Chapter V: Of Value

[30] I have ventured to state elsewhere some of the reasons which induce me to doubt the entire soundness of Bastiat’s conclusions on the subject of Rent and the Value of Land.—See note to chapter ix. ‹post›.—«Translator.»

[31] French Economists of the school of Quesnay.—«Translator.»

[32] Adds! The subject had then intrinsic value, anterior to the bestowal of labour upon it. That could only come from nature. The action of nature is not then ‹gratuitous›, according to this showing; but in that case, who can have the audacity to exact payment for this portion of ‹superhuman› value?

[33] The French Economists translate our word ‹consumption› by consommation.—«Translator.»

[34] It is because, in a state of freedom, efforts compete with each other that they obtain this remuneration nearly in proportion to their intensity. But, I repeat, this proportionality is not inherent in the notion of value.

It is a proof that where this competition does not exist the proportionality ceases. In that case we discover no relation between divers kinds of labour and their remuneration.

The absence of competition may result from the nature of things or from human perversity.

If it arises from the nature of things, we shall see a very small amount of labour give rise to great ‹value›, and no one have reason to complain. Such is the case of the man who finds a diamond. Such is the case of Rubini, of Malibran, of Taglioni, of a fashionable tailor, of the proprietor of the Clos-Vougeot, etc., etc. Circumstances have put them in possession of rare means of rendering service; they have no rivals, and exact a high price. ‹The service being, from its very nature, of excessive rarity›, shows that it is not essential to the well-being and progress of mankind. It is an object of luxury, of vanity, which wealthy people are enabled to procure. Is it not natural that a man, before indulging in such satisfactions, should wait until he finds himself in a situation to provide for wants which are more imperious and more reasonable?

If competition is absent in consequence of some human intervention, the same effects are produced, but with this enormous difference, that they have been produced where they ought not. In that case we see a comparatively small amount of labour give rise to great value; but how? By forcibly interdicting that competition the effect of which is to proportion remuneration to services. Then, just as Rubini might say to a ‹dilettante›. “You must pay me handsomely, or I don’t sing this evening,”—presuming on being able to render a service which no one else can render,—in the same way a butcher, a baker, a landlord, a banker, may say, “I must have an extravagant price, or you shall have none of my corn, my bread, my meat, my gold; and I have adopted precautions, I shall employ force, to prevent you being able to provide yourself elsewhere, and to make sure that no one shall render you services analogous to mine.”

People who assimilate artificial to what they call natural monopolies, because they have this in common, that they enhance the value of labour, such people, I say, are both blind and superficial.

Artificial monopoly is nothing else than spoliation. It produces evils which, apart from it, did not exist. It inflicts privations on a considerable portion of society, frequently as regards commodities of primary necessity. Moreover, it gives rise to irritation, hatreds, reprisals,—all the fruits of injustice.

Natural advantages do no harm to mankind. At most we can say that they merely exhibit pre-existent evils, imputable to no one. It may be regretted, perhaps, that tokay is not as cheap and as abundant as ‹vin ordinaire›. But that is not a social evil; it is one imposed on us by nature.

Between natural and artificial monopolies, then, there is this essential difference:

The one is the effect of scarcity, pre-existent and inevitable.

The other is the effect of a scarcity which is factitious and unnatural.

In the first case, it is not the absence of competition which creates the scarcity; it is the scarcity which explains the absence of competition. Society would be puerile were it to complain and torment itself because there is in the world only one Jenny Lind, one Clos-Vougeot, one Regent.

In the second case it is very different. It is not on account of a providential scarcity that competition becomes impossible, but because force has repressed and put down competition that there is created among men a scarcity which ought not to have existed.—(‹Note extracted from MSS. left by the Author.›)

[35] ‹Vide post›, chap. xv.

‹Accumulation› is a circumstance of no account in Political Economy.

Let the satisfaction be immediate or delayed, let it be adjourned or follow instantly on the effort,—in what respect does this change the nature of things?

I choose to make a sacrifice to enjoy the pleasure of hearing a fine voice. I go to the theatre, and pay for my entertainment—the satisfaction is immediate. I devote my money to the purchase of a basket of strawberries, and I can delay my satisfaction till to-morrow—that is all.

It may be said that the strawberries constitute wealth, because I can exchange them. True. Whilst the effort has been made and the satisfaction is delayed, wealth subsists. It is satisfaction which destroys wealth. When the strawberries been eaten the satisfaction will be on a level with that which I derived from hearing Alboni.

Service received—service rendered—this is political economy.—(‹Note from MSS. left by the Author.›)

[36] What follows was intended by the author to form part of this chapter.

[37] These are the words by which Roman lawyers designated what they termed ‹innominate› contracts, as distinguished from contracts with known names, as ‹purchase› and ‹sale›, ‹letting›, ‹hiring›, ‹borrowing›, ‹lending›, etc.—«Translator.»

[38] ‹Traité d’Économie Politique›, p. 1.