All dissertations are wearisome—a dissertation on Value the most wearisome of all.

What unpractised writer, who has had to face an Economic problem, but has tried to resolve it without reference to any definition of value?

Yet he soon finds he has engaged in a vain attempt. The theory of Value is to Political Economy what numeration is to arithmetic. In what inextricable confusion would not Bezout have landed himself, if, to save labour to his pupils, he had undertaken to teach them the four rules and proportion, without having previously explained the value which the figures derive from their form and position?

The truth is, if the reader could only foresee the beautiful consequences deducible from the theory of Value, he would undertake the labour of mastering the first principles of Economical Science with the same cheerfulness that one submits to the drudgery of Geometry, in prospect of the magnificent field which it opens to our intelligence.

But this intuitive foresight is not to be expected; and the more pains I should take to establish the distinction between Value and Utility, or between Value and Labour, in order to show how natural it is that this should form a stumbling-block at the very threshold of the science, the more wearisome I should become. The reader would see in such a discussion only barren and idle subtleties, calculated at best to satisfy the curiosity of Economists by profession.

You are inquiring laboriously, it may be said, whether wealth consists in the Utility of things, or in their Value, or in their rarity. Is not this like the question of the schoolmen, Does form reside in the substance or in the accident? Are you not afraid [p132] that some street MoliÈre will hold you up to public ridicule at the ThÉÂtre des VariÉtÉs?

Yet truth obliges me to say that, in an economical point of view, Society is Exchange. The primary element of Exchange is the notion of Value, so that every truth and every error which this word introduces into men’s minds is a social truth or error.

I undertake in this work to demonstrate the Harmony of those laws of Providence which govern human society. What makes these laws harmonious and not discordant is, that all principles, all motives, all springs of action, all interests, co-operate towards a grand final result, which humanity will never reach by reason of its native imperfection, but to which it will always approximate more and more by reason of its unlimited capability of improvement. And that result is, the indefinite approximation of all classes towards a level, which is always rising; in other words, the equalization of individuals in the general amelioration.

But to attain my object. I must explain two things, namely,

1st, That Utility has a tendency to become more and more gratuitous, more and more common, as it gradually recedes from the domain of individual appropriation.

2d, That Value, on the other hand, which alone is capable of appropriation, which alone constitutes property legitimately and in fact, has a tendency to diminish more and more in relation to the utility to which it is attached.

Such a demonstration—founded on Property, but only on the property of which Value is the subject, and on Community, but only on the community of utility,—such a demonstration, I say, must satisfy and reconcile all schools, by conceding to them that all have had a glimpse of the truth, but only of partial truth, regarded from different points of view.

Economists! you defend property. There is in the social order no other property than that of which Value is the subject, and that is immovable and unassailable.

Communists! you dream of Community. You have got it. The social order renders all utilities common, provided the exchange of those values which have been appropriated is free.

You are like architects who dispute about a monument of which each has seen only one side. They don’t see ill, but they don’t see all. To make them agree, it is only necessary to ask them to walk round the edifice.

But how am I to reconstruct the social edifice, so as to exhibit to mankind all its beautiful harmony, if I reject its two corner stones. Utility and Value? How can I bring about the desired [p133] reconciliation of various schools upon the platform of truth if I shun the analysis of these two ideas, although the dissidence has arisen from the unhappy confusion which they have caused?

I have felt this kind of introduction necessary, in order, if possible, to secure from the reader a moment’s attention, and relieve him from fatigue and ennui. I am much mistaken if the consoling beauty of the consequences will not amply make up for the dryness of the premises. Had Newton allowed himself to be repulsed at the outset by a distaste for elementary mathematics, never would his heart have beat with rapture on beholding the harmonies of the celestial mechanism; and I maintain that it is only necessary to make our way manfully to an acquaintance with certain first principles, in order to be convinced that God has displayed in the social mechanism goodness no less touching, simplicity no less admirable, splendour no less magnificent.

In the first chapter we viewed man as both active and passive, and we saw that Want and Satisfaction, acting on sensibility alone, were in their own nature personal, peculiar, and intransmissible; that Effort, on the contrary, the connecting link between Want and Satisfaction, the mean term between the motive principle of action and the end we have in view, proceeding from our activity, our spontaneity, our will, was susceptible of conventions and of transmission. I know that, metaphysically, no one can contest this assertion, and maintain that Effort also is personal. I have no desire to enter the territory of ideology, and I hope that my view of the subject will be admitted without controversy when put in this vulgar form:—We cannot feel the wants of others—we cannot feel the satisfactions of others; but we can render service one to another.

It is this transmission of efforts, this exchange of services, which forms the subject of Political Economy; and since, on the other hand, economical science is condensed and summed up in the word Value, of which it is only a lengthened explanation, it follows that the notion of value would be imperfectly, erroneously, conceived if we were to found it upon the extreme phenomena of our sensibility—namely, our Wants and Satisfactions—phenomena which are personal, intransmissible, and incommensurable as between two individuals, in place of founding it on the manifestations of our activity, upon efforts, upon reciprocal services, which are interchanged because they are susceptible of being compared, appreciated, estimated, and which are capable of being estimated precisely because they are capable of being interchanged.

In the same chapter we arrived at the following formulas:— [p134]

“Utility (the property which certain things and certain acts have of serving us, of being useful to us) is complex,—one part we owe to the action of nature, another to the action of man.”—“With reference to a given result, the more nature has done the less remains for human action to do.”—“The co-operation of nature is essentially gratuitous—the co-operation of man, whether intellectual or muscular, exchanged or not, collective or solitary, is essentially onerous, as indeed the word Effort implies.”

And as what is gratuitous cannot possess value, since the idea of value implies onerous acquisition, it follows that the notion of Value would be still erroneously conceived, if we were to extend it, in whole or in part, to the gifts or to the co-operation of nature, instead of restricting it exclusively to human co-operation.

Thus, from both sides, by two different roads, we arrive at this conclusion, that value must have reference to the efforts which men make in order to obtain the satisfaction of their wants.

In the third chapter we have established that man cannot exist in a state of isolation. But if, by an effort of imagination, we fancy him placed in that chimerical situation, that state contrary to nature, which the writers of the eighteenth century extolled as the state of nature, we shall not fail to see that it does not disclose to us the idea of Value, although it presents the manifestation of the active principle which we have termed effort. The reason is obvious. Value implies comparison, appreciation, estimation, measure. In order that two things should measure each other, it is necessary that they be commensurable, and, in order to that, they must be of the same kind. In a state of isolation, with what could we compare effort? With want? With satisfaction? In that case, we could go no farther than to pronounce that the effort was more or less appropriate, more or less opportune. In the social state, what we compare (and it is this comparison which gives rise to the idea of Value) is the effort of one man with the effort of another man,—two phenomena of the same nature, and, consequently, commensurable.

Thus, the definition of the word Value, in order to be exact, must have reference not only to human efforts, but likewise to those efforts which are exchanged or exchangeable. Exchange does more than exhibit and measure values—it gives them existence. I do not mean to say that it gives existence to the acts and the things which are exchanged, but it imparts to their existence the notion of value.

Now, when two men transfer to each other their present efforts, or make over mutually the results of their anterior [p135] efforts, they serve each other; they render each other reciprocal service.

I say, then, Value is the relation of two services exchanged.

The idea of value entered into the world the first time that a man having said to his brother, Do this for me, and I shall do that for you—they have come to an agreement; for then, for the first time, we could say—The two services exchanged are worth each other.

It is singular enough that the true theory of value, which we search for in vain in many a ponderous volume, is to be found in Florian’s beautiful fable of l’Aveugle et le Paralytique,—

Here you have value discovered and defined. Here you have it in its rigorous economic exactitude, excepting the touching trait relative to friendship, which carries us into another sphere, that of sympathy. We may conceive two unfortunates rendering each other reciprocal service, without inquiring too curiously which of the two discharged the most useful employment. The exceptional situation imagined by the fabulist explains sufficiently that the principle of sympathy, acting with great force, comes to absorb, so to speak, the minute appreciation of the services exchanged—an appreciation, however, which is indispensable in order to disengage completely the idea of Value. That idea would be complete if all men, or the majority of them, were struck with paralysis or blindness; for the inexorable law of supply and demand would then predominate, and, causing the permanent sacrifice accepted by him who fulfils the more useful employment to disappear, would restore the transaction to the domain of justice.

We are all blind or impotent in some respects, and we soon come to understand that, by assisting each other, the burden of misfortune is lightened. Hence Exchange. We labour in order to feed, clothe, shelter, enlighten, cure, defend, instruct one another. Hence reciprocal Services. We compare, we discuss, we estimate or appreciate these services. Hence Value.

A multitude of circumstances may augment the relative importance of a Service. We find it greater or less, according as it is more or less useful to us—according as a greater or less number of [p136] people are disposed to render it to us—according as it exacts from them more or less labour, trouble, skill, time, previous study,—and according as it saves more or less of these to ourselves. Value depends not only on these circumstances, but on the judgment we form of them; for it may happen, and it happens frequently, that we esteem a service very highly because we judge it very useful, while in reality it is hurtful. This is the reason why vanity, ignorance, error, exert a certain influence on the essentially elastic and flexible relation which we denominate value; and we may affirm that the appreciation of services tends to approximate more to absolute truth and justice in proportion as men become more enlightened, more moral, and more refined.

Hitherto the principle of Value has been sought for in one of those circumstances which augment or which diminish it, materiality, durableness, utility, scarcity, labour, difficulty of acquisition, judgment, etc., and hence a false direction has been given to the science from the beginning; for the accident which modifies the phenomenon is not the phenomenon itself. Moreover, each author has constituted himself the sponsor, so to speak, of some special circumstance which he thinks preponderates,—the constant result of generalizing; for all is in all, and there is nothing which we cannot comprehend under a term by means of extending its sense. Thus the principle of value, according to Adam Smith, resides in materiality and durability; according to Jean Baptiste Say, in utility; according to Ricardo, in labour; according to Senior, in rarity; according to Storch, in the judgment we form, etc.

The consequence has been what might have been expected. These authors have unwittingly injured the authority and dignity of the science by appearing to contradict each other; while in reality each is right, as from his own point of view. Besides, they have involved the first principles of Political Economy in a labyrinth of inextricable difficulties; for the same words, as used by these authors, no longer represent the same ideas; and, moreover, although a circumstance may be proclaimed fundamental, other circumstances stand out too prominently to be neglected, and definitions are thus constantly enlarged.

The object of the present work is not controversy, but exposition. I explain what I myself see, not what others have seen. I cannot avoid, however, calling the attention of the reader to the circumstances in which the foundation of Value has hitherto been sought for. But, first of all, I must bring Value itself before him in a series of examples, for it is by divers applications that the mind lays hold of a theory. [p137]

I shall demonstrate how all is definitely resolved into a barter of services; but it is necessary to keep in mind what has been said on the subject of barter in the preceding chapter. It is rarely simple—sometimes it forms a circular or round-about transaction among several parties,—most frequently, by the intervention of money, it resolves itself into two factors, sale and purchase; but as this complication does not change its nature, I may be permitted, for the sake of perspicuity, to assume the barter to be direct and immediate. This will lead to no mistake as to the nature of Value.

