Читайте только на Литрес

Книгу нельзя скачать файлом, но можно читать в нашем приложении или онлайн на сайте.

Читать книгу: «The Third Pillar»

Шрифт:


COPYRIGHT

William Collins

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF WilliamCollinsBooks.com This eBook first published in Great Britain by William Collins in 2019 Copyright © 2019, 2020 by Raghuram Rajan Cover design by Darren Haggar. Illustration by ottoGraphic Raghuram Rajan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-Book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins Publishers. Source ISBN: 9780008276300 Ebook Edition © 2020 ISBN: 9780008276294 Version: 2020-02-12

PRAISE FOR THE THIRD PILLAR

‘A strikingly insightful analysis of the penalties of neglecting the critically important role of community, by concentrating too much on the perceived efficacy of the markets and the state. Rajan brings out loudly and clearly why this imbalance needs urgent correction’

AMARTYA SEN, Professor at Harvard University,

winner of the 1998 Nobel Memorial Prize in Economic Sciences

‘Rajan brings his unparalleled knowledge and experience to bear on the problem. Rajan’s account of corporate misbehaviour is very well told, and it is all the more effective coming from a professor at a prominent business school’

ANGUS DEATON, winner of the Nobel Memorial Prize

in Economic Sciences in 2015

‘The Third Pillar is a must read for everyone seeking a way to preserve democracy as we’ve known it. In Rajan’s brilliant new perspective, successful democracies require balance between competitive markets, honest governments, and healthy, local communities’

JANET YELLEN, Distinguished Fellow in Residence at

Brookings Institution, Chair of the Federal Reserve between 2014 and 2018

‘Skilfully unpicks the tensions between capitalism, democracy and community … An important and timely new book … His outlook is broadly promarket … But he has also won a reputation as a teller of uncomfortable economic truths’

Financial Times

‘Insightful and impressive … As local governments get to work, they could certainly use the help of more thinkers of Mr Rajan’s calibre’

Wall Street Journal

‘An incisive critique of how economists and policymakers abandoned community’

New York Times

‘A superstar economist … Looks at ways to restore the glory years of liberal democracy when there were widespread opportunities to prosper’

Daily Telegraph

‘An important contribution to understanding why, a decade after the crisis, the world’s politics and economics remain so brittle … Rajan, a critic trying to save capitalism from itself, makes his point in accessible, clear prose’

The Times

‘Compelling … urges economists to recognize a blind spot … Having been insufficiently mindful of this over the past few decades, business and government leaders may have little option but to brace themselves for frustrated communities demanding change’

The Economist

‘Fresh, insightful and engaging. Offers a brilliant reckoning with one of today’s most important and potentially crippling challenges … [His] clear and compelling case goes well beyond protecting the vulnerable. It’s also, critically, about enhancing the whole’

Mohamed El-Erian, author of

When Markets Collide and The Only Game in Town

‘We all need to start thinking about this issue right now and this book is a place to begin’

JAMES A. ROBINSON, Professor at the University of

Chicago, co-author of Why Nations Fail

‘Few economists span the worlds of policy and scholarship with such distinction as Raghu Rajan … Rajan presents a bold, original vision that significantly advances our contemporary debate on the ills of democracies and moves it onto new terrain’

DANI RODRIK, Professor at Harvard University,

author of The Globalization Paradox

‘A remarkably original and insightful take on the evolution, foundations and future of capitalism … Rajan argues convincingly that the conventional dichotomy between the state and markets misses the critical role of communities … A landmark treatise of profound depth’

KENNETH ROGOFF, Professor at Harvard University,

former IMF Chief Economist, author of The Curse of Cash

‘The Third Pillar is a work marked by depth, reach and assurance. Its author engages with the main economic issues of the day, and by never hesitating to speak truth to power leaves us wanting to engage him in argument’

The Hindu

‘Insightful and thought-provoking’

Publishers Weekly

‘A welcome survey of a big-picture problem’

Kirkus Reviews

‘A fascinating account of how markets and the state overcame the shortcomings of feudal communities’

International Monetary Fund

To Radhika

CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Praise for The Third Pillar

Dedication

Preface

Introduction: The Third Pillar

PART I

HOW THE PILLARS EMERGED

1. Tolerating Avarice

2. The Rise of the Strong but Limited State

3. Freeing the Market … Then Defending It

4. The Community in the Balance

PART II

IMBALANCE

5. The Pressure to Promise

6. The ICT Revolution Cometh

7. The Reemergence of Populism in the Industrial West

8. The Other Half of the World

PART III

RESTORING THE BALANCE

9. Society and Inclusive Localism

10. Rebalancing the State and the Community

11. Reinvigorating the Third Pillar

12. Responsible Sovereignty

13. Reforming Markets

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Notes

Index

About the Author

About the Publisher

PREFACE

We are surrounded by plenty. Humanity has never been richer as technologies of production have improved steadily over the last two hundred fifty years. It is not just developed countries that have grown wealthier; billions across the developing world have moved from stressful poverty to a comfortable middle-class existence in the span of a generation. Income is more evenly spread across the world than at any other time in our lives. For the first time in history, we have it in our power to eradicate hunger and starvation everywhere.

Yet even though the world has achieved economic success that would have been unimaginable even a few decades ago, some of the seemingly most privileged workers in developed countries are literally worried to death. Half a million more middle-aged non-Hispanic white Americans died between 1999 and 2013 than if their death rates had followed the trend of other ethnic groups.1 The additional deaths were concentrated among those with a high school degree or less, and were largely due to drugs, alcohol, and suicide. To put these deaths in perspective, it is as if ten Vietnam wars were simultaneously taking place, not in some faraway land, but in homes in small-town and rural America. In an era of seeming plenty, a group that once epitomized the American dream seems to have lost hope.

The anxieties of moderately educated middle-aged whites in the United States are mirrored in other rich developed countries in the West, though perhaps with less tragic effects. The primary source of worry seems to be that moderately educated workers are rapidly losing, or are at risk of losing, good “middle-class” employment, and this has grievous effects on them, their families, and the communities they live in. It is widely understood that job losses stem from both global trade and technological progress leading to automation of old jobs. What is less well known is technological progress has been, by far, the more important cause. As public anxiety turns to anger, radical politicians find it easier to attack visible and better understood targets like imports and immigrants. They propose to protect manufacturing jobs by overturning the liberal rules-based postwar economic order, the system that has facilitated the flow of goods, capital, and people across borders.

There is both promise and peril in our future. The promise comes from new technologies that can help us solve our most worrisome problems like poverty and climate change. Fulfilling it requires keeping borders open, in part so that these innovations and associated investments can be taken to the most underdeveloped parts of the world. The peril stems from influential communities not being able to adapt and instead impeding progress. If we are to harness technology’s promise, our values and institutions must change as innovations disproportionately empower and enrich some.

disruptive technological change

Every past technological revolution has been disruptive, prompted a societal reaction, and eventually resulted in societal change that helped us get the best out of the technology. Since the early 1970s, we have experienced the Information and Communications Technology (ICT) revolution. It built on the spread of mass computing, made possible by the microprocessor, and mass communication, enabled by the internet and the mobile phone. It now includes technologies ranging from artificial intelligence to quantum computing, touching and improving areas as diverse as international trade and gene therapy. The effects of the ICT revolution have been transmitted across the world by increasingly integrated markets for goods, services, capital, and people. Every country has experienced disruption, punctuated by dramatic episodes like the Global Financial Crisis in 2007–2008 and the accompanying Great Recession. We are now seeing the reaction in populist movements of the extreme Left and Right. What has not happened yet is the necessary societal change, which is why so many despair of the future. We are at a critical moment in human history, when wrong choices could derail human economic progress.

This book is about the three pillars that support society and how we get to the right balance between them again so that society continues to prosper. Two of the pillars I focus on are the usual suspects, the state and markets. Many forests have been consumed by books on the relationship between the two, some favoring the state and others markets. It is the neglected third pillar, the community—the social aspects of society—that I want to reintroduce into the debate. When any of the three pillars weakens or strengthens significantly, typically as a result of rapid technological progress or terrible economic adversity, the balance is upset and society has to find a new equilibrium. The period of transition can be traumatic, but society has succeeded in rebalancing repeatedly in the past. The central question in this book is how we restore the balance between the pillars once again in the face of ongoing disruptive technological change.

I will argue that many of the economic and political concerns today across the world, including the rise of populist nationalism and radical movements of the Left, can be traced to the diminution of the community. The state and markets have expanded their powers and reach in tandem, and left the community relatively powerless to face the full and uneven brunt of technological change. Importantly, the solutions to many of our problems are to be found in bringing dysfunctional communities back to health, not in clamping down on technology or on markets. This is how we will rebalance the pillars at a level more beneficial to society and preserve the liberal market democracies many of us live in.

definitions

To avoid confusion later, let us get over the tedious but necessary issue of definitions quickly. Broadly speaking, the state in this book will refer to the political governance structure of a country, usually the federal government. In addition to the executive branch, the state will also include the legislature and the judiciary.

Markets will include all private economic structures facilitating production and exchange in the economy. The term will encompass the entire variety of markets, including the market for goods and services, the market for workers (the labor market), and the market for loans, stocks, and bonds (the capital or financial market). It will also include the main actors from the private sector, such as businesspeople and corporations.

According to the dictionary, a community “is a social group of any size whose members reside in a specific locality, share government, and often have a common cultural and historical heritage.”2 This is the definition we will use, with the neighborhood (or the village, municipality, or small town) being the archetypal community in modern times, the manor in medieval times, and the tribe in ancient times. Importantly, we focus on communities whose members live in proximity—as contrasted with virtual communities or national religious denominations. We will view local government, such as the school board, the neighborhood council, or town mayor, as part of the community. A large country has layers of government between the federal government (part of the state) and the local government (part of the community). In general, we will treat these layers as part of the state. Finally, we will use the terms society, country, or nation interchangeably as the composite of the state, markets, communities, people, territory, and much else that compose political entities like China or the United States.

why the community still matters

Definitions done, let us get to substance. For early humans the tribe was their society—their state, markets, and community rolled into one. It was where all activities were conducted, including the rearing of children, the production and exchange of food and goods, and the succor of the ill and the elderly. The tribal chief or elders laid down the law and enforced it, and commanded the tribe’s warriors in defense of their lands. Over time, as we will see in Part I of the book, both markets and the state separated from the community. Trade with more distant communities through markets allowed everyone to specialize in what they were relatively good at, making everyone more prosperous. The state, aggregating the power and resources of the many communities within it, not only set common regulations for markets but also enforced the law within its political boundaries, even as it defended the realm against aggressors.

Markets and the state not only separated themselves from the community over time, they also steadily encroached on activities that strengthened bonds within the traditional community. Consider some functions the community no longer performs. In frontier communities, neighbors used to help deliver babies; today most women check into a hospital when they feel the onset of childbirth. They prefer the specialist’s expertise to their neighbor’s friendly but amateurish helping hand. The community used to pitch in to rebuild a household’s home if it caught fire; today the household collects its fire insurance payment and hires a professional builder. Indeed, given the building codes in most developed countries, it is unlikely that a home reconstructed by neighbors would be legal.

However, the community still plays a number of important roles in society. It anchors the individual in real human networks and gives them a sense of identity; our presence in the world is verified by our impact on people around us. By allowing us to participate in local governance structures such as parent-teacher associations, school boards, library boards, and neighborhood oversight committees, as well as local mayoral or ward elections, our community gives us a sense of self-determination, a sense of direct control over our lives, even while making local public services work better for us. Importantly, despite the existence of formal structures such as public schooling, a government safety net, and commercial insurance, the goodness of neighbors is still useful in filling in gaps. When a neighboring engineer tutors our son in mathematics in her spare time, or the neighborhood comes together in a recession to collect food and clothing for needy households, the community is helping out where formal structures are inadequate. Given the continuing importance of the community, healthy modern communities try to compensate for the encroachment of markets and the state with other activities that strengthen community ties, such as social gatherings and neighborhood associations.

Economists Raj Chetty and Nathaniel Hendren attempt to quantify the economic impact of growing up in a better community.3 They examine the incomes of children whose parents moved from one neighborhood into another in the United States when the child was young. Specifically, consider neighborhood Better and neighborhood Worse. Correcting for parental income lets the average incomes of children of longtime residents when they become adults be one percentile higher in the national income distribution in neighborhood Better than it is in neighborhood Worse. Chetty and Hendren find that a child whose parents move from neighborhood Worse to Better will have an adult income that is, on average, 0.04 percentile points higher for every childhood year it spends in Better. In other words, if the child’s parents move when it is born and they stay till it is twenty, the child’s income as an adult will have made up 80 percent of the difference between the average incomes in the two neighborhoods.

Their study suggests that a child benefits enormously by moving to a community where children are more successful (at least as measured by their future income). Communities matter! Perhaps more than any outside influence other than the parents we are born to, the community we grow up in influences our economic prospects. Importantly, Chetty and Hendren’s finding applies for a single child moving—movement is not a recipe for the development of an entire poor community. Instead, the poor community has to find ways to develop in situ, while holding on to its best and brightest. It is a challenge we will address in the book.

There are other virtues to a healthy community. Local community government acts as a shield against the policies of the federal government, thus protecting minorities against a possible tyranny of the majority, and serving as a check on federal power. For example, sanctuary communities in the United States and Europe have resisted cooperating with national immigration authorities in identifying and deporting undocumented immigrants.

Although no country can function if every community picks and chooses the laws they will obey, we will see that some devolution of powers to the community can be beneficial, especially if there are large differences in opinion between communities so that centralized “one-size-fits-all” solutions do not work.

