Book I, Chapter I, 2

Second, the advantage gained by saving the time commonly lost in passing from one kind of work to another is much greater than we might at first imagine. One cannot move very quickly from one kind of work to another carried on in a different place with entirely different tools. A country weaver who cultivates a small farm must lose considerable time going from loom to field and back again. When both trades can be carried on in the same workshop, the loss of time is doubtless much smaller. Even then, however, it is substantial. A person commonly dawdles a little when turning from one occupation to another. At first he is seldom eager or wholehearted about the new work; his mind, as people say, is not in it, and for some time he idles rather than applies himself effectively. Every country worker who has to change his work and tools every half hour, and put his hands to twenty different tasks almost every day of his life, naturally—or rather necessarily—acquires a habit of dawdling and of working carelessly and without energy. This makes him nearly always sluggish and idle, incapable of vigorous effort even under the most pressing demands. Quite apart from any deficiency in his dexterity, this cause alone must always considerably reduce the quantity of work he can perform.

Third and last, everyone knows how greatly suitable machinery makes labor easier and shorter. There is no need to give an example. I shall only observe that the invention of all those machines by which labor is so greatly eased and shortened seems originally to have arisen from the division of labor. People are far more likely to discover easier and quicker ways of attaining an object when all their attention is directed to that single object than when it is scattered among many things. But the division of labor naturally directs every worker’s entire attention toward some one very simple object. We may therefore naturally expect that someone employed in each particular branch of labor will soon find easier and quicker ways of doing that particular work, whenever its nature allows such improvement. Many of the machines used in manufactures where labor is most subdivided were originally invented by ordinary workers, each of whom, occupied with a simple operation, naturally turned his thoughts to finding easier and quicker ways of performing it. Anyone who has often visited such factories must frequently have been shown ingenious little machines invented by such workers to make their own part of the work easier and faster. In the first fire engines [this was the current designation for steam engines], a boy was constantly employed to open and close in turn the passage between boiler and cylinder as the piston rose or fell. One of these boys, wishing to play with his companions, noticed that if he tied a string from the handle of the valve that opened this passage to another part of the machine, the valve would open and close without his help, leaving him free to amuse himself with his playmates. One of the greatest improvements made to this machine since its invention was thus the discovery of a boy seeking to save himself labor.

By no means all improvements to machinery, however, have been invented by those who needed to use the machines. Many have come from the ingenuity of machine makers once making machines became a specialized trade; others from those called philosophers, or speculative thinkers, whose trade is not to do anything but to observe everything, and who can therefore often combine the powers of the most remote and unlike objects. As society progresses, philosophy or speculation, like every other occupation, becomes the principal or sole trade and pursuit of a particular class of citizens. Like every other occupation, it is also subdivided into many branches, each employing a particular group or class of philosophers. This subdivision of work in philosophy, as in every other business, improves dexterity and saves time. Each person becomes more expert in his own branch; more work is done overall, and the quantity of knowledge is considerably increased.

It is the great multiplication of the products of all the different arts through the division of labor that, in a well-governed society, gives rise to a general wealth extending to the lowest ranks of the people. Each worker has a great quantity of his own work to dispose of beyond what he himself needs. Since every other worker is in exactly the same position, he can exchange a great quantity of his goods for a great quantity of theirs—or, what amounts to the same thing, for the price of a great quantity of theirs. He supplies them abundantly with what they need, and they supply him just as amply with what he needs; thus general plenty spreads through every rank of society.

Consider the comforts available to the most ordinary artisan or day laborer in a civilized and thriving country, and you will see that the number of people whose industry has contributed some part, however small, to providing those comforts is beyond calculation. The woolen coat worn by a day laborer, for example, however coarse and rough it looks, is the product of the combined labor of a great multitude of workers. The shepherd, the wool sorter, the wool comber or carder, the dyer, the wool scribbler, the spinner, the weaver, the fuller, the cloth finisher, and many others must bring their different skills together to complete even this humble article. How many merchants and carriers, besides, must transport the materials between workers who often live in widely separated parts of the country? How much commerce and navigation in particular, how many shipbuilders, sailors, sailmakers, and ropemakers must be employed to bring together the different substances used by the dyer, often arriving from the remotest corners of the world? And what a variety of labor is needed to produce even the tools of the humblest of these workers! Leaving aside such elaborate machines as the sailor’s ship, the fuller’s mill, and even the weaver’s loom, consider only the range of labor needed to make the very simple machine with which the shepherd clips the wool: a pair of shears. The miner, the builder of the furnace that smelts the ore, the timber cutter, the burner of charcoal for the smelting-house, the brickmaker, the bricklayer, the workers tending the furnace, the millwright, the forger, and the smith must all contribute their different skills to produce them. If we examined in the same way every part of his clothing and household furnishings—the coarse linen shirt worn next to his skin, the shoes on his feet, the bed he lies on and everything composing it, the kitchen grate on which he cooks his food, the coal he uses for that purpose, dug from the earth and perhaps brought to him by a long sea voyage and a long overland journey, all the other utensils of his kitchen, all the furnishings of his table, the knives and forks, the earthenware or pewter plates on which he serves and divides his food, the different hands engaged in preparing his bread and beer, the glass window that lets in heat and light while keeping out wind and rain, and all the knowledge and skill needed to make that beautiful and fortunate invention without which these northern parts of the world could scarcely have provided a very comfortable home, together with the tools of all the different workers who produce these many conveniences—if we examined all these things, I say, and considered the variety of labor involved in each, we would recognize that without the help and cooperation of many thousands, even the humblest person in a civilized country could not be provided for, even in what we quite falsely imagine to be the easy and simple manner in which he is ordinarily accommodated. Compared, certainly, with the more extravagant luxury of the great, his comforts must seem extremely simple and modest; and yet it may be true that the comforts of a European prince do not always exceed those of an industrious and frugal peasant by so much as the peasant’s exceed those of many an African king, an absolute master of the lives and liberties of ten thousand naked people.

