Working time is always production time — time during which capital is tied up in the sphere of production. But the reverse doesn't hold: not all the time capital spends in the production process is working time.
This isn't about the breaks in the labour process that come from the natural limits of labour-power itself — though we've already seen how idle fixed capital, factory buildings, machinery, sitting unused during those breaks became one motive for stretching the working day unnaturally, into day-and-night work. What's at issue here is a different kind of interruption, one that has nothing to do with how long the labour process runs. It comes from the nature of the product and how it is made. During it, the object being worked on is left to natural processes, shorter or longer, and must go through physical, chemical, or biological changes on its own — while the labour process is wholly or partly suspended.
Wine that has been pressed, for instance, must first ferment for a while, then rest for a while, before it reaches a certain degree of quality. In many trades the product has to dry out, as in pottery, or sit exposed to certain conditions to change its chemical make-up, as in bleaching. Winter corn may need nine months to ripen; between sowing and harvest, the labour process is almost entirely interrupted. In growing timber, once the seed is sown and the groundwork done, the seed may need as much as 100 years to become a finished product, and through that whole stretch it needs only very little labour applied to it.
In all these cases, for much of the production time, only occasional extra labour gets added at points along the way. The pattern from before — where capital already committed to the production process needs further capital and labour added to it — still holds here, but now broken up by interruptions, longer or shorter.
So in all these cases, the production time of the capital advanced falls into two periods. In one, the capital is inside the labour process. In a second, its existing form — that of an unfinished product — is left to natural processes doing their work, without being in the labour process at all. Whether these two stretches overlap here and there, running into each other, changes nothing about the point. The working period and the production period are not the same thing here — the production period is longer than the working period. Only once the production period has run its full course is the product finished, ripe, ready to change from productive capital into commodity capital. So the longer the part of the production time that isn't working time, the longer the turnover period stretches too. Where this extra production time — the part beyond working time — isn't fixed once and for all by a law of nature, as it is with grain ripening or an oak growing, the turnover period can often be shortened, more or less, by artificially cutting down the production time. Chemical bleaching can replace bleaching out on the meadow; more effective drying equipment can speed up drying processes. In tanning, the old method let the tanning acid soak into the hides over six to eighteen months; the new method, using an air pump, takes only a month and a half to two months. (J. G. Courcelle-Seneuil, Traité théorique et pratique des entreprises industrielles etc., Paris 1857, 2nd ed. [p. 49].) The most striking case of artificially cutting down production time filled by nothing but natural processes comes from the history of iron production — above all, turning pig iron into steel over the last 100 years, from the puddling process discovered around 1780 to the modern Bessemer process — blasting air straight through the molten iron — and the newer methods introduced since. Production time has been cut enormously — but in this case, fixed capital investment has grown just as much alongside it.
A curious example of production time pulling apart from working time comes from the American manufacture of shoe-lasts. Here a large part of the cost comes simply from the wood having to lie for up to eighteen months to dry out, so that the finished last won't warp or change shape afterward. During that whole stretch the wood goes through no other labour process at all. So the turnover period of the capital invested is fixed not only by the time the last-making itself takes, but also by the time the capital lies idle in the drying wood. It sits in the production process for eighteen months before it can even enter the actual labour process. This case also shows something more general: the turnover times of different parts of the total circulating capital can differ from each other because of circumstances that arise not from the sphere of circulation, but from the production process itself.
The difference between production time and working time shows up especially clearly in agriculture. In our temperate climates, the land bears a crop of corn once a year. How much the production period shortens or lengthens — for winter sowing it averages nine months — depends in turn on whether the year is good or bad, so it can't be pinned down and controlled in advance the way it can in industry proper. Only the secondary products, milk, cheese, and the like, can be produced and sold continuously, in shorter cycles. The working time, by contrast, looks like this:
"In the different regions of Germany, taking climate and other local conditions into account, the number of working days for the three main working periods can be put as follows: for the spring period, from mid-March or early April to mid-May, 50 to 60 days; for the summer period, from early June to the end of August, 65 to 80 days; and for the autumn period, from early September to the end of October or mid- to late November, 55 to 75 working days. For winter, only the tasks that need doing then are worth noting — hauling manure, timber, goods to market, building materials." (F. Kirchhof, Handbuch der landwirthschaftlichen Betriebslehre, Dessau 1852, p. 160.)
