Capitalist production really begins only when a single capital employs a large number of workers at the same time, so that the labour process is carried out on a larger scale and produces more. A large number of workers acting at the same time, in the same place, to produce the same kind of commodity under the command of the same capitalist — this is the historical and logical starting point of capitalist production.
At first, the way the work is actually done hardly differs from the old guild handicraft system. The only real difference is that far more workers are employed at once by the same capital. The guild master's workshop has simply been enlarged.
At first, the difference is purely a matter of size. The mass of surplus-value a given capital produces equals the surplus-value from one worker multiplied by the number of workers. That number, by itself, changes neither the rate of surplus-value nor the degree of exploitation of labour-power. For the production of value generally, any change in how the work is done seems not to matter at all.
This follows directly from the nature of value. If a 12-hour working-day is embodied in 6 shillings, then 1,200 such working-days are embodied in 6 shillings times 1,200. In one case, 12 times 1,200 hours of labour are packed into the products; in the other, just 12 hours.
For value production, many workers always count only as many individual workers. Whether 1,200 workers produce separately or united under the command of the same capital makes no difference.
Yet within certain limits, a change does take place. Labour embodied in value is labour of an average social quality — the exertion of average labour-power. But an average exists only as the average of many separate individual amounts of the same kind. In every industry, the individual worker — Peter or Paul — deviates more or less from the average worker. These individual differences, called mathematical "errors," cancel each other out and vanish as soon as you gather a larger number of workers together. The famous sophist and sycophant Edmund Burke even claimed, based on his practical experience as a farmer, that in a group as small as five farmhands all individual differences in labour vanish — any five adult English farmhands will do just as much work in the same time as any other five.
However that may be, the total working-day of a large number of workers employed at once, divided by the number of workers, is in and of itself a day of average social labour. Say the individual working-day is 12 hours. Then the combined working-day of 12 workers is 144 hours. Even if any one worker's labour deviates from the social average — needing more or less time for the same task — the working-day of each worker, as a twelfth of that 144-hour total, possesses social average quality.
For the capitalist who employs a dozen workers, the working-day exists as the combined working-day of the dozen. Each individual's day exists as a fraction of the total, regardless of whether the twelve actually work hand in hand or whether the only connection between their labours is that they all work for the same capitalist.
If those 12 workers are instead employed in pairs by six small masters, it becomes a matter of chance whether each master produces the same mass of value and realizes the general rate of surplus-value. Individual deviations would occur. If one worker took significantly more time than is socially necessary to produce a commodity, his individually necessary labour-time would deviate from the socially necessary, average labour-time. His labour would not count as average labour, his labour-power not as average labour-power. It would not sell at all, or only below the average value of labour-power.
A certain minimum of skill is therefore assumed, and capitalist production will later be shown to find ways to measure this minimum. Still, even that minimum deviates from the average, though the capitalist must pay the average value of labour-power. Of the six small masters, one would squeeze out more than the general rate of surplus-value, another less. The inequalities cancel out for society as a whole, but not for the individual master.
The general law of valorization — capital expanding its own value — is therefore fully realized for the individual producer only once he produces as a capitalist — employing many workers at once, and thereby setting in motion social average labour from the start.
Even when the way the work is done stays exactly the same, employing a large number of workers at once brings about a revolution in the material conditions of the labour process. Buildings where many work, storage for raw materials, vessels, tools, and apparatus used by many at once or in turns — in short, a portion of the means of production is now consumed in common during the labour process.
The exchange-value of commodities — and therefore of means of production — is not increased at all by more intensive shared use. But the scale of the means of production used in common does grow. A room where 20 weavers work at 20 looms must be larger than a single independent weaver's room. But building one workshop for 20 people costs less labour than building ten workshops for two each, and so the value of concentrated, shared means of production does not grow in proportion to their physical scale and usefulness.
Means of production consumed in common transfer a smaller value-component to each individual product — partly because the total value they give up is spread over a larger mass of products, and partly because, compared to isolated means of production, they enter the process with a greater absolute value but a relatively smaller value given their wider scope of use. This lowers a value-component of the constant capital, and the total value of the commodity falls proportionally. The effect is the same as if the means of production had been produced more cheaply.
This economy in the use of means of production arises only from their common consumption in the labour process of many. And these means of production take on this social character as conditions of social labour even if the many work merely side by side in the same space without actually cooperating. A portion of the instruments of labour acquires this social character before the labour process itself does.
The economy of means of production must be considered from two angles. First, insofar as it cheapens commodities and thereby lowers the value of labour-power. Second, insofar as it changes the ratio of surplus-value to the total capital advanced — that is, to the sum of its constant and variable components. This second point is not dealt with until the first section of Book Three of this work, and for the sake of coherence other related matters are deferred there too.