We are all born with an imperious material want, which must be satisfied under pain of death, I mean that of breathing. On the other hand, we all exist in a medium which, in general, supplies that want without the intervention of any effort on our part. Atmospheric air, then, has utility without having value. It has no Value, because, requiring no Effort, it gives rise to no service. To render a service to any one is to save him trouble; and where it is not necessary to take pains in order to realize a satisfaction, no trouble can be saved.

But if a man descend to the bottom of a river in a diving-bell, a foreign substance is interposed between the air and his lungs, and, in order to re-establish the communication, a pump must be employed. Here there is an effort to make, pains to take, and the man below desires the exertion, for it is a matter of life or death, and he cannot possibly secure to himself a greater service.

Instead of making this effort himself, he calls on me to make it for him, and, in order to induce me to do so, he undertakes in turn to make an exertion from which I may reap satisfaction. We discuss the matter, and come to an agreement. Now, what do we discover here? two wants, two satisfactions, which are not inconsistent with each other; two efforts, which are the subject of a voluntary transaction; two services, which are exchanged,—and value makes its appearance.

Now, we are told that utility is the foundation of value; and as utility is inherent in the air, we are led to think that it is the same in regard to value. There is here an evident confusion of ideas. The air, from its nature, has physical properties in harmony with one of our physical organs, the lungs. The portion which I draw from the atmosphere in order to fill the diving-bell does not change its nature—it is still oxygen and azote. No new physical quality is combined with it, no reacting power brings out of it a new element called value. That springs exclusively from the service rendered. [p138]

If, in laying down the general principle, that Utility is the foundation of Value, you mean that the Service has value because it is useful to him who receives it and pays for it, I allow the truth of what you say. It is a truism implied in the very word service.

But we must not confound the utility of the air with the utility of the service. They are two utilities distinct from each other, different in nature, different in kind, which bear no proportion to one another, and have no necessary relation. There are circumstances in which, with very slight exertion, by rendering a very small service, or saving very little trouble, I may bring within the reach of another an article of very great intrinsic utility.

Take the case of the diving-bell, and consider how the parties to the supposed bargain manage to estimate the value of the service rendered by the one to the other in supplying him with atmospheric air. We must have a point of comparison, and that point of comparison can only be in the service which the diver renders in return. Their reciprocal demands will depend on their relative situation, on the intensity of their desires, on the greater or less need they have of each other, and on a multitude of circumstances which demonstrate that the value is in the Service, since it increases with the service.

The reader may easily vary the hypothesis, so as to convince himself that the Value is not necessarily proportionate to the intensity of the efforts,—a remark which I set down here as a connecting link in the chain of reasoning, and of which I shall afterwards have occasion to make use; for my object is to prove that Value no more resides in labour than it does in utility.

Nature has so constituted me that I must die if I am deprived of an opportunity, from time to time, of quenching my thirst, and the well is a league from the village. For this reason, I take the trouble every morning to go thither to fetch the water of which I have need, for in water I have recognised those useful qualities which are calculated to assuage the suffering called thirst. Want, Effort, Satisfaction—we have them all here. I have found Utility—I have not yet found Value.

But, as my neighbour goes also to the fountain, I say to him—“Save me the pains of this journey—render me the service of bringing me water. During the time you are so occupied, I shall do something for you, I shall teach your child to spell.” This arrangement suits us both. Here is an exchange of two services, and we are enabled to pronounce that the one is worth the other. The things compared here are two efforts, not two wants and two [p139] satisfactions; for by what common standard should we compare the benefit of drinking water and that of learning to spell?

By-and-by I say to my neighbour—“Your child troubles me—I should like better to do something else for you. You shall continue to bring me water, and I shall give you twopence.” If the proposal is agreed to, the Economist may, without fear of mistake, pronounce that the service IS WORTH twopence.

Afterwards, my neighbour no longer waits to be requested. He knows by experience that every day I want water. He anticipates my wishes. At the same time, he provides water for the other villagers. In short, he becomes a water merchant. It is then that we begin to say, the water IS WORTH twopence.

Has the water, then, changed its nature? Has the Value, which was but now in the service, become materialized and incorporated in the water, as if it were a new chemical element? Has a slight modification in the form of the arrangement between my neighbour and me had the power to displace the principle of value and change its nature? I am not purist enough to find fault with your saying that the water is worth twopence, just as you say the sun sets. But we must remember that metaphors and metonymies do not affect the truth of facts; and that, in strict scientific language, value can no more be said to reside in the water than the sun can be said to go to rest in the sea.

Let us attribute, then, to things the peculiar qualities which belong to them—to air, to water, utility—to services, value. We may say with propriety that water is useful, because it has the property of allaying thirst; and it is the service which has value, because it is the subject of a convention previously debated and discussed. So true is this, that if the well is brought nearer, or removed to a greater distance, the Utility of the water remains the same, but its value is diminished or increased. Why? because the service is less or greater. The value, then, is in the service, seeing that it is increased or diminished according as the service is increased or diminished.

The diamond makes a great figure in works of Political Economy. It is adduced as an illustration of the laws of Value, or of the supposed disturbance of those laws. It is a brilliant weapon with which all the schools do battle. The English school asserts that “Value resides in labour.” The French school exhibits a diamond, and says—“Here is a commodity which exacts no labour and yet is of immense value.” The French school affirms that the foundation of value is utility, and the English school immediately brings forward the diamond in opposition to the [p140] illustrations drawn from air, light, and water. “The air is very useful,” says the English Economist, “but it possesses no value; the utility of the diamond is almost inappreciable, and yet it possesses more value than the whole atmosphere;” and the reader is inclined to say with Henri Quatre—“In sooth, they are both right.” They end by landing themselves in an error more fatal than both the others, and are forced to avow that value resides in the works of nature, and that that value is material.

My definition, as it seems to me, gets rid of these anomalies, and is confirmed rather than invalidated by the illustration which has been adduced.

I take a walk along the sea-beach, and I find by chance a magnificent diamond. I am thus put in possession of a great value. Why? Am I about to confer a great benefit on the human race? Have I devoted myself to a long and laborious work? Neither the one nor the other. Why, then, does this diamond possess so much value? Undoubtedly because the person to whom I transfer it considers that I have rendered him a great service,—all the greater that many rich people desire it, and that I alone can render it. The grounds of his judgment may be controverted—be it so. It may be founded on pride, on vanity—granted again. But this judgment has, nevertheless, been formed by a man who is disposed to act upon it, and that is sufficient for my argument.

Far from the judgment being based on a reasonable appreciation of utility, we may allow that the very reverse is the case. Ostentation makes great sacrifices for what is utterly useless.

In this case, the value, far from bearing a necessary proportion to the labour performed by the person who renders the service, may be said rather to bear proportion to the labour saved to the person who receives it. This general law of value, which has not, so far as I know, been observed by theoretical writers, nevertheless prevails universally in practice. We shall explain afterwards the admirable mechanism by which value tends to proportion itself to labour when it is free; but it is not the less true that it has its principle and foundation less in the effort of the person who serves than in the effort saved to him who is served.

The transaction relative to the diamond may be supposed to give rise to the following dialogue:—

“Give me your diamond, Sir.”

“With all my heart; give me in exchange your labour for an entire year.” [p141]

“Your acquisition has not cost you a minute’s work.”

“Very well, Sir, try to find a similar lucky minute.”

“Yes; but, in strict equity, the exchange ought to be one of equal labour.”

“No; in strict equity, you put a value on your own services, and I upon mine; I don’t force you; why should you lay a constraint upon me? Give me a whole year’s labour, or seek out a diamond for yourself.”

“But that might entail upon me ten years’ work, and would probably end in nothing. It would be wiser and more profitable to devote these ten years to another employment.”

“It is precisely on that account that I imagined I was rendering you a service in asking for only one year’s work. I thus save you nine, and that is the reason why I attach great value to the service. If I appear to you exacting, it is because you regard only the labour which I have performed; but consider also the labour which I save you, and you will find me reasonable in my demand.”

“It is not the less true that you profit by a work of nature.”

“And if I were to give away what I have found for little or nothing, it is you who would profit by it. Besides, if this diamond possesses great value, it is not because nature has been elaborating it since the beginning of time: she does as much for a drop of dew.”

“Yes; but if diamonds were as common as dew-drops, you could no longer lay down the law to me, and make your own conditions.”

“Very true; because, in that case, you would not address yourself to me, or would not be disposed to recompense me highly for a service which you could easily perform for yourself.”

The result of this dialogue is, that Value no more resides in the diamond than in the air or in the water. It resides exclusively in the services which we suppose to be rendered and received with reference to these things, and is determined by the free bargaining of the parties who make the exchange.

Take up the Collection des Économistes, and read and compare all the definitions which you will find there. If there be one of them which meets the cases of the air and the diamond, two cases in appearance so opposite, throw this book into the fire. But if the definition which I propose, simple as it is, solves, or rather obviates, the difficulty, you are bound in conscience, gentle reader, to go on to the end of the work, or it is in vain that we have placed an inviting sign-board over the vestibule of the science.

Allow me to give some more examples, in order to elucidate clearly my thoughts, and familiarize the reader with a new definition. By exhibiting this fundamental principle in different aspects, [p142] we shall clear the way for a thorough comprehension of the consequences, which I venture to predict will be found no less important than unexpected.

Among the wants to which our physical constitution subjects us is that of food; and one of the articles best fitted to satisfy that want is Bread.

As the need of food is personal to me, I should, naturally, myself perform all the operations necessary to provide the needful supply of bread. I can the less expect my fellow-men to render me gratuitously this service, that they are themselves subject to the same want, and condemned to the same exertion.

Were I to make my own bread, I must devote myself to a labour infinitely more complicated, but strictly analogous to that which the necessity of fetching water from the spring would have imposed upon me. The elements of bread exist everywhere in nature. As J. B. Say has judiciously remarked, it is neither possible nor necessary for man to create anything. Gases, salts, electricity, vegetable life, all exist; my business is to unite them, assist them, combine them, transport them, availing myself of that great laboratory called the earth, in which mysteries are accomplished from which human science has scarcely raised the veil. If the operations to which I must devote myself in the pursuit of my design are in the aggregate very complicated, each of them, taken singly, is as simple as the act of drawing water from the fountain. Every effort I make is simply a service which I render to myself; and if, in consequence of a bargain freely entered into, it happens that other persons save me some of these efforts, or the whole of them, these are so many services which I receive. The aggregate of these services, compared with those which I render in return, constitute the value of the Bread and determine its amount.

A convenient intermediate commodity intervenes to facilitate this exchange of services, and even to serve as a measure of their relative importance—Money. But this makes no substantial difference,—the principle remains exactly the same, just as in mechanics the transmission of forces is subject to the same law, whether there be one or several intermediate wheels.

This is so true that, when the loaf is worth fourpence, for example, if a good bookkeeper wishes to analyze its value, he will succeed in discovering, amid the multiplicity of transactions which go to the accomplishment of the final result, all those whose services have contributed to form that value,—all those who have saved labour to the man who finally pays for it as the consumer. He discovers, first of all, the baker, who retains his five per cent., [p143] and from that percentage remunerates the mason who has built his oven, the wood-cutter who prepares his billets, etc. Then comes the miller, who receives not only the recompense of his own labour, but the means of remunerating the quarryman who has furnished his millstones, the labourer who has formed his dam, etc. Other portions of the total value go to the thresher, the reaper, the labourer, the sower, until you account for the last farthing. No part of it assuredly goes to remunerate God and nature. The very idea is absurd, and yet this is rigorously implied in the theory of the Economists, who attribute a certain portion of the value of a product to matter or natural forces. No; we still find that what has value is not the Loaf, but the series of services which have put me in possession of it.

