(c) Rodbertus

Johann Karl Rodbertus (1805–1875), who here appears third among the exponents of scientific socialism, might claim, if only on chronological grounds, the right to the highest seat. At one time, indeed, his delirious followers claimed for him a place in the German firmament comparable to that ordinarily assigned to Goethe, and feuds as to the extent to which Marx plagiarised Rodbertus periodically illumine an otherwise dull page. It may be an unworthy suspicion, but it is difficult, two (or three) generations after the event, to resist the impression that the quite obviously unjustifiable adulation of Rodbertus has its hidden springs in a desire to play down Marx by those to whom Marx was antipathetic. While this may have been a highly natural impulse, the results are not always happy. When one overhears the worshippers of Rodbertus speaking of Unser Denker, almost is one persuaded to be a Marxian.

But if in Germany Rodbertus was for a time a philosopher almost grotesquely overrated (by some), he has exercised no influence and has never excited more than the most tepid interest in this country. Even the gallant, if somewhat uninspired, attempt of the late Sir Edward Gonner to present The Social Philosophy of Rodbertus to the English-speaking world made little impression on the general indifference. Rodbertus has remained little more than a name which the navigator of the Marxian wastes periodically encounters on the fringes of his explorations.

While therefore he may not be ignored, nevertheless in this country and for this generation, he receives adequate attention if, despite his priority in time, he is treated somewhat summarily as a supplementary note to Marx. The man himself, in his aloofness from the battle, in his leisured air of well-being, provides an interesting contrast to Marx and Lassalle alike. He was a lawyer, practising—but not for too long—in the State service. While still young, he bought the estate of Jagetzow in Pomerania, and was consequently known as Rodbertus-Jagetzow. He played some part in local politics, and indeed was for a few weeks, in 1848, Minister of Education. Thereafter he was the cultured country squire, dividing his time between the management of his estate and speculations on what was wrong with the world, and how, given a few centuries, it could be put right. In the peace of his Rittergut, he was able to view things from afar.

Rodbertus, in his general theoretical position, is not far removed from Marx; though indeed the same is true of the early English pre-Marxian socialists. In other words, he is largely engaged in pushing Ricardian conclusions a stage further to serve ends of which Ricardo never dreamed. There is a good deal of justification for calling him the ‘Ricardo of Economic Socialism’—a phrase coined by Wagner.¹ But though Rodbertus and Marx are not far apart in the main as theoretical analysts of the world and of ‘Capital,’ there is nevertheless a considerable difference in the atmosphere. Rodbertus is interested in the ‘Social Problem’ and its solution. He would have said that his life was devoted Zur Beleuchtung der Sozialen Frage—to quote the title of his most significant book—to the illumination of the social problem. And if anyone asks what he understood by the ‘social problem,’ the answer here is singularly precise, and perhaps somewhat limited. Expressly in his own words, the social problem consists, and consists exclusively, in Pauperismus and Handelskrisen—in the prevalent increasing poverty and in commercial crises.² Rodbertus throughout is concerned, directly or indirectly, with these two questions and with these two questions alone. It is indeed his unquestioned merit that no one previously had placed what we should now call the Trade Cycle so completely and so emphatically in the centre of things, as in large measure the source of the world's maladies.

The dominant factor in Rodbertus’ economic theorising is to be found in his unquestioning acceptance of the Ricardian Law of Wages, in the sense in which it was also understood by Lassalle. Whether or not this was a faithful interpretation is immaterial. Wages, he asserts, have never, or for any length of time, been above the necessary subsistence level.³ He uses the same adjective as does Lassalle: it is the grausame Gesetz, whereby wages gravitate to the level of bare necessities.⁴ To arrive, almost prematurely, at the central and most characteristic idea in Rodbertus’ presentation, we must combine this statement of the Iron Law of Wages in its most brazen form with the undoubted fact that wealth is increasing, that we are living in an age of ever-increasing abundance. If wages are depressed to subsistence level (with, if possible, a tendency downwards), while the sum total of wealth is simultaneously increasing, it follows naturally and ineluctably that that part of the national dividend that is devoted to wages must represent a diminishing share of the nation's income. Thus we arrive at the Law of the Diminishing Wage Share. The amount of wages need not decline absolutely; with an increase in the number of workers, the total wage-bill would presumably rise. But the proportion which it bears to the total will, as things are, go on falling. Wages, the reward of the ‘labouring classes,’ will be a perpetually shrinking share of the nation's wealth.¹