The line of analysis forces this splitting of the subject, and it so happens that the split mirrors the spirit of capitalist production itself. For here, since the conditions of labour confront the worker as something independent and alien, economy in their use appears as a special operation that does not concern him — something separate from the methods that raise his own personal productive power.
The form of labour of many who work side by side and with one another in a planned way, in the same production process or in connected ones, is called cooperation.
The striking power of a cavalry squadron or the resistance of an infantry regiment is essentially different from the sum of the individual striking powers or resistances of each cavalryman or infantryman taken alone. The same holds for the sum of the mechanical forces of isolated workers compared with the social force that develops when many hands act together at the same time in one single undivided operation — lifting a weight, turning a crank, or clearing an obstacle.
In such cases, the effect of the combined labour could either not be produced by isolated labour at all, or only over far longer periods, or only on a tiny scale. What is at issue here is not merely an increase in the individual productive power of labour through cooperation, but the creation of a productive power that must in and of itself be a mass-power.
Apart from the new power that springs from merging many forces into one total force, in most productive work mere social contact produces an emulation and a stir of the spirits that raises the individual capacity of each worker. A dozen people working together in a simultaneous working-day of 144 hours produce a far greater total product than twelve isolated workers each working 12 hours, or one worker working 12 days in a row.
This is because man is by nature — if not, as Aristotle held, a political animal, then at any rate a social animal.
Even when many people do the same or similar work at the same time, the individual labour of each can still count as a distinct part of the collective labour, representing different phases of the labour process that the object of labour passes through more quickly because of cooperation. If masons form a line to pass building-stones from the foot of a scaffold to its top, each does the same thing — yet their separate actions form continuous parts of one total operation, particular phases that each stone must pass through. The 24 hands of the combined worker move the stone faster than the two hands of any individual worker climbing up and down the scaffold. The object passes over the same distance in less time.
A combination of labour also occurs when a building is attacked from different sides at once, though again each co-operator is doing the same or similar work. The combined working-day of 144 hours, because it assails the object from many sides in space — because the combined worker has eyes and hands both front and back and is, in a degree, omnipresent — advances the total product faster than 12 twelve-hour days of more or less isolated workers who must attack their work from one side only. Different spatial parts of the product ripen in the same period of time.
We stressed that the many who complement one another are all doing the same or similar work, because this simplest form of common labour plays a great role even in the most fully developed form of cooperation. When the labour process is complex, the sheer number of those working together allows the different operations to be distributed among different hands, and therefore carried out at the same time — and so the labour-time needed to produce the total product is shortened.
In many branches of production there are critical moments — periods fixed by the nature of the labour process itself during which certain results must be achieved. If a flock of sheep must be shorn, or a number of acres of corn must be mowed and harvested, the quantity and quality of the product depend on the work beginning at a certain time and ending by a certain time. The span the labour process may take is prescribed, just as in herring fishing.
An individual can carve only one working-day — say, 12 hours — out of a single natural day, but the cooperation of 100 expands a 12-hour day into a working-day of 1,200 hours. The shortness of the labour period is compensated by the great mass of labour thrown onto the field of production at the decisive moment. Whether the effect is achieved in time depends on the simultaneous application of many combined working-days; the scale of the useful effect depends on the number of workers — though always fewer workers than the number of isolated workers who would be needed to fill the same field of action in the same time.
It is the lack of this cooperation that every year ruins a mass of corn in the western United States, and a mass of cotton in those parts of East India where English rule has destroyed the old communal system.
On one side, cooperation allows the spatial field of labour to be stretched, and so it is required for certain labour processes purely by the spatial spread of the object worked on — draining land, building dykes, irrigation, canals, roads, railways. On the other side, cooperation permits a relative contraction of the field of production, relative to the scale of production.
This narrowing of the spatial field of labour while simultaneously widening its sphere of action — which saves a mass of incidental overhead costs — arises from the piling together of workers, the crowding of different labour processes, and the concentration of the means of production.
Compared with an equal number of isolated individual working-days, the combined working-day produces greater masses of use-value and therefore reduces the labour-time needed to produce a given useful effect. Whether in a given case it gains this heightened productive power because it raises the mechanical force of labour, or extends its spatial sphere of action, or narrows the field of production relative to the scale of production, or concentrates much labour into little time at a critical moment, or stirs emulation and tensions the spirits of individuals, or stamps continuity and many-sidedness onto similar tasks done by many, or performs different operations at the same time, or economises means of production through common use, or gives individual labour the character of social average labour — under all circumstances, the specific productive power of the combined working-day is the social productive power of labour, the productive power of social labour.