It is true that, among the elementary parts of the value of the loaf, our book-keeper will find one which he will have difficulty in connecting with a service, at least a service implying effort. He will find of the fourpence, of which the price is made up, a part goes to the proprietor of the soil, to the man who has the keeping of the laboratory. That small portion of the value of the loaf constitutes what is called the rent of land; and, misled by the form of expression, by the metonymy which again makes its appearance here, our calculator may be tempted to think that this portion is allotted to natural agents—to the soil itself.

I maintain that, if he exercises sufficient skill, he will find that this is still the price of real services—services of the same kind as all the others. This will be demonstrated with the clearest evidence when we come to treat of landed property. At present, I shall only remark, that I am not concerned here with property, but with value. I don’t inquire whether all services are real and legitimate, or whether men do not sometimes succeed in getting paid for services which they do not render. The world, alas! is full of such injustices, but rent must not be included among them.

All that I have to demonstrate here is, that the pretended value of commodities is only the value of services, real or imaginary, received and rendered in connexion with them—that value does not reside in the commodities themselves, and is no more to be found in the loaf than in the diamond, the water, or the air—that no part of the remuneration goes to nature—that it proceeds from the final consumer of the article, and is distributed exclusively among men,—and that it would not be accorded to them by him for any other reason than that they have rendered him services, unless, indeed, in the case of violence or fraud.

Two men agree that ice is a good thing in summer, and coal a [p144] still better thing in winter. They supply two of our wants—the one cools, the other warms us. We do not fail to remark that the Utility of these commodities consists in certain material properties suitably adapted to our material organs. We remark, moreover, that among those properties, which physics and chemistry might enumerate, we do not find value, or anything like it. How, then, have we come to regard value as inherent in matter and material?

If the two men we have supposed wished to obtain the satisfaction of their wants, without acting in concert, each would labour to provide for himself both the articles wanted. If they came to an understanding, the one would provide coal for two from the coal-mine, the other ice for two from the mountain. This presupposes a bargain. They must then adjust the relation of the two services exchanged. They would take all circumstances into account—the difficulties to be overcome, the dangers to be braved, the time to be spent, the pains to be taken, the skill to be displayed, the risks to be run, the possibility of providing for their wants in some other way, etc., etc. When they came to an understanding, the Economist would say, The two services exchanged are worth each other. In common language, it would be said by metonymy—Such a quantity of coal is worth such a quantity of ice, as if the value had passed physically into these bodies. But it is easy to see that if the common form of expression enables us to state the results, the scientific expression alone reveals to us the true causes.

In place of two services and two persons, the agreement may embrace a greater number, substituting a complex Exchange for simple Barter. In that case, money would intervene to facilitate the exchange. Need I say that the principle of value would be neither changed nor displaced?

But I must add here a single observation Àpropos of coal. It may be that there is only one coal-mine in a country, and that an individual has got possession of it. If so, this man will make conditions; that is to say, he will put a high price upon his services, or pretended services.

We have not yet come to the question of right and justice, to the distinction between true and loyal services, and those that are fraudulent and pretended. What concerns us at this moment is, to consolidate the true theory of value, and to disembarrass it of one error with which Economical science is infected. When we say that what nature has done or given, she has done or given gratuitously, and that the notion of value is excluded, we are answered by an analysis of the price of coal, or some other natural product. It is acknowledged, indeed, that the greater part of this [p145] price is the remuneration of the services of man. One man has excavated the ground, another has drained away the water, another has raised the fuel to the surface, another has transported it to its destination; and it is the aggregate of these works, it is allowed, which constitutes nearly the entire value. Still there remains one portion of the value which does not correspond with any labour or service. This is the value of the coal as it lies under the soil, still virgin, and untouched by human labour. It forms the share of the proprietor; and, since this portion of Value is not of human creation, it follows necessarily that it is the creation of nature.

I reject that conclusion, and I premonish the reader that, if he admits it to a greater or less extent, he cannot proceed a single step farther in the science. No; the action of nature does not create Value, any more than the action of man creates matter. Of two things one: either the proprietor has usefully co-operated towards the final result, and has rendered real services, and then the portion of value which he has conferred on the coal enters into my definition; or else he obtrudes himself as a parasite, and, in that case, he has had the address to get paid for services which he has not rendered, and the price of the coal is unduly augmented. That circumstance may prove, indeed, that injustice has entered into the transaction; but it cannot overturn the theory so as to authorize us to say that this portion of value is material,—that it is combined as a physical element with the gratuitous gifts of Providence. Here is the proof of it. Cause the injustice to cease, if injustice there be, and the corresponding value will disappear, which it assuredly would not have done had the value been inherent in matter and of natural creation.30

Let us now pass to one of our most imperious wants, that of security.

A certain number of men land upon an inhospitable coast. They begin to work. But each of them finds himself constantly drawn away from his employment by the necessity of defending himself against wild beasts, or men still more savage. Besides the time and the exertion which he devotes directly to the work of defence, he has to provide himself with arms and munitions. At length it is discovered that, on the whole, infinitely less power and effort would be wasted if some of them, abandoning other work, were to devote themselves exclusively to this service. This [p146] duty is assigned to those who are most distinguished for address, courage, and vigour—and they improve in an art which they make their exclusive business. Whilst they watch over the public safety, the community reaps from its labours, now no longer interrupted, more satisfactions for all than it loses by the diversion of ten men from other avocations. This arrangement is in consequence made. What do we see in it but a new progress in the division of occupations, inducing and requiring an exchange of services?

Are the services of these soldiers, guards, militiamen, or whatever you may call them, productive? Undoubtedly they are, seeing that the sole object of the arrangement is to increase the proportion which the aggregate Satisfactions of the community bear to the general efforts.

Have they Value? They must have it, since we esteem them, appreciate them, estimate their worth, and, in fine, pay for them with other services with which they are compared.

The form in which this remuneration is stipulated for, the mode of levying it, the process we adopt in adjusting and concluding the arrangement, make no alteration on the principle. Are there efforts saved to some men by others? Are there satisfactions procured for some by others? In that case there are services exchanged, compared, estimated;—there is Value.

The kind of services we are now discussing, when social complications occur, lead sometimes to frightful consequences. The very nature of the services which we demand from this class of functionaries requires us to put into their hands Power,—power sufficient to subdue all resistance,—and it sometimes happens that they abuse it, and turn it against the very community which employs them. Deriving from the community services proportioned to the want we have of security, they themselves may cause insecurity, in order to display their own importance, and, by a too skilful diplomacy, involve their fellow-citizens in perpetual wars.

All this has happened, and still happens. Great disturbances of the just equilibrium of reciprocal services are the result of it. But it makes no change in the fundamental principle and scientific theory of Value.

I must still give another example or two; but I pray the reader to believe that I feel quite as much as he can how tiresome and fatiguing this series of hypotheses must be—throwing us back, as they all do, on the same kind of proof, tending to the same [p147] conclusion, expressed in the same terms. He must understand, however, that this process, if not the most interesting, is at least the surest way of establishing the true theory of Value, and of thus clearing the road we have to traverse.

We suppose ourselves in Paris. In that great metropolis there is a vast fermentation of desires, and abundant means also of satisfying them. Multitudes of rich men, or men in easy circumstances, devote themselves to industry, to the arts, to politics—and in the evening they are all eager to obtain an hour’s recreation. Among the amusements which they relish most is the pleasure of hearing the music of Rossini sung by Malibran, or the admirable poetry of Racine interpreted by Rachel. There are in the world only two women who can furnish these noble and delicate kinds of entertainment, and unless we could subject them to torture, which would probably not succeed, we have no other way of procuring their services but by addressing ourselves to their good will. Thus the services which we expect from Malibran and Rachel are possessed of great Value. This explanation is prosaic enough, but it is true.

If an opulent banker should desire to gratify his vanity by having the performances of one of these great artistes in his salons, he will soon find by experience the full truth of my theory. He desires a rich treat, a lively satisfaction—he desires it eagerly—and only one person in the world can furnish it. He cannot procure it otherwise than by offering a large remuneration.

Between what extreme limits will the transaction oscillate? The banker will go on till he reaches the point at which he prefers rather to lose the satisfaction than to pay what he deems an extravagant price for it; the singer to that point at which she prefers to accept the remuneration offered, rather than not be remunerated at all. This point of equilibrium determines the value of this particular service, as it does of all others. It may be that in many cases custom fixes this delicate point. There is too much taste in the beau monde to higgle about certain services. The remuneration may even be gracefully disguised, so as to veil the vulgarity of the economic law. That law, however, presides over this transaction, just as it does over the most ordinary bargain; and Value does not change its nature because experience or urbanity dispenses with discussing it formally on every occasion.

This explains how artistes above the usual standard of excellence succeed in realizing great fortunes. Another circumstance favours them. Their services are of such a nature that they can render them, at one and the same time, and by one and the same effort, to [p148] a multitude of individuals. However large the theatre, provided the voice of Rachel can fill it, each spectator enjoys the full pleasure of her inimitable declamation. This is the foundation of a new arrangement. Three or four thousand people, all experiencing the same desire, may come to an understanding, and raise the requisite sum; and the contribution of each to the remuneration of the great tragedienne constitutes the equivalent of the unique service rendered by her to all at once. Such is Value.

As a great number of auditors may combine in order to witness an entertainment of this description, so a number of actors may combine in order to perform in an opera or play. Managers may intervene, to save them the trouble of a multiplicity of trifling accessory arrangements. Value is thus multiplied, ramified, distributed, and rendered complex—but it does not change its nature.

We shall finish with some exceptional cases. Such cases form the best test of a sound theory. When the rule is correct, exceptions do not invalidate, but confirm it.

An aged priest moves slowly along, pensive, with staff in hand, and breviary under his arm. His air is serene, his countenance expressive,—he looks inspired! Where is he going? Do you see that church in the distance? The youthful village parson, distrustful as yet of his own powers, has called to his assistance the old missionary. But first of all he has some arrangements to make. The preacher will find, indeed, food and shelter at the parsonage—but he must live from one year’s end to another. Mons. le CurÉ, then, has promoted a subscription among the rich people of the village, moderate in amount, but sufficient; for the aged pastor is not exacting, and answered the person who wrote to him—“Du pain pour moi, voilÀ mon nÉcessaire; une obole pour le pauvre, voilÀ mon superflu.”

Thus are the economic preliminaries complied with; for this meddling Political Economy creeps into everything, and is to be found everywhere—Nil humani a me alienum puto.

Let us enlarge a little on this example, which is very apposite to what we are now discussing.

Here you have an exchange of services. On the one hand you have an old man who devotes his time, his strength, his talents, his health, to enlighten the minds of a few villagers, and raise them to a higher moral level. On the other hand, bread for a few days, and a hat and cassock, are assured to the man of eloquence.

But there is something more here. There is a rivalry of sacrifices. The old priest refuses everything that is not absolutely indispensable. Of that poor pittance the curÉ takes one half on his [p149] own shoulders; the village Croesuses exempt their brethren from the other half, who nevertheless profit by the sermons.

