Every difference we've looked at so far in how long various capitals take to complete a turnover — and so in how long capital has to be advanced — comes from inside the production process itself: the split between fixed and circulating capital, differences in working periods, and so on. But a capital's turnover time is the production time plus the circulation time added together. So it follows directly that a longer or shorter circulation time makes the turnover time, and so the whole turnover period, longer or shorter too. This shows up most clearly if you compare two capital investments where everything else that affects turnover is the same and only the circulation times differ — or if you take one given capital, with a given mix of fixed and circulating capital, a given working period, and so on, and just imagine varying its circulation time.
One part of circulation time — the part that matters most — is selling time: the stretch during which the capital sits in the form of commodity-capital, unsold goods. How long or short this stretch is lengthens or shortens the circulation time, and with it the whole turnover period. Storage costs and the like can even force the capitalist to lay out extra capital. It's obvious from the start that the time needed to sell finished goods can differ a great deal between individual capitalists in the very same line of business — not only between the masses of capital invested in different branches of production, but between the different independent capitals that are really just separate portions of the total capital invested in one branch. Other things being equal, the selling period for the same individual capital will also shift with the general ups and downs of the market, or with the ups and downs particular to that line of business. We won't stop on this now. We just note the simple fact: whatever causes turnover periods to differ between capitals in different branches also, when it acts on an individual capitalist rather than a whole branch — say, one capitalist manages to sell faster than a competitor, or applies more methods for shortening working periods than another does — produces differences in turnover among the separate capitals within one and the same branch.
One cause that constantly makes selling time — and so circulation time overall — differ is simply how far the market where the goods are sold lies from the place where they were produced. For the whole time the goods are travelling to market, the capital is stuck in the form of commodity-capital: if the goods were made to order, until the moment of delivery; if not, then the travelling time is followed by however long the goods then sit on the market waiting to be sold. Better transport and communications cut the actual travelling time in absolute terms, but they don't remove the relative difference in circulation time between different masses of commodity-capital — or between different portions of the same mass travelling to different markets. Faster sailing ships and steamships, for instance, cut the journey for near ports and far ports alike, so the relative difference remains, even if it's often smaller than before. What transport development can do, though, is shift these relative differences in ways that no longer match the actual distances involved. A railway running from the production site to a major domestic population centre, for example, can make a nearer point that the railway doesn't reach effectively more distant than a point that is naturally farther away. The same thing can shift how close production sites are, relatively, to the big markets — which is why old production centres decline and new ones spring up as transport and communication change. (Longer hauls are also, relatively, cheaper to transport than shorter ones.) Alongside this, transport development doesn't just make things move faster in space, shortening distance in terms of time. It also increases how much capacity is running: several ships may leave for the same port at once, several trains may run the same route at once — or, say, freight ships may leave Liverpool for New York on different days through the week, or goods trains leave Manchester for London at different hours of the day. This greater frequency, given a fixed capacity of transport, doesn't by itself change the absolute speed — that part of circulation time stays the same. But it does mean that successive batches of goods can set off in shorter intervals one after another and so reach the market in a steady stream, instead of piling up into one large mass of potential commodity-capital waiting to be shipped all at once. The money coming back is spread the same way, over shorter successive periods, so that part of the capital is constantly being turned back into money-capital while another part is still circulating as commodity-capital. Spreading the returns over several shorter periods like this shortens the total circulation time, and so speeds up the turnover. How frequently transport runs — the number of trains on a line, say — grows first of all as a production site produces more and becomes a bigger centre of production, and as it points toward an already-existing market: the big centres of production and population, the export ports, and so on. But the reverse also happens: this greater ease of transport, and the faster capital turnover it brings (so far as that depends on circulation time), itself speeds up the concentration of production at one end and of the market at the other. As people and capital concentrate faster at particular points this way, the capital itself keeps concentrating into fewer hands. At the same time, places shift and get displaced, because changed transport also changes the relative position of production sites and markets. A production site that once had the advantage of sitting on a highway or a canal may now find itself on a branch line that only runs at long intervals, while another place that used to lie off every main route now sits where several lines cross. The second place rises; the first declines. So a change in transport creates a local difference in circulation time — in the chances to buy, to sell, and so on — or reshuffles a difference that already existed. How much this matters for capital's turnover shows up in the disputes between merchants and manufacturers from different places and the railway companies.
Any branch of production whose product mainly has to be sold locally — breweries, for instance — for that reason grows to its largest scale in the big centres of population. Here, the faster turnover of capital partly makes up for the fact that some of what's needed to produce there, like building land, costs more.