The worse the climate, then, the more the working period in agriculture — and with it the outlay of capital and labour — gets squeezed into a short stretch of time. Take Russia. In some of its northern regions, field work is only possible for 130 to 150 days a year. One can see what a loss Russia would suffer if 50 million of its 65 million European population were left with nothing to do during the six or eight winter months, when all field work has to stop. Besides the 200,000 peasants working in Russia's 10,500 factories, home industries of their own have grown up everywhere in the villages. There are villages where, for generations, every peasant has been a weaver, a tanner, a shoemaker, a locksmith, a knife-maker, and so on — this is especially true in the provinces of Moscow, Vladimir, Kaluga, Kostroma, and Petersburg. This home industry, incidentally, is already being pressed more and more into the service of capitalist production — weavers, for instance, get their warp and weft supplied directly by merchants, or through agents acting for them. (Abridged from Reports by H. M. Secretaries of Embassy and Legation, on the Manufactures, Commerce etc., No. 8, 1865, p. 86, 87.) Here one can see how the split between the production period and the working period — the working period forming only a part of the production period — provides the natural basis for combining agriculture with rural secondary industry; and how, in turn, that secondary industry becomes the foothold for the capitalist, who first pushes his way in as a merchant. When capitalist production later goes on to carry out the separation of manufacture from agriculture, the agricultural worker becomes more and more dependent on a merely accidental secondary occupation, and his situation gets worse because of it. For capital, as we'll see later, all these differences in turnover even out. Not for the worker.
In most branches of industry proper — mining, transport, and so on — operations run steadily: the same working time is put in year after year, and if we set aside price swings, business disruptions, and other abnormal interruptions, capital pays out for the daily circulation process in a steady trickle through the year. Likewise, other things being equal in the market, the circulating capital comes back and renews itself in that same steady trickle. Where working time forms only part of production time, things are different. Over the course of the year's different periods, the outlay of circulating capital becomes as uneven as it can be, while the return flow comes only once, at a time fixed by natural conditions. So at the same scale of business — the same size of circulating capital advanced — it has to be advanced in larger amounts at once, and for a longer stretch, than in businesses with continuous working periods. The working life of fixed capital also differs here more sharply from the time it is actually productively in use. Along with the gap between working time and production time, the time the fixed capital applied is actually in use keeps getting interrupted, for longer or shorter stretches — as, for example, with draught animals, implements, and machines in farming. Where this fixed capital consists of draught animals, it continually needs much the same outlay in feed and so on as it does while it's actually working. With lifeless means of labour, non-use also brings on a certain loss of value. So the product does become dearer overall, because the value it hands over is reckoned not by the time the fixed capital is in use, but by the time it loses value. In these branches of production, fixed capital lying idle — whether that still carries running costs or not — is just as much a condition of its normal use as, say, the loss of a certain amount of cotton is in spinning. And in exactly the same way, in every labour process, the labour-power spent unproductively but unavoidably, under normal technical conditions, counts every bit as much as the labour spent productively. Any improvement that cuts down this unproductive expenditure of means of labour, raw material, and labour-power also cuts down the value of the product.
In farming, two things come together: a single working period runs unusually long, and there's a huge gap between labour-time and production time. Hodgskin makes a good point about this:
"The difference in time" (though he doesn't distinguish here between labour-time and production time) "needed to finish agricultural products, compared with other branches of work, is the chief reason farmers are so dependent. They can't bring their goods to market in less than a year. For the whole of that time they have to borrow from the shoemaker, the tailor, the smith, the cartwright, and the various other producers whose products they need — products that take only a few days or weeks to finish. Because of this natural circumstance, and because wealth grows faster in the other branches of work, the landowners — who have cornered the land of the whole kingdom, and on top of that have cornered the power of law-making too — still cannot save themselves, or their servants the tenant farmers, from becoming the most dependent people in the country." (Thomas Hodgskin, Popular Political Economy, London 1827, p. 147, note.)
Any method that spreads spending on wages and materials in farming more evenly across the year, or that shortens turnover by growing a wider mix of products so several harvests become possible in a single year, calls for a larger circulating capital laid out on wages, fertilizer, seed, and the like. That's what happens moving from the three-field system with fallow to crop rotation without fallow. It's also what happens with catch-cropping — a second crop grown between the main ones — in Flanders.
Root crops are grown as the catch crop: the same field first bears grain, flax, or rape for human needs, and after that harvest, root vegetables are sown to feed the cattle. Under this system the cattle can stay in the barn the whole time, which builds up a large amount of manure and becomes the pivot of the whole rotation. In the sandy regions, more than a third of the cultivated area is used for catch crops — it's exactly as if the area under cultivation had been increased by a third.
