restraint, and he does not venture to place much hope in the imperfect morality of the human race. The second sees it above
all in foresight, in that control over one's conduct which is developed by the desire for well-being and by the fear of losing
what one has already gained, and which determines and supports the social customs, duties, and moral sentiments
prevailing in the environment in which one lives. According to him, consequently, every step taken on the way toward well-
being tends, by the need to go farther, to encourage this prudent self-control. Man, as life becomes easier for him, becomes
more difficult and demanding in what he expects from life. Thus, the vicious circle in which Malthus seems to enclose
mankind, Bastiat, by a hardly noticeable correction, opens up, so to speak, into a spiral of indefinite progress; and the
problem of population, over which the sinister shadow of death appeared to have fallen, becomes, from his point of view, a
law of social harmony and human perfectibility, like all other sociological laws.
There are in Bastiat's theory on this question two quite distinct parts.
In the first, he shows that Malthus failed to give sufficient significance to the preventive check in calling it moral restraint, and
that the limit of the means of existence, which seems to present itself at first glance as a fatal and inflexible minimum, is, on
the contrary, both in theory and in fact, a movable barrier that progress keeps constantly advancing—at least in every society
founded on justice and liberty.
It would be pointless to reiterate here Bastiat's argument demonstrating this thesis, and, besides, it coincides with the
admirable studies that Rossi has carried out on the same subject. In full agreement with Malthus that, "in view of the
imperfect way in which the precept of moral restraint has hitherto been observed, it would be visionary to hope for any
important improvement in this respect," one may be permitted, without being regarded as in any way visionary, to recognize
and point out that men, once enjoying a condition of well-being, are very eager to avoid doing anything that might impair it,
and that this principle of self-restraint manifests itself, quite unnoticed, to a great extent in the habits, ideas, and social
customs of the upper classes. Of course, a young man of twenty-four beginning his career or just out of a school where he
has received specialized training for his profession never gives a moment's thought to Malthus' law; all he is thinking of is
making a place for himself before burdening himself with a family. A ship's captain who spends the whole year in the long
voyage from Le Havre or Nantes to the Indies would laugh in your face if you complimented him on his virtue and will tell you
that, having a good education, but little money, he is looking for a wife he can love, that is to say, one well brought up, like
himself, with a certain refinement of mind and manners, etc. But for this he needs to attain some degree of affluence, and he
proposes to devote five or six years of his youth to laboriously laying a foundation for his future happiness. Instead of five or
six years only, it could well be ten or a dozen, and perhaps, taking a fancy to life at sea, he will end by remaining single. All
this is hardly contestable.
But Bastiat goes farther than Rossi. The latter, although attributing to the upper classes, a preponderant concern with the
preventive check, thinks nevertheless that among the working classes the repressive check is virtually the only one that
operates.
This distinction is too sharp. No doubt the proletariat is, by and large, less prudent than the bourgeoisie. But, in fact, it is easy
to demonstrate, as Bastiat does, a progressive diminution in that part of the proletariat which is thriftless and improvident and
a constant improvement in the well-being of the poorest classes. Now, in order for this twofold effect to be produced among
a multitude which not only has an inherent tendency to increase, but which, besides, receives into its ranks those of the
upper strata who fall from their superior social position, and which serves in some sort as an outlet for their vices, the
preventive check must necessarily have operated on the proletariat far more powerfully than appears at first sight. How does
this come about? It is simply that the proletariat encounters, in the very conditions of labor open to it, a multiplicity of
obstacles already established that keep its numbers within bounds without its even being aware of them. I may cite, for
example, domestic service—the whole business of working as wet nurses, which seems destined to absorb a good part of the
exuberant fecundity of country women, and, for the men, military service and life in the army camp and the barracks; the
great emigration of workers, which, in breaking their natural ties with family and neighbors, keeps them isolated, because of
differences in the customs and sometimes in the language of the country to which they go in search of employment; the
crowding of workmen in great centers of industry, around factories, foundries, mines, etc., with the concomitant substitution
of the comradeship of the workshop for the intimacy of the family; migratory labor among field hands; the nomadic existence
of traveling salesmen and others engaged in commerce properly so called; etc., etc.
To these one might well add the years of apprenticeship and the ever more demanding conditions imposed by progress. "To
attain the high standard of living of modern society," says Proudhon, "a prodigious scientific, aesthetic, and industrial
development is required..... Twenty-five years of education no longer suffices to secure a position among the privileged
classes. What will it be in the future? ...."‡ Obviously the preventive check is imposed on the proletariat in countless
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