Furthermore, community-based movements against corruption and cronyism prevent the leviathan of the state from getting too comfortable with the behemoth of big business. Indeed, as we will see in the book, healthy communities are essential for sustaining vibrant market democracies. This is perhaps why authoritarian movements like fascism and communism try to replace community consciousness with nationalist or proletarian consciousness.

In sum, the proximate community is still relevant today, even in cosmopolitan cities where ties of kinship and ethnicity are limited, and even in individualistic societies like those of the United States and Western Europe. Once we understand why community matters, and that people who value staying in their community are not very mobile, it becomes clear that it is not enough for a country to experience strong economic growth—the professional economist’s favorite measure of economic performance. Since such people cannot abandon their community easily to move to work where growth occurs, they need economic growth in their own community. If we care about the community, we need to care about the geographic distribution of growth, and about “place-based” economic policies that affect that distribution.

What then is the source of today’s problems? In one word, imbalance! When the three pillars of society are appropriately balanced, society has the best chance of providing for the well-being of its people. The modern state ensures physical security, as it always has, but also tries to maintain fairness in economic outcomes, which democracy demands. To do this, the state tries to enable most people to participate on equal terms in markets, while buffering them against their fluctuations. It may also set limits on markets. The competitive markets provide people innovative products and abundant choice. Competition ensures that those who succeed in it are efficient and produce the maximum output with the resources available. The successful have both wealth and some independence from the state, thus they have the ability to check arbitrary actions by the state. Finally, the people in industrial democracies, engaged in their communities and thereby organized socially and politically, enforce the necessary separation between markets and the state through their democratic voice. They do so because they want sufficient political and economic competition that the economy does not descend into authoritarianism or cronyism.

Society suffers when any of the pillars weakens or strengthens overly relative to the others. Too weak the markets and society becomes unproductive, too weak a democratic community and society tends toward crony capitalism, too weak the state and society turns fearful and apathetic. Conversely, too much market and society becomes inequitable, too much community and society becomes static, and too much state and society becomes authoritarian. A balance is essential!

why the community has weakened

The pillars are seriously unbalanced today. Communities have been especially impacted. In the United States, minority and immigrant communities were hit first by joblessness, which led to their social breakdown in the 1970s and 1980s. In the last two decades, communities in small towns and semirural areas, typically white, have been experiencing a similar decline as large local manufacturers close down. Often, this results in the loss of comfortable middle-income jobs held by the moderately educated. Families have been tremendously stressed, with an increase in divorces, teenage pregnancies, and single-parent households. In turn, these have led to a deterioration in the environment for children, resulting in poor school performance; high dropout rates, the increased attractiveness of drugs, gangs, and crime; and persistent youth unemployment. The opioid epidemic is just one symptom of the hopelessness and despair that accompanies the breakdown of once-healthy communities.

The technological revolution has been disruptive even outside such economically distressed communities. It has increased the wage premium for those with better capabilities significantly, with the most capable employed by high-paying superstar firms that increasingly dominate a number of industries. This has put pressure on upper-middle-class parents to secede from economically mixed communities and move their children to schools in richer, healthier communities, where they will learn better with other well-supported children like themselves. The poorer working class are kept from following by the high cost of housing in the tonier neighborhoods. Their communities deteriorate once again, this time because of the secession of the successful. Technological change has created that nirvana for the upper middle class, a meritocracy based on education and skills. Through the sorting of economic classes and the decline of the mixed community, however, it is also becoming a hereditary one, where only the children of the successful succeed.

The rest are left behind in declining communities, where it is harder for the young to learn what is needed for good jobs. Communities get trapped in vicious cycles where economic decline fuels social decline, which fuels further economic decline . . . The consequences are devastating. Alienated individuals, bereft of the hope and the feeling of belonging that comes from being grounded in a healthy community, become prey to demagogues on both the extreme Right and Left, who cater to their worst prejudices.

When the proximate community is dysfunctional, alienated individuals need some other way to channel their need to belong.4 Populist nationalism offers one such appealing vision of a larger purposeful imagined community—whether it is white majoritarianism in Europe and the United States, the Islamic Turkish nationalism of Turkey’s Justice and Development Party, or the Hindu nationalism of India’s Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh.5 It is populist in that it blames the corrupt elite for the condition of the people. It is nationalist in that it anoints the native-born majority group in the country as the true inheritors of the country’s heritage and wealth. Populist nationalists identify minorities and immigrants—easily identifiable targets and the supposed favorites of the elite establishment—as usurpers, and blame foreign countries for keeping the nation down. These fabricated adversaries are necessary to the populist nationalist agenda, for there is often little else to tie the majority group together.

While the populist nationalists raise important questions, the world can ill afford their shortsighted solutions. Populist nationalism will undermine the liberal market democratic system that has brought developed countries the prosperity they enjoy. Within countries, it will anoint some as full citizens and true inheritors of the nation’s patrimony while the rest are relegated to an unequal, second-class status. It risks closing global markets down just when these countries are aging and need both international demand for their products and young skilled immigrants to fill out their declining workforces. It is dangerous because it offers blame and no real solutions, it needs a constant stream of villains to keep its base energized, and it moves the world closer to conflict rather than cooperation on global problems.

reviving communities

Schools, the modern doorway to opportunity, are the quintessential community institution. The varying qualities of schools, largely determined by the communities they are situated within, dooms some youth while elevating others. When the pathway to entering the labor market is not level, and steeply uphill for some, it is no wonder that people feel the system is unfair. The way to address this problem, and many others in our society, is not primarily through the state or through markets. It is by reviving the community and having it fulfill its essential functions, such as schooling, better. Only then do we have a chance of reducing the appeal of radical ideologies.

We will examine ways of doing this, but perhaps the most important is to give the power that markets and the state have steadily taken away back to the community. Historically, as markets became integrated within the nation, power migrated to the national capital, with the federal government usurping community powers in order to harmonize regulations across domestic communities—after all, no manufacturer wants to have to deal with different regulatory standards each time his product crosses a community border. As markets have become global, sovereign powers have similarly become constrained by international treaties or have migrated away from nations into international bodies like the European Union. Once again the intent is to allow global firms and markets to function seamlessly across political borders.

We must reverse this to the extent possible. Unless absolutely essential, power should devolve from international bodies back to countries. Furthermore, within countries, power and funding should devolve from the federal level to the communities. Fortunately, the automation of procedures will help market participants, such as firms, cope at relatively low cost with the ensuing diversity of regulations. Moreover, easier communication and better data will allow both the federal government as well as people in the community to monitor how local government uses its new powers and funding. If effected carefully, this decentralization will preserve the benefits of global markets while allowing people more of a sense of self-determination. Localism—in the sense of centering more powers, spending, and activities in the community—will be one way we will manage the disorienting tendencies of global markets and new technologies.

inclusive localism

Instead of allowing people’s natural tribal instincts to be fulfilled through populist nationalism, which combined with national military powers makes for a volatile cocktail, it would be better if they were slaked at the community level. One way to accommodate a variety of communities within a large diverse country is for it to embrace an inclusive civic definition of national citizenship—where one is a citizen provided one accepts a set of commonly agreed values, principles, and laws that define the nation. It is the kind of citizenship that Australia, Canada, France, India, or the United States offer. It is the kind of citizenship that the Pakistani-American Muslim, Khizr Khan, whose son died fighting in the United States Army, powerfully reminded the 2016 Democratic National Convention of, when he waved a copy of the United States Constitution—for it defined his citizenship and was the source of his patriotism.

Within that broad inclusive framework, people should have the freedom to congregate in communities with others like themselves. The community, rather than the nation, becomes the vehicle for those who cherish the bonds of ethnicity and want some cultural continuity. Of course, communities should be open so that people can move in and out if they wish. Some will, no doubt, prefer to live in ethnically mixed communities while others will choose to live with people of their own ethnicity. They all should have the freedom to do so. Freedom of association, with active discrimination prohibited by law, has to be the future of large diverse countries. We will eventually learn to cherish the other, but till then let us live peaceably, side by side if not together.

Markets too must become more inclusive. Large corporations dominate too many markets, increasingly fortified by privileged possession of data, ownership of networks, and intellectual property rights. Credentialed licensed professionals dominate too many services, preventing competition from those who do not have the requisite licenses (one reason friendly neighbors cannot help rebuild a house today). In every situation, we must locate barriers to competition and entry and remove them so that opportunity is available to all. Thus, as we strive for an inclusive state and inclusive markets, which embed the empowered community, we will achieve an inclusive localism. This will enable community revival and a desirable rebalancing of the pillars.

What of truly distressed communities? Is revival even possible? Consider the community of Pilsen on the southwest side of Chicago, a few miles from my home. This once terribly damaged community is now turning a corner.

A Real Community Pulling Itself Up

Pilsen used to be populated by Eastern European immigrants, working in manufacturing establishments around Chicago. Since the middle of the last century, Hispanic immigrants and African Americans moved in steadily, and the Eastern Europeans moved out.6 In 2010, Hispanics or Latinos made up 82 percent of the population, and African Americans 3.1 percent. Non-Hispanic whites composed 12.4 percent of the population in 2010, up from 7.9 percent in 2000.

Pilsen is poor, with median household income averaged over 2010–2014 at $35,100, about half that of metropolitan Chicago as a whole. It has an unemployment rate of nearly 30 percent averaged over 2010–2014. Over 35 percent of individuals over twenty-five have not graduated from high school. Only 21.4 percent of individuals over twenty-five have a bachelor’s degree, less than half the comparable ratio in the overall US population. Nearly half of renters or homeowners have housing costs that account for more than 30 percent of their income. Keeping people in their homes is essential for community stability, and Pilsen has a hard time of it.

Low education, low incomes, and high unemployment are a recipe for drugs, alcohol, and crime. Pilsen was truly a war zone. At its peak in 1979, there were 67.4 murders per 100,000 residents in Pilsen, over double the wider city rate. In comparison, Western Europe averages a murder rate of about 1 per 100,000 per year. As recently as 1988, a Chicago Tribune reporter counted twenty-one different gangs along a two-mile stretch on the main 18th Street thoroughfare.

Yet Pilsen is a community that is trying to pull itself up. One sign it is succeeding is that the murder rate has been significantly below the overall Chicago rate for a number of years since the early 2000s, exceeding it slightly only every few years. As we will see, communities typically do not pick themselves up spontaneously—leaders emerge to coordinate the revival. Among those driving Pilsen’s revival is Raul Raymundo, the CEO of the Resurrection Project, a nongovernmental organization whose motto is “Building relationships, creating healthy communities.” Raul came to the United States from Mexico as a seven-year-old immigrant, went to Benito Juarez High School in Pilsen, attended college (including some time in graduate school at the University of Chicago), and started helping out in the community. He found his vocation after the murder of a young man just outside his church, when his pastor asked the congregation what the community was going to do about it. Answering the call, Raul and a few others started the Resurrection Project, with $5,000 each from six local churches. When the candidate they found to head the project declined to take the job, Raul stepped in, and he is still there, after twenty-seven years. Today, the Resurrection Project has funneled over $500 million in investment into the community.

As with other revival projects, the community first undertook an inventory of its assets to figure out what it could build around. It had its churches that would provide moral, vocal, and financial support for any revival, it had decent schools, it had a strong Mexican-American community with tightly knit families, and it was in Chicago, a city that goes through ups and downs but is still one of America’s great cities.

The first order of action was to engage the community to make it more livable, which meant keeping the locality clean, ridding the streets of crime, and strengthening the schools. Residents were organized to hound the city sanitation department to do their job—clean the streets and collect garbage. People were urged to form block clubs and ad hoc groups against crime. They would walk out of their houses when they saw suspicious activity so as to crowd the criminals out, or jointly call the police so that the criminals would not know who to blame. The community campaigned successfully for a moratorium on city liquor licenses in Pilsen, got some especially problematic bars closed down, and worked with police, churches, and absentee landlords to target and close down known gang houses.7 Remedial education, after-school extracurricular programs, and job-training programs increased, enabling young people to get more from their schoolwork, and giving them a ladder to jobs. Parents were urged to get involved in the schools, and they did. New school programs started—one example is the Cristo Rey Catholic School, which aims to give its students a quality education, while keeping it affordable. Cristo Rey got local businesses to pay the school fees of students. As partial repayment, each student worked one day a week for their sponsoring business. The student attended school the other four days, getting both a good education and work experience each week.

Virtuous cycles started emerging. As some older gang members turned to legitimate business, their prosperity inspired other gang members to develop skills other than the ability to inflict violence. The proliferation of youth-oriented programs at the schools gave them a way to escape their past. As crime came down, new businesses started opening, including franchises like McDonald’s, and they offered low-level entry jobs that drew youth into work. As Chicago became more of a hub for the regional distribution of goods, more jobs were created as wholesale warehouses and refrigeration centers opened in Pilsen, drawn by the still-low real estate prices and falling crime.

With the area more livable, the Resurrection Project turned to keeping the poor, some of who have very few assets and very little buffer against a sudden loss of job or illness, in their rented homes. This would stabilize the community, but it gets harder as the community strengthens because rents are increasing and buying is becoming costlier. The Resurrection Project tries to increase access to credit locally, so that people have options. Its volunteers work with community members to improve their financial understanding, to get them to build and improve their credit histories by, for example, paying their utility bills regularly and on time.

Large banks, of which a growing number have now set up in the community, are not well equipped to understand community practices. This hampers their lending. In Pilsen, a working woman’s mother will often cook for her and babysit her children, so the worker’s salary goes a much longer way because she does not pay for these services. Similarly, family members may lend each other money, making it possible for someone to keep up loan payments even if their income is volatile. Typically, such practices are hard for a loan officer from a large bank to substantiate or document, which is why he has to go primarily on the explicit record of income.8 Community-based financial institutions, where decisions are made locally based on their better understanding of the community, know the worker is more creditworthy than her salary slip might suggest. Being free from the tyranny of requiring hard documentation, they are more willing to lend locally than large banks.