Besides root crops, clover and other fodder plants are also used for this.
Farming pushed this far — to the point where it turns into something like gardening — obviously needs a fairly large capital laid out to set it up. In England, people reckon 250 francs of this per hectare. In Flanders, our farmers would probably find 500 francs per hectare far too low a figure. (Émile de Laveleye, Essais sur l'Économie Rurale de la Belgique, Brussels 1863, pp. 59, 60, 63.)
Finally, take forestry.
"Wood production differs from most other kinds of production in one basic way: here the force of nature acts on its own, and natural regeneration needs no input of human effort or capital at all. Even where forests are replanted artificially, the input of human effort and capital alongside the working of natural forces is still small. Besides, forest thrives on soils and in locations where corn no longer grows, or where growing it no longer pays. But forestry, run as a regular business, also needs a larger stretch of land than growing corn does, since on smaller plots no proper system of felling can be carried out, most of the secondary uses are lost, and protecting the forest is harder to manage, and so on. The production process is also tied to such long stretches of time that it runs beyond the plans of any private business, and in individual cases even beyond the span of a human life. The capital laid out to acquire the forest land"
(in communal production this capital disappears, and the only question left is how much land the community can spare from arable and pasture land for growing wood)
"only yields a worthwhile return after a long time, and only turns over in part — completely only for some kinds of wood, and then in periods of up to 150 years. On top of that, sustained wood production itself needs a stock of standing timber amounting to ten to forty times the annual yield. So anyone with no other income, even if they own considerable stretches of forest, cannot run a regular forestry business." (Kirchhof, p. 58.)
The long production time — which takes in only a relatively small stretch of labour-time — and so the length of its turnover periods, make forestry an unfavourable branch for private business, and therefore for capitalist business too, since capitalist business is essentially private business even when an association of capitalists stands in for a single capitalist. The advance of cultivation and industry in general has always been so active in destroying forests that, by comparison, everything it has done in the other direction, to preserve and grow them, shrinks to almost nothing.
One passage in the quotation from Kirchhof is especially worth noting:
"Sustained wood production itself needs a stock of standing timber amounting to ten to forty times the annual yield."
So a single turnover here takes ten to forty years, or more.
It's the same with livestock-raising. Part of the herd stays in the production process, while another part of it is sold each year as that year's product. Only part of this capital turns over annually, just as with fixed capital — machinery, draught animals, and the like. Yet even though this capital is tied down in the production process for a long time, and so stretches out the turnover of the whole capital, that does not make it fixed capital in the strict sense of the term.
What's called the stock here — a set quantity of standing timber or of livestock — is, relatively speaking, inside the production process itself, working at once as both means of labour and material of labour. Given the natural conditions under which it reproduces, a well-run operation must always keep a sizeable part of its capital in this form.
A different kind of stock affects turnover in a similar way — one that is only potential productive capital. Because of how the business works, it has to be piled up in larger or smaller quantities, and so has to be advanced long before production even though it only enters the active production process bit by bit. This includes, for example, manure before it's carried out to the field, and likewise grain, hay, and the kind of food stocks that go into feeding livestock.
"A considerable part of a farm's working capital sits in its stores. But these can lose value if the precautions needed to keep them in good condition aren't properly taken — indeed, through poor oversight, part of a farm's stock of produce can be lost altogether. So careful supervision is especially called for here: watching over the barns, the fodder and grain lofts, and the cellars; keeping the storerooms properly locked, and also clean and aired out; grain and other produce kept in storage must be turned over from time to time, and potatoes and beets must be protected against frost as well as against water and rot." (Kirchhof, p. 292.) "In working out one's own needs — especially for keeping livestock, where distribution has to follow the yield and the purpose — one must think not only of covering the need itself but also of keeping back a proportional reserve for unforeseen cases. If it then turns out that the need cannot be fully met from one's own produce, the first thing to consider is whether the shortfall can be made up with other produce as a substitute, or whether such substitutes can be got more cheaply than the missing item. If, say, a shortage of hay turns up, this can be made up with root crops plus added straw. In general, one must always keep in view the real worth and the market price of the different products, and set consumption accordingly; if oats, for instance, are dearer while peas and rye are relatively cheap, it pays to replace part of the horses' oats with peas or rye, and sell the oats saved this way." (Ibidem, p. 300.)
