A Conversation: Value, Sentimentality, and Unwritten Bonds

A dialogue between friends exploring the nature of value judgements placed upon items of possession. What does it mean for something to be priceless?

Petronio: I am amazed by the amount of things you keep. If I hadn't known better, I would think you were a hoarder!

Alfredo: I keep what is of value, and I throw out the rest. I can't help my good taste in historical treasures.

Petronio: Value? You have here a troop of tiny plastic soldiers. What possible value could these possess?

Alfredo: Ah. Those are limited edition army figurines made during World War 2. They're highly sought after by collectors, especially in good condition. They don't make them like that anymore I assure you.

Petronio: I especially love how you have set them up in formation, as though they're lined up for battle. Alright, I'll grant you that one. How about over here. You have a wooden box that looks like it was carved using a machete. You're telling me this too is valuable?

Alfredo: Check inside. And don't touch!

Petronio: I see a thin piece of cloth neatly folded onto a bed of tissue wrapping paper. This, I am fascinated to hear more about. Please explain to me why you have this.

Alfredo: That, my friend, is an authentic handkerchief used by Benito Mussolini. There are only three known in existence.

Petronio: I don't know which is worse, the fact that you keep another man's used handkerchief, or the fact that you keep this supposedly highly prized item in a box of such poor craftsmanship.

Alfredo: If you must know, I made the box myself. I am practicing carpentry.

Petronio: And what made you think that your work was valuable enough to place alongside all of your other treasures? And that is making no mention of its use; to store one of the most precious items in your entire collection.

Alfredo: I have other hobbies as well. It may not be the perfect box, but I value it for different reasons. It is both a reminder that there is no better feeling than to create something as well as a reminder of my progress. You should have seen the first box I made!

Petronio: I would rather not. But I take your point. And If I may be honest for a moment, the most valuable thing I have witnessed so far today is the explanation you just gave to me. But I have to ask you, how can a man who places such emphasis on his own creations be so content with with filling his home with the works of so many others? Does it not also remind you of your insignificance? Are all of these pieces not acting as a constant source for comparison? Why would you choose to be reminded in this way?

Alfredo: You are speaking as if I have made it my goal to be the best craftsman to walk this earth! I have not. I am content knowing that I was able to make this imperfect box, because I am the one who made it, and I understand better than anyone ever could what it took to produce it with the skills and knowledge that I possess. If you were in my position, you would understand full well what I mean, but I take it you have never attempted to craft anything on your own, which may be resulting in your confusion.

Petronio: You are right with your latter point, I am no craftsman myself, which, now that you mention it, could also be contributing to my lack of understanding of why you would choose to retain all of this junk!

Alfredo: Valuable junk!

Petronio: Sure. Insofar as you can at the very least sell it for something that does have value.

Alfredo: Alright, enough of your derogation. Can I get you anything to drink?

Petronio: Yes, please. How good is your chemistry? Can you make me an old-fashioned whiskey cocktail?

Alfredo: I am sure you will appreciate that I can indeed craft one of those. Give me a moment.

Petronio: You're right. I take back what I said earlier. This is now the most valuable service you are providing me today. Do you have a deck of cards we can play with as well? I would like to finally take you up on your offer of a few rounds of Briscola.

Alfredo: I do. And I have not forgotten the last time we played. I was inexperienced and you exposed my lack of knowledge and took all my money! I have been practicing since then, and I have been winning games against my father and my grandfather, just before he passed. I am far more confident this time.

Petronio: We'll see about that. But don't portray me as some petty swindler. You agreed to play against me, remember?

Alfredo: I do remember, but this time will be different.

Petronio: Also, I am sorry to hear about your grandfathers passing. I don't believe I ever met him, but from what you just mentioned, it sounds as though he enjoyed playing.

Alfredo: Oh, he didn't just enjoy it, he was a master in his earlier days. He would tell us stories about the tournaments he entered, and about how he was the envy of his competition. I suppose card players particularly do not take well to losing. They have a tendency to call their opponents cheaters and liars. But my grandfather was no cheat. He was an honourable man, and was highly respected among his peers. When my father was born, he gave up playing in those tournaments to focus on providing for his family and raising his children. He gave up the one thing he was truly good at in order to do what was ultimately right by the ones he loved. There is no better role model I can think of.

Petronio: A fine description, but I wonder how it was that he came to be so adept at Briscola? I have never met someone who sounds as proficient as you have made him out to be.

