(e) Fichte

Johann Gottlieb Fichte (1762–1814) has incontestable claims to admission to a history of socialism, though there may be some doubts as to the precise chapter to which he should be shepherded. In some respects he has kinship with later German developments, in so far as German thought has always shown a marked tendency in favour of a strong State and a strict authoritarian régime. On the other hand, he is essentially of the eighteenth century, and perhaps therefore he may be included here among writers who on the whole represent late eighteenth-century impulses. Fichte may not unfairly be described as a Utopian, in the sense that the book with which we are here concerned (Der geschlossne Handelsstaat) is calculated to elicit the snorts of the practically minded; he is a philosopher; being of the eighteenth century, he moves within the framework of the idea of a Social Contract—not indeed of one contract, but of a whole plethora of contracts, which are held together and guaranteed by the State. Even of the exiguous contents of the Geschlossne Handelsstaat there is much that may here be left aside. What concerns us is his view of the functions of the State; of the relation of the State to its members, and of the members of the State to each other. The purpose of the State, in rounded language, is said to be to give to each what is his; to confirm each in his possession, and thereafter to protect him therein.¹ It is the State alone which has power to turn an indeterminate crowd into a ‘closed whole’; through it alone a right to property can be established. The distribution of functions (if one may borrow a later phrase) rests on a contract of all with all, and the underlying assumption on which the contract is based is that all should have approximately an equal share of the pleasures and amenities of life: they must alle ungefähr gleich angenehm leben können.²

Who, it may be asked, are the parties to this contract or contracts? We have, it may be, come to swallow the idea of a Social Contract, as presented by Hobbes, Locke or Rousseau, without too much protest against the absurdity of the whole business—perhaps because most of us encounter these contracts at an early and unquestioning stage of our initiation into political wisdom. Elsewhere, fictitious and notional contracts reek of artificiality, and tend to provoke expressions of impatient incredulity—nowhere more so than in the case of Fichte. His contract is in the first place between the Produzenten and the Künstler, the producers of the original materials and the artificers—and ultimately as there are all manner of artificers, the number of contracts is proportionately multiplied. The substance of the contract, in very simplified language, is that each shall do his job, and stick to his job, and not interfere with the other man's job, and inevitably, of course, that each shall ebenso angenehm leben können as the others. To these presently come the merchants, the Kaufleute, with further proliferation of contracts, and obviously it is also essential that the Kaufmann should ebenso angenehm leben könne as the original producer and the artificer. The basis of all these imaginary contracts is that all should be able to enjoy an equally agreeable life.¹

It is time to introduce the State into this orgy of contracts; for in one sense the function of the State is to assure the observance of all the contracts which have thus been made.² The fact that the argument is phrased with reference to contracts which were never made and never could have been made is immaterial: what clearly emerges is a State with devastatingly extensive powers. In the first place, it must determine the number of those to be admitted to each calling, and must never allow any excess over the number deemed necessary. And in this task it must see to the provision of essentials before allowing for luxuries. There must be enough for all, before there are superfluities for some.³ The State must have an absolute power to refuse anyone the right to exercise a calling. Also there must be proof of capacity; every candidate must satisfy the Kunstverständige, the knowers-of-the-job. The number of merchants is likewise fixed, and they are under an obligation to buy or sell on demand, like the Bank of England in the matter of gold under the Act of 1925.⁴ The whole of production is to be carefully planned on the basis of requirements; and control of the machine is facilitated by the fact that merchants are guaranteed their customers and their sources of supply. There are to be bestimmte Verkäufer and bestimmte Abkäufer—registered customers, in the language of a war-tried generation.⁵

The State must also fix prices which indeed are to be unalterable for all time. Into Fichte's theory of value it is unnecessary to enter. It is not a promising avenue to take as the measure of the relative value of things, the time we can live on them respectively.⁶ His theory of value is mixed up with his theory of money, which, even on points of detail, is suggestive of Knapp, without the inconvenience of Knapp's barbarous language.¹ The State must have its own money, which must be no one else's money, and as the State can do what it likes in these matters, prices may be fixed without any variableness or shadow of turning.²