It was noted earlier, when looking at how stocks build up, that a certain larger or smaller quantity of potential productive capital is needed — that is, of means of production earmarked for use, which have to be kept in stock in larger or smaller amounts so they can enter the production process gradually. It was also noted there that, for a given business or a capital operation of a given size, the size of this production stock depends on how hard or easy it is to replenish, how close the supply markets are, and how developed transport and communications are, among other things. All these circumstances bear on the minimum amount of capital that has to exist in the form of a productive stock — and so on the length of time capital has to be advanced for, and on the size of the mass of capital that has to be advanced all at once. This size, which also affects turnover, is set by the longer or shorter time for which circulating capital sits locked up in the form of a productive stock, as mere potential productive capital. On the other hand, insofar as this hold-up depends on the greater or lesser possibility of quickly replacing the stock, on market conditions, and so on, it in turn springs from circulation time itself — from circumstances belonging to the sphere of circulation.
"Likewise, all such items of equipment or supplies — hand tools, sieves, baskets, rope, axle-grease, nails, and so on — need to be kept in stock ready for immediate replacement, and the less nearby opportunity there is to get hold of them quickly, the more of them need to be on hand. Finally, every year in winter the whole stock of equipment should be carefully checked over, and whatever making-good or repair this shows to be necessary should be seen to at once. Whether one should generally keep larger or smaller stocks of equipment is decided mainly by local conditions. Where craftsmen and shops aren't nearby, one has to keep larger stocks than where they can be found in the district or close by. But if, other things being equal, the needed stocks are bought in larger quantities at once, one usually gains the advantage of a cheap purchase, provided a suitable moment has been chosen for it; though of course this also ties up, at a single stroke, a correspondingly larger sum out of the circulating working capital, and that isn't always something the business can easily spare." (Kirchhof, p. 301.)
As we've seen, the gap between production time and labour-time allows for very different cases. Circulating capital can sit in production time before it enters the actual labour process at all — as with the timber for boot-lasts, left to season first. Or it can sit in production time after it has already been through the labour process — as with wine, or seed-corn. Or production time can be broken up here and there by spells of labour-time — as with field-work, or forestry. A large part of the product that's ready to circulate can stay bound up in the active production process, while only a much smaller part enters the annual circulation — as with forestry and livestock-raising. And the length of time for which circulating capital sits in the form of potential productive capital — and so also the size of the mass in which this capital has to be advanced at one go — springs partly from the nature of the production process itself, as in agriculture, and partly from the nearness of markets and the like: in short, from circumstances belonging to the sphere of circulation.
Later on, in Book III, we'll see what absurd theories the attempt to identify production time — where it diverges from labour-time — with labour-time itself has led to in MacCulloch, James Mill, and others: an attempt that itself springs from a mistaken application of the theory of value.
The turnover cycle looked at before is set by how long the fixed capital advanced to production lasts. Since that stretch covers a longer or shorter run of years, it also means a series of yearly turnovers — or, within a single year, turnovers repeated several times over — of the fixed capital.
In agriculture, a cycle like this comes from the system of crop rotation.
"The length of a lease must in any case not be set shorter than the cycle of the rotation that's been introduced calls for — hence with the three-field system it's always reckoned as 3, 6, 9. But under an assumed three-field system with pure fallow, the arable land is actually cultivated only four times in six years, and in the years it is cultivated, winter and summer corn are grown, and — where the quality of the soil requires or allows it — wheat and rye, barley and oats are alternated too. Now each kind of grain multiplies more or less than the others on the same soil, each has a different value, and each sells at a different price. So the yield of the field comes out differently in each year it's cultivated, and differently again in the first half of the cycle" (the first three years) "than in the second. Even the average yield across the whole cycle is not the same from one cycle to the next, since fertility depends not only on the quality of the soil but also on the year's weather, just as prices depend on all sorts of conditions. Now, if one works out the field's yield from the average crop years of the whole six-year cycle, and from the average prices over that time, one gets the total yield for one year — and that holds for one cycle as much as for another. But this is not the case if the yield is worked out for only half the cycle, that is for three years, since the total yield would then come out unevenly. From this it follows that, with the three-field system, the length of the lease must be fixed at six years at the very least. But it always remains far more desirable for both tenant and landlord if the length of the lease is a multiple of the length of the lease" {sic} "— so that with the three-field system it is set at 12, 18, or more years instead of 6, and with the seven-field system at 14 or 28 years instead of 7." (Kirchhof, pp. 117, 118.)
(The manuscript states here: "English crop-rotation farming. A note to be made here.")
