Looking Backward, 2000 to 1887

  Chapter 9

  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 anarchists wantedto do in my day?"

  "Not so bad as that," replied Dr. Leete. "We have simply dispensed withthem. 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 money wehave 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 had invitedme up to the house-top, which appeared to be a favorite resort of 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 in orderthat 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 of directdistribution from the national storehouses took the place of trade, andfor 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 is givento every citizen on the public books at the beginning of each year, anda credit card issued him with which he procures at the publicstorehouses, found in every community, whatever he desires whenever hedesires it. This arrangement, you will see, totally obviates thenecessity for business transactions of any sort between individuals andconsumers. Perhaps you would like to see what our credit 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. The term,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 nothing tosell us, but in any event our credit would not be transferable, beingstrictly personal. Before the nation could even think of honoring anysuch transfer as you speak of, it would be bound to inquire into allthe circumstances of the transaction, so as to be able to guarantee itsabsolute equity. It would have been reason enough, had there been noother, for abolishing money, that its possession was no indication ofrightful title to it. In the hands of the man who had stolen it ormurdered for it, it was as good as in those which had earned it byindustry. People nowadays interchange gifts and favors out offriendship, but buying and selling is considered absolutelyinconsistent with the mutual benevolence and disinterestedness whichshould prevail between citizens and the sense of community of interestwhich supports our social system. According to our ideas, buying andselling is essentially anti-social in all its tendencies. It is aneducation in self-seeking at the expense of others, and no societywhose citizens are trained in such a school can possibly rise above avery 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 is presumedthat the citizen who does not fully expend his credit did not haveoccasion to do so, and the balance is turned into the general surplus."

  "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 failure ofthe 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 a virtue. Noman any more has any care for the morrow, either for himself or hischildren, for the nation guarantees the nurture, education, andcomfortable maintenance of every citizen from the cradle 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. It wasnot a pretty system ethically, I admit; but it did, at least, furnishus a rough and ready formula for settling a question which must besettled ten thousand times a day if the world was ever going to getforward. There seemed to us no other practicable way of doing it."

  "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 necessity ismy opportunity.' The reward of any service depended not upon itsdifficulty, danger, or hardship, for throughout the world it
seems thatthe most perilous, severe, and repulsive labor was done by the worstpaid classes; but solely upon the strait of those who needed theservice."

  "All that is conceded," I said. "But, with all its defects, the plan ofsettling prices by the market rate was a practical plan; and I cannotconceive what satisfactory substitute you can have devised for it. Thegovernment being the only possible employer, there is of course nolabor market or market rate. Wages of all sorts must be arbitrarilyfixed by the government. I cannot imagine a more complex and delicatefunction than that must be, or one, however performed, more certain tobreed universal dissatisfaction."

  "I beg your pardon," replied Dr. Leete, "but I think you exaggerate thedifficulty. Suppose a board of fairly sensible men were charged withsettling the wages for all sorts of trades under a system which, likeours, guaranteed employment to all, while permitting the choice ofavocations. 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 old orderof things to understand just what you mean by that question; and yetthe present order is so utterly different at this point that I am alittle 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 the basisof 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 which Dr.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 all answeringto your idea of wages."

  By this time I had pulled myself together sufficiently to voice some ofthe criticisms which, man of the nineteenth century as I was, cameuppermost in my mind, upon this to me astounding arrangement. "Some mendo 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 from another."

  "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 it seemshard that the man who produces twice as much as another, even if bothdo 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 people nowadaysis, that a man who can produce twice as much as another with the sameeffort, instead of being rewarded for doing so, ought to be punished ifhe does not do so. In the nineteenth century, when a horse pulled aheavier load than a goat, I suppose you rewarded him. Now, we shouldhave whipped him soundly if he had not, on the ground that, being muchstronger, he ought to. It is singular how ethical standards change."The doctor said this with such a twinkle in his eye that I was obligedto 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 they could,whereas men could only be induced to do so by rewarding them accordingto the amount of their product. That brings me to ask why, unless humannature has mightily changed in a hundred years, you are not under thesame 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 never wasthere an age of the world when those motives did not call out what isbest 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 of thenation, patriotism, passion for humanity, impel the worker as in yourday they did the soldier. The army of industry is an army, not alone byvirtue of its perfect organization, but by reason also of the ardor ofself-devotion which animates its members.

  "But as you used to supplement
the 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 lust ofhonor 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 of whatthese 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.