CHOICE AND VALUE I 1. Choice; its origin. II 2. Development of conscious choice. 3.
The idea of scarcity. II 4. Valuation. if 5. One's own labor as a valu ation unit. I 6. Crusoe's scale of valuations. 7. Choice before and after valuation. 8. Value. Notes on Aspects of things chosen, Vari ous meanings of scarcity, Value and valuations.
§ 1. Choice; its origin. The world of industry, as we look out upon it, appears to be alive with motion, like a bee hive. In the crowded harbor, the busy railroad yard, the noisy steel mill, the bustling department store, we see a cease less and bewildering activity. In all this movement and ap parent confusion, there is, however, a large degree of order and a pretty regular succession of events which reflects a suc cession of choices that men are making.
These choices are not always and entirely the result of de liberate and conscious calculation. They are determined in a very great degree by habit or by instinct. Every living crea ture has a nervous organization of some sort—plants as well as the lowest forms of animals. This nervous organization has a pretty definite "set" or habit of response toward its en vironment; that is, the nerves react in certain ways to ex ternal stimuli. The seed in moist soil germinates; it sends rootlets into the earth in search of water and of the particu lar soil-elements which it by nature "chooses"; it sends stock and leaf upward into the light and air, it spreads or climbs or twines according to its nature. The chick picks its way out of the shell, and then instinctively (by its inborn nature) picks at any particle it sees. It finds some objects "good" and it eats them; it finds others "bad" and it rejects 12 them. It thus adds to its instinctive choice the choice result ing from experience.
§ 2. Development of conscious choice. Every human be ing starts on his life of choice in just this way, with a fund of natural impulses, a capacity for certain instinctive reac tions. The new-born child cries when hungry or uncomfort able, and it does not know in advance (the first time) what it is crying for. It is moved by mere impulse, tho we say loosely that it "knows" well enough when it gets the right thing. Some food it rejects, other food it takes; and its mere impulse has now become a vague aversion or a vague desire. Very quickly it learns to associate the presence of some ob ject with this or with that choice, and reaches for it, cries for it, giving now a very definite direction to the impulse which it feels. Feeling directed in this way upon some particular ob
ject or action is called desire. If we speak of this as a "con scious desire," we mean not that the person is reflecting on the nature of the desire, but simply that he is conscious of the presence of the thing, and that he desires it. As the child grows older, choice becomes vastly more complex, but all hu man choice is the development of the first simple impulsive acts. The difference in this matter between man and the ani mals lies in the degree to which the original fund of impulses is strengthened or weakened by experience and training, and is modified by the greater growth of forethought, imagination, and reason. As the man attains his maturity, deliberate cal culation enters more and more into the making of choice. Yet the instinctive and habitual elements of choice continue to be very potent.
Tastes change with age, are trained, are influenced by cus tom, by example, and by suggestions of many kinds, and are given a wider range by wealth, travel, and opportunity. But choice is ruled fundamentally by instinct; one likes what he likes; de gustibus non disputandum est.
Choice develops in this way as it is directed upon each of the great classes of things with which man is surrounded; clothing, houses, furniture, horses, automobiles, books, etc. It operates also upon the actions of the man himself. He reaches out or withdraws his hand ; he seeks or he shuns; he labors to make or to destroy, to possess or to get rid of. Thus the choice among one's own acts is intertwined with one's choice of things.' § 3. The idea of scarcity. Now we are not likely to feel a very keen desire for a particular thing unless the supply a it at our disposal is relatively limited. The air which we breathe is essential to life. But the air is all around us, and ordinarily in boundless abundance. Moreover, we breathe by reflex or automatic action of the muscles without conscious attention. The result is that we do not ordinarily feel a de sire for air. But in a crowded room where there is a real scarcity of fresh air relative to our need for it, our desire for a breath of fresh air may become very keen indeed. Under such circumstances the air takes on a very different impor tance as an object of choice. Our impulsive actions and our thought are directed toward getting it. The diver in his div ing suit must make this his first and most constant interest; the drowning man tragically feels this need.