Do these sacrifices invalidate our definition of value? Not at all. Each is free to render his services only on such terms as are agreeable to himself. If these conditions are made easy, or if none are stipulated for, what is the consequence? The service, preserving its utility, loses its value. The old priest is persuaded that his services will find their reward in another world, and he cares not for their being recompensed here below. He feels, no doubt, that he is rendering a service to his auditors in addressing them, but he also feels that they do him a service in listening to him. Hence it follows that the transaction is based upon advantage to one of the contracting parties, with the full consent of the other. That is all. In general, exchanges are determined and estimated by reference to self-interest; but, thank God, that is not always the case: they are sometimes based on the principle of sympathy, and in that case we either transfer to another a satisfaction which we might have reserved for ourselves, or we make an effort for him which we might have devoted to our own profit and advantage. Generosity, devotion, self-sacrifice, are impulses of our nature, which, like many other circumstances, influence the actual value of a particular service, but they make no change on the general law of values.

In contrast to this consoling example, I might adduce another of a very opposite character. In order that a service should possess value, in the economical sense of the word, it is not at all indispensable that it should be a real, conscientious, and useful service; it is sufficient that it is accepted, and paid for by another service. The world is full of people who palm upon the public services of a quality more than doubtful, and make the public pay for them. All depends on the judgment which we form in each case; and this is the reason why morals will be always the best auxiliary of Political Economy.

Impostors succeed in propagating a false belief. They represent themselves as the ambassadors of Heaven. They open at pleasure the gates of heaven or of hell. When this belief has once taken firm root, “Here,” say they, “are some little images to which we have communicated the virtue of securing eternal happiness to those who carry them about their persons. In bestowing upon you one of these images, we render you an immense service. You must render us, then, certain services in return.” Here you have a Value created. It is founded on a false appreciation, you say, and that is true. We might say as much of many material things [p150] which possess a certain value, for they would find purchasers if set up to auction. Economic science would become impossible if we admitted as values only values correctly and judiciously appreciated. At every step we must begin a new course of the moral and physical sciences. In a state of isolation, depraved desires and a warped intelligence may cause a man to pursue with great effort and exertion a chimerical satisfaction—a delusion. In like manner, in the social state, it sometimes happens, as the philosopher says, that we buy regret too dear. But if truth is naturally more in keeping with the human mind than error, all these frauds are destined to disappear—all these delusive services to be spurned and lose their value. Civilisation will, in the long-run, put everybody and everything in the right place.

But we must conclude this analysis, which has already extended to too great a length. Among the various wants of our nature, respiration, hunger, thirst—and the wants and desires which take their rise in our vanity, in our heads, hearts, and opinions, in our hopes for the future, whether well or ill grounded—everywhere we have sought for Value—and we have found it wherever an exchange of service takes place. We have found it everywhere of the same nature, based upon a principle clear, simple, absolute, although influenced by a multitude of varying circumstances. We might have passed in review all our other wants; we might have cited the carpenter, the mason, the manufacturer, the tailor, the physician, the officer of justice, the lawyer, the merchant, the painter, the judge, the president of the republic, and we should have found exactly the same thing. Frequently a material substance; sometimes forces furnished gratuitously by nature; always human services interchanged, measuring each other, estimating, appreciating, valuing one another, and exhibiting simply the result of that Valuation—or Value.

There is, however, one of our wants, very special in its nature, the cement of society, at once the cause and the effect of all our transactions, and the everlasting problem of Political Economy, of which it is necessary to say something in this place—I allude to the want of Exchanging.

In the preceding chapter we have described the marvellous effects of Exchange. They are such that men must naturally feel a desire to facilitate it, even at the expense of considerable sacrifices. It is for this end that we have roads, canals, railways, carriages, ships, merchants, tradesmen, bankers; and it is impossible to believe that society would submit to such enormous draughts upon its forces for the purpose of facilitating [p151] exchange, if it did not find in exchange itself an ample compensation.

We have also seen that direct barter could give rise only to transactions at once inconvenient and restrained.

It is on that account that men have thought of resolving barter into two factors, sale and purchase, by means of an intermediate commodity, readily divisible, and, above all, possessed of value, in order to secure public confidence. This intermediate commodity is Money.

And it is worthy of remark that what, by an ellipsis or metonymy, we designate the value of gold and silver rests on exactly the same foundation as that of the air, the water, the diamond, the sermons of our old missionary, or the roulades of Malibran—that is to say, upon services rendered and received.

The gold, indeed, which we find spread on the favoured banks of the Sacramento, derives from nature many precious qualities—ductility, weight, beauty, brilliancy, utility even, if you will. But there is one quality which nature has not given it, because nature has nothing to do with that—Value. A man knows that gold supplies a want which is sensibly felt, and that it is much coveted. He goes to California to seek for gold, just as my neighbour went to the spring to fetch water. He devotes himself to hard work—he digs, he excavates, he washes, he melts down—and then he comes to me and says: I will render you the service of transferring to you this gold; what service will you render me in return? We discuss the matter, we weigh all the circumstances which should influence our determination;—at last we conclude a bargain, and Value is manifested and fixed. Misled by this curt form of expression, “Gold is valuable,” we might suppose that the value resides in the gold, just as the qualities of ductility and specific gravity reside in it, and that nature has put it there. I hope the reader is already satisfied that this is a mistake. By-and-by he will be convinced that it is a deplorable fallacy.

Another misconception exists on the subject of gold, or rather of money. As it is the constant medium which enters into all transactions, the mean term between the two factors of compound barter, it is always with its value that we compare the value of the two services to be exchanged; and hence we are led to regard gold or money as a measure of value. In practice it cannot be otherwise. But science ought never to forget that money, so far as its value is concerned, is subject to the same fluctuations as any other product or service. Science does forget this sometimes; nor is it surprising. Everything tends to make us consider money [p152] as the measure of value, in the same way as the litre (or quart) is the measure of capacity. It plays an analogous part in actual business. One is not aware of its own fluctuations, because the franc, like its multiples and sub-multiples, always retains the same denomination. And arithmetic itself tends to propagate the confusion by ranking the franc as a measure, along with the measures of quantity in daily use.

I have given a definition of Value, at least of value according to my idea of it. I have subjected that definition to the test of divers facts. None of them, so far as I can see, contradict it; and the scientific signification which I have given to the word agrees with its vulgar acceptation, which is no small advantage, no slight guarantee—for what is science but experience classified? What is theory but the methodical exposition of universal practice?

I may now be permitted to glance rapidly at the systems which have hitherto prevailed. It is not in a spirit of controversy, much less of criticism, that I enter upon this examination, and I should willingly avoid it were I not convinced that it will throw new light upon the fundamental principles which I am advocating.

We have seen that writers on Political Economy have sought for the principle of Value in one or more of the accidents which exercise a notable influence over it, such as materiality, conservability, utility, rarity, labour, etc.; just like a physiologist who should seek the principle of life in one or more of the external phenomena which are necessary to its development, as air, water, light, electricity, etc.

Materiality.—“Man,” says M. de Bonald, “is mind served by organs.” If the economists of the materialist school had simply meant that men can render reciprocal services to each other only through the medium of their bodily organs, and had thence concluded that there is always something material in these services, and, consequently, in Value, I should not have proceeded a step farther, as I have a horror at word-catching and subtilties, which wit revels in.

But they have not thus understood it. What they believe is that Value has been communicated to matter, either by the labour of man or by the action of nature. In a word, deceived by the elliptical form of expression, gold is worth so much, corn is worth so much, they think they see in matter a quality called Value, just as the natural philosopher sees in it resistance and weight—and yet these attributes have been disputed.

Be that as it may, I dispute formally the existence of Value as an attribute of matter. [p153]

And first of all, it cannot be denied that Matter and Value are often found separated. When we say to a man—Carry that letter to its destination—fetch me some water—teach me this science or that manufacturing process—give me advice as to my sickness, or my law-suit—watch over my security, while I give myself up to labour or to sleep,—what we demand is a Service, and in that service we acknowledge in the face of the world that there resides a Value, seeing that we pay for it voluntarily by an equivalent service. It would be strange that we should refuse to admit in theory what universal consent admits in practice.

True, our transactions have reference frequently to material objects; but what does that prove? Why, that men, by exercising foresight, prepare to render services which they know to be in demand. I purchase a coat ready made, or I have a tailor to come to my house to work by the day; but does that change the principle of Value, so as to make it reside at one time in the coat and at another time in the service?

One might ask here this puzzling question—Must we not see the principle of Value first of all in the material object, and then attribute it by analogy to the services? I say that it is just the reverse. We must recognise it first of all in the services, and attribute it afterwards, if we choose, by a figure of speech, by metonymy, to the material objects.

The numerous examples which I have adduced render it unnecessary for me to pursue this discussion further. But I cannot refrain from justifying myself for having entered on it, by showing to what fatal consequences an error, or, if you will, an incomplete truth, may lead, when placed at the threshold of a science.

The least inconvenience of the definition which I am combating has been to curtail and mutilate Political Economy. If Value resides in matter, then where there is no matter there can be no Value. The Physiocrates31 designated three-fourths of the entire population as sterile, and Adam Smith, softening the expression, as unproductive classes.

But as facts in the long run are stronger than definitions, it became necessary in some way to bring back these classes, and make them re-enter the circle of economic studies. They were introduced by way of analogy; but the language of the science, formed beforehand on other definitions, had been so materialized as to render this extension repulsive. What mean such phrases as these: “To consume an immaterial product? Man is accumulated capital? Security is a commodity?” etc., etc. [p154]

Not only was the language of the science materialized beyond measure, but writers were forced to surcharge it with subtile distinctions, in order to reconcile ideas which had been erroneously separated. Hence Adam Smith’s expression of Value in use, in contradistinction to Value in exchange, etc.

A greater evil still has been that, in consequence of this confusion of two great social phenomena, property and community, the one has seemed incapable of justification, and the other has been lost sight of.

In fact, if Value resides in matter, it becomes mixed up with the physical qualities of bodies which render them useful to man. Now, these qualities are frequently placed there by nature. Then nature co-operates in creating Value, and we find ourselves attributing value to what is essentially common and gratuitous. On what basis, then, do you place property? When the remuneration which I give in order to obtain a material product, corn for example, is distributed among all the labourers, near or at a distance, who have rendered me a service in the production of that commodity,—who is to receive that portion of the value which corresponds to the action of nature, and with which man has nothing to do? Is it Providence who is to receive it? No one will say so, for we never heard of Nature demanding wages. Is man to receive it? What title has he to it, seeing that, by the hypothesis, he has done nothing?

Do not suppose that I am exaggerating, and that, for the sake of my own definition, I am torturing the definition of the economists, and deducing from it too rigorous conclusions. No, these consequences they have themselves very explicitly deduced, under the pressure of logic.

Thus, Senior has said that “those who have appropriated natural agents receive, under the form of rent, a recompense without having made any sacrifice. They merely hold out their hands to receive the offerings of the rest of the community.” Scrope tells us that “landed property is an artificial restriction imposed upon the enjoyment of those gifts which the Creator has intended for the satisfaction of the wants of all.” J. B. Say has these words: “Arable lands would seem to form a portion of natural wealth, seeing that they are not of human creation, and that nature has given them to man gratuitously. But as this description of wealth is not fugitive, like air and water,—as a field is a space fixed and marked out which certain men have succeeded in appropriating, to the exclusion of all others who have given their consent to this appropriation, land, which was natural [p155] and gratuitous property, has now become social wealth, the use of which must be paid for.”