Second, we gain more than we might first imagine by saving the time usually lost when moving from one kind of work to another. No one can quickly switch between jobs done in different places with completely different tools. A country weaver who also farms a small plot loses considerable time moving from loom to field and back. The loss is smaller if both jobs can be done in one workshop, but even then it matters a great deal. People tend to linger a little when switching tasks. On starting a new task, a worker rarely attacks it with much enthusiasm. His mind is not on the job, as people say, and for a while he does little of real use. A country worker who must change jobs and tools every half hour, and do twenty kinds of work almost every day of his life, naturally—or rather inevitably—gets into a habit of lingering and working slowly and carelessly. He is nearly always made sluggish and unable to work vigorously, even when a need is urgent. So even apart from any lack of skill, this alone greatly reduces the amount he can do.

Third and finally, everyone knows that suitable machines can make work much easier and quicker. No example is needed. I will only note that the division of labor seems originally to have led to the invention of all these labor-saving machines. People are more likely to find easier, faster ways of reaching a goal when they concentrate entirely on that one goal than when their attention is spread across many things. Because of the division of labor, each person's attention naturally settles on one simple task. We should therefore expect that a worker in each branch will soon find an easier and faster way to do that particular job, whenever improvement is possible. Ordinary workers originally invented many machines used in industries with the greatest division of labor. Each worked on a simple operation and naturally thought about ways to make it easier and faster. Anyone who often visits such workshops will have seen many ingenious machines made by these workers to speed up their own tasks. In the first fire engines [this was the current designation for steam engines], a boy had to keep opening and closing the connection between the boiler and cylinder as the piston rose and fell. One boy preferred playing with his friends. He noticed that tying a string from the valve's handle to another part of the machine would make the valve open and close without him. That freed him to play. One of the greatest improvements to this machine since its invention was thus discovered by a boy trying to save himself work.

Not all improvements to machines, however, came from people who used them. Skilled machine makers produced many once making machines became a separate trade. Others came from philosophers, or people whose job was to study things rather than make them. They can often see ways to combine the powers of very different, seemingly unrelated things. As society develops, philosophy or theoretical study becomes, like any other job, the main or only occupation of a particular group of people. Like other jobs, it splits into many branches, each with its own group of philosophers. Dividing up philosophical work increases skill and saves time, just as it does elsewhere. Each person gets better at a particular field. More work is done overall, and knowledge grows considerably.

The division of labor greatly multiplies the products of all the different trades. In a well-run society, this creates widespread wealth reaching even the lowest ranks. Every worker has much more of his own product than he needs, and every other worker is in the same position. So he can exchange much of his own product for much of theirs—or, equivalently, for the price of much of theirs. He gives them plenty of what they need and gets plenty of what he needs in return. Abundance spreads through every rank of society.

Look at what even an ordinary craft worker or day laborer has in a thriving, civilized country. You will see that countless people have contributed some portion of their work, however small, to providing it. The woolen coat worn by a day laborer, for example, may look coarse and rough. Yet it is the joint product of a great many workers. The shepherd, the wool sorter, the wool comber or carder, the dyer, the scribbler, the spinner, the weaver, the fuller, the cloth finisher, and many others must combine their skills to make even this plain garment. Merchants and carriers must also move materials between these workers, who often live far apart. The dyes themselves often come from remote corners of the world. Bringing them together calls for trade and shipping, along with shipbuilders, sailors, sailmakers, and ropemakers. Even the tools used by the least important of these workers take many kinds of labor to produce. Leave aside complicated machines such as a sailor's ship, a fuller's mill, or even a weaver's loom. Consider only the apparently simple shears the shepherd uses to clip wool. The miner, the builder of the ore-smelting furnace, the woodcutter, the person who burns charcoal for the smelter, the brickmaker, the bricklayer, the furnace workers, the millwright, the forger, and the smith must all contribute their different skills to make them. We could inspect every other part of this worker's clothing and furniture in the same way: the rough linen shirt against his skin; his shoes; his bed and each of its parts; the kitchen grate where he cooks; the coal used in it, dug from underground and perhaps carried a long way by sea and land; his other kitchen utensils; his tableware, including knives, forks, and dishes of earthenware or pewter for serving and dividing food; all the people who prepare his bread and beer; the glass window that lets in heat and light while keeping out wind and rain; all the knowledge and skill needed to produce this excellent and useful invention, without which these northern regions could hardly offer a comfortable home; and the tools of all the workers who make these useful things. If we look at everything on this list and all the kinds of work involved in each item, we will see that even the poorest person in a civilized country could not have what we wrongly consider an easy, simple standard of living without the help and cooperation of many thousands of people. Compared with the extravagant luxury of the great, that person's living conditions do seem extremely simple. Even so, an industrious, thrifty peasant in Europe may enjoy so much more than many an African king, an absolute ruler over the lives and freedom of ten thousand naked people, that even a European prince's living conditions do not always exceed the peasant's by as much.