One last point may be noted in this regimented world. As is indicated by the title of his essay, Der Geschlossne Handelsstaat, Fichte aims at creating a self-contained world. No one is to be allowed to engage in foreign trade. If there must be foreign trade (and the possibility is not wholly excluded), then it should be regarded—like the making of war, of treaties and alliances—as something to be done by the State alone. Any arrangement whereby the citizen of one State is allowed to have direct dealings with the citizens of another State must in fact view them both as citizens of one State.³ The thought is not very gracefully expressed, but the implication is clear. Economic intercourse can take place only between citizens of the same state, and indeed it implies common citizenship. The frontiers within which intercourse may take place should therefore be adjusted accordingly. It is, from a different angle, akin to the physiocratic idea, that the merchant is a danger because he belongs to two countries. If goods are required from abroad—and in fact the need of imports can be cut down to the vanishing point—then the State and the State alone should do it on the basis of barter: rather pathetically, Fichte contemplates such arrangements (when necessary) as enduring to eternity, zu ewige Zeiten⁴

Fichte does not usually figure with any prominence in histories of socialism—and perhaps rightly so. The network of contracts on which he bases his view of society may be ignored as eighteenth-century convention, quite becoming in a son of the eighteenth century; much (with all respect to a great philosophical name) may be regarded as somewhat foolishly impracticable; he may be criticised for his vagueness (if such a word may be applied to a complete silence) on the important question of the machinery through which the State will discharge its high tasks. But on two points at least, he is extremely instructive for our purposes and reveals insight denied even to some of our own day.

In the first place, Fichte's idea is that of a State of unlimited competence whose primary purpose is to guarantee to all the requirements of a reasonable life. But he does not delude himself, as some of our own generation do, into the belief that a State can provide for everyone on these lines, and yet leave everyone free to do as he likes. The price of a guaranteed security lies in a sacrifice of freedom. In Fichte's vision, the citizen, if he does not become the slave of the State, at least lives subject to the constant direction and redirection of a National Service Officer. It is by Gesetz und Zwang alone—by law and compulsion—that the State may discharge its obligations.¹ In the concluding paragraphs, Fichte realises that the opposition to his visionary proposals will come from those who incessantly call aloud for freedom, free trade, freedom from supervision by the police, freedom from order and morality. To these people, he adds contemptuously, anything aiming at regularity and a firmly established uniform march of events, appears as an infringement of their natural freedom.² To authoritarians of all classes, liberalism has always been the arch-enemy. Socialism of the type outlined by Fichte is, on his own analysis, incompatible with freedom.

The other point of interest in Fichte is in the central conception of the ‘closed State,’ the enactment that none shall engage in foreign trade. This may be, and perhaps is, foolish, especially with some of Fichte's refinements; but at least it may be urged that it is at worst a foolish answer to a real difficulty, and this is always more stimulative to the advance of truth than a failure to realise that a difficulty exists, Foreign trade is for Fichte an upsetting element in the national balance sheet: it represents the roots of instability. A State cannot guarantee the undisturbed continuance of a foreign market; if, with its encouragement, its citizens embark in enterprises which may suddenly come to an end, how can it then, in the day of adversity, discharge its primary duty towards its citizens? The question of foreign trade has long been a stumbling-block in socialist speculation. For the present day, Fichte's difficulty may be put more pointedly. We are told, by an increasing multiplicity of voices, that ‘outside planning there can be no salvation. But, in effect, says Fichte, forerunner of planners,³ no one may plan who does not have under his control all the elements that enter into the plan. In this sense, foreign trade is most emphatically not subject to control. If our national plan assumes the export of so much coal to Poland and Italy, or the export of so much salted cod to South America, and so on indefinitely, and if these countries should’ suddenly decide otherwise, what then becomes of the plan? In substance, Fichte's contention was that only a self-contained unit can ‘plan’; and in this sense he was abundantly right.