Part 4

Let me not be misunderstood. Companionable qualities are not objected to _as such_. When they spring from genuine goodness of heart, and are the ornament of an upright life, they are as respectable as they are amiable; and it would be well if Christians and all good men cultivated them more than they do. If we would make virtue and religion to be loved, we must make _ourselves_ to be loved _for_ our virtue and religion; which would be done if we were faithful to carry the gentleness and charity of the gospel into our manners as well as into our morals. Nevertheless, we insist that companionable qualities, when they have no better source than a sociable disposition, or, worse still, an easy temper and loose principles, are full of danger to their possessor, and full of danger to the community; especially where, from any cause, but little regard is paid to moral distinctions in social intercourse. We also say, that in such a state of society the danger will be most imminent to those whom we should naturally be most anxious to save—I mean, persons of a loving and yielding turn of mind.

[_Sunday, November 11._]

And this brings me back again to the position taken in the beginning of this discourse. The reason why companionable qualities are attended with so much danger is, that society itself is attended with so much danger; and the reason why society is attended with so much danger is, that social intercourse is not more under the control of moral principles, moral rules, and moral sanctions.

My argument does not make it necessary to exaggerate the evils and dangers of modern society. I am willing to suppose that there have been times when society was much less pure than it is now; and again, that there are places where it is much less pure than it is here; but it does not follow that there are no evils or dangers now and here. On the contrary, it is easy to see that there may be stages in the progressive improvement of society, where the improvement itself will have the effect, not to lessen, but to increase the danger, _so far as good men are concerned_. In a community where vice abounds, where the public manners are notoriously and grossly corrupt, good men are put on their guard. They will not be injured by such society, for they will have nothing to do with it. A broad line of demarcation is drawn between what is expected from good men, and what is expected from bad men; so that the example of the latter has no effect on the former except to admonish and to warn. But let the work of refinement and reform go on in general society until vice is constrained to wear a decent exterior, until an air of decorum and respectability is thrown over all public meetings and amusements, and one consequence will be that the distinction between Christians and the world will not be so clearly seen, or so carefully observed, as before. The standard of the world, from the very fact that it is brought nearer to the standard of the gospel, will be more frequently confounded with it; Christians will feel at liberty to do whatever the world does, and the danger is, that they will come at length to do it from the same principles.

Besides, are we sure that we have not formed too favorable an opinion of the moral condition of general society—of that general society in the midst of which we are now living, and to the influence of which we are daily and hourly exposed? We should remember that in pronouncing on the character of public opinion and public sentiment, we are very likely to be affected and determined ourselves, not a little, by the fact that we share in that very public opinion and public sentiment which we are called upon to judge. I have no doubt that virtue, in general, is esteemed by the world, or that, _other things being equal_, a man of integrity will be preferred on account of his integrity. But this is not enough. It shows that the multitude see, and are willing to acknowledge, the dignity and worth of an upright course; but it does not prove them to have that _abhorrence for sin_, which it is the purpose and the tendency of the gospel to plant in all minds. If they had this settled and rooted abhorrence for sin, which marks the Christian, and without which a man can not be a Christian, they would not prefer virtue to vice, “other things being equal,” but they would do so whether other things were equal or not; they would knowingly keep no terms with vice, however recommended or glossed over by interest or worldly favor, or refined and elegant manners.

Now, I ask whether general society, even as it exists amongst us, will bear this test? Is it not incontestable that very unscrupulous and very dangerous men, if they happen to be men of talents, or men of fashion, or men of peculiarly engaging manners, find but little difficulty in insinuating themselves into what is called good society; nay, are often among those who are most courted and caressed? Some vices, I know, are understood to put one under the social ban; but it is because they offend, not merely against morality and religion, but against taste, against good-breeding, against certain conventions of the world. To be convinced of this it is only necessary to observe that the same, or even a much larger amount of acknowledged criminality, manifested under other forms, is not found to be attended with the same result. The mischiefs of this state of things are felt by all; but especially by those who are growing up in what are generally accounted the most favored walks of life. On entering into society they see men of known profligacy mingling in the best circles, and with the best people, if not indeed on terms of entire sympathy and confidence, at least on those of the utmost possible respect and courtesy. They see all this, and they see it every day; and it is by such flagrant inconsistencies in those they look up to for guidance, more perhaps than by any other one cause, that their own principles and their own faith are undermined. And besides, being thus encouraged and countenanced in associating with dissipated and profligate men in what is called good society, they will be apt to construe it into liberty to associate with them _anywhere_. At any rate the intimacy is begun. As society is constituted at present, corrupting intimacies are not infrequently begun amidst all the decencies of life, and, it may be, in the presence and under the countenance and sanction of parents and virtuous friends, which are afterward renewed and consummated, and this too by an easy, natural, and almost necessary gradation, amidst scenes of excess—perhaps in the haunts of ignominy and crime.