It springs from cooperation itself. In planned, combined work with others, the worker sheds his individual limits and develops his species-capacity — the specifically human power to work socially.
Just as workers generally cannot cooperate without being brought together — so their assembly in one place is a condition of their cooperation — wage-workers cannot cooperate unless the same capital, the same capitalist, employs them simultaneously, and therefore buys their labour-powers at the same time. The total value of these labour-powers — the sum of wages for the day or the week — must already be in the capitalist's pocket before the labour-powers themselves are united in the production process. Paying 300 workers at once, even for just one day, takes more capital outlay than paying a few workers week by week through a whole year.
The number of cooperating workers, or the scale of cooperation, therefore depends in the first instance on the size of the capital that an individual capitalist can lay out in purchasing labour-power — that is, on the extent to which a single capitalist commands the means of subsistence of many workers.
What holds for variable capital holds for constant capital too. The outlay for raw material, for instance, is 30 times greater for the single capitalist who employs 300 workers than for each of 30 capitalists who employs 10. The value and the physical mass of the means of production used in common do not grow at the same rate as the number of workers employed, but they do grow considerably.
Concentration of large masses of the means of production in the hands of individual capitalists is therefore a material condition for the cooperation of wage-workers, and the extent of cooperation, or the scale of production, depends on the extent of this concentration.
At first, a certain minimum size of individual capital appeared necessary only so that the number of simultaneously exploited workers — and therefore the mass of surplus-value produced — would be enough to free the employer himself from manual labour, turning a small master into a capitalist and so establishing the capital-relation formally. Now that same minimum size appears as a material condition for transforming many scattered and mutually independent individual labour processes into one combined, social labour process.
Likewise, at first capital's command over labour appeared only as a formal consequence of the fact that the worker labours for the capitalist and therefore under the capitalist, instead of for himself. With the cooperation of many wage-workers, capital's command develops into a requirement for the execution of the labour process itself — a real condition of production. The capitalist's command on the field of production has now become as indispensable as a general's command on the field of battle.
All directly social or common labour on a large scale requires, more or less, a directing authority that mediates the harmony of individual activities and carries out the general functions arising from the movement of the whole productive body — functions distinct from the movement of its separate organs. A single violin player directs himself; an orchestra needs a conductor.
This function of directing, supervising, and mediating becomes a function of capital as soon as the labour under capital's control becomes cooperative. As a specific function of capital, it takes on specific characteristics.
First of all, the driving motive and determining purpose of the capitalist production process is the greatest possible self-expansion of capital — the greatest possible production of surplus-value, and therefore the greatest possible exploitation of labour-power by the capitalist. As the mass of workers employed at the same time grows, their resistance grows, and with it necessarily the pressure of capital to overcome that resistance.
The capitalist's direction is therefore not only a special function arising from the nature of the social labour process and belonging to it; it is at the same time a function of the exploitation of a social labour process, conditioned by the unavoidable antagonism between the exploiter and the raw material of his exploitation. Similarly, as the mass of means of production that confront the wage-worker as someone else's property grows, so does the need to control their proper use.
The cooperation of wage-workers is, moreover, a mere effect of the capital that simultaneously employs them. The connection of their functions and their unity as one productive body lie outside them — in capital, which brings them together and holds them together. The connection of their labours therefore confronts them ideally as a plan, and practically as the authority of the capitalist — as the power of an alien will, which subordinates their activity to its purpose.
If, then, capitalist direction is in content twofold — because the production process to be directed is itself twofold, being on one hand a social labour process for making a product, and on the other a process for the self-expansion of capital — then in form it is despotic.
As cooperation develops on a larger scale, this despotism develops its own peculiar forms. Just as the capitalist is first freed from manual labour once his capital reaches that minimum size where genuinely capitalist production begins, so now he hands over the function of directly and constantly supervising individual workers and groups of workers to a special sort of wage-labourer. Like an army, a mass of workers working under the command of the same capital needs industrial officers (managers) and non-commissioned officers (foremen, overlookers) who command during the labour process in the name of capital. The work of supervision becomes their exclusive function.
When comparing the mode of production of independent peasants or artisans with that of slave plantations, the political economist counts this work of oversight among the incidental overheads of production. But when considering the capitalist mode of production, he identifies the directing function that springs from the nature of the common labour process with the very different function necessitated by the capitalist, and therefore antagonistic, character of that process.
The capitalist is not a capitalist because he is an industrial leader; he becomes an industrial commander because he is a capitalist. Supreme command in industry becomes an attribute of capital, just as in feudal times supreme command in war and in court was an attribute of landed property.