Recognizing the importance of local institutions, in 2013 the Resurrection Project helped rescue a failing community bank, Second Federal. At that time, 29 percent of the bank’s mortgages were delinquent, and many local borrowers would have faced eviction if the bank had been closed or sold outside the community. Vacancies would have depressed house prices and brought back crime. Second Federal’s delinquencies are now down to 4 percent of its mortgage portfolio, because it worked with its borrowers and nursed the loans back to health. People continue to use its branch as a community center, meeting there to chat with neighbors, or bringing their mail to have it translated by tellers.

The Resurrection Project has itself built affordable housing that it rents to needy families, nudging them to move out when they can afford market rents. One of its developments, Casa Queretaro, looks sleek and welcoming, seeming more luxury housing than “affordable”—in management’s view, there is no reason why so much affordable housing should look run down.

There is much more to community revival, but the picture should be clear. Pilsen is by no means a rich or prosperous community but it now has hope. It has built on its Mexican connections—it has a National Museum of Mexican Art—though it is proudly American. Cinco de Mayo, a Mexican festival, is celebrated with great gusto, but over two hundred fifty thousand people join the Fourth of July parade in Pilsen. Raul Raymundo’s aim is to welcome people of every ethnicity into Pilsen while building on the core stability of the existing community. As he tells people when they buy a house, “You are not buying a piece of property, you are buying a piece of the community.”

final preliminaries

Who am I and why do I write this book? I am a professor at the University of Chicago, and I have spent time as the Chief Economist and head of Research at the International Monetary Fund, where we gave advice to a variety of industrial and developing countries. I also was the Governor of India’s central bank, where we undertook reforms to improve India’s financial system. I have experience working in both the international financial system and in an emerging market. In my adult life, I have never been more concerned about the direction our leaders are taking us than I am today.

In my book Fault Lines: How Hidden Fractures Still Threaten the World Economy, published in 2010, I worried about the consequences of rising inequality, arguing that easy housing credit before the Global Financial Crisis was, in part, a way for politicians to deflect people’s attention from their stagnant paychecks. I was concerned that instead of drawing the right lesson from the crisis—that we need to fix the deep fault lines in developed societies and the global order—we would search for scapegoats. I wrote:

“The first victims of a political search for scapegoats are those who are visible, easily demonized, but powerless to defend themselves. The illegal immigrant or the foreign worker do not vote, but they are essential to the economy—the former because they often do jobs no one else will touch in normal times, and the latter because they are the source of the cheap imports that have raised the standard of living for all, but especially those with low incomes. There has to be a better way . . .”9

The search for scapegoats is well and truly on. I write this book because I see an increasingly polarized world that risks turning its back on seventy years of widespread peace and prosperity. It threatens to forget what has worked, even while ignoring what needs to change. The populist nationalists and the radical Left understand the need for reform, but they resort to the politics of anger and envy. The mainstream establishment parties do not even admit to the need for change. There is much to do, and the challenges are mounting—population aging and climate change need to be addressed without delay. We must start now to bring the state, markets, and the community into a much better balance within our countries, so that we can come together as confident healthy nations to address looming global problems.

The rest of this book is as follows. I start by describing the third pillar, the community. To some, the community stands for warmth and support. To others, it represents narrow-mindedness and traditionalism. Both descriptions can be true, sometimes simultaneously, and we will see why. The challenge for the modern community is to get more of the good while minimizing the bad. We will see how this can be obtained through the balancing influence of the other two pillars—the state and markets. To continue our exploration, we must understand how these pillars emerged historically. In Part I, I trace how the state and markets in today’s advanced countries grew out of the feudal community, taking over some of its activities. I explain how a vibrant market helped create independent sources of power that limited the arbitrary powers of the state. As the state became constitutionally limited, markets got the upper hand, sometimes to the detriment of communities. The extension of suffrage reempowered communities and they used it to press the state to impose regulatory limits on the market. People also demanded reliable social protections that would buffer them against market volatility. All these influences came together in the liberal market democracies, which emerged across the developed world in the early twentieth century. However, market downturns, especially following technological revolutions, were, and are, disruptive. The Great Depression, followed by the Second World War, seemed to sound the death knell of liberal market democracies in much of the world, and the ascent of the state. The balance was seriously disturbed.

In Part II, I describe how the United States shaped the postwar liberal order, and how both the state and markets grew once again to re-create a new balance. Democracy’s roots became stronger. The thirty years of strong postwar growth, however, were followed by years of relative stagnation as developed countries struggled for new ways of reviving growth. In response, the Anglo-American countries empowered the markets at the expense of the state, while continental European reforms favored the superstate and the integrated market. Both sets of reforms came at the expense of the community. I discuss how these different choices left countries differently positioned for the ICT revolution, the subsequent Global Financial Crisis, the backlash against the global order, and the rise of populism.

I turn to possible solutions in Part III. To strengthen the chances that society will stay liberal and democratic, we need profound changes that rebalance the three pillars in the face of technological change. We need more localism to empower the community while drawing on the state and markets to make society more inclusive.

Finally, some caveats. I intend this book to be comprehensive, but not exhaustive. Therefore, I illustrate the course of history with examples from prominent countries, but it would tax the reader’s patience (as well as my editor’s) if I substantiated points with the detail that specialists require. This book offers a broad thesis of its own, and draws on much academic work, but it is aimed at a wide audience. I also offer policy proposals, not as the final word but to provoke debate. We face enormous challenges, to which we need not just the right solutions but also ones that inspire us to act. It is worth recalling the words of Chicago architect Daniel Burnham, “Make no little plans; they have no magic to stir men’s blood and probably themselves will not be realized.”10 I hope this book stirs you to big plans.

INTRODUCTION
THE THIRD PILLAR

Why do our neighbors matter when we can reach people across the world with a click? What role do proximate communities play today in an advanced country that has both a well-functioning state and vibrant markets? The proximate community still helps define who we are. It gives us a sense of empowerment, an ability to shape our own futures in the face of global forces. It also offers us help in times of adversity when no one else will. Of course, the traditional community can also be narrow-minded and resistant to change. A modern community should support its members even while being open, inclusive, and dynamic. It is a product of delicate balances. It is also necessary to address the problems we face.

THE PROXIMATE COMMUNITY

We are shaped by the people who surround us. Our joys are more pleasurable when they are cherished by our friends, our successes more enjoyable when they are applauded by those whose opinions we care about, our protests are less lonely and our indignation less unsure when shared by our supporters, our hatreds more corrosive when goaded by fellow zealots, our sorrows less burdensome when borne with our family. Moreover, we gauge our actions based on how they affect people near us, on the indentations our actions make on their lives. Without such effects, we would be ephemeral passersby, with little evidence of ever having existed. Each one of us draws from multiple overlapping communities that help define who we are, that give us identity over and above the core we think is uniquely us.

There are varieties of communities, some more tightly bound than others. A community could be a group of people who are linked together by blood (as a family or clan) or who share current or past physical proximity (as people in, or having emigrated from, a village). A community could be those who have a common view on how to live a good life (as in a religious sect), share a common profession (as in the movie industry), or frequent the same website or chat groups (as in my college alumni group, where everyone seems to have a different opinion on everything that they absolutely must express). Each one of us has multiple identities, based on the groups we belong to.1 Moreover, many of us have virtual identities in addition to real ones.

As communication has improved, and transportations costs have come down, more distant communities have gained importance. For some of us, these communities may be much more important than our neighborhood. Indeed, a central concern in this book is about the passions that are unleashed when an imagined community like the nation fulfills the need for belonging that the neighborhood can no longer meet.

Nevertheless, we will focus on the proximate community for much of the book for a variety of reasons. Through most of history when distances really mattered, it was the only kind of community that had a serious influence on most people’s lives. Even today, it is where much economic activity is centered. For most of us, the neighborhood is still what we encounter every day, and what anchors us to the real world. It is where we participate as sociable humans, not as clan members, coreligionists, professionals, or disembodied opinions on the web. It is where we have the best chance of persuading others that our humanity unites us more than our ethnicity, profession, or national origin differentiates us. It certainly is where we debate and persuade as we elect officeholders and participate in the governance of the local public services that affect us. It is where we congregate to start broader political movements. As we will see later in the book, a healthy, engaged, proximate community may therefore be how we manage the tension between the inherited tribalism in all of us and the requirements of a large, diverse nation. Looking to the future, as more production and service jobs are automated, the human need for relationships and the social needs of the neighborhood may well provide many of the jobs of tomorrow.

In closely knit communities, a variety of transactions take place without the use of money or enforceable contracts. One side may get all the benefits in some transactions. Sometimes, the expectation is that the other side will repay the favor, but this may never actually happen. In a normal family, members typically help one another without drawing up papers and making payments. In many societies, friends don’t really care who pays the bill at dinner, indeed the ability to not keep count is the mark of true friendship.

Contrast transactions within a community with a typical market transaction. I just bought a bicycle tire tube. I searched for one of adequate quality at a reasonable price through an online platform, paid by credit card, and the tube was delivered within the time promised. Even though this transaction took little time, there is an elaborate explicit understanding or contract behind it. If the tube is not delivered or it proves defective, I have contractual remedies. The transaction is arm’s length and one-off. Neither the seller nor I know each other. Each one of us is satisfied we are better off from the transaction even if we never transact again. We do not look for further fulfilment through a continuing relationship.

The more explicit and one-off the transaction, the more unrelated and anonymous the parties to the transaction, and the larger the set of participants who can transact with one another, the more the transaction approaches the ideal of a market transaction. The more implicit the terms of the transaction, the more related the parties who transact, the smaller the group that can potentially transact, the less equal the exchange, the broader the range of transactions and the more repetitive transactions are over time between the same parties, the more the transactions approach a relationship. The thicker the web of relationships tying a group of individuals together, the more it is a community. In a sense, the community and the market are two ends of a continuum.

In his magisterial work, Gemeinschaft und Gesellschaft (“Community and Society”), nineteenth-century German sociologist Ferdinand Tönnies argued that in a community tied together by strong relationships, individual interests are suppressed in favor of the collective interest whenever these interests diverge. By contrast, in a market transaction, “nobody wants to grant and produce anything for another individual, nor will he be inclined to give ungrudgingly to another individual, if it not be in exchange for a gift or labor equivalent that he considers at least equal to what he has given.”2 In this sense, only individual interests matter, and they have to be met transaction by transaction.

In this chapter, we will examine what makes communities useful.3 Those hearkening to the past, as in many a fantasy novel, often invoke an idyllic view of the community. Typically, this is a village—an arcadia where simple honest people look out for one another, offering goods and services without demanding prompt or equal compensation. The village community can be warm and supportive. Yet, it can also be small, closed, and intrusive. We will see how a community facilitates economic and social transactions, but we’ll also recognize there are limits to community effectiveness, and indeed situations where a community may be harmful to its members’ interests. That will be why a community works best as part of the balance.

THE POSITIVE ROLES OF THE COMMUNITY

Evolutionary psychologists argue that we help others who are related to us or look like us because it is genetically hardwired into us—altruism toward kin is a genetic trait that helped its own survival in the Stone Age, when much of our evolution happened, and so was passed on.4 Similarly, we may be genetically evolved to help others, provided they reciprocate the favor. We are also programmed to have a strong distaste for freeloaders who do not. Since evolution is slow, we are fully adapted to the challenges of the Stone Age, and we continue to retain such propensities, even if no longer critical for survival. In other words, we are predisposed to be social.

We have built on this predisposition. People have always banded together because a group is better at defense (or attack) than an individual. In modern society, healthy communities continue to police themselves and their surroundings to ensure safety for their members. They do more, though—much more.

Survival: Training and Socializing the Young

A community trains its young to be productive so that they can take over from current adult members as they age. Equally important, the values of the young members have to be shaped to protect the well-being of the community. Most communities train their young through apprenticeships, where they are taught skills. Also, through stories, customs, rituals, relationships, and joint celebrations or mourning, the young learn to internalize the norms and values of the community. When faced with a choice between self-interest and community interest, or between community members and others, these youth will then be more inclined to put their own community first.

Apprenticeship often ends with a rite of passage that signals the coming of age of a youth into adulthood. In a number of tribes such as the Aborigines in Australia or the Papuans of New Guinea, the rites were so physically brutal that those up for initiation occasionally died.5 Not only did the ordeal prevent those who did not have the requisite tolerance for pain, or desire for greater power and responsibility in the tribe, from achieving full manhood, but those who did survive it also would likely be even more committed to the tribe. Modern communities like fraternities at colleges, law firms, research universities, or the military have their own rites of passage, differing from tribal initiation ceremonies only in the degree of physical or mental pain they inflict.

A key role of the community is supporting education, even in modern schooling systems. As Chicago Nobel laureate economist James Heckman emphasizes, a child’s attitudes toward learning, as well as her future health, are shaped in the critical preschool years where the family and community matter far more than the formal education system. Moreover, even after children enter the formal schooling system, the community determines whether they make use of it to the fullest extent. Whether children are given the time, encouragement, and the support to do homework depends on the environment at home and the attitude of their friends toward academic effort.

Linkages between the school and the community are also important. Parents will be more eager to monitor and support teaching if they feel they can influence how the school is run—many successful schools draw on parents to staff school boards, to support extracurricular programs, and to provide funds for equipment that is not accounted for in the normal budget. Communities help the young outside schools, whether it is through preschool learning, summer jobs, or watching out for, and counseling, teenagers who might stray. Equally, teachers, coming from the community, can work to build alternative local social supports for students whose families are broken. Schools are also an important focal point for parents to build friendships, as they are drawn together in a common endeavor.