[_Sunday, November 18._]

If one should propose a reform in this respect, I am aware of the difficulties and objections that would stand in his way.

Some would affirm it to be impracticable in the nature of things. They would reason thus: “The circle in which a man visits and moves is made for him, and not by him: at any rate, it is not, and can not be, determined by moral considerations alone. Something depends on education; something on family connections or mere vicinity; something on similarity in tastes and pursuits; something also on equality or approximation in wealth and standing. A poor man, or a man having a bare competency, if he is as virtuous and industrious, is just as _respectable_ as a rich man; but it is plain that he can not pitch his style of living, or his style of hospitality, on the same scale of expense. It is better for both, therefore, that they should visit in different circles.” Perhaps it is; but what then? I am not recommending an amalgamation of the different classes in society. I suppose that such an amalgamation would neither be practicable nor desirable in the existing state of things. All I contend for is, that in every class, open and gross immorality of any kind should exclude a man from reputable company. Will any one say that this is impracticable? Let a man, through untoward events, but not by any fault or neglect of his own, be reduced in his circumstances,—let a man become generally odious, not in consequence of any immorality, but because, perhaps, he has embraced the unpopular side in politics or religion—let a man omit some trifling formality which is construed into a vulgarity, or a personal affront, and people do not appear to find much difficulty in dropping the acquaintance. If, then, it is so easy a thing to drop a man’s acquaintance for other reasons, and for no reason,—from mere prejudice, from mere caprice,—will it still be pretended that it can not be done at the command of duty and religion?

Again, it may be objected that, if you banish a man from general society for his immoralities, you will drive him to despair, and so destroy the only remaining hope of his reformation. What! are you going _to keep society corrupt_ in the vain expectation that a corrupt state of society will help to reform its corrupt members? Besides, I grant that we should have compassion on the guilty; but I also hold that we should have compassion on the innocent too. Would you, therefore, allow a bad man to continue in good society, when the chances are a thousand to one that he will make others as bad as himself, and not more than one to a thousand that he himself will be reclaimed? Moreover, this reasoning is fallacious throughout. By expelling a dissipated and profligate man from good society, instead of destroying all hope of his recovery, you do in fact resort to the only remaining means of reforming one over whom a fear of God, and a sense of character, and the upbraidings of conscience have lost their power. What cares he for principle, or God, or an hereafter? Nothing, therefore, is so likely to encourage and embolden him to go on in his guilty course, as the belief that he will be allowed to do so without the forfeiture of the only thing he does care for, his reputable standing in the world. On the other hand, nothing is so likely to arrest him in these courses, and bring him to serious reflection, as the stern and determined threat of absolute exclusion from good society, if he persists.

Another objection will also be made which has stronger claims on our sympathy and respect. We shall be told that the innocent as well as the guilty will suffer—the guilty man’s friends and connections, who will probably feel the indignity more than he does himself. God forbid that we should needlessly add to the pain of those who are thus connected! But we must remember that the highest form of friendship does not consist in blindly falling in with the feelings of those whom we would serve, but in consulting what will be for their real and permanent good. If, therefore, the course here recommended has been shown to be not only indispensable to public morals, but more likely than any other to reclaim the offender, it is clearly not more a dictate of justice to the community, than of Christian charity to the parties more immediately concerned. Consider, also, how much is asked, when a good man is called upon to open his doors to persons without virtue and without principle. Unless the social circle is presided over by a spirit which will rebuke and frown away immorality, whatever fashionable names and disguises it may wear,—unless your sons and daughters can meet together without being in danger of having their faith disturbed by the jeers of the infidel, or their purity sullied by the breath of the libertine, neither they nor you are safe in the most innocent enjoyments and recreations. Parents at least should take a deep interest in this subject, if they do not wish to see the virtue, which they have reared under the best domestic discipline, blighted and corrupted before their eyes by the temptations to which their children are almost necessarily exposed in general society—a society which they can not escape except by going out of the world, and which they can not partake of without endangering the loss of what is of more value than a thousand worlds.