The worker is the owner of his labour-power as long as he is bargaining with the capitalist to sell it, and he can sell only what he possesses — his individual, isolated labour-power. This relation is not changed at all by the fact that the capitalist buys 100 labour-powers instead of one, or signs contracts with 100 mutually independent workers instead of with one individual. He can put the 100 workers to work without letting them cooperate.
The capitalist therefore pays the value of 100 independent labour-powers, but he does not pay for the combined labour-power of the hundred. As independent persons, the workers are isolated individuals who enter into a relation with the same capital, but not into a relation with each other. Their cooperation begins only in the labour process — but by the time they are in the labour process they have already ceased to belong to themselves. On entering it, they are incorporated into capital. As co-operators, as members of a working organism, they are themselves merely a special mode of existence of capital.
The productive power that the worker develops as a social worker is therefore the productive power of capital. The social productive power of labour is developed free of charge as soon as workers are placed under certain conditions, and it is capital that places them under those conditions. Because this social productive power of labour costs capital nothing, and because it is not developed by the worker before his own labour already belongs to capital, it appears as a productive power that capital possesses by nature — as capital's own built-in productive power.
The colossal effect of simple cooperation shows itself in the gigantic works of the ancient Asiatics, Egyptians, Etruscans, and others.
"It happened in times past that these Asiatic states, after covering their civil and military expenses, found themselves in possession of a surplus of means of subsistence, which they could spend on works of magnificence and utility. Their command over the hands and arms of almost the entire non-agricultural population, and the exclusive control of the monarch and the priesthood over that surplus, gave them the means to erect those mighty monuments with which they filled the land… In the moving of colossal statues and enormous masses whose transport astounds us, almost nothing but human labour was squandered. The number of workers and the concentration of their toil sufficed. Thus we see mighty coral reefs swell up from the depths of the ocean into islands and solid land, though each individual depositor is tiny, weak, and contemptible. The non-agricultural workers of an Asiatic monarchy had little to bring to the work besides their individual bodily efforts, but their number was their strength, and the power of direction over these masses gave birth to those giant works. It was the concentration of the revenue on which the workers lived, in one hand or a few hands, that made such undertakings possible."
This power of Asiatic and Egyptian kings, or Etruscan theocrats, has passed in modern society to the capitalist — whether he appears as a single individual capitalist or, as in joint-stock companies, as a combined capitalist.
Cooperation in the labour process, as we find it prevailing at the dawn of human culture, among hunting peoples or in the agriculture of Indian communities, rests on one hand on common ownership of the conditions of production, and on the other on the fact that the individual has no more torn himself from the navel-cord of his tribe or community than a bee has from the hive. Both of these distinguish it from capitalist cooperation.
The sporadic application of cooperation on a large scale in the ancient world, the Middle Ages, and modern colonies rests on direct relations of domination and servitude — most often on slavery. The capitalist form, by contrast, presupposes from the start the free wage-worker who sells his labour-power to capital.
Historically, capitalist cooperation develops in opposition to peasant farming and independent handicraft, whether guild-organised or not. Seen from their standpoint, capitalist cooperation does not appear as one particular historical form of cooperation among others; rather, cooperation itself appears as a historical form peculiar to, and specifically distinguishing, the capitalist process of production.
Just as the social productive power of labour developed by cooperation appears as the productive power of capital, so cooperation itself appears — contrasted with the production process of isolated independent workers or even small masters — as a specific form of the capitalist production process. It is the first change that the real labour process undergoes once capital takes it over (its subsumption under capital).
This change comes about spontaneously. Its precondition — the simultaneous employment of a large number of wage-workers in the same labour process — forms the starting point of capitalist production, and that starting point coincides with the very existence of capital itself.
If, then, the capitalist mode of production presents itself on one hand as a historical necessity for the transformation of the labour process into a social process, on the other hand this social form of the labour process presents itself as a method used by capital to exploit it more profitably by raising its productive power.
In the simple shape considered so far, cooperation coincides with production on a large scale, but it does not yet form a fixed, characteristic shape of a particular epoch in the development of the capitalist mode of production. At most it appears approximately to do so in the still handicraft-like beginnings of manufacture, and in that kind of large-scale agriculture which corresponds to the manufacture period and differs from peasant farming essentially only by the mass of workers simultaneously employed and the scale of the concentrated means of production.
Simple cooperation remains the prevailing form in those branches of production where capital operates on a large scale without division of labour or machinery playing any significant role.
Cooperation remains the fundamental form of the capitalist mode of production, even though its simple shape continues to appear as one particular form alongside its further-developed forms.