It is this Law of the Diminishing Wage-Share which, for Rodbertus, sheds a light on most dark places. It is the operation of this law which must be abrogated, if the world is to be healed. Though slightly off our main path, it may be noted that it furnishes, to Rodbertus’ satisfaction, an explanation of commercial crises. The trade cycle (to use later terminology) rests on the fact that purchasing power and productivity do not keep in step. Rather is it true that the purchasing power of the largest part of society diminishes in proportion to increased productivity. Consequently, society finds itself producing use-values which are no longer market-values, although need, so far as concerns most of the population, is still unsatisfied.² Waiving the phraseology of Rodbertus, which has here a somewhat Marxian aroma, the explanation of the trade cycle here offered is that periodically maladjustments arise, because of a comparative failure of purchasing power on the part of a large part of the population. It is extremely doubtful whether the ‘diminishing wage-share’ can logically be called upon to bear the burden thus placed upon it; but the theory has obvious kinship with various later lines of thought.

But though the ‘Commercial Crisis’ is almost half the picture in Rodbertus' presentation, its significance lies chiefly in the fact that it periodically accentuates the poverty and the misery already prevalent. Let us look somewhat more closely at these ‘labouring classes,’ and see their position in the scheme of things. First of all—a general consideration—all commodities are, for Rodbertus, the product of labour and of labour only: putting it otherwise, all wealth is the creation of labour. Yet the labourers do not receive what they produce, nor on the basis of what they produce. Nor let anyone say that they are paid ‘out of capital,’ as the later Wages Fund Theory would have us believe. They are paid out of what they produce. Capital is merely ‘vorgethane Arbeit’—labour previously accomplished, requiring present labour to make it effective. There are only two kinds of income. There is, firstly, rent, which Rodbertus uses comprehensively to cover the revenue derived from the ownership of land and of capital alike. It is, in either case, an income derived by virtue of possession and without labour; and rent can arise only when society has advanced so far that labour produces more than it requires, and when there are arrangements and institutions which deprive the labourer of his surplus and enable it to be transferred to others. Apart from rent (comprehensively used to cover all unearned incomes) there are wages, which in effect are what is left over after all deductions have been made.¹

We have witnessed the operation of the Iron Law (though the copyright in the phrase belongs to Lassalle). If we grope for the ‘sanctions’ behind the Iron Law, we find that ultimately it derives its force from the fact that land and capital have become vested in individuals as their private possessions. The owners, confronting workers with empty hands, are thus enabled to allow them to work only on conditions; and the conditions imposed (if things are left to themselves) are naturally that the worker, in return for permission to live, shall surrender a portion, and ultimately the whole, of his surplus produce.² The ultimate cause of poverty and instability, working back through the diminishing wage-share and the Iron Law of Wages, is thus found in the private ownership of land and the means of production. Here is the seat of the world's malady.

But indeed the position of the working classes is even worse than this analysis discloses. Not only does the ‘natural’ wage exclude the worker from any share in his own mounting productivity, but simultaneously the burden of taxation imposed on him tends to increase until proportionately he has become the most heavily taxed of all, while at the same time he shares least in the benefits of State expenditure.³ These are indeed, in Rodbertus' own words, Berge von Unrecht—mountains of injustice. He might have quoted his favourite Shakespeare. What are the working classes but camels, who have their provand only for bearing burdens?

All this is the result of leaving things to ‘natural’ laws, and, assuming that the analysis is correct, Rodbertus is abundantly right in suggesting that these ‘natural’ laws should be replaced by ‘rational’ laws; in place of what is natürlich, we ought to establish what is vernünftig. It is an emphatic voice of protest against laissez faire and all its ways. On the side of social philosophy, as distinct from economic analysis, it is the most distinctive and abiding note in Rodbertus. The dominance of the private owner subjects the world to caprice, whereas we should be guided by reason and foresight. It is to the State that we must look for unbiased judgment and for decisions in the common interest of all: it is to the State that we must look in future for the conduct of enterprise. The worship of the State (using the words in no metaphorical sense) is a well-defined tradition in German thought, and to Rodbertus the State is divine. States pursue nur göttliche Ziele. Politics is the höchste und königlichste Kunst; and States themselves are die edelste Bildungen die es auf der Erde giebt,¹ These phrases are best left in the original; they are so alien to our way of thinking that any attempted translation might convey a suggestion of burlesque, or even of mockery, not present in Rodbertus’ words. He belonged to the generation of Germans who quoted Shakespeare, seeking by preference their inspiration in less familiar passages; it is not without significance that he places in the forefront the words of Ulysses in Troilus and Cressida:

There is a mystery—with whom relation
Durst never meddle—in the soul of state;
Which hath an operation more divine
Than breath or pen can give expressure to.