Truly, if it be so, Proudhon is justified in proposing this terrible question, followed by an affirmation still more terrible:—

“To whom belongs the rent of land? To the producer of land, without doubt. Who made the land? God. Then, proprietor, begone!”

Yes, by a vicious definition, Political Economy has handed over logic to the Communists. I will break this terrible weapon in their hands, or rather they shall surrender it to me cheerfully. The consequences will disappear when I have annihilated the principle. And I undertake to demonstrate that if, in the production of wealth, the action of nature is combined with the action of man, the first—gratuitous and common in its own nature—remains gratuitous and common in all our transactions; that the second alone represents services, value; that the action of man alone is remunerated; and that it alone is the foundation, explanation, and justification of Property. In a word, I maintain that, relatively to each other, men are proprietors only of the value of things, and that in transferring products from hand to hand, what they stipulate for exclusively is value, that is to say, reciprocal services:—all the qualities, properties, and utilities, which these products derive from nature being obtained by them into the bargain.

If Political Economy hitherto, in disregarding this fundamental consideration, has shaken the guardian principle of property, by representing it as an artificial institution, necessary, indeed, but unjust, she has by the same act left in the shade, and completely unperceived, another admirable phenomenon the most touching dispensation of Providence to the creature—the phenomenon of progressive community.

Wealth, taking the word in its general acceptation, results from the combination of two agencies—the action of nature, and the action of man. The first is gratuitous and common by the destination of Providence, and never loses that character. The second alone is provided with value, and, consequently, appropriated. But with the development of intelligence, and the progress of civilisation, the one takes a greater and greater part, the other a less and less part, in the realization of each given utility; whence it follows that the domain of the Gratuitous and the Common is continually expanding among men relatively to the domain of Value and Property; a consoling and suggestive view of the subject, entirely hidden from the eye of science, so long as we continue to attribute Value to the co-operation of nature. [p156]

Men of all religions thank God for His benefits. The father of a family blesses the bread which he breaks and distributes to his children—a touching custom, that reason would not justify were the liberality of Providence other than gratuitous.

Durableness, conservability—that pretended sine qu non of Value, is connected with the subject which I have just been discussing. It is necessary to the very existence of value, as Adam Smith thinks, that it should be fixed and realized in something which can be exchanged, accumulated, preserved, consequently in something material.

“There is one sort of labour which adds32 to the value of the subject upon which it is bestowed. There is another which has no such effect.”

“The labour of the manufacturer,” he adds, “fixes and realizes itself in some particular subject or vendible commodity, which lasts for some time at least after the labour is past. The labour of the menial servant, on the contrary” (to which the author assimilates in this respect that of soldiers, magistrates, musicians, professors, etc.), “does not fix or realize itself in any particular subject or vendible commodity. His services perish in the very instant of their performance, and leave no trace of value behind them.”

Here we find Value connected rather with the modifications of matter than with the satisfactions of men—a profound error; for the sole good to be obtained from the modification of material things is the attainment of that satisfaction which is the design, the end, the consommation33 of every Effort. If, then, we realize that satisfaction by a direct and immediate effort, the result is the same; and if that effort can be made the subject of transactions, exchanges, estimation, it includes the principle of Value.

As regards the interval which may elapse between the effort and the satisfaction, surely Adam Smith attributes far too much importance to it, when he says that the existence or non-existence of Value depends upon it. “The value of a vendible commodity,” he says, “lasts for some time at least.” Undoubtedly it lasts until the commodity has answered its purpose, which is to satisfy a want; and exactly the same thing may be said of a service. As long as that plate of strawberries remains on the sideboard it preserves its value. Why? Because it is the result of a service [p157] which I have designed to render to myself, or that another has rendered to me by way of compensation, and of which I have not yet made use. The moment I have made use of it, by eating the strawberries, the value will disappear. The service will vanish and have no trace of value behind. The very same thing holds of personal services. The consumer makes the value disappear, for it has been created only for that purpose. It is of little consequence, as regards the principle of value, whether the service is undertaken to satisfy a want to-day, to-morrow, or a year hence.

Take another case. I am afflicted with a cataract. I call in an oculist. The instrument he makes use of has value, because it has durability; the operation he performs, it is said, has none, and yet I pay for it, and I have made choice of one among many rival operators, and arranged his remuneration beforehand. To maintain that this service has no value is to run counter to notorious facts and notions universally received. And of what use, I would ask, is a theory which, far from taking universal practice into account, ignores it altogether?

I would not have the reader suppose that I am carried away by an inordinate love of controversy. If I dwell upon these elementary notions, it is to prepare his mind for consequences of the highest importance, which will be afterwards developed. I know not whether it be to violate the laws of method to indicate these consequences by anticipation, but I venture to depart slightly from the regular course, in order to obviate the danger of becoming tedious. This is the reason why I have spoken prematurely of Property and Community; and for the same reason I shall here say a word respecting Capital.

As Adam Smith made value to reside in matter, he could not conceive Capital as existing otherwise than in an accumulation of material objects. How, then, can we attribute Value to Services not susceptible of being accumulated or converted into capital?

Among the different descriptions of Capital, we give the first place to tools, machines, instruments of labour. They serve to make natural forces co-operate in the work of production, and, attributing to these forces the faculty of creating value, people were led to imagine that instruments of labour, as such, were endowed with the same faculty, independently of any human services. Thus the spade, the plough, the steam-engine, were supposed to co-operate simultaneously with natural agents and human forces in creating not only Utility, but Value also. But all value is remunerated by exchange. Who, then, is to receive that portion of value which is independent of all human service? [p158]

It is thus that the school of Proudhon, after having brought the rent of land into question, has contested also the interest of capital—a larger thesis, because it includes the other. I maintain that the Proudhonian error, viewed scientifically, has its root in the prior error of Adam Smith. I shall demonstrate that capital, like natural agents, considered in itself, and with reference to its own proper action, creates utility, but never creates value. The latter is essentially the fruit of a legitimate service. I shall demonstrate also that, in the social order, capital is not an accumulation of material objects, depending on material durability, but an accumulation of Values, that is to say, of services. This will put an end (virtually at least, by removing its foundation) to the recent attack upon the productiveness of capital, and in a way satisfactory to the objectors themselves; for if I prove that there is nothing in the business of exchange but a mutuality of services, M. Proudhon must own himself vanquished by my victory over his principle.

Labour.—Adam Smith and his disciples have assigned the principle of Value to Labour under the condition of Materiality. This is contrary to the other opinion that natural forces play a certain part in the production of Value. I have not here to combat the contradictions which become apparent in all their fatal consequences when these authors come to discuss the rent of land and the interest of capital.

Be that as it may, when they refer the principle of Value to Labour, they would be very near the truth if they did not allude to manual labour. I have said, in fact, at the beginning of this chapter, that Value must have reference to Effort,—an expression which I prefer to the word Labour, as more general, and embracing the whole sphere of human activity. But I hasten to add that it can spring only from efforts exchanged—from reciprocal Services; because value is not a thing having independent existence, but a relation.

There are then, strictly speaking, two flaws in Adam Smith’s definition. The first is, that it does not take exchange into account, without which value can be neither produced nor conceived. The second is, that it makes use of too restricted a term—labour; unless we give to that term an unusual extension, and include in it the ideas not only of intensity and duration, but of skill, sagacity, and even of good or bad fortune.

The word service, which I substitute in my definition, removes these defects. It implies, necessarily, the idea of transmission, for no service can be rendered which is not received; and it implies [p159] also the idea of Effort, without taking for granted that the value is proportionate.

It is in this, above all, that the definition of the English Economists is vicious. To say that Value resides in Labour induces us to suppose that Value and Labour are proportional, and serve as reciprocal measures of each other. This is contrary to fact, and a definition which is contrary to fact must be defective.

It often happens that an exertion, considered insignificant in itself, passes with the world as of enormous value. (Take, for example, the diamond, the performance of the prima donna, a dash of a banker’s pen, a fortunate privateering adventure, a touch of Raphael’s pencil, a bull of plenary indulgence, the easy duty of an English queen, etc.) It still more frequently happens that laborious and overwhelming labour tends to what is absolutely valueless; and if it be so, how can we establish co-relation and proportion between Value and Labour?

My definition removes the difficulty. It is clear that in certain circumstances one can render a great service at the expense of a very small exertion, and that in others, after great exertion, we render no service at all. And this is another reason why, in this respect, it is correct to say that the Value is in the Service rendered, rather than in the Labour bestowed, seeing that it bears proportion to the one and not to the other.

I go further. I affirm that value is estimated as much by the labour saved to the recipient as by the labour performed by the cÉdant [the man who cedes or makes it over]. Let the reader recall the dialogue which we supposed to take place between the two parties who bargained for the diamond. In substance, it has reference to no accidental circumstances, but enters, tacitly, into the essence and foundation of all transactions. Keep in mind that we here take for granted that the two parties are at entire liberty to exercise their own will and judgment. Each of them, in making the exchange, is determined by various considerations, among which we must certainly rank, as of the greatest importance, the difficulty experienced by the recipient in procuring for himself, by a direct exertion, the satisfaction which is offered to him. Both parties have their eyes on that difficulty, the one with the view of being more yielding, the other with the view of being more exacting. The labour undergone by the cÉdant also exerts an influence on the bargain. It is one of the elements of it, but it is not the only one. It is not, then, exact to say that value is determined by labour. It is determined by a multitude of considerations, all comprised in the word service. [p160]

What may be affirmed with great truth is this; that, in consequence of competition, Value tends to become more proportioned to Effort—recompense to merit. It is one of the beautiful Harmonies of the social state. But, as regards Value, this equalizing pressure exercised by competition is quite external, and it is not allowable in strict logic to confound the influence which a phenomenon undergoes, from an external cause, with the phenomenon itself.34

Utility.—J. B. Say, if I am not mistaken, was the first who threw off the yoke of materiality. He made out value very expressly [p161] to be a moral quality,—an expression which perhaps goes too far, for value can scarcely be said to be either a physical or a moral quality—it is simply a relation.

But the great French Economist has himself said, that “It is not given to any one to reach the confines of science, and Philosophers mount on each other’s shoulders to explore a more and more extended horizon.” Perhaps the glory of M. Say (in what regards the special question with which we are now occupied, for his titles to glory in other respects are as numerous as they are imperishable) is to have bequeathed to his successors a view of the subject which is prolific and suggestive.

M. Say’s principle was this—“Value is founded on Utility.”

If we had here to do with utility as connected with human services, I should not contest this principle. At most I could only observe that it is superfluous, as being self-evident. It is very clear, as matter of fact, that no one consents to remunerate a service, unless right or wrong, he judges it to be useful. The word service includes the idea of utility—so much so that it is nothing else than a literal reproduction of the Latin word uti; in French, servir.

But, unfortunately, it is not in this sense that Say understands it. He discovers the principle of value not only in human services, rendered by means of material things, but in the useful qualities put by nature into the things themselves. In this way he places himself once more under the yoke of materiality, and is very far, we are obliged to confess, from clearing away the mist in which the English Economists had enveloped the question of Property.