Working time is always production time — time during which capital is tied up in the sphere of production. But the reverse doesn't hold: not all the time capital spends in the production process is working time.
This isn't about the breaks in the labour process that come from the natural limits of labour-power itself — though we've already seen how idle fixed capital, factory buildings, machinery, sitting unused during those breaks became one motive for stretching the working day unnaturally, into day-and-night work. What's at issue here is a different kind of interruption, one that has nothing to do with how long the labour process runs. It comes from the nature of the product and how it is made. During it, the object being worked on is left to natural processes, shorter or longer, and must go through physical, chemical, or biological changes on its own — while the labour process is wholly or partly suspended.
Wine that has been pressed, for instance, must first ferment for a while, then rest for a while, before it reaches a certain degree of quality. In many trades the product has to dry out, as in pottery, or sit exposed to certain conditions to change its chemical make-up, as in bleaching. Winter corn may need nine months to ripen; between sowing and harvest, the labour process is almost entirely interrupted. In growing timber, once the seed is sown and the groundwork done, the seed may need as much as 100 years to become a finished product, and through that whole stretch it needs only very little labour applied to it.
In all these cases, for much of the production time, only occasional extra labour gets added at points along the way. The pattern from before — where capital already committed to the production process needs further capital and labour added to it — still holds here, but now broken up by interruptions, longer or shorter.
So in all these cases, the production time of the capital advanced falls into two periods. In one, the capital is inside the labour process. In a second, its existing form — that of an unfinished product — is left to natural processes doing their work, without being in the labour process at all. Whether these two stretches overlap here and there, running into each other, changes nothing about the point. The working period and the production period are not the same thing here — the production period is longer than the working period. Only once the production period has run its full course is the product finished, ripe, ready to change from productive capital into commodity capital. So the longer the part of the production time that isn't working time, the longer the turnover period stretches too. Where this extra production time — the part beyond working time — isn't fixed once and for all by a law of nature, as it is with grain ripening or an oak growing, the turnover period can often be shortened, more or less, by artificially cutting down the production time. Chemical bleaching can replace bleaching out on the meadow; more effective drying equipment can speed up drying processes. In tanning, the old method let the tanning acid soak into the hides over six to eighteen months; the new method, using an air pump, takes only a month and a half to two months. (J. G. Courcelle-Seneuil, Traité théorique et pratique des entreprises industrielles etc., Paris 1857, 2nd ed. [p. 49].) The most striking case of artificially cutting down production time filled by nothing but natural processes comes from the history of iron production — above all, turning pig iron into steel over the last 100 years, from the puddling process discovered around 1780 to the modern Bessemer process — blasting air straight through the molten iron — and the newer methods introduced since. Production time has been cut enormously — but in this case, fixed capital investment has grown just as much alongside it.
A curious example of production time pulling apart from working time comes from the American manufacture of shoe-lasts. Here a large part of the cost comes simply from the wood having to lie for up to eighteen months to dry out, so that the finished last won't warp or change shape afterward. During that whole stretch the wood goes through no other labour process at all. So the turnover period of the capital invested is fixed not only by the time the last-making itself takes, but also by the time the capital lies idle in the drying wood. It sits in the production process for eighteen months before it can even enter the actual labour process. This case also shows something more general: the turnover times of different parts of the total circulating capital can differ from each other because of circumstances that arise not from the sphere of circulation, but from the production process itself.
The difference between production time and working time shows up especially clearly in agriculture. In our temperate climates, the land bears a crop of corn once a year. How much the production period shortens or lengthens — for winter sowing it averages nine months — depends in turn on whether the year is good or bad, so it can't be pinned down and controlled in advance the way it can in industry proper. Only the secondary products, milk, cheese, and the like, can be produced and sold continuously, in shorter cycles. The working time, by contrast, looks like this:
"In the different regions of Germany, taking climate and other local conditions into account, the number of working days for the three main working periods can be put as follows: for the spring period, from mid-March or early April to mid-May, 50 to 60 days; for the summer period, from early June to the end of August, 65 to 80 days; and for the autumn period, from early September to the end of October or mid- to late November, 55 to 75 working days. For winter, only the tasks that need doing then are worth noting — hauling manure, timber, goods to market, building materials." (F. Kirchhof, Handbuch der landwirthschaftlichen Betriebslehre, Dessau 1852, p. 160.)