Alfredo: I asked him once. He said he kept a lucky deck of cards. He loved playing with them, although the tournaments he entered prohibited personal decks. Still, he would always keep them in his pocket. As a matter of fact he gave them to me just before he passed. Here, we can use them.

Petronio: Ah, thank you for the drink, as well as for the prestigious deck of cards. I will try not to bend them.

The two friends played precisely 10 rounds, Petronio having been the victor in every single one. The truth is he had not expected this outcome. He knew that Alfredo was competitive, and he took it personally having lost so definitively the last time they played. Petronio knew that he had been practicing as well, because on the several occasions that they had been together since last they played, Alfredo mentioned his desire for a re-match. Petronio saw the improvement in his play. He was calculated in his choices, he remembered the cards that had come previously, and every round was a closely fought strategic battle, but once again, just as last time, the results were decisive. But Petronio felt he had something extra on his side today...

Petronio: Well my friend, despite your efforts, it appears that it is no longer practice you require, but a little bit of positive luck!

Alfredo: I just don't understand. In several rounds, we came right up to the end with the lead in my favour, only to have some bit of misfortune strike me on the last draw. I'm shocked, and more devastated than the last time we played.

Petronio: Don't take it too harshly, we all have our unfortunate days. It appears today was yours.

Alfredo: I won't be able to sleep tonight thinking about this.

Petronio: Nonsense! You should sleep soundly. Didn't you say that the bed you sleep in was that of some Duke?

Alfredo: The Duke of Wellington, yes. But only the bed frame. I draw the line at sleeping on an old worn-out mattress.

Petronio: Well, I commend you for that. It also appears that your grandfather was right about something else. This deck was especially lucky in my case. Perhaps it has found a new allegiance outside the family.

Alfredo: I would hardly believe that. Although, I admit I would be rather hesitant to ever use them again knowing the outcome I just received. I am not a superstitious man, but 10 losses in a row is enough to make anyone second-guess their assumptions.

Petronio: I hope you will not be offended by the question that I am about to ask, but know that I am being sincere in honour of your grandfather's rich history of success. I would like to buy this deck of cards from you. Name your price.

Alfredo: What? You want to buy my grandfather's old deck? I don't think so.

Petronio: Well, you just admitted that you will likely never use them again owing to the dreadful luck they just granted you. Beyond the sentimental quality of them, what use are they to you? When you look at them you will only be reminded by the disservice they brought you. You said it yourself, you will not be able to sleep tonight. Why would you want to keep something so disparaging to your confidence? Besides, I am willing to pay a premium price for them. What do you say?

Alfredo: Look, I know what I said, but I can't sell you these cards, they're priceless.

Petronio: But earlier you alluded that everything you keep has a value. Correct me if I am wrong, but at first I assumed you meant a monetary value. Now, I am of the mind to think differently. I think you would agree that this deck of cards contains no actual value at a marketplace. You say they brought luck to your grandfather, and of that I have no doubt, having experienced this phenomenon first hand. As a result of that experience, I am willing to accept the irrationality of such a pitch for which you claim. Somehow, the value that your grandfather held for these cards has imparted onto me, so that now I too am convinced of their prowess, which has thoroughly compelled me to make you an offer that you will likely never receive again from any other person, unless you plan on taking them around with you and playing 10 rounds of Briscola with other potential opponents, having first told them your story, and then observing if their luck is as good as mine was just now, enough so that they too are convinced by the mysterious luck that they bring to any potential player. So it seems that I am granting you a once in a lifetime opportunity to part with this deck of cards for a substantial amount of money, which I suspected was the prime reason for why you possess all of your historical artifacts, it is for the monetary value inherent within them, is it not? But now it seems as though you are implying the opposite judgement with this specific item, due of course to its belonging to your grandfather, who has unfortunately passed. So, Alfredo, my friend, are you implying that this deck of cards has absolutely no monetary value for which you would accept my offer?

Alfredo: You're correct. No sum of money would relieve me of this deck of cards, but for the right price, I would be willing to sell to you any one of my other treasures, including the shoddy box that I made.