Before discussing Say’s principle on its own merits, I must explain its logical bearing, in order to avoid the reproach of landing myself and the reader in an idle discussion.

We cannot doubt that the Utility of which Say speaks is that which resides in material objects. If corn, timber, coal, broad cloth, have value, it is because these products possess qualities which render them proper for our use, fit to satisfy the want we experience of food, fuel, and clothing.

Hence, as nature has created Utility, it is inferred that she has created also Value—a fatal confusion of ideas, out of which the enemies of property have forged a terrible weapon.

Take a commodity, corn for example. I purchase it at the Halle au BlÉ for sixteen francs. A great portion of these sixteen francs is distributed—in infinite ramifications, and an inextricable complication of advances and reimbursements—among all the men, [p162] here or abroad, who have co-operated in furnishing this corn. Part goes to the labourer, the sower, the reaper, the thrasher, the carter,—part to the blacksmith and plough-wright, who have prepared the agricultural implements. Thus far all are agreed, whether Economists or Communists.

But I perceive that four out of the sixteen francs go to the proprietor of the soil, and I have a good right to ask if that man, like the others, has rendered me a Service to entitle him incontestably, like them, to remuneration.

According to the doctrine which the present work aspires to establish, the answer is categorical. It consists of a peremptory yes. The proprietor has rendered me a service. What is it? This, that he has by himself, or his ancestor, cleared and enclosed the field—he has cleared it of weeds and stagnant water—he has enriched and thickened the vegetable mould—he has built a house and a homestead. All this presupposes much labour executed by him in person; or, what comes to the same thing, by others whom he has paid. These are services, certainly, which, according to the just law of reciprocity, must be reimbursed to him. Now, this proprietor has never been remunerated, at least to the full extent. He cannot be so by the first man who comes to buy from him a bag of corn. What is the arrangement, then, that takes place? Assuredly the most ingenious, the most legitimate, the most equitable arrangement which it is possible to imagine. It consists in this—That whoever wishes to purchase a sack of corn shall pay, besides the services of the various labourers whom we have enumerated, a small portion of the services rendered by the proprietor. In other words, the Value of the proprietor’s services is spread over all the sacks of corn which are produced by this field.

Now, it may be asked if the supposed remuneration of four francs be too great or too small. I answer that Political Economy has nothing to do with that. That science establishes that the value of the services rendered by the landed proprietor are regulated by exactly the same laws as the value of other services, and that is enough.

It may be a subject of surprise, too, that this bit-by-bit reimbursement should not at length amount to a complete liquidation, and, consequently, to an extinction of the proprietor’s claim. They who make this objection do not reflect that it is of the nature of Capital to produce a perpetual return, as we shall see in the sequel.

I shall not dwell longer on that question in this place; and shall [p163] simply remark, that there is not in the entire price of the corn a single farthing which does not go to remunerate human services,—not one which corresponds to the value that nature is supposed to have given to the corn by imparting to it utility.

But if, adhering to the principle of Say and the English Economists, you assert that, of the sixteen francs, there are twelve which go to the labourers, sowers, reapers, carters, etc.—two which recompense the personal services of the proprietor; and finally, that there are two others which represent a value which has for its foundation the utility created by God, by natural agents, and without any co-operation of man, do you not perceive that you immediately lay yourself open to be asked, Who is to profit by this portion of value? Who has a title to this remuneration? Nature does not demand it, and who dare take nature’s place.

The more Say tries to explain Property on this hypothesis, the more he exposes himself to attack. He sets out by justly comparing nature to a laboratory, in which various chemical operations take place, the result of which is useful to man. “The soil, then,” he adds, “is the producer of utility, and when IT (the soil) receives payment in the form of a profit or a rent to its proprietor, it is not without giving something to the consumer in exchange for what he pays IT (the soil). It (still the soil) gives him the utility it has produced, and it is in producing this utility that the earth is productive as well as labour.”

This assertion is unmistakable. Here we have two pretenders, who present themselves to share the remuneration due by the consumer of corn—namely, the earth and labour. They urge the same title, for the soil, M. Say affirms, is productive as well as labour. Labour asks to be remunerated for a service; the soil demands to be remunerated for a utility, and this remuneration it demands not for itself (for in what form should we give it?) but for its proprietor.

Whereupon Proudhon summons the proprietor, who represents himself as having the powers of the soil at his disposal, to exhibit his title.

You wish me to pay; in other words, to render a service, in order that I may receive the utility produced by natural agents, independently of the assistance of man, already paid for separately.

But, I ask again, Who is to profit by my service?

Is it the producer of utility,—that is to say, the soil? That is absurd—the fear of any demand from that quarter need give no great uneasiness. [p164]

Is it man? but by what title does he demand it? If for having rendered me a service, well and good. In that case, we are at one. It is the human service which has value, not the natural service; and that is just the conclusion to which I desire to bring you.

That, however, is contrary to your hypothesis. You say that all the human services are remunerated with fourteen francs, and that the two francs which make up the price of the corn correspond to the value created by nature. In that case, I repeat my question—By what title does any one present himself to receive them? Is it not, unfortunately, too clear that if you give specially the name of proprietor to the man who claims right to these two francs, you justify the too famous saying that Property is theft?

And don’t imagine that this confusion between utility and value shakes only the foundation of landed property. After having led you to contest the rent of land, it leads you to contest also the interest of capital.

In fact, machines, the instruments of labour, are, like the soil, producers of utility. If that utility has value, it is paid for, for the word value implies right to payment. But to whom is the payment made? To the proprietor of the machine, without doubt. Is it for a personal service? Then say at once that the value is in the service. But if you say that it is necessary to make a payment first for the service, and a second payment for the utility produced by the machine independently of the human action, which has been already recompensed, then I ask you to whom does this second payment go, and how has the man who has been already remunerated for all his services a right to demand anything more?

The truth is, that the utility which is produced by nature is gratuitous, and therefore common, like that produced by the instruments of labour. It is gratuitous and common on one condition, that we take the trouble, that we render ourselves the service of appropriating it; or, if we give that trouble to or demand that service from another, that we cede to him in return an equivalent service. It is in these services, thus compared, that value resides, and not at all in natural utility. The exertion may be more or less great—that makes a difference in the value, not in the utility. When we stand near a spring, water is gratuitous for us all on condition that we stoop to lift it. If we ask our neighbour to take that trouble for us, then a convention, a bargain, a value makes its appearance, but that does not make the water otherwise than gratuitous. If we are an hour’s walk from the spring, the basis of the transaction will be different; but the difference is one of degree, not of principle. The value has not, on that account, passed into [p165] the water or into its utility. The water continues still gratuitous on condition of fetching it, or of remunerating those who, by a bargain freely made and discussed, agree to spare us that exertion by making it themselves.

It is the same thing in every case. We are surrounded by utilities, but we must stoop to appropriate them. That exertion is sometimes very simple, and often very complicated. Nothing is more easy, in the general case, than to draw water, the utility of which has been prepared by nature beforehand. It is not so easy to obtain corn, the utility of which nature has equally prepared. This is why these two efforts differ in degree though not in principle. The service is more or less onerous; therefore more or less valuable—the utility is, and remains always, gratuitous.

Suppose an instrument of labour to intervene, what would be the result? That the utility would be more easily obtained. The service has thus less value. We certainly pay less for our books since the invention of printing. Admirable phenomenon, too little understood! You say that the instruments of labour produce Value—you are mistaken—it is Utility, and gratuitous Utility, you should say. As to Value, instead of producing it, they tend more and more to annihilate it.

It is quite true that the person who made the machine has rendered a service. He receives a remuneration by which the value of the product is augmented. This is the reason why we fancy we recompense the utility which the machine produces. It is an illusion. What we remunerate is the services which all those who have co-operated in making and working the machine have rendered to us. So little does the value reside in the utility produced, that even after having recompensed these new services, we acquire the utility on easier and cheaper terms than before.

Let us accustom ourselves to distinguish Utility from Value. Without this there can be no Economic science. I give utterance to no paradox when I affirm that Utility and Value, so far from being identical, or oven similar, are ideas opposed to one another. Want, Effort, Satisfaction: here we have man regarded in an Economic point of view. The relation of utility is with Want and Satisfaction. The relation of Value is with Effort. Utility is the Good, which puts an end to the want by the satisfaction. Value is the Evil, for it springs from the obstacle which is interposed between the want and the satisfaction. But for these obstacles, there would have been no Effort either to make or in exchange; Utility would be infinite, gratuitous, and common, without condition, and the notion of Value would never have [p166] entered into the world. In consequence of these obstacles, Utility is gratuitous only on condition of Efforts exchanged, which, when compared with each other, give rise to Value. The more these obstacles give way before the liberality of nature and the progress of science, the more does utility approximate to the state of being absolutely common and gratuitous, for the onerous condition, and, consequently, the value, diminish as the obstacles diminish. I shall esteem myself fortunate if, by these dissertations, which may appear subtle, and of which I am condemned to fear at once the length and the conciseness, I succeed in establishing this encouraging truth—the legitimate property of value,—and this other truth, equally consoling—the progressive community of utility.

One observation more. All that serves us is useful (uti, servir), and in this respect it is extremely doubtful whether there be anything in the universe (whether in the shape of forces or materials) which is not useful to man.

We may affirm at least, without fear of mistake, that a multitude of things possess a utility which is unknown to us. Were the moon placed either higher or lower than she is, it is very possible that the inorganic kingdom, consequently the vegetable kingdom, consequently also the animal kingdom, might be profoundly modified. But for that star which shines in the firmament while I write, it may be that the human race had not existed. Nature has surrounded us with utilities. The quality of being useful we recognise in many substances and phenomena;—in others, science and experience reveal it to us every day,—in others, again, it may exist in perfection, and yet we may remain for ever ignorant of it.

When these substances and phenomena exert upon us, but independently of us, their useful action, we have no interest in comparing the degree of their utility to mankind; and, what is more, we have scarcely the means of making the comparison. We know that oxygen and azote are useful to us, but we don’t try, and probably we should try in vain, to determine in what proportion. We have not here the elements of appreciation—the elements of value. I should say as much of the salts, the gases, the forces which abound in nature. When all these agents are moved and combined so as to produce for us, but without our co-operation, utility, that utility we enjoy without estimating its value. It is when our co-operation comes into play, and, above all, when it comes to be exchanged,—it is then, and then only, that Estimation and Value make their appearance, in connexion not with the utility of the substances or phenomena, of which we are often ignorant, but with the co-operation itself. [p167]

This is my reason for saying that “Value is the appreciation of services exchanged.” These services may be very complicated; they may have exacted a multitude of operations recent or remote; they may be transmitted from one generation or one hemisphere to another generation or another hemisphere, embracing countless contracting parties, necessitating credits, advances, various arrangements, until a general balance is effected. But the principle of value is always in the services, and not in the utility of which these services are the vehicle,—utility which is gratuitous in its nature and essence, and which passes from hand to hand, if I may be allowed the expression, into the bargain.

After all, if you persist in seeing in Utility the foundation of Value, I am very willing, but it must be distinctly understood that it is not that utility which is in things and phenomena by the dispensation of Providence or the power of art, but the utility of human services compared and exchanged.