The worse the climate, then, the more the working period in agriculture — and with it the outlay of capital and labour — gets squeezed into a short stretch of time. Take Russia. In some of its northern regions, field work is only possible for 130 to 150 days a year. One can see what a loss Russia would suffer if 50 million of its 65 million European population were left with nothing to do during the six or eight winter months, when all field work has to stop. Besides the 200,000 peasants working in Russia's 10,500 factories, home industries of their own have grown up everywhere in the villages. There are villages where, for generations, every peasant has been a weaver, a tanner, a shoemaker, a locksmith, a knife-maker, and so on — this is especially true in the provinces of Moscow, Vladimir, Kaluga, Kostroma, and Petersburg. This home industry, incidentally, is already being pressed more and more into the service of capitalist production — weavers, for instance, get their warp and weft supplied directly by merchants, or through agents acting for them. (Abridged from Reports by H. M. Secretaries of Embassy and Legation, on the Manufactures, Commerce etc., No. 8, 1865, p. 86, 87.) Here one can see how the split between the production period and the working period — the working period forming only a part of the production period — provides the natural basis for combining agriculture with rural secondary industry; and how, in turn, that secondary industry becomes the foothold for the capitalist, who first pushes his way in as a merchant. When capitalist production later goes on to carry out the separation of manufacture from agriculture, the agricultural worker becomes more and more dependent on a merely accidental secondary occupation, and his situation gets worse because of it. For capital, as we'll see later, all these differences in turnover even out. Not for the worker.
In most branches of industry proper — mining, transport, and so on — operations run steadily: the same working time is put in year after year, and if we set aside price swings, business disruptions, and other abnormal interruptions, capital pays out for the daily circulation process in a steady trickle through the year. Likewise, other things being equal in the market, the circulating capital comes back and renews itself in that same steady trickle. Where working time forms only part of production time, things are different. Over the course of the year's different periods, the outlay of circulating capital becomes as uneven as it can be, while the return flow comes only once, at a time fixed by natural conditions. So at the same scale of business — the same size of circulating capital advanced — it has to be advanced in larger amounts at once, and for a longer stretch, than in businesses with continuous working periods. The working life of fixed capital also differs here more sharply from the time it is actually productively in use. Along with the gap between working time and production time, the time the fixed capital applied is actually in use keeps getting interrupted, for longer or shorter stretches — as, for example, with draught animals, implements, and machines in farming. Where this fixed capital consists of draught animals, it continually needs much the same outlay in feed and so on as it does while it's actually working. With lifeless means of labour, non-use also brings on a certain loss of value. So the product does become dearer overall, because the value it hands over is reckoned not by the time the fixed capital is in use, but by the time it loses value. In these branches of production, fixed capital lying idle — whether that still carries running costs or not — is just as much a condition of its normal use as, say, the loss of a certain amount of cotton is in spinning. And in exactly the same way, in every labour process, the labour-power spent unproductively but unavoidably, under normal technical conditions, counts every bit as much as the labour spent productively. Any improvement that cuts down this unproductive expenditure of means of labour, raw material, and labour-power also cuts down the value of the product.
In farming, two things come together: a single working period runs unusually long, and there's a huge gap between labour-time and production time. Hodgskin makes a good point about this:
"The difference in time" (though he doesn't distinguish here between labour-time and production time) "needed to finish agricultural products, compared with other branches of work, is the chief reason farmers are so dependent. They can't bring their goods to market in less than a year. For the whole of that time they have to borrow from the shoemaker, the tailor, the smith, the cartwright, and the various other producers whose products they need — products that take only a few days or weeks to finish. Because of this natural circumstance, and because wealth grows faster in the other branches of work, the landowners — who have cornered the land of the whole kingdom, and on top of that have cornered the power of law-making too — still cannot save themselves, or their servants the tenant farmers, from becoming the most dependent people in the country." (Thomas Hodgskin, Popular Political Economy, London 1827, p. 147, note.)
Any method that spreads spending on wages and materials in farming more evenly across the year, or that shortens turnover by growing a wider mix of products so several harvests become possible in a single year, calls for a larger circulating capital laid out on wages, fertilizer, seed, and the like. That's what happens moving from the three-field system with fallow to crop rotation without fallow. It's also what happens with catch-cropping — a second crop grown between the main ones — in Flanders.
Root crops are grown as the catch crop: the same field first bears grain, flax, or rape for human needs, and after that harvest, root vegetables are sown to feed the cattle. Under this system the cattle can stay in the barn the whole time, which builds up a large amount of manure and becomes the pivot of the whole rotation. In the sandy regions, more than a third of the cultivated area is used for catch crops — it's exactly as if the area under cultivation had been increased by a third.