The community shapes the views of its members about one another, so as to encourage mutual support. The elderly are a store of knowledge and have experiences and wisdom that can be very important in guiding the community. Nevertheless, in environments where reproductive capabilities matter enormously or much of the work is physically taxing, the elderly may be seen as a dispensable burden. To give the elderly an incentive to share their wisdom, even while protecting their position, the socialization process often inculcates respect for age. In modern South Indian Brahmin marriages and coming-of-age ceremonies, the elderly have an important position as they guide the young on the specific rituals to be followed. The young signal their acceptance of the natural order by repeatedly prostrating themselves before anyone older, asking for their blessings. Rank or position in the outside world is immaterial in determining who prostrates themselves before whom—all that matters is age. More generally, communities may allocate authority and power in ways that have nothing to do with economic capability, but help keep the community together.

Creating Binding Social Relationships

In close-knit communities, few transactions are explicit exchanges of broadly equal values. We ply dinner guests with food and wine with no concern of when they will reciprocate. As ties get weaker in the community, more reciprocity is expected, but usually in such a way that the original gesture is never fully reciprocated so as to “close the account.”

American anthropologist Laura Bohannan spent years working with the Tiv people of Northern Nigeria. When she arrived to study the community, she was inundated with gifts by the very poor villagers—a common experience for guests in traditional societies. Not wanting to appear rude, she accepted them but was eventually taught the appropriate etiquette by the headman’s wife, who told her to “stop wandering aimlessly about the countryside and start calling to return the gifts” she had received. Bohannon concluded:

The pressure in some communities to stay small and only transact internally can also come at some cost to the broader system. Medieval Chinese master craftsmen typically found apprentices within the family or the close-knit clan. In contrast, the guild system in Europe allowed masters to take on apprentices from almost anywhere, and apprentices, on becoming masters, similarly could move to their hometowns to set up their workshops. According to economic historians de la Croix, Doepke, and Mokyr, a consequence of the looser guild structure in Europe was that technical knowledge was shared widely, improved upon, and shared again.26 In contrast, it remained relatively stagnant when confined within the clan in China. They argue that this can explain the vast improvements in Europe between 1500 and 1750 in a variety of technical areas, such as watchmaking, relative to China. It is a lesson that we will take to modern times when we examine firms and patent rights later in the book.

Communities may also try and hold together by overemphasizing traditions as the source of the community’s strengths. In doing so, the community risks making members suspicious of the choices presented by the modern world, allowing them to become trapped by the past. This is particularly problematic in matters of science. Economic historian Joel Mokyr argues that a major spur to the scientific discoveries in the seventeenth century was the realization that Aristotle’s scientific observations were often wrong.27 Equally energizing for scientific progress was the comfort that contemporary scientists like Galileo, Newton, and Leibnitz had extended the boundaries of knowledge far beyond what was contained in the ancient texts, and there was nothing extraordinary or eternal about the classics. This led scholars to challenge old knowledge in every area, breaking from their earlier conformism. In contrast, centers of Islamic learning, perhaps to promote the commonality and thus cohesiveness of historic Islamic thought in a rapidly expanding and disparate community, turned their gaze backward. Islamic scholars, whose predecessors had kept scientific knowledge alive and expanding during Europe’s Dark Ages, started studying older Islamic texts to uncover their eternal verities, and contributed little to the progress of science from the thirteenth century onward.

CONCLUSION

Communities are especially effective in special circumstances. For instance, community members may be socialized to be concerned about the greater utility of the community and its members relative to their own—typically true of groups that grow up together or are ethnically homogenous. More commonly in communities where members have not grown up together, the community may see some surplus value (what economists term “rents”) embedded in relationships that allows members to find cooperation worthwhile. Arguably the most important problem such communities face is the centrifugal pull of the outside on community members—the competition that emanates from the outside world erodes rents within the community. Instead of banning competition by fiat, ideally, the community would offset that centrifugal pull by the centripetal attraction of the warmth of its relationships and the noncontractual support it provides. Indeed, the point of inclusive localism, as we will see, is to create enough benefits through proximity that the community can afford to be inclusive. Nevertheless, the human desire to protect its valuable relationships and to create new ones by limiting competition and the pull of the outside, will be a recurrent theme throughout the book.

PART I

How the Pillars Emerged

There are ninety and nine who live and die

In want and hunger and cold

That one may live in luxury

And be wrapped in a silken fold

The ninety and nine in hovels bare

The one in a palace with riches rare…

And the one owns cities, and houses and lands,

And the ninety nine have empty hands.

PUBLISHED IN THE FARMERS’ ALLIANCE, JULY 31, 1889, AT THE TIME OF THE POPULIST REVOLT IN THE UNITED STATES

In the Introduction, we explored some of the benefits of the community, the third pillar in our narrative, and also saw some of its downsides. In the next four chapters, we go back in history to trace how the three pillars emerged from the original single pillar, the community. We will see the functions of each pillar and the interrelationships between them when society was, arguably, simpler. This will help us recognize echoes from history today. Also, we will see that pillars waxed and waned in strength through history, creating disequilibria. Society eventually adapted to restore balance. As we face another period of disequilibrium today, history should give us some confidence that we will find answers.

We start in Chapter 1 with the archetypal medieval community, the European feudal manor. The most valuable asset at that time, land, was rarely sold, since it was tied to a family or clan rather than an individual, and land rights were based on customs that involved feudal rights and obligations rather than explicit ownership. Goods were largely exchanged within the manor. The lord of the manor governed the community, adjudicating disputes and meting out justice. Thus, for all practical purposes, the community also contained the other two pillars. We use the quintessential market transaction, debt, as a focal point, and trace how both the state and markets separated from the feudal community over time. We will also follow changing public and scholarly attitudes towards business and markets, and see they have not been static. Instead, they often mirrored the economic and political necessities of the time, as they do today.

With the rise of the nation-state, the state pillar was in ascendance. We turn in Chapter 2 to the emerging nation-state in England, and see how competitive markets helped England solve a fundamental conundrum—how the state can obtain a monopoly of military power within the country, and yet give up its powers to act arbitrarily and outside the law. This is essential for markets to be confident that private property will be protected and the endeavors of businesspeople will not be in vain. We will see the importance of an efficient commercially-minded gentry in aggregating power through Parliament and imposing constitutional checks on the monarchy. Once the state was constitutionally limited, the way was open for truly competitive markets—individuals no longer needed anti-competitive feudal structures such as guilds that also served to protect them against the state. At the same time, both widely-held private property as well as competitive markets created an independent private sector that could protect property and constrain the state. In sum, the constitutionally limited state freed markets and free markets limited the state.

As we will see in Chapter 3, the market pillar became dominant as countries experienced the First Industrial Revolution. Unfortunately, the forces it unleashed were sometimes to the detriment of the community. The fight for broader suffrage was, in many ways, a fight by the community for more power, this time to protect labor, not just physical property. The empowered community then, through movements like those of the Populists and the Progressives in the United States around the turn of the nineteenth century, played its role in restoring the balance. It did so by pressing the state to keep markets competitive and opportunity alive for the many.

The democratic community may not always want markets. In Chapter 4, we will outline three situations when the community does not push for competitive markets—when market players or practices are deemed illegitimate and the state seems a better alternative, when the state is weak and the community is easily bribed to stay apathetic, and when neither the state nor the community offer people the capabilities and the support they need to participate in volatile, changing markets. For people to desire markets, an effective state together with an engaged community have to create mechanisms that will provide people the capabilities and support that will allow them to benefit from markets. We will see how the balance came together in the liberal market democracies that emerged across the developed world by the early twentieth century. We will cover a thousand years of the evolution of the pillars in four chapters—a little too fast for the historians, but just right for our purpose, which is to give a sense of what problems they solved.

History is important to give context to the forces we will see are operating today. Nevertheless, readers who want to jump ahead to recent times might skim through Part I and go to Part II, where we move quickly through the post World War II–era to explain the genesis of today’s problems. They could then come back to Part I for a historical perspective.

PART I

HOW THE PILLARS EMERGED

There are ninety and nine who live and die

In want and hunger and cold

That one may live in luxury

And be wrapped in a silken fold

The ninety and nine in hovels bare

The one in a palace with riches rare…

And the one owns cities, and houses and lands,

And the ninety nine have empty hands.

PUBLISHED IN THE FARMERS’ ALLIANCE, JULY 31, 1889, AT THE TIME OF THE POPULIST REVOLT IN THE UNITED STATES

In the Introduction, we explored some of the benefits of the community, the third pillar in our narrative, and also saw some of its downsides. In the next four chapters, we go back in history to trace how the three pillars we see today emerged from the original single pillar, the community. We will see the functions of each pillar and the interrelationships between them when society was, arguably, simpler. This will help us understand our current challenges as we recognise in today’s problems echoes from history. Also, we will see that pillars waxed and waned in strength through history, creating disequilibria. Society eventually adapted to restore balance. As we face another period of disequilibrium today, history should give us some confidence that we will find answers.

We start in Chapter 1 with the archetypal medieval community, the European feudal manor. The most valuable asset at that time, land, was rarely sold, since it was tied to a family or clan rather than an individual, and land rights were based on customs that involved feudal rights and obligations rather than explicit ownership. Goods were largely exchanged within the manor. The lord of the manor governed the community, adjudicating disputes and meting out justice. Thus, for all practical purposes, the community also contained the other two pillars. We use the quintessential market transaction, debt, as a focal point, and trace how both the state and markets separated from the feudal community over time. We will also follow changing public and scholarly attitudes towards business and markets, and see they have not been static. Instead, they often mirrored the economic and political necessities of the time, as they do today.

With the rise of the nation state, the state pillar was in ascendance. We turn in Chapter 2 to the emerging nation-state in England, and see how competitive markets helped England solve a fundamental conundrum – how the state can obtain a monopoly of military power within the country, and yet give up its powers to act arbitrarily and outside the law. This is essential for markets to be confident that private property is protected. We will see the importance of an efficient commercially-minded gentry as well as independent businesspersons in aggregating power through Parliament and imposing constitutional checks on the monarchy. Once the state was constitutionally limited, the way was open for truly competitive markets – individuals no longer needed the anti-competitive feudal structures such as guilds that also served to protect them against the state. At the same time, both widely-held private property as well as competitive markets were necessary to create an independent private sector that could protect property and constrain the state. In sum, the constitutionally limited state freed markets and free markets limited the state.

Once the markets were free of the fear of expropriation by the state, they flourished. As we will see in Chapter 3, the market pillar was dominant as countries experienced the First Industrial Revolution but often to the detriment of the community. The fight for broader suffrage was, in many ways, a fight by the community for more democratic power, this time to protect labour, not just physical property. The empowered community then, through movements like those of the Populists and the Progressives in the United States around the turn of the nineteenth century, played its role in restoring the balance by pressing the state to keep markets competitive and opportunity alive for the many.

The democratic community may not always want markets. In Chapter 4, we will outline three situations when the community does not push for competitive markets – when market players or practices are deemed illegitimate and the state seems a better alternative, when the state is weak and the community is easily bribed to stay apathetic, and when neither the state nor the community offer people the capabilities and the support they need to participate in volatile, changing markets. For people to desire markets, an effective state together with an engaged community have to create mechanisms that will provide people the capabilities and support that will allow them to benefit from markets. We will see how the balance came together in the liberal market democracies that emerged across the developed world by the early twentieth century. We will cover a thousand years of the evolution of the pillars in four chapters – a little too fast for the historians, but just right for our purpose, which is to give a sense of what problems they solved.

History’s lessons are important. They will give us a sense of why each pillar matters and how the pillars fit together to produce the liberal market economy. Patterns of their interaction reproduce, not exactly but recognisably. Nevertheless, readers who want to jump ahead to recent times might skim through Part I and go to Part II, where we move quickly through the post World War II–era to explain the genesis of today’s problems. They could then come back to Part I for a historical perspective.

1
TOLERATING AVARICE

In this chapter, we will see how the markets and the state separated from the medieval manor community and became powerful pillars in their own right. We will follow these developments by tracing the use of the quintessential market contract: debt. The Catholic Church will play a cameo role in this story, initially filling the vacuum left by the absence of a strong state, then competing with the state to both protect and exploit people. Crucially for our narrative, the Church managed to stand up to the state, armed only with the power of religion. It established the idea that there was a higher legitimacy that constrained state actions, over and above temporal power. As we will see, this was an important step toward a constitutionally limited state, which in turn was necessary for markets to have full play.

THE DEBT CONTRACT

Unlike the favors we have been discussing between members of a community, a loan contract is an explicit commitment by a borrower to repay the loaned amount with interest at a prespecified time, failing which the lender will be able to use the force of the law to recover the value lent. Typically, she will do so by seizing pledged collateral. If the security offered by the borrower is valuable—such as a farmer borrowing against his land—the lender need not know very much about the borrower or monitor his activity closely. By making terms explicit, the debt contract frees the lender from dependence on the whims or fortunes of the borrower. No longer is it the borrower’s choice whether to repay and when to do so—he must pay on the contract’s maturity or face the stipulated penalties, which in some societies were as harsh as slavery or death. Since the debt contract is written down, it is not dependent on the frailty of human or community memory. Favors can be forgotten—debt cannot.

