class, and create monopolies for themselves at their own expense; that they should enlarge the area of abuses in order to live upon them; that they should not see that there is nothing below them to support those acts of injustice: this is one of the most astonishing phenomena of our age, or of any age.

What has been the consequence? By pursuing this course, Society has been brought to the verge of shipwreck. Men became alarmed, and with reason. The people soon lost their power, and the old spread of abuses has been provisionally resumed.

The lesson, however, has not been quite lost upon the higher classes. They find that it is necessary to do justice to the working class. They ardently desire to succeed in this, not only because their own security depends upon it, but impelled, as we must acknowledge, by a spirit of equity. Of this I am thoroughly convinced, that the wealthier classes desire nothing more than to discover the solution of the great problem. I am satisfied that if we were to ask the greater part of our wealthy citizens to give up a considerable portion of their fortune in order to secure the future happiness and contentment of the people, they would cheerfully make the sacrifice. They anxiously seek the means of coming (according to the consecrated phrase) to the assistance of the laboring classes. But for that end on what plan have they fallen? . . . Still the communism of monopolies; a mitigated communism, however, and which they hope to subject to prudential regulation. That is all—they go no farther.

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¹When the vanguard of the Icarian expedition left Havre, I questioned some of these visionaries with a view to discover their real thoughts. Competence easily obtained, such was their hope and their motive. One of them said to me, “I am going, and my brother follows with the second expedition. He has eight children, and you see what a great thing it will be for him to have no longer to educate and maintain them.” “I see it at once,” I replied, “but that heavy charge must fall on some other body.” To rid oneself of a burden and transfer it to the shoulders of another, such was the sense in which these unfortunate people understood the apothegm of fraternity—all for each.