Capitalist production really begins only when a single capital employs a large number of workers at the same time, so that the labour process is carried out on a larger scale and produces more. A large number of workers acting at the same time, in the same place, to produce the same kind of commodity under the command of the same capitalist — this is the historical and logical starting point of capitalist production.
At first, the way the work is actually done hardly differs from the old guild handicraft system. The only real difference is that far more workers are employed at once by the same capital. The guild master's workshop has simply been enlarged.
At first, the difference is purely a matter of size. The mass of surplus-value a given capital produces equals the surplus-value from one worker multiplied by the number of workers. That number, by itself, changes neither the rate of surplus-value nor the degree of exploitation of labour-power. For the production of value generally, any change in how the work is done seems not to matter at all.
This follows directly from the nature of value. If a 12-hour working-day is embodied in 6 shillings, then 1,200 such working-days are embodied in 6 shillings times 1,200. In one case, 12 times 1,200 hours of labour are packed into the products; in the other, just 12 hours.
For value production, many workers always count only as many individual workers. Whether 1,200 workers produce separately or united under the command of the same capital makes no difference.
Yet within certain limits, a change does take place. Labour embodied in value is labour of an average social quality — the exertion of average labour-power. But an average exists only as the average of many separate individual amounts of the same kind. In every industry, the individual worker — Peter or Paul — deviates more or less from the average worker. These individual differences, called mathematical "errors," cancel each other out and vanish as soon as you gather a larger number of workers together. The famous sophist and sycophant Edmund Burke even claimed, based on his practical experience as a farmer, that in a group as small as five farmhands all individual differences in labour vanish — any five adult English farmhands will do just as much work in the same time as any other five.
However that may be, the total working-day of a large number of workers employed at once, divided by the number of workers, is in and of itself a day of average social labour. Say the individual working-day is 12 hours. Then the combined working-day of 12 workers is 144 hours. Even if any one worker's labour deviates from the social average — needing more or less time for the same task — the working-day of each worker, as a twelfth of that 144-hour total, possesses social average quality.
For the capitalist who employs a dozen workers, the working-day exists as the combined working-day of the dozen. Each individual's day exists as a fraction of the total, regardless of whether the twelve actually work hand in hand or whether the only connection between their labours is that they all work for the same capitalist.
If those 12 workers are instead employed in pairs by six small masters, it becomes a matter of chance whether each master produces the same mass of value and realizes the general rate of surplus-value. Individual deviations would occur. If one worker took significantly more time than is socially necessary to produce a commodity, his individually necessary labour-time would deviate from the socially necessary, average labour-time. His labour would not count as average labour, his labour-power not as average labour-power. It would not sell at all, or only below the average value of labour-power.
A certain minimum of skill is therefore assumed, and capitalist production will later be shown to find ways to measure this minimum. Still, even that minimum deviates from the average, though the capitalist must pay the average value of labour-power. Of the six small masters, one would squeeze out more than the general rate of surplus-value, another less. The inequalities cancel out for society as a whole, but not for the individual master.
The general law of valorization — capital expanding its own value — is therefore fully realized for the individual producer only once he produces as a capitalist — employing many workers at once, and thereby setting in motion social average labour from the start.
Even when the way the work is done stays exactly the same, employing a large number of workers at once brings about a revolution in the material conditions of the labour process. Buildings where many work, storage for raw materials, vessels, tools, and apparatus used by many at once or in turns — in short, a portion of the means of production is now consumed in common during the labour process.
The exchange-value of commodities — and therefore of means of production — is not increased at all by more intensive shared use. But the scale of the means of production used in common does grow. A room where 20 weavers work at 20 looms must be larger than a single independent weaver's room. But building one workshop for 20 people costs less labour than building ten workshops for two each, and so the value of concentrated, shared means of production does not grow in proportion to their physical scale and usefulness.
Means of production consumed in common transfer a smaller value-component to each individual product — partly because the total value they give up is spread over a larger mass of products, and partly because, compared to isolated means of production, they enter the process with a greater absolute value but a relatively smaller value given their wider scope of use. This lowers a value-component of the constant capital, and the total value of the commodity falls proportionally. The effect is the same as if the means of production had been produced more cheaply.
This economy in the use of means of production arises only from their common consumption in the labour process of many. And these means of production take on this social character as conditions of social labour even if the many work merely side by side in the same space without actually cooperating. A portion of the instruments of labour acquires this social character before the labour process itself does.
The economy of means of production must be considered from two angles. First, insofar as it cheapens commodities and thereby lowers the value of labour-power. Second, insofar as it changes the ratio of surplus-value to the total capital advanced — that is, to the sum of its constant and variable components. This second point is not dealt with until the first section of Book Three of this work, and for the sake of coherence other related matters are deferred there too.