Besides root crops, clover and other fodder plants are also used for this.
Farming pushed this far — to the point where it turns into something like gardening — obviously needs a fairly large capital laid out to set it up. In England, people reckon 250 francs of this per hectare. In Flanders, our farmers would probably find 500 francs per hectare far too low a figure. (Émile de Laveleye, Essais sur l'Économie Rurale de la Belgique, Brussels 1863, pp. 59, 60, 63.)
Finally, take forestry.
"Wood production differs from most other kinds of production in one basic way: here the force of nature acts on its own, and natural regeneration needs no input of human effort or capital at all. Even where forests are replanted artificially, the input of human effort and capital alongside the working of natural forces is still small. Besides, forest thrives on soils and in locations where corn no longer grows, or where growing it no longer pays. But forestry, run as a regular business, also needs a larger stretch of land than growing corn does, since on smaller plots no proper system of felling can be carried out, most of the secondary uses are lost, and protecting the forest is harder to manage, and so on. The production process is also tied to such long stretches of time that it runs beyond the plans of any private business, and in individual cases even beyond the span of a human life. The capital laid out to acquire the forest land"
(in communal production this capital disappears, and the only question left is how much land the community can spare from arable and pasture land for growing wood)
"only yields a worthwhile return after a long time, and only turns over in part — completely only for some kinds of wood, and then in periods of up to 150 years. On top of that, sustained wood production itself needs a stock of standing timber amounting to ten to forty times the annual yield. So anyone with no other income, even if they own considerable stretches of forest, cannot run a regular forestry business." (Kirchhof, p. 58.)
The long production time — which takes in only a relatively small stretch of labour-time — and so the length of its turnover periods, make forestry an unfavourable branch for private business, and therefore for capitalist business too, since capitalist business is essentially private business even when an association of capitalists stands in for a single capitalist. The advance of cultivation and industry in general has always been so active in destroying forests that, by comparison, everything it has done in the other direction, to preserve and grow them, shrinks to almost nothing.
One passage in the quotation from Kirchhof is especially worth noting:
"Sustained wood production itself needs a stock of standing timber amounting to ten to forty times the annual yield."
So a single turnover here takes ten to forty years, or more.
It's the same with livestock-raising. Part of the herd stays in the production process, while another part of it is sold each year as that year's product. Only part of this capital turns over annually, just as with fixed capital — machinery, draught animals, and the like. Yet even though this capital is tied down in the production process for a long time, and so stretches out the turnover of the whole capital, that does not make it fixed capital in the strict sense of the term.
What's called the stock here — a set quantity of standing timber or of livestock — is, relatively speaking, inside the production process itself, working at once as both means of labour and material of labour. Given the natural conditions under which it reproduces, a well-run operation must always keep a sizeable part of its capital in this form.
A different kind of stock affects turnover in a similar way — one that is only potential productive capital. Because of how the business works, it has to be piled up in larger or smaller quantities, and so has to be advanced long before production even though it only enters the active production process bit by bit. This includes, for example, manure before it's carried out to the field, and likewise grain, hay, and the kind of food stocks that go into feeding livestock.
"A considerable part of a farm's working capital sits in its stores. But these can lose value if the precautions needed to keep them in good condition aren't properly taken — indeed, through poor oversight, part of a farm's stock of produce can be lost altogether. So careful supervision is especially called for here: watching over the barns, the fodder and grain lofts, and the cellars; keeping the storerooms properly locked, and also clean and aired out; grain and other produce kept in storage must be turned over from time to time, and potatoes and beets must be protected against frost as well as against water and rot." (Kirchhof, p. 292.) "In working out one's own needs — especially for keeping livestock, where distribution has to follow the yield and the purpose — one must think not only of covering the need itself but also of keeping back a proportional reserve for unforeseen cases. If it then turns out that the need cannot be fully met from one's own produce, the first thing to consider is whether the shortfall can be made up with other produce as a substitute, or whether such substitutes can be got more cheaply than the missing item. If, say, a shortage of hay turns up, this can be made up with root crops plus added straw. In general, one must always keep in view the real worth and the market price of the different products, and set consumption accordingly; if oats, for instance, are dearer while peas and rye are relatively cheap, it pays to replace part of the horses' oats with peas or rye, and sell the oats saved this way." (Ibidem, p. 300.)