If, on one hand, the progress of capitalist production — through better transport and communication — shortens the circulation time for a given quantity of goods, that very same progress, and the possibility it opens up, works the other way too: it makes it necessary to produce for ever more distant markets — in a word, for the world market. The mass of goods travelling, and travelling to distant points, grows enormously, and with it grows, both absolutely and relatively, the part of social capital that is constantly stuck for long stretches in the stage of commodity-capital, within circulation time. At the same time, the part of social wealth that gets laid out not as a direct means of production, but in transport and communication and in the fixed and circulating capital needed to run them, grows too.
The mere relative length of the goods' journey from where they're produced to where they're sold makes a difference not only in the first part of circulation time — selling time — but also in the second part: buying time, when the money is converted back into the elements of productive capital. Take goods sent to India. Say that takes four months. Suppose the selling time is nil — the goods were sent to order and get paid for the moment they're delivered to the producer's agent. Sending the money back (however it's sent doesn't matter here) takes another four months. So altogether it's eight months before the same capital can function again as productive capital and the same operation can start over. The differences in turnover this produces form one of the material foundations for the different terms of credit — overseas trade, in Venice and Genoa for example, was itself one of the sources of the credit system proper.
"The crisis of 1847 enabled the banking and commercial world of the time to reduce the Indian and Chinese usance" (the time allowed for bills of exchange to run between there and Europe) "from ten months after date to six months after sight, and the course of twenty years, with its faster crossings and its telegraph lines, now makes a further reduction necessary — from six months after sight to four months after date as a first step towards four months after sight. A sailing ship's voyage round the Cape from Calcutta to London takes, on average, under 90 days. A usance of four months after sight would come to a running time of, say, 150 days. The present usance of six months after sight comes to a running time of, say, 210 days."
On the other hand:
"The Brazilian usance still stands at two and three months after sight; bills drawn from Antwerp" (on London) "run three months after date, and even Manchester and Bradford draw on London at three months and longer. By tacit agreement, the merchant is thereby given enough time to turn his goods into money — not before, but at least by the time the bills drawn against them fall due. So the usance on Indian bills isn't excessive. Indian goods, which in London mostly sell on three months' credit, can't — allowing some time for the sale — be turned into money in much under five months, while another five months on average pass between the purchase in India and the delivery at the English warehouse. So here we have a period of ten months, while the bills drawn against the goods run no more than seven. On 2 July 1866, five large London banks that deal mainly with India and China, along with the Paris Comptoir d'Escompte, gave notice that from 1 January 1867 their branches and agencies in the East would only buy and sell bills drawn at no more than four months after sight."
This cut, though, didn't hold, and had to be abandoned again. (Since then the Suez Canal has turned all of this upside down.)
Naturally, the longer goods' circulation time is, the greater the risk that prices will change on the market they're sold in, since the period during which prices can move grows too.
A difference in circulation time — partly between individual capitals within the same line of business, partly between different lines of business with their different usances, wherever payment isn't simply made in cash — also comes from the different terms on which purchases and sales are paid for. We won't stop on this point here, important as it is for the credit system.
Differences in turnover time also come from how large delivery contracts are — and these grow as the scale of capitalist production grows. A delivery contract, as a deal between buyer and seller, belongs to the market, to the sphere of circulation. The differences in turnover time that come out of it start in the sphere of circulation, but strike straight back at the sphere of production — and this holds quite apart from any payment terms or credit arrangements, so even where payment is in cash. Coal, cotton, yarn, and the like are goods produced in discrete daily amounts: each day delivers its quantum of finished product. But suppose the spinner, or the mine owner, takes on a delivery contract for a mass of product that needs, say, four or six weeks of successive working days to produce. Then, as far as the length of time capital has to be laid out, it is exactly as if a continuous working period of four or six weeks had been introduced into this labour process. This assumes, of course, that the whole ordered mass has to be delivered all at once, or at least isn't paid for until it's all been delivered. So, taken day by day, each day still delivers its fixed quantum of finished product. But that finished amount is always only part of the mass still owed under the contract. And if the part that's already finished is no longer, strictly, in the production process, it still sits in the warehouse as nothing more than potential capital.