Petronio: You can definitely keep that. But haven't we arrived at an interesting dilemma? What does it mean for something to have value for you? On the one hand, you have an abundance of items that belonged to figures of famous or noble origins, or otherwise objects that hold some significance to a specific era or event in history, and because of their rarity are worth a small fortune to the right buyer. On another, you admitted that your undesirable box possesses value for reasons that are opposed to the first. You said that there is no better feeling than an act of creation, and that, having constructed the box by your own hand, it brings a feeling of satisfaction based purely on your well-aligned intentions. And in the final case, you have an item here that is virtually worthless to anyone except yourself. It represents no history significant enough to outsiders, nor is it a creation of your own, and yet, its value is related to a story that only you are able to connect with. I would suggest that these are three distinct avenues. So which avenue is the container of true value in your opinion? How can all three be equally consistent?

Alfredo: It is a ridiculous question. Obviously they are valuable for different reasons entirely. The toy soldiers are worth money to a buyer at a marketplace, and to a collector who understands their history and significance and would therefore be willing to pay me to take them. The box is symbolic of my competence, or lack thereof, of my carpentry skills, but I value the act of having attempted its creation even though it is worthless compared to the soldiers. These cards, as you correctly mentioned, contain no such monetary value as well, but instead contain a sentimental value that only I am aware of. I keep them not because I can get money for them, or because I made them, but because they belonged to someone I knew and loved, and that memory is valuable to me.

Petronio: Yes, you have successfully repeated what I last mentioned. We are in agreement that the three distinctions we have observed of supposed value are each opposed, but are nevertheless relevant to the ultimate perception of value as you describe. But my question still remains unsolved. That is, how can all three be representative of any part of an equal share of value? If you are going to make the claim that these cards, which are worth nothing practically, but are, in effect, priceless to you, and therefore you would not accept anything for their trade, whereas you would accept a potential trade for any one of your other possessions, including the box, then does this not prove to you and I that there is only one item of imagined value in your entire collection, and all the rest being of something separate, described from outside rather than inside your personal domain of judgement. There is only one item in your collection that you have established as having instilled value, the remainder fall outside of that obligation as described by you and you alone, and therefore serve no benefit to you and your ability to be a true perceiver of value.

Alfredo: I am afraid I am no longer following you.

Petronio: Tell me Alfredo, what is it that you would receive were you to sell me the toy soldiers?

Alfredo: You would have to give me money for them.

Petronio: And what if you were to trade the box?

Alfredo: Again, money.

Petronio: Now, tell me, what is it you would be willing to receive were you to decide to give me these cards? And before you say you would accept no terms for such a trade, consider what it is you would be selling were you to suddenly choose to part ways with them? What part of you would be affected as a result?

Alfredo: I suppose I would in turn feel disturbed, regretful, and angry for having made the decision to sell you the cards.

Petronio: And would you have a comparable feeling were you to sell me any one of your other possessions?

Alfredo: Not in the slightest. As long as the price is right and the person is correct, I would be happy to sell and receive a sum in return.

Petronio: So then you must see now what I am arriving at. It is through these cards where you have created something of supposed value. The value that was created exists nowhere other than inherently with you and within the item, a shared binding of soul and object, that leaves such an impression so as to physically compromise you were you to relieve yourself of such an entanglement. However, you have shown that you are not entangled in such a manner with any of your other possessions, because it was not you that determined their value, but instead something apart from you, of which you are a passenger to.

Alfredo: I see what you are attempting to point out; even if I were to receive money in return for the cards, I would be losing more than just the object, I would be selling a piece of myself; selling as well the value that I imparted onto them, having broken a promise attached to the item, and accepting the cruel consequences of regret and shame. But it is still the case that I would feel bad if I were to lose another of my possessions. If one were to break or be stolen for example, I would feel regret or shame nevertheless.

Petronio: Perhaps I have a way then for us to determine what is truly valuable to you. Let us imagine that your house were to be burglarized, and the burglar has only enough time to steal one of your precious items before the police show up to your front door to arrest the degenerate man. Facing a plethora of treasures, the burglar has much that he may choose to steal. And supposing that he is not the brightest fellow, he may be unaware of the significance of all of your trinkets. He may see a worthless statue, worthless toys, and a worthless handkerchief. But suppose one of the items he sees is this antique looking card deck, and suppose he just might be in the market for such an item, and so he chooses to take the cards, leaving all of your other items untouched. To the police officer who has come to conduct the investigation, they may count you a lucky man, for having only lost this worthless deck of cards. But to your mind, a far different outcome will have been realized, and you will know that the one item in your collection that had no price and thus no value to gain in return for trading it, was to be the only item that was taken. How will you handle such news?