Debt is thus an arm’s-length exchange of money for interest, untrammeled by the need to maintain social ties. This can draw in lenders from outside the community. In fact, such lenders may be the best at getting repaid because they will not sympathize with a borrower who has fallen on hard times, unlike a lender from within the community. Shylock, who hated Antonio, Shakespeare’s merchant of Venice, was, in a sense, the ideal lender, since he was perfectly willing to take his pound of Antonio’s flesh if Antonio did not repay the debt. Because Antonio then had every incentive to repay, Shylock was willing to lend.

These attributes of debt—that it is explicit, often secured by collateral, and impersonal—seem to favor the lender. They also make it much easier, though, for a potential borrower to get a loan at a low interest rate in competitive environments—somewhat paradoxically, the harsher the debt contract and the more it seems weighted in favor of the lender, the greater and broader the borrower’s access to finance. If, in contrast, sympathetic courts were to suspend the lender’s power to recover whenever the borrower was in difficulty, lenders would not be eager to lend to anyone who was even moderately risky, and lending would dry up. The few loans that would still be made to risky borrowers would be at sky-high interest rates. So it is from the very harshness of the debt contract, and the lender’s ability and willingness to enforce it, that the borrower gets easy access to funds. None of this is to say that borrowing is appropriate for everyone who wants money, or that debt forgiveness is bad, only that the debt contract is fit for its purpose.

In the relationships we have discussed so far, one member of the community does a favor to another without the expectation she will be repaid in full measure. In the typical debt contract, the terms including the interest rate are calculated so that both sides are satisfied if the contract is adhered to, even if they never see each other again. A relationship leaves possibilities open-ended; the debt contract calculates them to closure. A relationship requires parties to have some empathy for each other or some sense they are part of a larger, longer-term whole; the debt contract is entirely self-contained. It is in these senses that the debt contract represents the quintessential individualistic arm’s-length market transaction.

Despite the usefulness of debt, lending for interest, otherwise known as usury, has been proscribed by many religions and cultures. Usury laws capping interest rates prevent the equalization of benefits to both borrower and lender. The lender gets less than what he might obtain in a free market. Why did such laws constraining the freedom of the market emerge?

THE PROHIBITION ON USURY

Societies have often prohibited lending at more than a specified moderate rate of interest. The Arthashastra, attributed to Indian Emperor Chandragupta Maurya’s adviser, Kautilya, and written around 300 BCE, has detailed prescriptions on the maximum rate of interest that can be charged for different kinds of loans. The ceiling was 1 1/4 percent per month or 15 percent per year for ordinary loans to people, intended to finance consumption or emergency needs.1 It went up to 5 percent per month for ordinary commercial loans, 10 percent per month for riskier commercial transactions that involved travel through forests, and 20 percent per month for trade by sea. The only exception to these limits was in regions where the king was unable to guarantee security, where judges were asked to take into account customary practices among debtors and creditors. Thus, ancient India recognized a distinction between consumption loans and loans taken to fund profitable commerce, with lower ceilings on interest charged on the former. It also saw the need for the lender to receive a higher interest rate when the commercial enterprise was riskier.

The Old Testament was much less tolerant of usury. For instance, according to Exodus 22:25, “If thou lend money to any of my people that is poor that dwelleth with thee: thou shalt not be hard upon them as an extortioner, nor oppress them with usuries.” Elsewhere in the Old Testament, though, there is an exception—strangers. In Deuteronomy 23:19–20: “Thou shalt not lend upon usury to thy brother; usury of money, usury of victuals, usury of anything that is lent upon usury. Unto a stranger thou mayest lend upon usury; but unto thy brother thou shalt not lend upon usury.”

Is the payment of interest unjustified compensation? After all, the lender has to postpone her own use of the money—think of all those middle-aged people investing money in a debt mutual fund for their old age, which the fund then lends to firms. Postponed gratification, as well as the loss of convenience in not having the money at hand for emergencies, requires some compensation. So too does any cost of preparing the loan document, checking the borrower’s credentials, and administering the loan. The lender also takes the risk the borrower may not repay, or may repay only partially, despite all the safeguards built into debt. So she also needs compensation for the risk of default. Finally, the lender’s use for money, as well as her ability to buy goods with it when she gets repaid, may be very different from today. This is another risk she bears.

The economically defensible interest rate therefore includes the time value for money plus transactions costs for making the loan plus the compensation to the lender for the risks she takes. The final piece that is tacked on is the lender’s profit, based on how pressing the borrower’s need is and what the alternative sources of loans are. So why would the ancient Hebrews prevent lenders from getting what modern economists think is their legitimate due? The answer relates to three factors: the size of the community, the condition of the borrower, and the extent of competition between potential lenders.

WHY PROHIBIT USURY?

In biblical times in Palestine, tribes were small, people poor, and the occasional borrower needed money typically to buy food or shelter for survival. The prohibition on usury within the community essentially meant the members of the community insured one another against adversity. If one tribesman’s goats died accidentally, he could go to others who were not similarly afflicted for help while he rebuilt his herd, promising to repay the favor when his luck improved.

A prohibition on taking interest would have a number of beneficial effects here. When people are living close to the edge, they are willing to promise anything for their family’s survival. If the community is poor and only a few have resources to spare at any given time, those few would then have tremendous bargaining power over the needy. If there were no prohibition on charging exorbitant interest, a temporary setback to some members of the tribe could lead them to become permanently indebted and thus enslaved to other luckier members. Over time, the enslaved would have little reason to work, the tribe would become even more impoverished, and conflict would increase.

In contrast, though, if the charging of interest were limited or even prohibited, the better-off members would have little profitable use for surplus resources. They would be forced to help out proximate neighbors or kin with interest-free loans, thus accumulating favors they could draw on when they themselves were hit with adversity. Those on the verge of starvation would have much more use for the shekel saved in interest than the well-fed lender.2 Moreover, in a small tribe, helping close tribe members survive would also be a matter of self-interest. These would be the people one would trade and work with over time. The bonds of friendship aside, if one’s trusted associates perished in hard times, one would have to build relationships with unfamiliar others, a potentially costly endeavor. Given the tribesmen’s choice between freely given mutual help and debt bondage, with uncertainty about who would come out as master and who would be enslaved, perhaps it is not surprising that they might have chosen to prohibit the latter. In a sense, therefore, the prohibition on usury created a rent, or surplus—the interest that could not be charged—that would be shared within the community to strengthen bonds.

Of course, a lender could get around the usury prohibition by disguising interest; for instance, a lender could finance the unlucky tribesman’s purchase of additional goats but demand milk every day in lieu of interest. This is where religion came in. Knowing that God saw what the tribal authorities might overlook, in an age when the fate of the soul was more important than earthly existence, the fear of retribution in afterlife played an effective role in ensuring the usury prohibition was respected in letter and spirit.

The prohibition on charging interest thus helped strengthen communal bonds and mutual support in small poor communities where anyone could be hit by adversity, and the identities of those in need fluctuated almost randomly over time. To be your brother’s keeper, to practice a kind of communism, made sense.

The prohibition was also a form of early consumer protection vis-à-vis outside lenders. With the poor borrower not knowing how to read, having a very rudimentary understanding of interest, and also often being in a position of deep distress, the possibility that dispassionate lenders from outside the community could take advantage of him was substantial. Better, socially conscious thinkers would have argued, to force the community to take responsibility for the poor than to deliver them into the clutches of the moneylender. Indeed, all these reasons also played out in the Church’s attack on usury in Europe in the Middle Ages.

FEUDALISM AND THE CHURCH’S ATTACK ON USURY

In Europe, from the early Middle Ages till about the eleventh century CE, the Church frowned upon the charging of interest on loans but did not prosecute moneylending as a sin.3 However, from about the middle of the eleventh century, the Church moved aggressively to curb usury, regarding any interest as a sin, prohibited by the Bible. The usurer had to repay all interest received during his life in full before he could aspire for salvation. The attempts to suppress usury reached their apex in the Church Councils of Lyon in 1274 and Vienna in 1312. The punishment for moneylenders included refusal of confession, absolution, or burial in hallowed ground—terrible penalties in those times of deep faith. These were reinforced by popular beliefs. The economic historian Richard Tawney writes about “innumerable fables of the usurer who was prematurely carried to hell, or whose money turned to withered leaves in his strong box or who . . . on entering a church to be married, was crushed by a stone figure falling from a porch, which proved by the grace of God, to be a carving of another usurer and his money-bags being carried off by the devil . . .” 4

What accounted for the Church’s greater zeal in enforcing the ban on usury from the eleventh century onward? And why did it become far less passionate about rooting out the usurer from the late fourteenth century onward? An understanding of these shifts will give us a better sense of why attitudes toward markets change. First, though, we need to understand the quintessential community in those times in Europe: the feudal manor.

The Feudal Community

Under feudalism, everyone except the king held his share of land in trust from his overlord. Because land, the principal source of value, was not freely saleable, it was allocated to trusted supporters. In return for the use of the land and the overlord’s protection, the vassal swore fealty to the overlord and paid him in kind. If the vassal was capable of fighting, payment was through military service; if he was a peasant, payment was through produce from the land or labor. In a sense, feudal obligations and relationships arose from the land and the produce it generated, neither of which could be marketed.

Feudalism in Europe reached its zenith as the Muslim expansion from the seventh century onward shut off Europe’s access to traditional overseas markets. The proliferation of little principalities as well as banditry reduced the size of markets and increased the cost of transporting goods for trade.5 With little to buy, market transactions and the use of money diminished, and feudal relationships proliferated.

The feudal manor was thus a closed, hierarchical community, producing much of what it consumed. The peasant’s land holdings were typically in the form of strips in two or three large open fields, intermingled with those of his neighbors. Each peasant followed the same rotation of crops as the others, and had free access to common pastures and woods where each peasant had grazing rights for a certain number of cattle, sheep, or pigs, as well as the right to collect firewood. All this required a fair amount of coordination and give-and-take (the strips were not separated by fences and the commons were open to all in the manor), which required building consensus in the community.

Each peasant had enough to ensure a subsistence existence. There was little incentive to produce more, since there was not much of a market to sell the surplus in.6 Because the peasant was tied to the land, though, the feudal community was stable, albeit poor. As one historian noted, “Most men have never seen more than a hundred separate individuals in the course of their whole lives, where most households live by tilling their great-grandfather’s fields with their great-grandfather’s plough.”7

Moreover, religion was no longer a significant unifying national force in the emerging Western European nation-states—some nations had both sizable Catholic and Protestant populations, while nations with predominantly Catholic populations needed an identity that differentiated them from coreligionists elsewhere. As we will see in the next chapter, a new form of devotion, nationalism, started edging out religious zeal across Europe. It too would affect attitudes toward business and finance, as well as the community.

CONCLUSION

Around the end of the first millennium in the Common Era, commerce and finance started stirring once again in Europe. As monetary transactions started undermining the stability of the feudal community, the community via the Church struck back and imposed severe limitations on the behavior permitted in financial and goods markets. However, over time, as both the unifying power of the monarch and the size of the market grew, some of the restrictions on business and finance started impinging on economic activity as well as on the monarch’s finances. The antibusiness scholarly ideology protecting the feudal community and constraining the market gave way to a more tolerant view, which gave individuals greater freedom to transact. The dominant scholarly view changed with public need, as it invariably does, even though theoretical reasoning is not supposed to have such flexibility! Trade, land sales, and debt weakened reciprocal feudal obligations and replaced them with market transactions. The state and the market grew together, even as the feudal community weakened.

The Church’s power also declined, leaving the nation-state in ascendancy. However, the Church’s period of power had served a purpose—to push the state, at least in some parts of Western Europe, to acknowledge the possibility of a higher law, and to prod it into developing a more rational legal system. Two struggles now became more salient. One was the struggle for supremacy within a country as the king attempted to subdue the few powerful landed magnates who had the ability to match the king’s military spending. An equally fierce struggle was between the emerging nation-states in Europe, as each tried to establish its dominance over others. These two struggles were the crucibles in which the constitutionally limited state and modern markets were both forged.44

2
THE RISE OF THE STRONG BUT LIMITED STATE

In the last chapter, we saw how new military technologies such as siege cannons developed to overcome traditional fortifications and unify territories. No longer could every town or manor stand up to the king’s men simply because it had strong walls. (I will use “king,” since they were mostly kings, with due apologies to queens like Mary Tudor and Elizabeth I.) The emerging nation-state’s military power was too much for the traditional feudal community and broke its protections down. The centralizing of governance powers had begun. It was limited, though, by the difficulty of governance at a distance in an era when the fastest means of communication was through bonfires or via riders on horseback.

The nation-state still had to accomplish at least three tasks before it came to even remotely resemble today’s strong state. The first was for the king to obtain a monopoly of military power within his territory so that it was a unified whole with a common market. To do this, he had to suppress the large magnates—the domestic dukes and princes—who had the lands and revenues to rival his military power. We will see that this took different forms, but in England, it was achieved through direct confiscation as well as, interestingly, through competition in markets.

The second task was to create an identity that would replace religion—since religion did not distinguish one nation-state from another in Europe. That identity had to give people a sense of larger purpose. Increasingly, an identity that suited many requirements, including the king’s need to lead a unified country, was identification with the nation.

Even after unifying the land under his power, the king faced external threats. Some European country was always trying to establish supremacy—first Spain, then France, and in modern times, Germany and Russia. Any European country risked subjugation if it was not militarily powerful. As his feudal vassals’ obligations to supply arms and men waned with the demise of feudalism, the king needed money to maintain a strong military to defend the country against these external threats. Much of the subsequent development of the state can be seen as a consequence of steps taken to enhance its ability to raise revenues—the third task.