Now to the second stage of circulation time: the buying time — the stage in which capital changes back from money form into the elements of productive capital. During this stage, capital has to sit for a while, shorter or longer, in the state of money-capital. That means a certain part of the whole capital advanced is always in the state of money-capital, even though the actual pounds making up that part keep changing. Say a business needs n × £100 of its total capital to be sitting there as money-capital at any given moment. Every pound in that n × £100 is constantly being turned into productive capital, and yet the sum stays just as constantly topped back up, by money flowing in from circulation, from the commodity-capital that has been turned back into cash. So a definite portion of the value of the advanced capital is always there in the state of money-capital — in a form that belongs not to its sphere of production, but to its sphere of circulation.
We have already seen that when the market is far away, the time capital spends locked in commodity form gets longer, and this directly delays the money flowing back — which in turn delays capital's conversion from money-capital into productive capital.
We have also seen (Chapter VI) that, when it comes to buying materials, the buying time — how near or far the main sources of raw material are — can force a business to buy raw material for longer stretches ahead and keep it on hand as productive stock, as latent or potential productive capital. That means, for the same scale of production, both the amount of capital that has to be advanced at once and the length of time it has to be advanced for get bigger.
Something similar happens with the periods, shorter or longer, in which different branches of business see large amounts of raw material thrown onto the market. In London, for instance, big wool auctions happen every three months and set the pace for the wool market, while the cotton market is renewed more or less continuously from one harvest to the next, though not always evenly. These periods fix the main dates on which such raw materials get bought, and they also shape the speculative purchases — buying further or less far ahead of need — in these materials. In just the same way, the nature of the goods a business produces shapes how far, and for how long, it deliberately holds the finished product back from sale as potential commodity-capital.
"The farmer, then, must also be something of a speculator, and hold back from selling his produce according to how the times stand..."
(A few general rules follow.)
"Still, when it comes to selling produce, most depends on the person, on the product itself, and on the locality. A man with skill and luck (!) and enough working capital behind him can't be blamed if he lets a harvest sit for a year when the price is unusually low; but a man short of working capital, or simply (!) short of the speculative instinct, has to aim at the going average prices and sell whenever and as often as he gets the chance. Wool that sits unsold for more than a year almost always comes to harm, while grain and oilseed can be kept a couple of years without losing quality. Products that usually swing sharply up and down over short periods — oilseed, hops, teasels, and the like — are rightly held back in years when the price sits well below the production price. Least of all should one delay selling things that cost money to maintain day by day, like fattened livestock, or things that spoil, like fruit or potatoes. In some districts a product is on average cheapest at certain times of year and dearest at others — grain, for instance, is often cheaper around Martinmas than between Christmas and Easter in some places. And in some districts certain products, wool for example, can only be sold well at certain times, in wool markets where trade otherwise tends to be slack." (Kirchhof, p.302.)
Looking at the second half of circulation time — the stage in which money turns back into the elements of productive capital — what matters is not just this exchange on its own, and not just how long it takes the money to flow back, depending on how far away the market is where the product was sold. What matters above all is how large a part of the advanced capital must constantly sit in money form, in the state of money-capital.
Set speculation aside for now. How much a business has to buy of the goods that must always be on hand as productive stock depends on how often that stock needs renewing — and that in turn depends on market conditions, which differ from one raw material to the next. So money has to be advanced, from time to time, in larger amounts all at once. It flows back — faster or slower depending on how the capital turns over — but always in pieces. Part of it is spent again just as constantly, in short intervals: this is the part that goes back into wages. But another part — the part that has to go back into raw material and the like — has to be built up over longer stretches, as a reserve fund, whether for buying or for paying. This part therefore exists in the form of money-capital, though how large it is at any moment keeps changing.
We shall see in the next chapter how other circumstances, whether they come from the process of production or from circulation, also force a definite portion of the advanced capital to sit in money form. But here is the general point: economists are very apt to forget that a part of the capital a business needs doesn't just pass through the three forms — money-capital, productive capital, commodity-capital — one after another. Different portions of that capital constantly hold all three forms side by side at once, even though the relative size of those portions keeps shifting. It is above all the part that is always there as money-capital that economists forget — even though grasping exactly this is essential to understanding how bourgeois economy works, and it makes itself felt as such in practice too.
Every difference we've looked at so far in how long various capitals take to complete a turnover — and so in how long capital has to be advanced — comes from inside the production process itself: the split between fixed and circulating capital, differences in working periods, and so on. But a capital's turnover time is the production time plus the circulation time added together. So it follows directly that a longer or shorter circulation time makes the turnover time, and so the whole turnover period, longer or shorter too. This shows up most clearly if you compare two capital investments where everything else that affects turnover is the same and only the circulation times differ — or if you take one given capital, with a given mix of fixed and circulating capital, a given working period, and so on, and just imagine varying its circulation time.