The line of analysis forces this splitting of the subject, and it so happens that the split mirrors the spirit of capitalist production itself. For here, since the conditions of labour confront the worker as something independent and alien, economy in their use appears as a special operation that does not concern him — something separate from the methods that raise his own personal productive power.
The form of labour of many who work side by side and with one another in a planned way, in the same production process or in connected ones, is called cooperation.
The striking power of a cavalry squadron or the resistance of an infantry regiment is essentially different from the sum of the individual striking powers or resistances of each cavalryman or infantryman taken alone. The same holds for the sum of the mechanical forces of isolated workers compared with the social force that develops when many hands act together at the same time in one single undivided operation — lifting a weight, turning a crank, or clearing an obstacle.
In such cases, the effect of the combined labour could either not be produced by isolated labour at all, or only over far longer periods, or only on a tiny scale. What is at issue here is not merely an increase in the individual productive power of labour through cooperation, but the creation of a productive power that must in and of itself be a mass-power.
Apart from the new power that springs from merging many forces into one total force, in most productive work mere social contact produces an emulation and a stir of the spirits that raises the individual capacity of each worker. A dozen people working together in a simultaneous working-day of 144 hours produce a far greater total product than twelve isolated workers each working 12 hours, or one worker working 12 days in a row.
This is because man is by nature — if not, as Aristotle held, a political animal, then at any rate a social animal.
Even when many people do the same or similar work at the same time, the individual labour of each can still count as a distinct part of the collective labour, representing different phases of the labour process that the object of labour passes through more quickly because of cooperation. If masons form a line to pass building-stones from the foot of a scaffold to its top, each does the same thing — yet their separate actions form continuous parts of one total operation, particular phases that each stone must pass through. The 24 hands of the combined worker move the stone faster than the two hands of any individual worker climbing up and down the scaffold. The object passes over the same distance in less time.
A combination of labour also occurs when a building is attacked from different sides at once, though again each co-operator is doing the same or similar work. The combined working-day of 144 hours, because it assails the object from many sides in space — because the combined worker has eyes and hands both front and back and is, in a degree, omnipresent — advances the total product faster than 12 twelve-hour days of more or less isolated workers who must attack their work from one side only. Different spatial parts of the product ripen in the same period of time.
We stressed that the many who complement one another are all doing the same or similar work, because this simplest form of common labour plays a great role even in the most fully developed form of cooperation. When the labour process is complex, the sheer number of those working together allows the different operations to be distributed among different hands, and therefore carried out at the same time — and so the labour-time needed to produce the total product is shortened.
In many branches of production there are critical moments — periods fixed by the nature of the labour process itself during which certain results must be achieved. If a flock of sheep must be shorn, or a number of acres of corn must be mowed and harvested, the quantity and quality of the product depend on the work beginning at a certain time and ending by a certain time. The span the labour process may take is prescribed, just as in herring fishing.
An individual can carve only one working-day — say, 12 hours — out of a single natural day, but the cooperation of 100 expands a 12-hour day into a working-day of 1,200 hours. The shortness of the labour period is compensated by the great mass of labour thrown onto the field of production at the decisive moment. Whether the effect is achieved in time depends on the simultaneous application of many combined working-days; the scale of the useful effect depends on the number of workers — though always fewer workers than the number of isolated workers who would be needed to fill the same field of action in the same time.
It is the lack of this cooperation that every year ruins a mass of corn in the western United States, and a mass of cotton in those parts of East India where English rule has destroyed the old communal system.
On one side, cooperation allows the spatial field of labour to be stretched, and so it is required for certain labour processes purely by the spatial spread of the object worked on — draining land, building dykes, irrigation, canals, roads, railways. On the other side, cooperation permits a relative contraction of the field of production, relative to the scale of production.
This narrowing of the spatial field of labour while simultaneously widening its sphere of action — which saves a mass of incidental overhead costs — arises from the piling together of workers, the crowding of different labour processes, and the concentration of the means of production.
Compared with an equal number of isolated individual working-days, the combined working-day produces greater masses of use-value and therefore reduces the labour-time needed to produce a given useful effect. Whether in a given case it gains this heightened productive power because it raises the mechanical force of labour, or extends its spatial sphere of action, or narrows the field of production relative to the scale of production, or concentrates much labour into little time at a critical moment, or stirs emulation and tensions the spirits of individuals, or stamps continuity and many-sidedness onto similar tasks done by many, or performs different operations at the same time, or economises means of production through common use, or gives individual labour the character of social average labour — under all circumstances, the specific productive power of the combined working-day is the social productive power of labour, the productive power of social labour.
