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›.