The nation-state that emerged had somewhat contradictory powers. It was strong in its ability to defend itself against external enemies and defeat internal threats to the state, yet it was compelled to respect the private property rights of its citizens. The constitutionally limited state was an important milestone in the path towards free markets. The security of private property did away with the need for private players to protect themselves through anti-competitive medieval business associations, such as guilds. It allowed them to compete as individuals. Greater competition raised efficiency and output, increasing the economic power of the nation-state that could foster it. The markets pillar and the state pillar now fortified each other.

Since different nation-states went through these developments in different ways, and my intent is to illustrate, not be exhaustive, I will focus on the path England followed, primarily because it was the first large nation-state with a constitutionally limited government. The process of stabilizing governance in the English nation-state took the Crown over two hundred years, spanned the reigns of two houses—the Tudors and the Stuarts—and involved substantial amounts of chance. Even though England’s path to constitutionally limited government and freer markets was unplanned and idiosyncratic, through war it imposed competitive pressures on other European countries to change if they wanted to survive. Eventually, many reached similar endpoints, albeit in their own ways.

THE DECLINE OF THE MAGNATES

As we have seen, the new military technologies required scale. At the outset of nation building, the monarch was not personally much wealthier than the most powerful of the landed aristocracy. He needed to build his own power as well as reduce theirs. In the process of eliminating the threat of the high aristocracy, the English king unleashed market forces that would help create entities that would eventually curtail his own freedom of action. Interestingly, as the king lost the ability to act willfully and outside the law, as his identity was submerged in the broader apparatus of the state, the state’s access to financing from its citizens increased. It could now expand in ways, such as maintaining a large army, which would earlier have raised public apprehension about the monarch’s intentions. The limited state became strong and improved its capabilities even while bolstering the confidence of the citizenry in the security of their property. Let us see how this happened.1

Henry VII, the first Tudor monarch, was the last king of England to win his crown on the battlefield. There were others who had some right to the throne, so Henry’s claim to be monarch other than by “right of conquest” was questionable, at best. From the outset, therefore, the Tudors had to dominate other aristocrats through sheer power. This was not a simple or quick task.

The monarch’s problem was difficult. The landed aristocracy had built militias out of their armed servants, and could also summon their vassals and tenants to fight for them. Even as Henry VII passed a series of Acts asserting that the prime loyalty of every subject was first to the Crown and only then to his lord, feudal tradition militated otherwise.2 The monarch only had control over a small militia, and was otherwise reliant on conscription. This meant that in any emergency requiring a prompt response, such as an internal rebellion by one of the lords, he needed the help of the other lords to defeat it. Furthermore, the king did not have a large bureaucracy to collect taxes. He depended on the high lords to collect and pass taxes on to the royal treasury. With the king so dependent on the aristocrats, he simply could not take them all on at the same time.

Time and infertility were on the king’s side. He had no need to create powerful new aristocrats, and indeed no dukes were created by the Tudors.3 Furthermore, because some lords did not have male children, which was not an infrequent occurrence, existing houses came to an end. Their lands reverted to the Crown. Through such means, Henry VII doubled his revenues from Crown lands.4 Individual rebellious lords could also be picked off, convicted of treason, and executed, as was the duke of Buckingham by Henry’s son, Henry VIII. Their lands were seized by the Crown. Nevertheless, what really clipped the wings of the landed aristocracy was more indirect and perhaps unintended—the dissolution of monasteries and the great price inflation of the sixteenth century.

THE DISSOLUTION OF THE MONASTERIES AND THE RISE OF THE GENTRY

The Tudors were hungry for land, and looked for easy targets. After Henry VIII broke with the Pope over his marriage to Anne Boleyn, he turned his attention to the Church’s wealth in its various monasteries, which had grown substantially since the Gregorian reforms. Monastery property had two attractions. First, it had few armed men protecting it, unlike the land of the magnates. Many monasteries had also grown complacent and neglected their duties toward the needy. As a result, they enjoyed only modest public support. Second, and perhaps more important, monastery land was poorly managed. This attracted the attention of the capable, who felt they could do a better job using the latest methods of agricultural management.5 Henry VIII gave abbots and abbesses the choice between being accused of treason, convicted, and put to death cruelly (they needed to be convicted because only the property of traitors went legally to the Crown), or ceding property “voluntarily” to the Crown. Most made the obvious choice, and few among the public protested.

The seized property was soon sold, as the king needed funds to fight wars. Those who bought the land were primarily local moderately wealthy land owners—the local gentry. These were typically minor nobility, who did not have the vast land holdings the high aristocracy had, but owned more land than well-to-do peasants. The landed aristocracy were only a few dozen, while the gentry numbered in the thousands. The gentry had made their money managing their own properties well. They could bring their expertise to the new properties, especially because they knew local conditions and were closer to the land than the landed magnates. Since land ownership was the route to social status in those times, successful wealthy town-dwellers such as merchants and lawyers also bought land so that they could rise to the status of country gentlemen.

These men improved the management of the land they bought; they brought unused land into cultivation; they ended unproductive traditional techniques such as leaving one out of two fields fallow instead of one out of three; they appropriated customary-use common areas by enclosing them, and shifting them into more lucrative sheep rearing. Rather than continuing with the feudal practice of demanding unpaid labor from tenants, which was anyway grudgingly given, these “new” men instead hired labor directly for commercial wages. They raised rents on existing tenants in return for forgiving labor obligations. Not all were successful in making a go of land management, but the unsuccessful sold out to others who were more expert. At any rate, land management improved substantially, increasing agricultural output. Some economic historians argue that England’s prosperity in Elizabethan times was in substantial part due to higher national income growth resulting from the seized lands.6

Importantly, the successful country gentlemen, both old and new, went on to acquire more land. Some of the richer gentry came to own as much as the poorer aristocrats. Furthermore, because many of the high lords were not particularly good managers—after all, they and their ancestors had established their prowess on the battlefield, not in estate management—the incomes of the richer gentry far exceeded that of the poorer aristocracy. For crops that had a national market, the more efficient cheaper production from the gentry lowered prices and thus aristocratic incomes. The old guard was at risk of being blown away by the gales of competition.

The aristocracy, who no longer could distinguish themselves easily from lesser mortals based on land ownership or income, found new grounds for differentiation. What distinguished them from the nouveau-riche Calvinist gentry was their lavish entertainment and the liberal hospitality they showered on guests who passed their social threshold, their free-spending enjoyment of fashion, art, and architecture, and their sympathetic treatment of unproductive customary tenants paying low rents. These were exactly the wrong elements to distinguish themselves by as prices started rising.

THE GREAT INFLATION

The gold and silver flowing into Europe in the sixteenth century from its colonies in Africa and Asia first, then the Americas, raised prices of goods, as the growth in their production did not keep pace with the growth of coined precious metal. For the aristocracy, the tremendous increase in spending that was necessary to keep up their lifestyle and their army of retainers collided with the stagnant tenant rents that noblesse oblige demanded of them. Something had to give. For those who could not bring themselves to manage their lands commercially, it meant land sales and further decline—until some social-climbing wealthy merchant or member of the gentry could be persuaded to underwrite the aristocratic expenditure in return for a status-enhancing marriage alliance. For those who wanted to maintain their distance from the arrivistes, there was no alternative to moving to new techniques of agricultural production, raising rents on tenants who could cope, and terminating the tenancy of those who could not.

The demands of the market—the competition from the gentry accentuated by the great inflation—thus killed the capacity of the aristocratic lord to look out for his tenant and see him through difficulty, the essence of the feudal obligation. At the same time, it also killed any loyalty the tenant might have had to his lord.7 Transactions were now on strictly commercial terms—the market, by competing away the rents on aristocratic estates, once again had eroded community ties. No longer would tenants flock to their lord’s banner in times of military need. For the monarch, this was a distinct relief, since his army was based far more on recruits drafted for a wage than on loyal feudal retainers.8

The king also undermined the landed aristocracy in matters of local governance. As the gentry grew more prominent, the monarchy appointed them as justices of peace to judge small claims and local cases, as sheriffs, and as tax and military draft commissioners. These positions were unpaid, but offered their occupants prestige and local influence. And they became essential to administering local justice as well as collecting taxes and administering services for the poor. As one historian put it, “the gentry were essential to the power of the king, but he was not essential to theirs.”9

THE POWER OF THE GENTRY

All this meant that even though the aristocracy had been undermined, as had the Church before it, the monarchy did not have absolute power; a new power, the gentry, now stood in the way. The king was vastly more powerful than any single member of the gentry, but he could not treat them like Henry VIII treated the monasteries. Unlike the poorly managed monastery land, the gentry used their superior knowledge of farming and the locality to manage their land productively. There were no unrealized bonanzas that could be obtained through expropriation.10 It made far more sense for the king to tax the gentry regularly than to expropriate some of them and risk upsetting an entire class. Ironically, one of the most infamous violations of property rights in history, the expropriation of the monasteries, had strengthened property rights by moving land into the most productive hands. With the markets having done much of the work, courts and their judgments soon established property rights over land more firmly, eliminating the last vestiges of feudal constraints on property ownership and transfers, while protecting contractual ownership and tenancy rights.11

The gentry also dominated the House of Commons in Parliament, an institution whose purpose we will describe shortly. It offered them a venue to coordinate their actions if they perceived any threat from the monarch such as moves toward expropriation or levying additional unapproved taxes. With their limited individual influence, they preferred an arm’s-length rule by law that would protect all of them. They were collectively wealthy—a peer ruefully noted in 1628 that the House of Commons could buy up the Lords thrice over—so together, they could influence the nature of those laws.12 And they were closer to their tenants than the great lords were, and thus could command more of the much-diminished sense of loyalty in their locality than either the great lord or the king. The gentry, not the landed magnates, thus became the primary source of possible opposition to the Stuart kings.

As an aside, the belief that widely distributed property leads to better security of property and stronger constraints on the state has a long tradition. Some societies set maximum limits on the amount of land anyone could own so that it would be distributed widely. The Roman Republic had an agrarian law that limited how much land any one person could own, which of course was breached as it progressed toward empire. In his treatise, Oceana, James Harrington, a writer in seventeenth-century England, argued that ownership of property was the source of all power, and the group that had the most property dominated government.13 Influenced by Harrington, Jefferson’s draft constitution for Virginia, written in 1776, required that each adult have fifty acres of land. The minimum limit would ensure that the owner would be reasonably prosperous and independent—if not quite a member of the gentry.14 Yet we have seen, it is not just how land is distributed, the efficiency of owners also makes a difference—the inefficient monasteries were not powerful while the gentry were. The vibrant land market had the dual effect of moving land into the hands of the efficient and, through their competition, eliminating the last vestiges of the feudal community such as the loyal but inefficient hereditary tenant.

TOWNS, GUILDS, AND MONOPOLIES . . .

Even as they were suppressing the landed magnates domestically, monarchs continued to face external threats, which was the source of their perennial problem, their need for funds. The competition with other European nations for political supremacy was bloody and never-ending. Whenever any state became strong enough to potentially acquire an enduring advantage, the other states banded together to defeat its quest for domination and achieve a new balance of power.15 Yet dreams of supremacy never faded.

Any money the monarch could access to fund his military machine, whether through borrowing or tax revenues, ultimately was supported by economic production. So competition between states for supremacy, in the long run, would favor states that had stronger economies with which to sustain their war machines. Every country faced steady pressure from the outside to beef up its economic capabilities, else risk subjugation.

It was not enough for the country to just produce more—the monarch had to be able to collect his share in taxes. The more he threatened to take in taxes, and the more unpredictable his behavior in doing so, the less his people would want to invest in, or put effort into, income-generating economic activity. Instead, they would focus on hiding their income and wealth. The monarch needed a mechanism to signal that he would tax reasonably, even in times of war when he might be tempted to levy huge taxes or expropriate property in order to preserve his reign. So the king had to create institutions that would limit his own ability to be arbitrary, thus convincing people that their taxes would not be used to extort yet more from them. The Church was one such institution, but as discussed in the last chapter, its power was fading. In most European countries, monarchs therefore committed to levy new taxes or raise old ones only if approved by the representatives of the rich and propertied. In England, for instance, these were seated in Parliament (and the Estates General in France and the Riksdag in Sweden). Given the difficulty of getting anyone to approve higher taxes on themselves, monarchs tried to find ways to not put the question to the representative bodies if they could find other ways of gathering revenues.

The obvious alternative was to do cozy deals with the businessmen in the towns, which the emerging absolute monarchs of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Europe proceeded to do. Europe’s first stab at a regime more tolerant of business resulted in a pro-business but not pro-enterprise economy. Government and business formed a closed community—or what would be called crony capitalism today. The towns were certainly not free markets.

Taxing Towns

As agriculture became more commercialized and prosperous, it could provide more taxable income. There were limits, though, on how much the powerful landed could be taxed—in France they were not, and in England, landowners colluded to pass laws in Parliament to avoid taxes.16 Moreover, the king needed every last bit of revenue for the new forms of mass warfare because, as Louis XIV declared, “after all it is the last Louis d’or which must win.”17 So the king looked to the towns and ports, where excise duties could be levied on goods like beer and bricks and customs duties could be charged on imports. In England, for instance, over two-thirds of government revenue from taxation came from Customs and Excise in the early eighteenth century.18

In order to tax urban production, the monarch had to deal with town bodies like the guilds that had formed for different trades and crafts, as well as the emerging monopoly merchant companies. In the same way as the manorial community protected the peasant against the uncertainties of life lived at the economic margin, the guild in a town protected its members from competition, both from others within the guild and from outsiders. It fixed membership fees; hours of work; the prices the master craftsmen could charge, and the wages they could offer; the terms, number, and fees for apprenticeships; and it negotiated on behalf of its members with the monarch or with town leaders for restrictions to be placed on outside competitors. If the response from the authorities was inadequate, the guild was not above taking the law into its own hands. Some organized armed expeditions of their members to search out and destroy any competitor that tried to do business in the territory they had earmarked for themselves.