One part of circulation time — the part that matters most — is selling time: the stretch during which the capital sits in the form of commodity-capital, unsold goods. How long or short this stretch is lengthens or shortens the circulation time, and with it the whole turnover period. Storage costs and the like can even force the capitalist to lay out extra capital. It's obvious from the start that the time needed to sell finished goods can differ a great deal between individual capitalists in the very same line of business — not only between the masses of capital invested in different branches of production, but between the different independent capitals that are really just separate portions of the total capital invested in one branch. Other things being equal, the selling period for the same individual capital will also shift with the general ups and downs of the market, or with the ups and downs particular to that line of business. We won't stop on this now. We just note the simple fact: whatever causes turnover periods to differ between capitals in different branches also, when it acts on an individual capitalist rather than a whole branch — say, one capitalist manages to sell faster than a competitor, or applies more methods for shortening working periods than another does — produces differences in turnover among the separate capitals within one and the same branch.
One cause that constantly makes selling time — and so circulation time overall — differ is simply how far the market where the goods are sold lies from the place where they were produced. For the whole time the goods are travelling to market, the capital is stuck in the form of commodity-capital: if the goods were made to order, until the moment of delivery; if not, then the travelling time is followed by however long the goods then sit on the market waiting to be sold. Better transport and communications cut the actual travelling time in absolute terms, but they don't remove the relative difference in circulation time between different masses of commodity-capital — or between different portions of the same mass travelling to different markets. Faster sailing ships and steamships, for instance, cut the journey for near ports and far ports alike, so the relative difference remains, even if it's often smaller than before. What transport development can do, though, is shift these relative differences in ways that no longer match the actual distances involved. A railway running from the production site to a major domestic population centre, for example, can make a nearer point that the railway doesn't reach effectively more distant than a point that is naturally farther away. The same thing can shift how close production sites are, relatively, to the big markets — which is why old production centres decline and new ones spring up as transport and communication change. (Longer hauls are also, relatively, cheaper to transport than shorter ones.) Alongside this, transport development doesn't just make things move faster in space, shortening distance in terms of time. It also increases how much capacity is running: several ships may leave for the same port at once, several trains may run the same route at once — or, say, freight ships may leave Liverpool for New York on different days through the week, or goods trains leave Manchester for London at different hours of the day. This greater frequency, given a fixed capacity of transport, doesn't by itself change the absolute speed — that part of circulation time stays the same. But it does mean that successive batches of goods can set off in shorter intervals one after another and so reach the market in a steady stream, instead of piling up into one large mass of potential commodity-capital waiting to be shipped all at once. The money coming back is spread the same way, over shorter successive periods, so that part of the capital is constantly being turned back into money-capital while another part is still circulating as commodity-capital. Spreading the returns over several shorter periods like this shortens the total circulation time, and so speeds up the turnover. How frequently transport runs — the number of trains on a line, say — grows first of all as a production site produces more and becomes a bigger centre of production, and as it points toward an already-existing market: the big centres of production and population, the export ports, and so on. But the reverse also happens: this greater ease of transport, and the faster capital turnover it brings (so far as that depends on circulation time), itself speeds up the concentration of production at one end and of the market at the other. As people and capital concentrate faster at particular points this way, the capital itself keeps concentrating into fewer hands. At the same time, places shift and get displaced, because changed transport also changes the relative position of production sites and markets. A production site that once had the advantage of sitting on a highway or a canal may now find itself on a branch line that only runs at long intervals, while another place that used to lie off every main route now sits where several lines cross. The second place rises; the first declines. So a change in transport creates a local difference in circulation time — in the chances to buy, to sell, and so on — or reshuffles a difference that already existed. How much this matters for capital's turnover shows up in the disputes between merchants and manufacturers from different places and the railway companies.
Any branch of production whose product mainly has to be sold locally — breweries, for instance — for that reason grows to its largest scale in the big centres of population. Here, the faster turnover of capital partly makes up for the fact that some of what's needed to produce there, like building land, costs more.