Alfredo: You do raise a point to be considered. To receive such news would be quite devastating. I reckon it would feel worse to have lost this deck than to lose any one of my other possessions that do not contain the same sentimental quality attached to them. But I believe your argument to be short-sighted still. I can imagine an even more tumultuous scenario, having been stricken by immense debt, and needing to acquire funds, I may come to a point where, could I receive a high enough sum for these cards, I may decide to part with them, as difficult as that may be.

Petronio: My friend, your point raises no contentions from me. In that scenario, you will only be brought to that circumstance after having parted with every single one of your other items, further emphasizing the fact that these cards are valuable in far greater an effect over that of everything else you possess. But what about this next question: what if the burglar, having chosen a fortunate day in which the police department have been inundated with other crimes to attend to, and thus are very delayed in responding to your situation, allowing your burglar to fully capitalize on the opportunity of having been granted enough time to rummage through the overwhelming majority of your goods, and to take them all for himself. This burglar, contrary to the one in our first example, is far more knowledgeable of history, and understands fully well the significance of the items you have in your possession, and so he chooses to take all of the ones that he recognizes as containers of the highest monetary reward. But, also doing you a slight favour, he leaves you the deck of cards which he has no use for. So in effect, this scenario is opposite to the first. How would you receive the news in this instance?

Alfredo: I suppose I would be filled with equal dread but aimed in a different direction. I would have lost a substantial amount of investment, and a significant portion of my worth. Having retained the cards would likely not bring me the solace you are trying to imply. I would still be very much a devastated individual.

Petronio: I am not trying to imply anything whatsoever. My attempt is only to understand the mind of a friend whose entire life is replete with treasures and historical goods whose value is less determined than we initially suspected. You have always been a man keen on the value of history. I understand that you keep many of these goods not just because they are highly prized, but because you yourself have taken up the responsibility of preservation. A piece of history is within your possession, and it is therefore incumbent upon you to protect that fine artifact and ensure that it does not fall into the hands of someone who will not do the same with them. I have known people to offer you a handsome sum of money for a part of your collection, which you have righteously turned down. And when I asked you why, you said "it wasn't the right fit". You are a protector of history rather than a collector of history. It isn't the money that you value, but rather the responsibility of having to protect what you possess. Am I wrong?

Alfredo: You are inquisitive. Perhaps I have not seen it this way until now, but I cannot disagree with you.

Petronio: And as you are the only one with the background to understand the history of your grandfathers deck of cards, you feel that it is your responsibility to keep them, as there can be no buyer who could ever possibly understand their true worth in this world. Once again, it is your responsibility to carry on your grandfather's legacy, which rests embedded within this object that I hold in my hand, a piece of your grandfather preserved in time. Do I have it right?

Alfredo: Once again, I agree with you. But why is it that you have come to ask me these questions and find these answers? I am still not fully understanding the nature of your investigation.

Petronio: I would never pressure you into any decision, I believe our friendship has taught us this. But I would like to ask you one more time, if you would give me this deck of cards, not for any sum, or for any reason other than what I am about to offer you. I have become fully aware of the value of these cards, and of their significant history, and of their relationship to your grandfather and to you, and I am asking if you would grant me the responsibility of accepting that burdensome legacy, as I am now of the impression that these cards will bring me great fortune in the future. Perhaps a part of your grandfather's mastery is imprinted onto these cards, and in turn will impart itself onto me, and that is how his legacy is meant to proceed. But perhaps you will not see it this way. Whichever decision you make is acceptable.

Alfredo: You have made a fine offer, I reckon the best I will ever receive, but, Petronio, I still am of the mind to not accept. I have suddenly come to fully realize the value of these cards, and why I so cherish them, and that there is nothing that could ever bring me to part ways with them. Despite everything you have said, and despite my belief that you would take great care of them, I still would prefer to keep this piece of my grandfather, as though it is an essential part of my soul, and something I cannot live without. It is strange, and I cannot seem to find words adequate enough to explain my decision, but ultimately I know it is the right one, and I know that my grandfather would approve of it, and I know that he walks with me as long as I keep them in my pocket. I hope that you will accept that explanation.

Petronio: Accept it? Alfredo, my friend, I cherish it, as well as this friendship.

Alfredo: As do I. Another round?

Petronio: Of drinks as well as Briscola. But please, let's use a different deck!

Alfredo: Agreed.