The guild was effectively a cartel trying to ensure all its members got a decent living in an environment of weak economic growth, but also seeing to it that none was so energetic or entrepreneurial so as to put the others at a disadvantage. Like the manor, it aggregated the power of its members, a necessity in times when the law was weak, and might often right. It was also a social organization like the medieval manor, providing economic support to those in need and encouraging interactions between its members. A somewhat disapproving description of members of the merchant guild of the Dutch city of Tiel dating from 1024 comments that members “begin their drinking bouts at the crack of dawn, and the one who tells dirty jokes with the loudest voice, and raises laughter and induces the vulgar folk to drink, gains high praise among them.”19 Like the manor, it ensured stability and comradery, at the cost of innovation and efficiency.

The Alliance of Town and Crown

The interests of the towns were initially opposed to those of the landed nobility. For the peasant working in the lord’s fields, the town represented new opportunities. The efforts of towns to attract additional labor set them in opposition to the lords, who resented the attractive pull of the town on their field workers. Furthermore, while towns wanted cheap food for themselves and their workers, and thus preferred low tariffs on food imports (and high tariffs on manufactured goods), the landed nobility who produced food and consumed manufactured goods preferred the opposite. Also, the increasingly wealthy merchants and financiers were a challenge to the social status of the landed nobility.

The alliance of the town and Crown was more than just a matter of befriending the enemy of the enemy. Each offered something important to the other. For the merchant or the craftsman, the king offered protection, not just from physical attack or intrusion from manorial or canon law, but also from competition—he endorsed the anticompetitive guild and its practices through a royal charter. The resulting monopoly profits were the rents that are so necessary to sustain relationships. It kept the guild members united, creating a tight-knit association that was a powerful defense against other predatory powers of the time. The guild shared some of those profits with the king through periodic fees or loans, thus fulfilling its side of the Faustian bargain.20

Why Monopolies?

Why could the king not tax his people directly, instead of leaving them to the tender mercies of the monopolist guilds? As we have seen, taxation required authorization by Parliament. Instead, the king could offer royal monopoly charters directly, thus bypassing Parliament. Royally licensed monopolies were less clearly offensive to the people, since high monopoly prices were an implicit concealed tax. So long as they were on a relatively few items, they would be borne with only a little grumbling.

Equally important, the nation-states in their early incarnations had weak bureaucracies and therefore limited abilities to collect taxes, tolls, or custom duties. The king benefited far more by investing scarce revenue in an army of soldiers than in an army of tax collectors. Therefore, the guilds and the merchant companies essentially served as the king’s tax collectors, estimating and collecting what was owed from their members. They often paid directly to the treasury upfront for the monopoly privilege, which reduced the king’s need to borrow or rely on a costly corrupt bureaucracy to collect taxes.21 Moreover, monopoly profits came into the guild’s coffers as repayment for the advances it had made the king, so it did not have to stand in line outside the treasury for an uncertain repayment, unlike ordinary creditors. Finally, because the privileges came directly from the king for the most part (only some were authorized by Parliament), the guilds and monopolist companies became his loyal supporters, if nothing else because their continued fortunes depended on his survival. Every side benefited except the consumer who paid the higher cartelized prices!

The monopoly charter was not a secure form of property right. It was an easily transferred right, not fortified by the competence of the holder—indeed, the longer the monopoly was held, the more inefficient the holder would get, and the easier it would be to expropriate, as was the case with the monastery land. What kept the monarch from large-scale taking-back-and-reselling of monopolies was probably concerns about the risk of angering a large group of merchants or craftsmen in the guilds or companies, as well as the loss of reputation and the damage it would do to the sale price of future monopolies. These were fragile supports on which to build large-scale investments, and typically such businesses invested little.

. . . AND MERCANTILISM

The alliance of town and Crown was not without other vulnerabilities. Foreign producers could compete with domestic ones and push prices down. Monarchs, however, had a very short-term view of economic might, perhaps influenced by the multiple reign-ending military threats they faced. They essentially believed that economic prowess depended on what was produced in the country in the short run, and thus sought to discourage imports and encourage exports—a practice which was called mercantilism. It was thought this would create more domestic jobs and income, exactly the argument that today’s populist politicians put forward. A collateral benefit would be that as a country sold more abroad than it imported, it would accumulate gold and silver, allowing it to reduce its dependence on foreign loans. So over and above the domestic restraints on competition, nations imposed tariffs on imports, and encouraged exports by offering subsidies. Not only did all this subject domestic consumers to yet higher prices, it gave domestic producers yet another layer of protection from the need to compete and innovate. Indeed, that was the purpose of mercantilism—to favor domestic producers over consumers.

3
FREEING THE MARKET … THEN DEFENDING IT

As the state eliminated military challenges within its territory, and as parliamentary bodies came to be dominated by propertied individuals, the wealthy no longer felt their lives or property were under constant threat. Parliament would limit the government to legitimate activities. With the state constitutionally limited, trade- or community-based organizations that would provide members physical security and protect their business were no longer required. The restraints on competition that enabled these organizations became unnecessary. Economic philosophers could now preach the virtue of free and unfettered markets, while political philosophers could extoll the benefits of individual liberty and minimal government, even while both sets of thinkers took the safety of life and wealth for granted. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, markets were on the ascendance.

Laissez-faire, first propounded by French philosophers known as the Physiocrats, sought a distancing between the state and markets: The state should leave business alone to do what it must, letting the full forces of market competition play out. The philosophers did not explain what they would advocate if market participants tried to subvert market competition with the aid of the state—a development that Adam Smith worried about—or shut it down themselves by cartelizing the market. Nevertheless, as a blunt theoretical argument with which to bludgeon the remaining anticompetitive vestiges of both feudalism and mercantilism, laissez-faire was successful.

Yet, even as the votaries of the market celebrated, opposition was building. Not everyone benefited from the commercialization of agriculture, even in England. There were losers other than the high aristocracy, most importantly those who benefited from the old manor community. The worst affected were older peasants, whose tenancy was terminated as their fields were given over to more productive uses or users, but who could not migrate to the towns unlike the young. Peasants also saw their customary right to graze animals, hunt for game, or pick firewood in the commons disappear without compensation, as the common grounds were legally enclosed and appropriated by the politically powerful landed. As a popular ditty went:

The law locks up the man or woman

Who steals the goose from off the common

But leaves the greater villain loose

Who steals the common from the goose.1

The commercialization of agriculture broke up many a traditional English village community, resulting in masses of unemployed peasants who migrated to the towns in search of work. This was Marx’s “reserve army” of the unemployed, which fed the Industrial Revolution.

The jobs in the hellish factories that mushroomed in the growing towns were hard and dangerous. They did put food on the table but too many children worked long hours, simply because they were more nimble than adults, and parents did not know where to leave them while they worked. Families had few alternatives since work back in the village had disappeared. Worse than the factory jobs were the appalling, polluted, overcrowded, and unsanitary urban ghettos where the workers lived. Few employers were enlightened enough to do anything about these living conditions. With everyone subsisting at the margin, there was little sense of community, let alone community support in these anonymous, unfamiliar industrial towns. Every worker feared the job losses from the emerging business cycles and financial booms and busts, which could quickly convert a barely tolerable existence into utter destitution.

Parliaments, as we have seen, arose to protect the wealth of the propertied against the state. To ensure the right members were elected, legislatures also instituted a property qualification for voting. Constituencies were small and easily influenced while the middle class, working class, and the poor were disenfranchised. With no political representation, and limited competitive pressure on employers to treat workers better (given that so many were looking for work), workers had little hope from the system for either an improvement in the workplace or in living conditions.

The workers, and urban dwellers more generally, needed representation if matters were to change. Their push for democratic voice had varying degrees of success over the course of the nineteenth century, but male workers obtained the vote in most countries in North America and Western Europe by the beginning of the twentieth century, for reasons we will detail. The expansion of the vote typically resulted in the authorities putting greater emphasis on public goods like sanitation, schooling, and safety nets. It did not lead to the newly enfranchised expropriating the wealth of the rich, as was much feared. The broader realization was that democratically empowered communities were not against markets or private property, they were perfectly happy to respect them when there was a sense that respecting these rights broadly benefited the community. Indeed, to the extent that the earlier balance between the constitutionally limited state and markets was based on the efficient holding of property, it was a distribution that democratically empowered communities could also respect.

With the expansion of the vote, the broader electorate’s views on the state, the markets, and the relationship between them had the potential to matter. As we will see, democratic community-based movements like Populism and Progressivism in the United States toward the turn of the nineteenth century helped avert the cartelization of markets and the closing of opportunities for the small businessperson. With the democratic community’s prodding, the state’s role expanded, with new functions like antitrust and product safety regulation keeping the markets competitive and orderly, and friendlier to small entrepreneurs as well as consumers. Democracy became the mechanism through which the organized and vigilant community could influence the state and shape markets—parliaments started their transformation from solely protecting the property of the few to creating and preserving opportunity for the many. Let us now elaborate.

FREEING THE MARKETS

In his book An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, published in 1776, Adam Smith argued that by producing for the market and maximizing his own profits, the manufacturer maximized the size of the public pie, and thus the wealth of the nation. Smith thus made the case for allowing the invisible hand of the competitive market, working through self-interest, to drive economic prosperity. The real damage was not caused by avarice or even the self-indulgence of the rich, it emanated from restraints on competition and the resulting distorted prices and quantities.

Seen in this light, Adam Smith was pro-market, not pro-business. Indeed, he was no fan of the businessmen of his time because of their cartelizing tendencies. In arguing against guilds and monopoly corporations, he wrote, “People of the same trade seldom meet together, even for merriment and diversion, but the conversation ends in a conspiracy against the public, or in some contrivance to raise prices.”2 About businessmen’s suggestions for regulation, he emphasized that these should be “carefully examined, not only with the most scrupulous, but with the most suspicious attention. It comes from an order of men, whose interest is never exactly the same with that of the public, who have generally an interest to deceive and even oppress the public, and who accordingly have, upon many occasions, both deceived and oppressed it.”3 Smith was no starry-eyed forerunner of Ayn Rand, convinced of the heroism of the business class. Instead, he pushed for eliminating anticompetitive privileges, such as those enjoyed by the monopolist corporations of his time.4

He was equally scathing about mercantilism. He dismissed the notion that an accumulation of gold would make a country more powerful and able to wage war—for a country like Great Britain, any feasible accumulation of gold would be too small given the huge costs of war. What was needed to sustain a long war was greater domestic productive capacity. To give domestic producers a monopoly by levying high import tariffs or prohibiting imports was therefore either “useless or . . . hurtful.” If the local product could be made and sold more cheaply than the foreign product, the prohibition was useless for domestic production would be competitive on its own. If local production was not competitive, the tariff was harmful for it raised domestic prices of the product, and diverted precious domestic productive capacity toward its making. Smith wrote:

“It is the maxim of every prudent master of a family, never to attempt to make at home what it will cost him more to make than to buy. The tailor does not attempt to make his own shoes, but buys them of the shoemaker. The shoemaker does not attempt to make his own clothes, but employs a tailor . . . What is prudence in the conduct of every private family, can scarce be folly in that of a great kingdom. If a foreign country can supply us with a commodity cheaper than we ourselves can make it, better buy it of them with some part of the produce of our own industry, employed in a way in which we have some advantage.” 5

Therefore, Smith pushed hard for freeing the domestic market from the hold of guilds and monopolists, while bringing down the barriers to foreign trade erected by the mercantilists. In the spirit of laissez-faire, Smith thought little of a government that tried to direct private production or investment from afar, for “every individual, it is evident, can in his local situation judge much better than any statesman or lawgiver can do for him.” Indeed, Smith believed the government had only three essential duties: “First, the duty of protecting the society from . . . invasion of other independent societies; secondly, the duty of protecting, as far as possible, every member of the society from the injustice or oppression of every other member of it, . . . and, thirdly, the duty of erecting and maintaining certain public works, and certain public institutions, which it can never be for the interest of any individual, or small number of individuals to erect and maintain.”6

A PHILOSOPHY FOR THE MARKET

It was a short step from Adam Smith’s work to the manifesto for individualism and the free market, On Liberty, written by British economist John Stuart Mill. It was published in 1859, soon after the death of his wife Harriet, whom he acknowledged had influenced the work greatly.7 Mill defended individual thinking and speech against the tyranny of the majority. He argued that the views of the community tended to be the views of the powerful or the majority, and there were good reasons to subject that view to challenge, including the obvious possibility that the majority view could turn out to be wrong.

Mill saw all individual actions as permissible that did not hurt the interests of others. Apart from this, he saw an individual’s duty to society as sharing in “the labors and sacrifices incurred for defending the society and its members from injury and molestation.” Society had no call on the individual beyond this. He argued he was not advocating selfish indifference to the community, but voluntary engagement. Not only would an individual’s engagement on his own terms improve social enterprise, he believed “the free development of individuality is one of the leading essentials of well-being.” Individuality should be valued in its own right and not just as a means to a societal end.

Mill thus sought to restore free will’s role in the vibrancy and variety of human existence that Calvin had rejected. Calvinism emphasized obedience—“You have no choice; thus you must do, and not otherwise: ‘whatever is not a duty, is a sin.’ Human nature being radically corrupt, there is no redemption for anyone until human nature is killed within him.” Instead, Mill argued that “Pagan self-assertion” is as much an element of human worth as “Christian self-denial,” that it is “not by wearing down into uniformity all that is individual in themselves, but by cultivating it, and calling it forth, within the limits imposed by the rights and interests of others, that human beings become a noble and beautiful object of contemplation,” and “in proportion to the development of individuality, each person becomes more valuable to himself, and therefore capable of being more valuable to others.” He declared that “genius can only breathe freely in an atmosphere of freedom,” for “the general tendency of things throughout the world is to render mediocrity the ascendant power among mankind.”