[_Sunday, November 25._]

I have failed altogether in my purpose in this discourse if I have not done something to increase your distrust of mere companionable qualities, when not under the control of moral and religious principle; and also of the moral character and moral influence of general society, as at present constituted. Still you may ask, “If I associate with persons worse than myself, how can it be made out to be more probable that they will drag me down to their level, than that I shall lift them up to mine?” The answer to this question, I hardly need say, depends, in no small measure, on the reason or motive which induces the association. If you mix with the world, not for purposes of pleasure or self-advantage—if you resort to society, not for society as an end, but as a means to a higher end, _the improvement of society itself_—you do but take up the heavenly mission which Christ began. For not being able to make the distinction, through the hollowness and corruption of their hearts, the Pharisees thought it to be a just ground of accusation against our Lord, that he was willing to be accounted the friend of publicans and sinners. Let the same mind be in you that was also in Christ Jesus, and we can not doubt that the spirit which inspires you will preserve you wherever you may go. It is of such persons that our Lord has said: “Behold, I give unto you power to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy; and nothing shall by any means harm you.” Very far am I, therefore, from denying that we may do good in society, as well as incur danger and evil. Even in common friendships frequent occasions will present themselves for mutual service, for mutual counsel and admonition. Let me impress upon you this duty. Perhaps there is not one among you all, who has not at this moment companions on whom he can confer an infinite blessing. If there is a weak place in their characters, if to your knowledge they are contemplating a guilty purpose, if they are on the brink of entering into dangerous connections, by a timely, affectionate, and earnest remonstrance you may save them from ruin. _Remember, we shall all be held responsible, not only for the evil which we do ourselves, but for the evil which we might prevent others from doing; it is not enough that we stand; we must endeavor to hold up our friends._

Very different from this, however, is the ordinary commerce of society; and hence its danger. If we mix with the world for the pleasure it affords, we shall be likely to be among the first to be reconciled to the freedom and laxity it allows. The world is not brought up to us, but we sink down to the world; the drop becomes of the consistence and color of the ocean into which it falls; the ocean remains itself unchanged. In the words of an old writer: “Though the well-disposed will remain some good space without corruption, yet time, I know not how, worketh a wound in him, which weakness of ours considered, and easiness of nature, apt to be deceived, looked into, they do best provide for themselves that separate themselves as far as they can from the bad, and draw as nigh to the good, as by any possibility they can attain to.” “He that walketh with wise men shall be wise; but a companion of fools shall be destroyed.”

POLITICAL ECONOMY.

By G. M. STEELE, D.D.

II.

PRODUCTION, CONTINUED—CAPITAL—COMBINATION AND DIVISION OF LABOR.

5. We have already seen that an essential to any considerable production is _capital_. We have seen the nature of capital and how it comes to exist. We have also learned that though capital implies saving, mere saving is not the sole condition of capital; indeed, a narrow penuriousness prevents the rapid accumulation of capital. The man who is accustomed to bring his water from a spring a quarter of a mile from his house instead of digging a well at the cost of a few dollars, or a few days’ work, acts uneconomically. In the long run the bringing of the water from the spring costs him much more than the digging of the well. The man who has extensive grain-fields, and who, for the sake of saving the expense of a reaper, or even a cradle, continues to use the sickle, will find that his saving results in a loss instead of a gain.

A man does not need to be rich in order to be a capitalist. When the savage has invented a bow and arrows he has the rudiments of capital. The laborer who has reserved out of his earnings enough to buy him a set of tools, or a few acres of land, is as really a capitalist as the owner of factories or railroads. Whatever property is used for production is capital.

Capital exists in many forms. It has been generally divided into _fixed_ and _circulating_, though the limits of these divisions are not very precisely defined. The main difference consists in this, that while certain kinds of capital are used only once in the fulfillment of their purposes, other kinds are used repeatedly. Fuel can be burned but once. An axe may serve for years. Circulating capital is of two kinds:

(1) There are the stock and commodities which are to be consumed in reproduction; (_a_) the material out of which the new product is to be made, as lumber for cabinet ware, leather for shoes, etc.; (_b_) food and other provisions for the sustenance of the laborers.

(2) There is the stock of completed commodities on hand and ready for the market. The chairs that are finished and ready for sale in the chair factory are of this character. It is to be observed that the same article may be at one time circulating and at another fixed capital. Thus the chairs just spoken of, while they are in the hands of the manufacturer, or passing through those of the dealers, are circulating capital. It is only when they become _fixed in use_ that their character changes.