In one passage of fundamental importance, Rodbertus outlines his views of the nature of the State and of its responsibilities for its own development. States, he says, are organisms, living organisms, and therefore subject to perpetual development. Moreover, they lead a selbstschöpferisches Leben; they are self-creative, and it is their task to prescribe the line of their own development, and to devise such organs as may be necessary for the fulfilment of their own destiny.² The passage, which has a certain eloquence has also a certain nebulousness; but it is clear that, in Rodbertus’ view, States prescribe their own path down the course of history, that it is their task and their chief labour to devise laws and measures which will keep them in the right way, as equally to avoid laws and measures which will lead them astray. Here at least is a vision of purpose, of design, of continuity. With the aid of such a State, consciously pursuing an end determined by itself, we may hope to bring things more into conformity with reason, or at least—for Rodbertus is no optimist—we may prevent things from getting worse. But, on the threshold, it is as well to clear away certain possible deluding suggestions. We have seen that the root-trouble lies in the present ownership of land and capital, which has as a consequence that the workers with weak bargaining power—if indeed they have any at all—are compelled to sell their labour at bare subsistence rates. It is, however, no solution to suggest that land or capital, or indeed the product of labour itself, should belong to the worker. As in Lassalle, the principle of division of labour plays a quite large part in the theorisings of Rodbertus. It is division of labour that gives unity to society; but also it is division of labour that makes private property possible and renders exploitation inevitable. With the utmost emphasis, accordingly, Rodbertus declares (somewhat flamboyantly) that so long as division of labour pours out over society the cornucopia of its inestimable treasures, neither land, nor labour, nor the product of labour may be allowed to belong to the worker.¹ In short, under division of labour it is impossible to say what anyone produces: production is a social process.

Further, the ‘right to the whole produce of labour’ is a delusion because of deductions which must be made. All commodities are, as has been seen, the products of labour, and only labour entering directly into production has to be taken into account. In his first main statements, Rodbertus rather tends to side-track all work other than manual work. This does not, however, mean that there are not other activities, essential to the continuance of the Commonwealth, which need to be maintained. There is the doctor; there is the judge; there are the instruments of administration. Before the workers' share is determined, there must be an appropriate deduction to meet these essential claims. Subject to these reservations, rewards should be based on work done; just as, in a rational society, value, if not determined by labour, would at least be based on labour, so that in exchange equivalent sacrifices on the two sides would be involved.

Rodbertus has a tolerably precise view of the future—the very remote future—to which we are tending. It will be the complete example of State Socialism, where the State is divine, and where, at least by inference, the State authorities are perfectly wise and the rest of the population perfectly docile, so that they are under no temptation to question the State's perfect wisdom. The Leitung, the administration, of all things would be in the hands of the State, and all income would rest on work done and services rendered. With regard to the more immediate future, Rodbertus' vision is more clouded. Let us not delude ourselves. The world is not yet ready for socialism—will not be ready for socialism for another five hundred years. It is not for our time. The free will of society is not yet strong enough to do without the compulsion to work; there are hints that we still need the Geissel der Noth, the scourge of need, to impel us onwards. In short our moral strength is not yet great enough; we have not yet ended our journey in the wilderness. Moreover, the owners of capital and land—but perhaps especially the owners of land, since Rodbertus was a landowner—discharge certain functions which the State is not yet ready to take over. Consequently, possession must not for the present be disturbed. Present conditions may represent ‘mountains of injustice’; but as we are insufficiently developed morally, we must just lump it for a few centuries longer.¹ The inevitability of Mr. Sidney Webb's gradualness was as nothing compared to the gradualness of Rodbertus' inevitability.

Meanwhile measures should be taken to prevent a further deterioration, or perhaps even to effect an improvement. It is significant for Rodbertus’ outlook that he turns to the throne for effective leadership. A socialist monarchy, or a monarchy preparing the path to socialism is his ideal.² Except on one point, his ameliorative measures are statements of ends, rather than of means to ends. Rent (in his sense) should be restricted; the Law of the Diminishing Wage-share must be counteracted—indeed, wages must rise. The workers’ demand for mehr Besitz, a, larger share of what is going, must be satisfied³; and with the increased productivity which will spring from better organisation, it will be possible to meet this claim without in any way curtailing (meantime) what others receive. The workers must be protected against the uncertainties of the trade cycle; and taxation, now pressing on the worker with unjustifiable weight, must be reformed.