Mill’s was thus an attack on the stultifying effects of the community, the “despotism of custom.” He viewed the freedom of trade, contracts, and markets as consistent with his beliefs on liberty. This also meant limits on the state, for “where everything is done through the bureaucracy, nothing to which the bureaucracy is really adverse can be done at all.” Instead, the state should be an “active circulator and diffusor, of the experience resulting from many trials . . . [enabling] each experimentalist to benefit by the experiments of others; instead of tolerating no experiments but its own.”

The state and the market had grown together from the crumbling edifice of feudalism. The constitutional limitations on the state that we traced in the last chapter did not shrink the state. Instead it helped the state build out its military and fiscal capabilities as it gained access to finance. Once the state had created a framework to ensure security and protect property rights, the proponents of laissez-faire started questioning how much more it should do. Smith and Mill were not rabidly antigovernment. Smith, for example, accepted a role for the state in education, as well as other services that would not be privately provided. For these reasons, he argued that the state in a civilized country would be larger than in a barbaric one.8 Yet these nuances were ignored, as were his asides on the perfidy of businessmen if they were entrusted with their own regulation. Instead, public debate became focused on steadily eliminating any restraints on business practice, as well as any protections to labor.

Perhaps more than anyone else, the Reverend Thomas Robert Malthus epitomized the heartless side of liberalism, when taken to its extreme. In the various editions of his Essay on the Principles of Population published in 1798, he emphasized the tendency of man to reproduce faster than food supply. Man could restrain himself through self-imposed checks like delayed marriage or sexual abstinence, but Malthus did not believe these would work. Instead, disease, war, and famine would be the natural checks on mankind’s lack of self-control. No wonder historian Thomas Carlyle termed economics “the dismal science”! Malthus was wrong. Humans do not have an uncontrollable urge to reproduce. Indeed, prosperity has been a powerful contraceptive, with people becoming less willing to have children, even as they can afford more of them. Fertility rates for women are now below population replacement rates, not just in rich countries but in a number of emerging markets. Nevertheless, his views offered those who opposed even humanitarian government aid a theoretical rationale. Any relief schemes for the unemployed or the poor only encouraged them to reproduce more, and thwarted natural checks and balances. The indigent should be left free to starve, for only through a market-induced cull would succeeding generations have a better life.

Even if such callous theorizing was never actually translated into action, it did help harden policies toward the poor and the destitute. As the eminent historian and sociologist Karl Polanyi pointed out, the Poor Law in England, which mandated parish support for the indigent, was made harsher in 1834, especially for able-bodied males. This was just as difficult economic times and the new machines of the Industrial Revolution were putting thousands out of work.9 Parliament, as we have seen, was dominated by the propertied well-to-do, who had been complaining about the high taxes they had to pay before the Poor Law was reformed.

With the demise of feudal institutions, the powerful no longer had an obligation to the weak in the community, while market fluctuations and automation left workers, especially those who had left their traditional communities, utterly exposed. Something between the extreme individualism of unregulated markets and the enforced collectivism of an authoritarian, overweening state had to be rebuilt on the ashes of feudalism. Before getting to that, though, what did a market freed from all restraint look like?

THE UNBRIDLED MARKET

Initially, it resembled the perfect competition of textbooks, with producers competing with one another to give the consumer the best deal, but this did not last. For as Adam Smith recognized, competition drove down profits, making any producer’s life greatly uncertain. The inexorable political tendency of a free, unfettered, unregulated market was for the producers, after experiencing the rigors of competition, to attempt cartelization.

John D. Rockefeller, the richest man in the world in his time, made his money in rock oil or petroleum, in the early days of the industry when oil’s primary uses were for fueling lamps and lubricating steam engines. Rockefeller was not attracted to the risky business of prospecting for oil. Not only was unscientific drilling more likely to unearth dry wells than oil, excess production whenever oil was found in a locality could bankrupt producers as prices plunged.10 Rockefeller wanted a more stable business, and he found it in oil refining in Cleveland, the urban portal to Oil Creek, Pennsylvania, where oil had been discovered first. As Rockefeller worked to make his refinery the lowest-cost producer—at one point reducing the number of drops of solder on the tin cans used to carry kerosene from forty to thirty-nine after checking that any further reduction would cause the can to leak—he managed to drive out the truly incompetent and gained market share.11 Yet many, having sunk money in their investments, and having debts to pay, refused to quit, and kept the price of refined products low—so long as the price was a little more than their incremental cost of refining, the zombie producers staggered on. At one point in the 1870s, refining capacity was three times greater than demand.12

Rockefeller wanted to bring order to refining, and his first target was the twenty-six remaining independent Cleveland refiners. In 1872, as Ron Chernow details in his biography of Rockefeller, Rockefeller struck a deal with the railroads serving Cleveland, whereby Rockefeller and his cartel would get discounts (from the posted transport price) for the crude and refined oil they shipped. More egregious, the railways agreed to pay the cartel for every barrel shipped by the competing independent non-cartel refiners. Effectively, this meant the railways would face a higher cost to transport non-cartel products, and thus would have to charge the cartel’s competitors more.13 In addition, the cartel was to get full information about the oil shipped by competitors. In exchange, the three participating railroads each got a fixed share of the oil that the cartel shipped, as well as fixed transport fees, thereby eliminating the cutthroat competition they otherwise engaged in. The arrangement would bring stability to their revenues. Rockefeller’s keen business sense helped him recognize that both refiners and railroads might want to cartelize, and the combination would be deadly to those not in the cartel.

With no alternative methods of transport, the angry oil drillers along Oil Creek decided to boycott the cartel and sell only to local independent refiners. Protesters attacked the railroads, emptied oil cars and spilled their contents on the ground, and ripped up tracks. Even as the industry was in turmoil, though, Rockefeller bought up twenty-two of his twenty-six Cleveland competitors. As an owner recounted, “There was a pressure brought . . . that if we did not sell out we should be crushed out . . . It was said they had a contract with the railroads by which they could run us into the ground if they pleased.”14

In the face of prolonged public protests, legislators eventually withdrew the charter for the shell company at the center of Rockefeller’s cartel, while Congress started investigations. The railroads, who were much more dependent on government favor and public opinion for their activities, backed down, and instituted uniform rates for all shippers once again. In the meantime, though, Rockefeller had created a refining monopoly in Cleveland, as well as a strategy that would serve him well going forward—cost efficiency was good, but monopoly on top of it was even better. Five years after what became known as the Cleveland Massacre, Rockefeller’s company, Standard Oil, controlled 90 percent of oil refined in the United States. There were about a hundred struggling small independent refiners still in existence at that time in the United States, which allowed Rockefeller to maintain the pretense of competition in the refining industry.

In Rockefeller’s mind, he had only helped his inefficient competitors end their misery by taking them over—in many cases, he closed their plants.15 The surviving refiners would enjoy greater economies of scale and more stable prices, their workers would be more secure in their jobs, and customers would benefit in the long run. This argument for cooperation among producers—coordinated by Rockefeller—instead of competition, while not entirely implausible, was entirely self-serving. Competition was the only guarantee in a free market that a producer would be solicitous to customers, whether through innovation, better customer service, or low prices. Faced with a refiner monopoly, customers were dependent on Rockefeller’s benevolence. How much could it be trusted?

Rockefeller was a superbly efficient businessman in the Calvinist mode; he saw his work as his calling. His confidence in his own capabilities blinded him to alternative paths. He saw unfettered competition as greed, causing unnecessary booms and busts, and impoverishing the entire industry. What he tried to restore were cooperative structures such as trusts, pools, and monopolies that brought order to markets—and he had no hesitation in bribing entire legislatures or misleading public hearings with fake testimonials to get his way.16 Manipulating government was just another means to business success. Many successful businessmen of the time thought similarly—Rockefeller was just more successful at executing plans. Many saw the kind of order he brought through monopoly capitalism as perhaps the worst form of calculated greed. For essentially, the capitalists at the center of these cartels insisted that they, not the free market, knew what was best for the public.

The free market was not perfect. Bouts of euphoria, fueled by easy money, undoubtedly led to overexpansion and industry hangovers. However, eliminating these wasteful and volatile episodes would also eliminate the innovation, dynamism, and creative destruction of the free market. What the cartels called waste was in fact the constant experimentation fostered by the market, energized by competition. In a sense, the magnates of the late-nineteenth-century Gilded Age in the United States wanted to restore the aristocracy, where they decided what was best for the public, but without the explicit responsibilities of the feudal manor.

In many ways, Rockefeller’s personal life was exemplary. He lived in the Gilded Age but was not of it. In the latter part of his life, he did take public responsibility seriously, figuring out how to spend his enormous fortune on the well-being of society. Among the extraordinarily successful institutions he founded are the University of Chicago, where I teach. His dismal view of competition had less resonance with Adam Smith, though, than with another insightful economist, Karl Marx.

THE MARXIST RESPONSE

The Industrial Revolution that started in Britain in the late eighteenth century created tremendous new possibilities as well as widespread despair. I have already referred to workers displaced by new machines like the power loom. In addition, though, the promise of new technologies, as well as new lands, especially in the Americas, made accessible by railways and the steamship, prompted waves of euphoria fueled by finance. The business cycle, with its production booms and busts, emerged in many industrializing countries, as did the financial cycle, with sustained booms in lending and euphoric rises in land and stock prices, followed by crashes. In the United States, there were serious financial panics about once every twenty years between 1819 and the start of the Great Depression in 1929. Among these were the Long Depression, a series of global downturns between 1873 and 1896, bookended by financial crises. The seventy years or so of relative financial calm between the bank failures of the Great Depression and the Global Financial Crisis in 2007–2008 were an aberration, not the norm.

Barring a few at the top of the societal pyramid, people in preindustrial times had experienced collective poverty. While industrialization, transmitted through the competitive market, lifted average living standards steadily over generations, what was also new was great dispersion in incomes across society at any particular point in time, and great volatility over time. The market offered bountiful rewards and merciless punishment, which was both its greatest economic strength and its greatest political weakness. Economic security, not physical security, was now the primary public concern in industrializing countries.

Karl Marx was wrong in some ways, especially in his economic theories, but he was one of the greatest social thinkers of modern times. He recognized that society adapts to, and is therefore shaped, by the underlying production technologies of the time. “The hand mill gives you society with the feudal lord; the steam mill society with the industrial capitalist,” he wrote.17 Subsistence agriculture bred feudal arrangements, while industrialization and machines facilitated capitalistic corporations run by the emerging bourgeoisie. The technology of production did not fully determine the nature of society, of course, but Marx was right in that it was influential.

Unlike Rockefeller, who wanted capital to be left alone to create its monopolies, or utopian socialists like Robert Owen who, touched by the plight of the worker, called for a responsible, sharing, capitalism, Marx and his long time coauthor, Frederick Engels, were convinced that capitalism itself was fundamentally flawed and would collapse because of its own contradictions. Moreover, instead of appealing to the social conscience of the elite, Marx wanted to eliminate them. He believed that it was both morally right and economically beneficial for property to be commonly owned. Marxists did not look for crumbs off the capitalist’s table, they wanted the whole table itself to belong to those they thought were its rightful owners, the workers.

In their view, the industrialist exploited the worker through his ownership of the fixed plant and equipment of the factory, its capital, which was also why capitalism contained the seeds of its eventual downfall. Marx believed labor was the source of all value, and the only reason the industrialist made a profit was because the industrialist’s ownership of the means of production gave him bargaining power over workers. Any worker could go off on her own and become self-employed, but without the machines she would be unproductive. The industrialist would pay her a better wage than the self-employment alternative, but less than the value she produced for him. The difference between the value she produced working for the industrialist and her wage was the surplus value accruing to the industrialist, the source of his profits.

The more unemployed workers there were—the so-called reserve army, set adrift as enclosures rendered agricultural labor redundant and better machines rendered industrial workers redundant—the lower would be the employed worker’s alternative options, her bargaining power, and hence her wage. The industrialist’s profits would rise. By emphasizing labor as the only source of value, Marx was wrong, but not out of line with economic thinkers of his time. This theorizing also meant that all profits ought morally to belong to labor, and the profits accruing to the industrialist were mere exploitation, made possible by his property rights over capital.

But Marx went further to say that the capitalist structure of ownership was economically unsound, and the world should change for this reason only, even if it was not convinced by the moral argument. Essentially, competition would force the profit accumulated by the industrialist to be reinvested in yet more productive machines, forcing more workers out of the labor force, pushing wages further down. Crises, where product prices collapsed and industrial losses exploded, could arise for a variety of reasons. Along the lines of Rockefeller’s thinking, it could stem from the myopic greed or irrational exuberance of industrialists, pushing to get a greater share of the market, and ending up overinvesting and overproducing. It could arise when overindebted industrialists, pressed by bankers to repay, dumped their excess inventory and machines on the market. Importantly, it could also arise because the true source of industrial profits was appropriating the surplus value of labor. As the quantity of labor fell relative to accumulated capital machinery, Marx believed it was inevitable that the rate of profit would also fall, and hence the susceptibility of the system to accidents and crises would rise. A more modern version would be that as labor’s wages were squeezed, the ability of workers as consumers to buy what was produced would fall, leading to overproduction and crises.18

Бесплатный фрагмент закончился.

1 655,65 ₽
Возрастное ограничение:
0+
Объем:
651 стр. 2 иллюстрации
ISBN:
9780008276294
Издатель:
Правообладатель:
HarperCollins