It springs from cooperation itself. In planned, combined work with others, the worker sheds his individual limits and develops his species-capacity — the specifically human power to work socially.
Just as workers generally cannot cooperate without being brought together — so their assembly in one place is a condition of their cooperation — wage-workers cannot cooperate unless the same capital, the same capitalist, employs them simultaneously, and therefore buys their labour-powers at the same time. The total value of these labour-powers — the sum of wages for the day or the week — must already be in the capitalist's pocket before the labour-powers themselves are united in the production process. Paying 300 workers at once, even for just one day, takes more capital outlay than paying a few workers week by week through a whole year.
The number of cooperating workers, or the scale of cooperation, therefore depends in the first instance on the size of the capital that an individual capitalist can lay out in purchasing labour-power — that is, on the extent to which a single capitalist commands the means of subsistence of many workers.
What holds for variable capital holds for constant capital too. The outlay for raw material, for instance, is 30 times greater for the single capitalist who employs 300 workers than for each of 30 capitalists who employs 10. The value and the physical mass of the means of production used in common do not grow at the same rate as the number of workers employed, but they do grow considerably.
Concentration of large masses of the means of production in the hands of individual capitalists is therefore a material condition for the cooperation of wage-workers, and the extent of cooperation, or the scale of production, depends on the extent of this concentration.
At first, a certain minimum size of individual capital appeared necessary only so that the number of simultaneously exploited workers — and therefore the mass of surplus-value produced — would be enough to free the employer himself from manual labour, turning a small master into a capitalist and so establishing the capital-relation formally. Now that same minimum size appears as a material condition for transforming many scattered and mutually independent individual labour processes into one combined, social labour process.
Likewise, at first capital's command over labour appeared only as a formal consequence of the fact that the worker labours for the capitalist and therefore under the capitalist, instead of for himself. With the cooperation of many wage-workers, capital's command develops into a requirement for the execution of the labour process itself — a real condition of production. The capitalist's command on the field of production has now become as indispensable as a general's command on the field of battle.
All directly social or common labour on a large scale requires, more or less, a directing authority that mediates the harmony of individual activities and carries out the general functions arising from the movement of the whole productive body — functions distinct from the movement of its separate organs. A single violin player directs himself; an orchestra needs a conductor.
This function of directing, supervising, and mediating becomes a function of capital as soon as the labour under capital's control becomes cooperative. As a specific function of capital, it takes on specific characteristics.
First of all, the driving motive and determining purpose of the capitalist production process is the greatest possible self-expansion of capital — the greatest possible production of surplus-value, and therefore the greatest possible exploitation of labour-power by the capitalist. As the mass of workers employed at the same time grows, their resistance grows, and with it necessarily the pressure of capital to overcome that resistance.
The capitalist's direction is therefore not only a special function arising from the nature of the social labour process and belonging to it; it is at the same time a function of the exploitation of a social labour process, conditioned by the unavoidable antagonism between the exploiter and the raw material of his exploitation. Similarly, as the mass of means of production that confront the wage-worker as someone else's property grows, so does the need to control their proper use.
The cooperation of wage-workers is, moreover, a mere effect of the capital that simultaneously employs them. The connection of their functions and their unity as one productive body lie outside them — in capital, which brings them together and holds them together. The connection of their labours therefore confronts them ideally as a plan, and practically as the authority of the capitalist — as the power of an alien will, which subordinates their activity to its purpose.
If, then, capitalist direction is in content twofold — because the production process to be directed is itself twofold, being on one hand a social labour process for making a product, and on the other a process for the self-expansion of capital — then in form it is despotic.
As cooperation develops on a larger scale, this despotism develops its own peculiar forms. Just as the capitalist is first freed from manual labour once his capital reaches that minimum size where genuinely capitalist production begins, so now he hands over the function of directly and constantly supervising individual workers and groups of workers to a special sort of wage-labourer. Like an army, a mass of workers working under the command of the same capital needs industrial officers (managers) and non-commissioned officers (foremen, overlookers) who command during the labour process in the name of capital. The work of supervision becomes their exclusive function.
When comparing the mode of production of independent peasants or artisans with that of slave plantations, the political economist counts this work of oversight among the incidental overheads of production. But when considering the capitalist mode of production, he identifies the directing function that springs from the nature of the common labour process with the very different function necessitated by the capitalist, and therefore antagonistic, character of that process.
The capitalist is not a capitalist because he is an industrial leader; he becomes an industrial commander because he is a capitalist. Supreme command in industry becomes an attribute of capital, just as in feudal times supreme command in war and in court was an attribute of landed property.