Fixed capital consists (1) of all tools, implements, and machinery, used in the trades. Here, too, belong all structures of every sort for productive purposes; (2) all beasts of burden and draft; (3) all improvements of land implied in clearing, fencing, draining, fertilizing, terracing, etc.; (4) all mental acquisitions gained by labor and which give man power for productive results.

Obviously capital, by whomsoever owned, is an advantage to the laborer. But such capital is useless to the owner unless he can unite it with labor. So, too, the ability to labor is of no benefit to the laborer unless he can employ it in connection with capital. Generally the more capital there is in a community, other things being equal, the better it is for the laborer; and the more laborers there are, other things being equal, the better it is for the capitalist. When a factory burns down it may destroy only a small part of the wealth of the owners, and they may not palpably suffer; but it is very likely to deprive the laborers, who are connected with it, of the means of securing their daily sustenance.

There is no natural antagonism of interests between capital and labor, but rather the utmost concord and interdependence. Whatever conflicts arise between the laborers and the capitalists come from the unnatural selfishness and jealousy of the parties concerned.

6. As has been intimated, it is only by application of principles underlying political economy that we come to the conditions of the highest production, or, in other words, find how to satisfy the largest range of desires to the greatest extent at the smallest cost of labor. One of the chief means of effecting this is by _the combination and division of labor_. Recalling what was said concerning association and individuality, we shall see what principles are involved here, and how naturally they came into operation. As there was seen to be no antagonism between the two latter conceptions when carefully analyzed, so there is none, but rather the opposite, between combination and division of labor. It is true that there are instances where combination may take place without division, as when men unite to effect purposes which one could not accomplish except in much more than the proportionate time; as also in some cases to affect purposes which the individual could not effect in any length of time, such as the moving and placing of heavy timbers and stones, the management of ships and railway trains, etc. But for the most part men divide their labor in the process in order that they may combine the result. This is done in two ways:

(1) Men divide up the work of supplying human wants into different trades and occupations, according to their several tastes and aptitudes. Each man needs nearly the same that every other needs. But while each provides for only one kind of want, he provides more than enough to satisfy his own desire in that particular respect, and contributes the overplus to meet that same want in others. As all others do the same, each is contributing to meet the desires of one and all to each. The shoemaker, the tailor, the carpenter, the cabinet-maker, the blacksmith, the weaver, the paper-maker, the tin-man, the miner, the smelter, the painter, the glazier, etc., are all contributing to supply the farmer’s needs, and the farmer is contributing to all their needs. The wants of all are many times more fully met in this way than if each one should undertake to supply all his own wants.

(2) In some complicated trades the work is divided into a number of processes. There are men who could do every one of these parts; but such men are few, and their labor very costly, because some of the parts require rare skill and talent. What is needed is to organize several grades of laborers, so that the physically strong, the intelligent and skillful may have the work that only they can do; the less strong and skillful may find employment in the lighter and easier parts, and so all grades of ability down to the delicate woman or the little child, and up to the most powerful muscle and most advanced intelligence, can find their place. It is almost incredible how great is the increase of productiveness from the mere economical arrangement of workers. It is said that in so simple a matter as the making of pins, where the work is divided into ten processes and properly distributed, that the production will be _two hundred and forty times_ as much as if each man did the whole work on each pin.

This connects itself with another important condition of large production. I mean the diversification of employment in a community. It is only in such a varied industry that all the varied tastes, aptitudes and abilities of society can find scope and adaptation; and without this, production must fall far short of its possibilities. This, too, is required to develop those differences which constitute individuality, and on which association depends.

There are other conditions of enlarged production, such as are implied in freedom, good government, and the moral character of the community, the influence of each of which will easily suggest itself to thoughtful minds.

III.—CONSUMPTION.

1. Consumption is the destruction of values. Production implies consumption. In general, all material is destroyed in entering into new forms of wealth. Thus, leather must be destroyed in order to the production of shoes. Flour must disappear in the manufacture of bread, and wheat in the making of flour. Every kind of implement, or machine or structure is consumed by use. This consumption is immediate, or by a single use; or it is gradual. The food that we eat and the fuel that we burn are examples of the former; tools, bridges, buildings and aqueducts are examples of the latter. It is accomplished in a few months or years; or is protracted through centuries.