It was noted earlier, when looking at how stocks build up, that a certain larger or smaller quantity of potential productive capital is needed — that is, of means of production earmarked for use, which have to be kept in stock in larger or smaller amounts so they can enter the production process gradually. It was also noted there that, for a given business or a capital operation of a given size, the size of this production stock depends on how hard or easy it is to replenish, how close the supply markets are, and how developed transport and communications are, among other things. All these circumstances bear on the minimum amount of capital that has to exist in the form of a productive stock — and so on the length of time capital has to be advanced for, and on the size of the mass of capital that has to be advanced all at once. This size, which also affects turnover, is set by the longer or shorter time for which circulating capital sits locked up in the form of a productive stock, as mere potential productive capital. On the other hand, insofar as this hold-up depends on the greater or lesser possibility of quickly replacing the stock, on market conditions, and so on, it in turn springs from circulation time itself — from circumstances belonging to the sphere of circulation.
"Likewise, all such items of equipment or supplies — hand tools, sieves, baskets, rope, axle-grease, nails, and so on — need to be kept in stock ready for immediate replacement, and the less nearby opportunity there is to get hold of them quickly, the more of them need to be on hand. Finally, every year in winter the whole stock of equipment should be carefully checked over, and whatever making-good or repair this shows to be necessary should be seen to at once. Whether one should generally keep larger or smaller stocks of equipment is decided mainly by local conditions. Where craftsmen and shops aren't nearby, one has to keep larger stocks than where they can be found in the district or close by. But if, other things being equal, the needed stocks are bought in larger quantities at once, one usually gains the advantage of a cheap purchase, provided a suitable moment has been chosen for it; though of course this also ties up, at a single stroke, a correspondingly larger sum out of the circulating working capital, and that isn't always something the business can easily spare." (Kirchhof, p. 301.)
As we've seen, the gap between production time and labour-time allows for very different cases. Circulating capital can sit in production time before it enters the actual labour process at all — as with the timber for boot-lasts, left to season first. Or it can sit in production time after it has already been through the labour process — as with wine, or seed-corn. Or production time can be broken up here and there by spells of labour-time — as with field-work, or forestry. A large part of the product that's ready to circulate can stay bound up in the active production process, while only a much smaller part enters the annual circulation — as with forestry and livestock-raising. And the length of time for which circulating capital sits in the form of potential productive capital — and so also the size of the mass in which this capital has to be advanced at one go — springs partly from the nature of the production process itself, as in agriculture, and partly from the nearness of markets and the like: in short, from circumstances belonging to the sphere of circulation.
Later on, in Book III, we'll see what absurd theories the attempt to identify production time — where it diverges from labour-time — with labour-time itself has led to in MacCulloch, James Mill, and others: an attempt that itself springs from a mistaken application of the theory of value.
The turnover cycle looked at before is set by how long the fixed capital advanced to production lasts. Since that stretch covers a longer or shorter run of years, it also means a series of yearly turnovers — or, within a single year, turnovers repeated several times over — of the fixed capital.
In agriculture, a cycle like this comes from the system of crop rotation.
"The length of a lease must in any case not be set shorter than the cycle of the rotation that's been introduced calls for — hence with the three-field system it's always reckoned as 3, 6, 9. But under an assumed three-field system with pure fallow, the arable land is actually cultivated only four times in six years, and in the years it is cultivated, winter and summer corn are grown, and — where the quality of the soil requires or allows it — wheat and rye, barley and oats are alternated too. Now each kind of grain multiplies more or less than the others on the same soil, each has a different value, and each sells at a different price. So the yield of the field comes out differently in each year it's cultivated, and differently again in the first half of the cycle" (the first three years) "than in the second. Even the average yield across the whole cycle is not the same from one cycle to the next, since fertility depends not only on the quality of the soil but also on the year's weather, just as prices depend on all sorts of conditions. Now, if one works out the field's yield from the average crop years of the whole six-year cycle, and from the average prices over that time, one gets the total yield for one year — and that holds for one cycle as much as for another. But this is not the case if the yield is worked out for only half the cycle, that is for three years, since the total yield would then come out unevenly. From this it follows that, with the three-field system, the length of the lease must be fixed at six years at the very least. But it always remains far more desirable for both tenant and landlord if the length of the lease is a multiple of the length of the lease" {sic} "— so that with the three-field system it is set at 12, 18, or more years instead of 6, and with the seven-field system at 14 or 28 years instead of 7." (Kirchhof, pp. 117, 118.)
(The manuscript states here: "English crop-rotation farming. A note to be made here.")