The worker is the owner of his labour-power as long as he is bargaining with the capitalist to sell it, and he can sell only what he possesses — his individual, isolated labour-power. This relation is not changed at all by the fact that the capitalist buys 100 labour-powers instead of one, or signs contracts with 100 mutually independent workers instead of with one individual. He can put the 100 workers to work without letting them cooperate.
The capitalist therefore pays the value of 100 independent labour-powers, but he does not pay for the combined labour-power of the hundred. As independent persons, the workers are isolated individuals who enter into a relation with the same capital, but not into a relation with each other. Their cooperation begins only in the labour process — but by the time they are in the labour process they have already ceased to belong to themselves. On entering it, they are incorporated into capital. As co-operators, as members of a working organism, they are themselves merely a special mode of existence of capital.
The productive power that the worker develops as a social worker is therefore the productive power of capital. The social productive power of labour is developed free of charge as soon as workers are placed under certain conditions, and it is capital that places them under those conditions. Because this social productive power of labour costs capital nothing, and because it is not developed by the worker before his own labour already belongs to capital, it appears as a productive power that capital possesses by nature — as capital's own built-in productive power.
The colossal effect of simple cooperation shows itself in the gigantic works of the ancient Asiatics, Egyptians, Etruscans, and others.
"It happened in times past that these Asiatic states, after covering their civil and military expenses, found themselves in possession of a surplus of means of subsistence, which they could spend on works of magnificence and utility. Their command over the hands and arms of almost the entire non-agricultural population, and the exclusive control of the monarch and the priesthood over that surplus, gave them the means to erect those mighty monuments with which they filled the land… In the moving of colossal statues and enormous masses whose transport astounds us, almost nothing but human labour was squandered. The number of workers and the concentration of their toil sufficed. Thus we see mighty coral reefs swell up from the depths of the ocean into islands and solid land, though each individual depositor is tiny, weak, and contemptible. The non-agricultural workers of an Asiatic monarchy had little to bring to the work besides their individual bodily efforts, but their number was their strength, and the power of direction over these masses gave birth to those giant works. It was the concentration of the revenue on which the workers lived, in one hand or a few hands, that made such undertakings possible."
This power of Asiatic and Egyptian kings, or Etruscan theocrats, has passed in modern society to the capitalist — whether he appears as a single individual capitalist or, as in joint-stock companies, as a combined capitalist.
Cooperation in the labour process, as we find it prevailing at the dawn of human culture, among hunting peoples or in the agriculture of Indian communities, rests on one hand on common ownership of the conditions of production, and on the other on the fact that the individual has no more torn himself from the navel-cord of his tribe or community than a bee has from the hive. Both of these distinguish it from capitalist cooperation.
The sporadic application of cooperation on a large scale in the ancient world, the Middle Ages, and modern colonies rests on direct relations of domination and servitude — most often on slavery. The capitalist form, by contrast, presupposes from the start the free wage-worker who sells his labour-power to capital.
Historically, capitalist cooperation develops in opposition to peasant farming and independent handicraft, whether guild-organised or not. Seen from their standpoint, capitalist cooperation does not appear as one particular historical form of cooperation among others; rather, cooperation itself appears as a historical form peculiar to, and specifically distinguishing, the capitalist process of production.
Just as the social productive power of labour developed by cooperation appears as the productive power of capital, so cooperation itself appears — contrasted with the production process of isolated independent workers or even small masters — as a specific form of the capitalist production process. It is the first change that the real labour process undergoes once capital takes it over (its subsumption under capital).
This change comes about spontaneously. Its precondition — the simultaneous employment of a large number of wage-workers in the same labour process — forms the starting point of capitalist production, and that starting point coincides with the very existence of capital itself.
If, then, the capitalist mode of production presents itself on one hand as a historical necessity for the transformation of the labour process into a social process, on the other hand this social form of the labour process presents itself as a method used by capital to exploit it more profitably by raising its productive power.
In the simple shape considered so far, cooperation coincides with production on a large scale, but it does not yet form a fixed, characteristic shape of a particular epoch in the development of the capitalist mode of production. At most it appears approximately to do so in the still handicraft-like beginnings of manufacture, and in that kind of large-scale agriculture which corresponds to the manufacture period and differs from peasant farming essentially only by the mass of workers simultaneously employed and the scale of the concentrated means of production.
Simple cooperation remains the prevailing form in those branches of production where capital operates on a large scale without division of labour or machinery playing any significant role.
Cooperation remains the fundamental form of the capitalist mode of production, even though its simple shape continues to appear as one particular form alongside its further-developed forms.