Rarity.—According to Senior, of all the circumstances which determine value, rarity is the most decisive. I have no objection to make to that remark, if it is not that the form in which it is made presupposes that value is inherent in things themselves—a hypothesis the very appearance of which I shall always combat. At bottom, the word rarity, as applied to the subject we are now discussing, expresses in a concise manner this idea, that, cÆteris paribus, a service has more value in proportion as we have more difficulty in rendering it to ourselves; and that, consequently, a larger equivalent is exacted from us when we demand it from another. Rarity is one of these difficulties. It is one obstacle more to be surmounted. The greater it is, the greater remuneration do we award to those who surmount it for us. Rarity gives rise frequently to large remunerations, and this is my reason for refusing to admit with the English Economists that Value is proportional to Labour. We must take into account the parsimony with which nature treats us in certain respects. The word service embraces all these ideas and shades of ideas.

Judgment.—Storch sees value in the judgment by which we recognise it. Undoubtedly, whenever we have to do with relation, it is necessary to compare and to judge. Nevertheless, the relation is one thing and the judgment is another. When we compare the height of two trees, their magnitude, and the difference of their magnitude, are independent of our appreciation.

But in the determination of value, what is the relation of which we have to form a judgment? It is the relation of two services exchanged. The business is to discover what the services rendered [p168] are worth in relation to those received, in connexion with acts or things exchanged, and taking all circumstances into account,—not what intrinsic utility resides in these acts or things, for this utility may, to some extent, be altogether independent of human exertion, and, consequently, devoid of value.

Storch falls into the error which I am now combating when he says,—

“Our judgment enables us to discover the relation which exists between our wants and the utility of things. The determination which our judgment forms upon the utility of things constitutes their value.”

And, farther on, he says,—

“In order to create a value, we must have the conjunction of these three circumstances:—1st, That man experiences or conceives a want; 2d, That there exists something calculated to satisfy that want; and, 3d, That a judgment is pronounced in favour of the utility of the thing. Then the value of things is their relative utility.”

During the day I experience the want of seeing clearly. There exists one thing calculated to satisfy that want—namely, the light of the sun. My judgment pronounces in favour of the utility of that thing, and... it has no value. Why? Because I enjoy it without calling for the services of any one.

At night I experience the same want. There exists one thing capable of satisfying it very imperfectly, a wax candle. My judgment pronounces in favour of the utility, but far inferior utility, of that thing—and it has value. Why? Because the man who has taken the trouble to make the candle will not give it to me except upon condition of my rendering him an equivalent service.

What we have, then, to compare and to judge of, in order to determine Value, is not the relative utility of things, but the relation of two services.

On these terms, I do not reject Storch’s definition.

Permit me to recapitulate a little, in order to show clearly that my definition contains all that is true in the definitions of my predecessors, and eliminates everything in them which is erroneous either through excess or defect.

The principle of Value, we have seen, resides in a human service, and results from the appreciation of two services compared.

Value must have relation to Effort. Service implies a certain Effort.

Value supposes a comparison of Efforts exchanged, at least exchangeable. Service implies the terms to give and to receive. [p169]

Value is not, however, in fact proportional to the intensity of the Efforts. Service does not necessarily imply that proportion.

A multitude of external circumstances influence value without constituting value itself. The word service takes all these circumstances in due measure into account.

Materiality.—When the service consists in transferring a material thing, nothing hinders us from saying, by metonymy, that it is the thing which has value. But we must not forget that this is a figure of speech, by which we attribute to things themselves the value of the services which produced them.

Conservability.—Without reference to the consideration of materiality, value endures until the satisfaction is obtained, and no longer. Whether the satisfaction follows the effort more or less nearly—whether the service is personal or real, makes no change in the nature of value.

Capability of Accumulation.—In a social point of view, what is accumulated by saving is not matter, but value or services.35

Utility.—I admit, with M. Say, that Utility is the foundation of Value, provided it is granted me that we have no concern with the utility which resides in commodities, but with the relative utility of services.

Labour.—I admit, with Ricardo, that Labour is the foundation of Value, provided, first of all, the word labour is taken in the most general sense, and that you do not afterwards assert a proportionality which is contrary to fact; in other words, provided you substitute for the word labour the word service.

Rarity.—I admit, with Senior, that rarity influences value. But why? Because it renders the service so much more precious.

Judgment.—I admit, with Storch, that value results from a judgment formed, provided it is granted me that the judgment so formed is not upon the utility of things, but on the utility of services.

Thus I hope to satisfy Economists of all shades of opinion. I [p170] admit them all to be right, because all have had a glimpse of the truth in one of its aspects. Error is no doubt on the reverse of the medal; and it is for the reader to decide whether my definition includes all that is true, and rejects all that is false.

I cannot conclude without saying a word on that quadrature of Political Economy—the measure of value; and here I shall repeat, and with still more force, the observation with which I terminated the preceding chapters.

I said that our wants, our desires, our tastes, have neither limit nor exact measure.

I said also that our means of providing for our wants—the gifts of nature, our faculties, activity, discernment, foresight—had no precise measure. Each of these elements is variable in itself—it differs in different men—it varies from hour to hour in the same individual,—so that the whole forms an aggregate which is mobility itself.

If, again, we consider what the circumstances are which influence value—utility, labour, rarity, judgment—and reflect that there is not one of these circumstances which does not vary ad infinitum, we may well ask why men should set themselves so pertinaciously to try to discover a fixed measure of Value?

It would be singular, indeed, if we were to find fixity in a mean term composed of variable elements, and which is nothing else than a Relation between two extreme terms more variable still!

The Economists, then, who go in pursuit of an absolute measure of value are pursuing a chimera; and, what is more, a thing which, if found, would be positively useless. Universal practice has adopted gold and silver as standards, although practical men are not ignorant how variable is the value of these metals. But of what importance is the variability of the measure, if, affecting equally and in the same manner the two objects which are exchanged, it does not interfere with the fairness and equity of the exchange? It is a mean proportional, which may rise or fall, without, on that account, failing to perform its office, which is to show the Relation of two extremes.

The design of the science is not, like that of exchange, to discover the present Relation of two services, for, in that case, money would answer the purpose in view. What the science aims at discovering is the Relation between Effort and Satisfaction; and for this purpose, a measure of value, did it exist, would teach us nothing, for the effort brings always to the satisfaction a varying proportion of gratuitous utility which has no value. It is because this element of our well-being has been lost sight of that the [p171] majority of writers have deplored the absence of a measure of Value. They have not reflected that it would not enable them to answer the question proposed—What is the comparative Wealth or prosperity of two classes, of two countries, of two generations?

In order to resolve that question, the science would require a measure which should reveal to it not only the relation of two services, which might be the vehicle of very different amounts of gratuitous utility, but the relation of the Effort to the Satisfaction, and that measure could be no other than the effort itself, or labour.

But how can labour serve as a measure? Is it not itself a most variable element? Is it not more or less skilful, laborious, precarious, dangerous, repugnant? Does it not require, more or less, the intervention of certain intellectual faculties, of certain moral virtues? and, according as it is influenced by these circumstances, is it not rewarded by a remuneration which is in the highest degree variable?

There is one species of labour which, at all times, and in all places, is identically the same, and it is that which must serve as a type. I mean labour the most simple, rude, primitive, muscular,—that which is freest from all natural co-operation—that which every man can execute—that which renders services of a kind which one can render to himself—that which exacts no exceptional force or skill, and requires no apprenticeship,—industry such as is found in the very earliest stages of society: the work, in short, of the simple day-labourer. That kind of labour is everywhere the most abundantly supplied, the least special, the most homogeneous, and the worst remunerated. Wages in all other departments are proportioned and graduated on this basis, and increase with every circumstance which adds to its importance.

If, then, we wish to compare two social states with each other, we cannot have recourse to a standard of value, and for two reasons, the one as logical as the other—first, because there is none; and, secondly, because, if there were, it would give a wrong answer to our question, neglecting, as it must, a considerable and progressive element in human prosperity—gratuitous utility.

What we must do, on the contrary, is to put Value altogether out of sight, particularly the consideration of money; and ask the question, What, in such and such a country, and, at such and such an epoch, is the amount of each kind of special utility, and the sum total of all utilities, which correspond to a given amount of unskilled labour? In other words, what amount of material comfort and prosperity can an unskilled workman earn as the reward of his daily toil? [p172]

We may affirm that the natural social order is harmonious, and goes on improving, if, on the one hand, the number of unskilled labours, receiving the smallest possible remuneration, continues to diminish; and if, on the other, that remuneration, measured not in value or in money, but in real satisfactions, continues constantly on the increase.36

The ancients have well described all the combinations of Exchange:—

Do ut des (commodity against commodity), Do ut facias (commodity against service), Facio ut des (service against commodity), Facio ut facias (service against service).37

Seeing that products and services are thus exchanged for one another, it is quite necessary that they should have something in common, something by which they can be compared and estimated—namely, Value.

But value is always identically the same. Whether it be in the product or in the service, it has always the same origin and foundation.

This being so, we may ask, is Value originally and essentially in the commodity, and is it only by analogy that we extend the notion to the service?

Or, on the contrary, does Value reside in the service, and is it not mixed up and amalgamated with the product, simply and exclusively because the service is so?

Some people seem to think that this is a question of pure subtilty. We shall see by-and-by. At present I shall only observe, that it would be strange if, in Political Economy, a good or a bad definition of Value were a matter of indifference.

I cannot doubt that, at the outset, Political Economists thought they discovered value rather in the product, as such, than in the matter of the product. The Physiocrates [the Économistes of Quesnay’s school] attributed value exclusively to land, and stigmatized as sterile such classes as added nothing to matter,—so strictly in their eyes were value and matter bound up together.

Adam Smith ought to have discarded this idea, since he makes value flow from labour. Do not pure services, services per se, exact labour, and, consequently, do they not imply value? Near to the truth as Smith had come, he did not make himself master of it; for, besides pronouncing formally that labour, in order to possess value, must be applied to matter, to something physically [p173] tangible and capable of accumulation, we know that, like the Physiocrates, he ranked those who simply render services among the unproductive classes.

These classes, in fact, occupy a prominent position in the Wealth of Nations. But this only shows us that the author, after having given a definition, found himself straitened by it, and, consequently, that that definition is erroneous. Adam Smith would not have gained his great and just renown had he not written his magnificent chapters on Education, on the Clergy, and on Public Services, and if he had, in treating of Wealth, confined himself within the limits of his own definition. Happily, by this inconsistency, he freed himself from the fetters which his premises imposed upon him. This always happens. A man of genius who sets out with a false principle never escapes inconsistency, without which he would get deeper and deeper into error, and, far from appearing a man of genius, would show himself no longer a man of sense.

As Adam Smith advanced a step beyond the Physiocrates, Jean Baptiste Say advanced a step beyond Smith. By degrees Say was led to refer value to services, but only by way of analogy. It is in the product that he discovers true value, and nothing shows this better than his whimsical denomination of services as “immaterial products”—two words which absolutely shriek out on finding themselves side by side. Say, in the outset, agrees with Smith; for the entire theory of the master is to be found in the first ten lines of the work of the disciple.38 But he thought and meditated on the subject for thirty years, and he made progress. He approximated more and more to the truth, without ever fully attaining it.

Moreover, we might have imagined that Say did his duty as an Economist as well by referring the value of the service to the product, as by referring the value of the product to the service, if the Socialist propaganda, founding on his own deductions, had not come to reveal to us the insufficiency and the danger of his principle.