The one point on which (perhaps unfortunately) Rodbertus aimed at a more specific remedy was his suggestion for the prescription of a normal working day. This, with the Law of the Diminishing Wageshare, is what has remained most closely associated with the name of Rodbertus. Perhaps at the first blush the phrase is slightly misleading. Rodbertus was not concerned with anything so commonplace as a mere restriction of hours. Rather he aimed at the definition (inevitably to be done by tbe State) of a unit of work constituting for each occupation the normal working day. There should be a definite performance in normal time. This would open the way to equitable exchanges; it would assure the worker a share in increased productivity; and it would also make it possible to dispense with money. The State would in effect define for all industries what should be regarded as equivalent amounts of output, and workers would be paid accordingly with certificates testifying the amount of normal days’ work accomplished. These would then be exchangeable for other commodities representing the same amount of normal working days. The central authority would doubtless have to be incessantly engaged in redefining the unit of work: they would also have to assume responsibility for the issue of the necessary paper money, and they would have to devise a Magazinirungsystem,—surely an unnecessarily barbarous word—a system of depots where goods could be deposited for exchange.¹ One seems to feel the near presence of Robert Owen. Apart from the incessant necessary task of tinkering with the appropriate units, the proposal gapes with difficulties. Among other things it is based on the fallacious Marxian assumption that all labour results in commodities. Where there is no measurable product, the task of defining the unit for the day's work is insoluble. Well might Adler say that Rodbertus’ theory of labour-money conceals in itself a veritable nest of errors—ein wahres Nest von Irrtümern.² He picks out ten ‘grave defects’; but this by no means leaves the nest empty.

Such, much too briefly, is unser Denker—an interesting figure who, if he was at one time unduly exalted, is perhaps now in danger of being unduly neglected. Without doubt, for what it is worth, he had a certain priority over Marx: he had certainly considerable influence on Lassalle and on the more academic socialists of Germany. In so far as concerns the substance of his teaching, it is obvious that a world intent on explaining away Marx, can scarcely be expected to be kinder to Rodbertus. In some respects, indeed, there is a certain similarity in the attitude adopted by their admirers. Adolf Wagner may be regarded as having been the High Priest of the cult of Rodbertus. Writing as far back as 1885, he defined his attitude to his master. The majority of Rodbertus’ theoretical doctrines, he says somewhat bluntly, are false: in particular—and he proceeds to enumerate—his theory of value, his theory of rent and capital-formation, of population, of crises, his monetary and banking theories, und anderes mehr. It is a curious position. Apparently, according to his chief admirer, little that Rodbertus said is defensible or tenable, yet he remains a bahnbrechende Denker and an abiding inspiration. As we have seen, it is not so different in the case of Marx, where the efforts of his disciples have been increasingly devoted to showing that though each individual Marxian theory may have to be tossed to the critical wolves, yet the structure as a whole and the Marxian spirit remain above criticism. Otherwise Rodbertus is perhaps a somewhat ineffective philosopher. Never was there so complete a Fabian; never was there a socialist so conservative in his fundamental instincts. Somewhat ostentatiously, he shunned the dust and the heat and the turmoil.³ Partly he was a pessimist; partly he was timorous. What could be more pessimistic than his firm conviction that the school can avail nothing against the grime and the need of the homes from which the children come?¹ What could be more pessimistic than his belief that we are morally still some centuries behind the standard which socialism demands? And fear too was in his heart. In the peace of his Rittergut, he was haunted by the thought that society might be producing a race of barbarians in soul and in spirit; that there might yet be new waves of barbarian invasions, coming from within society itself—rude men who preferred to lay waste the seats of civilisation rather than endure its miseries longer.² One thinks of Mably who also wrung his hands; one thinks of von Thünen who also, in his country retreat, brooded over the miseries of his less fortunate fellows. Rodbertus was pre-eminently a man of culture—probably of too much culture. His writings reveal a sensitiveness and a sympathy which are entirely lacking in’ the more metallic purple patches of Marx and Lassalle. In the end it is difficult not to feel kindly towards him—an earnest, sincere and just man, slightly fearful, made vaguely uncomfortable by the roughness of men who were nevertheless his fellows, and trying to forgive in advance those hordes of wronged barbarians who, in their frustration, might one day invade Jagetzow and trample his Shakespeare under foot.