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 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 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 recognizably. 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.
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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 through 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, though, 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 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 ¼ 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.
THE RATIONALE FOR PROSCRIBING 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 not only refusal of confession, absolution, or burial in hallowed ground—terrible penalties in those times of deep faith—but also excommunication of rulers or magistrates of states that permitted usury. 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 s
ense, 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
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