The question I propose, then, is this:—Seeing that certain products are possessed of value, seeing that certain services are possessed of value, and seeing that value is one and identical, and can have but one origin, one foundation, one explanation,—is this origin, this explanation to be found in the product or in the service?

The reply to that question is obvious, and for this unanswerable [p174] reason, that every product which has value implies service, but every service does not necessarily imply a product.

This appears to me mathematically certain—conclusive.

A service, as such, has value, whether it assume a material form or not.

A material object has value if, in transferring it to another, we render him a service,—if not, it has no value.

Then value does not proceed from the material object to the service, but from the service to the material object.

Nor is this all. Nothing is more easily explained than this pre-eminence, this priority, given to the service over the product, so far as value is concerned. We shall immediately see that this is owing to a circumstance which might have been easily perceived, but which has not been observed, just because it is under our eyes. It is nothing else than that foresight which is natural to man, and in virtue of which, in place of limiting himself to the services which are demanded of him, he prepares himself beforehand to render those services which he foresees are likely to be demanded. It is thus that the facio ut facias transforms itself into the do ut des, without its ceasing to be the dominant fact which explains the whole transaction.

John says to Peter, I want a cup. I could make it for myself, but if you will make it for me, you will render me a service, for which I will pay you by an equivalent service.

Peter accepts the offer, and, in consequence, sets out in quest of suitable materials, mixes them, manipulates them, and, in fine, makes the article which John wants.

It is very evident that here it is the service which determines the value. The dominant word in the transaction is facio. And if, afterwards, the value is incorporated with the product, it is only because it flows from the service, which combines the labour executed by Peter with the labour saved to John.

Now, it may happen that John may make frequently the same proposal to Peter, and that other people may also make it; so that Peter can foresee with certainty the kind of services which will be demanded of him, and prepare himself for rendering them. He may say, I have acquired a certain degree of skill in making cups. Experience tells me that cups supply a want which must be satisfied, and I am therefore enabled to manufacture them beforehand.

Henceforth John says no longer to Peter, facio ut facias, but facio ut des. If he in turn has foreseen the wants of Peter, and laboured beforehand to provide for them, he can then say do ut des. [p175]

But in what respect, I ask, does this progress, which flows from human foresight, change the nature and origin of value? Does service cease to be its foundation and measure? As regards the true idea of value, what difference does it make whether Peter, before he makes the cup, waits till there is a demand for it, or, foreseeing a future demand, manufactures the article beforehand?

There is another remark which I would make here. In human life, inexperience and thoughtlessness precede experience and foresight. It is only in the course of time that men are enabled to foresee each other’s wants, and to make preparations for satisfying them. Logically, the facio ut facias must precede the do ut des. The latter is at once the fruit and the evidence of a certain amount of knowledge diffused, of experience acquired, of political security obtained, of a certain confidence in the future,—in a word, of a certain degree of civilisation. This social prescience, this faith in a future demand, which causes us to provide a present supply; this sort of intuitive acquaintance with statistics which each possesses in a greater or less degree, and which establishes a surprising equilibrium between our wants and the means of supplying them, is one of the most powerful and efficacious promoters of human improvement. To it we owe the division of labour, or at least the separation of trades and professions. To it we owe one of the advantages which men seek for with the greatest ardour, the fixity of remuneration, under the form of wages as regards labour, and interest as regards capital. To it we are indebted for the institution of credit, transactions having reference to the future, those which are designed to equalize risk, etc. It is surprising, in an Economical point of view, that this noble attribute of man, Foresight, has not been made more the subject of remark. This arises, as Rousseau has said, from the difficulty we experience in observing the medium in which we live and move, and which forms our natural atmosphere. We notice only exceptional appearances and abnormal facts, while we allow to pass unperceived those which act permanently around us, upon us, and within us, and which modify profoundly both individual men and society at large.

To return to the subject which at present engages us. It may be that human foresight, in its infinite diffusion, tends more and more to substitute the do ut des for the facio ut facias; but we must never forget that it is in the primitive and necessary form of exchange that the notion of value first makes its appearance, that this primitive form is that of reciprocal service; and that, after all, [p176] as regards exchange, the product is only a service foreseen and provided for.

But although I have shown that value is not inherent in matter, and cannot be classed among its attributes, I am far from maintaining that it does not pass from the service to the product, so as (if I may be allowed the expression) to become incorporated with it. I hope my opponents will not believe that I am pedant enough to wish to exclude from common language such phrase as these—gold has value, wheat has value, land has value. But I have a right to demand of science why this is so? and if I am answered, because gold, wheat, and land possess in themselves intrinsic value, then I think I have a right to say—“You are mistaken, and your error is dangerous. You are mistaken, for there are gold and land which are destitute of value, gold and land which have not yet had any human labour bestowed upon them. Your error is dangerous, for it leads men to regard what is simply a right to a reciprocity of services as a usurpation of the gratuitous gifts of God.”

I am quite willing, then, to acknowledge that products are possessed of value, provided you grant me that it is not essential to them, and that it attaches itself to services, and proceeds from them.

This is so true, that a very important consequence, and one which is fundamental in Political Economy, flows from it—a consequence which has not been, and indeed could not be remarked. It is this:—

Where value has passed from the service to the product, it undergoes in the product all the risks and chances to which it is subject in the service itself.

It is not fixed in the product, as it would have been had it been one of its own intrinsic qualities. It is essentially variable; it may rise indefinitely, or it may fall until it disappears altogether, just as the species of service to which it owes its origin would have done.

The man who makes a cup to-day for the purpose of selling it a year hence, confers value on it, and that value is determined by that of the service—not the value which the service possesses at the present moment, but that which it will possess at the end of the year. If at the time when the cup comes to be sold such services are more in demand, the cup will be worth more, or it will be depreciated in the opposite case.

This is the reason why man is constantly stimulated to exercise foresight, in order to turn it to account. He has always in [p177] perspective a possible rise or fall of value,—a recompense for just and sagacious prevision, and chastisement when it is erroneous. And, observe, his success or failure coincides with the public good or the public detriment. If his foresight has been well directed, if he has made preparations beforehand to give society the benefit of services which are more in request, more appreciated, more efficacious, which supply more adequately wants which are deeply felt, he has contributed to diminish the scarcity, to augment the abundance, of that description of service, and to bring it within the reach of a greater number of persons at less expense. If, on the other hand, he is mistaken in his calculations for the future, he contributes, by his competition, to depress still farther those services for which there is little demand. He only effects, and at his own expense, a negative good,—he advertises the public that a certain description of wants no longer call for the exertion of much social activity, which activity must now take another direction, or go without recompense.

This remarkable fact—that value, incorporated in a product, depends on the value of the kind of service to which it owes its origin—is of the very highest importance, not only because it demonstrates more and more clearly the theory that the principle of value resides in the service, but because it explains, easily and satisfactorily, phenomena which other systems regard as abnormal and exceptional.

When once the product has been thrown upon the market of the world, do the general tendencies of society operate towards elevating or towards depressing its value? This is to ask whether the particular kind of services which have engendered this value are liable to become more or less appreciated, and better or worse remunerated. The one is as possible as the other, and it is this which opens an unlimited field to human foresight.

This we may remark at least, that the general law of beings, capable of making experiments, of acquiring information, and of rectifying mistakes, is progress. The probability, then, is, that at any given period a certain amount of time and pains will effect greater results than were effected by the same agency at an anterior period: whence we may conclude that the prevailing tendency of value, incorporated with a commodity, is to fall. If, for example, we suppose the cup which I took by way of illustration, and as a symbol of other products, to have been made many years ago, the probability is that it has undergone depreciation, inasmuch as we have at the present day more resources for the manufacture of such articles, more skill, better tools, capital [p178] obtained on easier terms, and a more extended division of labour. In this way the person who wishes to obtain the cup does not say to its possessor, Tell me the exact amount of labour (quantity and quality both taken into account) which that cup has cost you, in order that I may remunerate you accordingly. No, he says, Now-a-days, in consequence of the progress of art, I can make for myself, or procure by exchange, a similar cup at the expense of so much labour of such a quality; and that is the limit of the remuneration which I can consent to give you.

Hence it follows that all labour incorporated with commodities, in other words, all accumulated labour, all capital, has a tendency to become depreciated in presence of services naturally improvable and increasingly and progressively productive; and that, in exchanging present labour against anterior labour, the advantage is generally on the side of present labour, as it ought to be, seeing that it renders a greater amount of service.

This shows us how empty are the declamations which we hear continually directed against the value of landed property. That value differs from other values in nothing—neither in its origin, nor in its nature, nor in the general law of its slow depreciation, as compared with the labour which it originally cost.

It represents anterior services,—the clearing away of trees and stones, draining, enclosing, levelling, manuring, building: it demands the recompense of these services. But that recompense is not regulated with reference to the labour which has been actually performed. The landed proprietor does not say. “Give me in exchange for this land as much labour as it has received from me.” (But he would so express himself if, according to Adam Smith’s theory, value came from labour, and were proportional to it.) Much less does he say, as Ricardo and a number of economists suppose, “Give me first of all as much labour as this land has had bestowed upon it, and a certain amount of labour over and above, as an equivalent for the natural and inherent powers of the soil.” No, the proprietor, who represents all the possessors of the land who have preceded him, up to those who made the first clearance, is obliged, in their name, to hold this humble language:—

“We have prepared services, and what we ask is to exchange these for equivalent services. We worked hard formerly, for in our days we were not acquainted with your powerful means of execution—there were no roads—we were forced to do everything by muscular exertion. Much sweat and toil, many human lives, are buried under these furrows. But we do not expect from you [p179] labour for labour—we have no means of effecting an exchange on those terms. We are quite aware that the labour bestowed on land now-a-days, whether in this country or abroad, is much more perfect and much more productive than formerly. All that we ask, and what you clearly cannot refuse us, is that our anterior labour and the new labour shall be exchanged, not in proportion to their comparative duration and intensity, but proportionally to their results, so that we may both receive the same remuneration for the same service. By this arrangement we are losers as regards labour, seeing that three or four times more of ours than of yours is required to accomplish the same service; but we have no choice, and can no longer effect the exchange on any other terms.”

And, in point of fact, this represents the actual state of things. If we could form an exact estimate of the amount of efforts, of incessant labour, and toil, expended in bringing each acre of our land to its present state of productiveness, we should be thoroughly convinced that the man who purchases that land does not give labour for labour—at least in ninety-nine cases out of the hundred.

I add this qualification, because we must not forget that an incorporated service may gain value as well as lose it. And although the general tendency be towards depreciation, nevertheless the opposite phenomenon manifests itself sometimes, in exceptional circumstances, as well in the case of land as of anything else, and this without violating the law of justice, or affording adequate cause for the cry of monopoly.

Services always intervene to bring out the principle of value. In most cases the anterior labour probably renders a less amount of service than the new labour, but this is not an absolute law which admits of no exception. If the anterior labour renders a less amount of service than the new, as is nearly always the case, a greater quantity of the first than of the second must be thrown into the scale to establish the equiponderance, seeing that the equiponderance is regulated by services. But if it happen, as it sometimes may, that the anterior labour renders greater service than the new, the latter must make up for this by the sacrifice of quantity. [p180]