If, on one hand, the progress of capitalist production — through better transport and communication — shortens the circulation time for a given quantity of goods, that very same progress, and the possibility it opens up, works the other way too: it makes it necessary to produce for ever more distant markets — in a word, for the world market. The mass of goods travelling, and travelling to distant points, grows enormously, and with it grows, both absolutely and relatively, the part of social capital that is constantly stuck for long stretches in the stage of commodity-capital, within circulation time. At the same time, the part of social wealth that gets laid out not as a direct means of production, but in transport and communication and in the fixed and circulating capital needed to run them, grows too.
The mere relative length of the goods' journey from where they're produced to where they're sold makes a difference not only in the first part of circulation time — selling time — but also in the second part: buying time, when the money is converted back into the elements of productive capital. Take goods sent to India. Say that takes four months. Suppose the selling time is nil — the goods were sent to order and get paid for the moment they're delivered to the producer's agent. Sending the money back (however it's sent doesn't matter here) takes another four months. So altogether it's eight months before the same capital can function again as productive capital and the same operation can start over. The differences in turnover this produces form one of the material foundations for the different terms of credit — overseas trade, in Venice and Genoa for example, was itself one of the sources of the credit system proper.
"The crisis of 1847 enabled the banking and commercial world of the time to reduce the Indian and Chinese usance" (the time allowed for bills of exchange to run between there and Europe) "from ten months after date to six months after sight, and the course of twenty years, with its faster crossings and its telegraph lines, now makes a further reduction necessary — from six months after sight to four months after date as a first step towards four months after sight. A sailing ship's voyage round the Cape from Calcutta to London takes, on average, under 90 days. A usance of four months after sight would come to a running time of, say, 150 days. The present usance of six months after sight comes to a running time of, say, 210 days."
On the other hand:
"The Brazilian usance still stands at two and three months after sight; bills drawn from Antwerp" (on London) "run three months after date, and even Manchester and Bradford draw on London at three months and longer. By tacit agreement, the merchant is thereby given enough time to turn his goods into money — not before, but at least by the time the bills drawn against them fall due. So the usance on Indian bills isn't excessive. Indian goods, which in London mostly sell on three months' credit, can't — allowing some time for the sale — be turned into money in much under five months, while another five months on average pass between the purchase in India and the delivery at the English warehouse. So here we have a period of ten months, while the bills drawn against the goods run no more than seven. On 2 July 1866, five large London banks that deal mainly with India and China, along with the Paris Comptoir d'Escompte, gave notice that from 1 January 1867 their branches and agencies in the East would only buy and sell bills drawn at no more than four months after sight."
This cut, though, didn't hold, and had to be abandoned again. (Since then the Suez Canal has turned all of this upside down.)
Naturally, the longer goods' circulation time is, the greater the risk that prices will change on the market they're sold in, since the period during which prices can move grows too.
A difference in circulation time — partly between individual capitals within the same line of business, partly between different lines of business with their different usances, wherever payment isn't simply made in cash — also comes from the different terms on which purchases and sales are paid for. We won't stop on this point here, important as it is for the credit system.
Differences in turnover time also come from how large delivery contracts are — and these grow as the scale of capitalist production grows. A delivery contract, as a deal between buyer and seller, belongs to the market, to the sphere of circulation. The differences in turnover time that come out of it start in the sphere of circulation, but strike straight back at the sphere of production — and this holds quite apart from any payment terms or credit arrangements, so even where payment is in cash. Coal, cotton, yarn, and the like are goods produced in discrete daily amounts: each day delivers its quantum of finished product. But suppose the spinner, or the mine owner, takes on a delivery contract for a mass of product that needs, say, four or six weeks of successive working days to produce. Then, as far as the length of time capital has to be laid out, it is exactly as if a continuous working period of four or six weeks had been introduced into this labour process. This assumes, of course, that the whole ordered mass has to be delivered all at once, or at least isn't paid for until it's all been delivered. So, taken day by day, each day still delivers its fixed quantum of finished product. But that finished amount is always only part of the mass still owed under the contract. And if the part that's already finished is no longer, strictly, in the production process, it still sits in the warehouse as nothing more than potential capital.
Now to the second stage of circulation time: the buying time — the stage in which capital changes back from money form into the elements of productive capital. During this stage, capital has to sit for a while, shorter or longer, in the state of money-capital. That means a certain part of the whole capital advanced is always in the state of money-capital, even though the actual pounds making up that part keep changing. Say a business needs n × £100 of its total capital to be sitting there as money-capital at any given moment. Every pound in that n × £100 is constantly being turned into productive capital, and yet the sum stays just as constantly topped back up, by money flowing in from circulation, from the commodity-capital that has been turned back into cash. So a definite portion of the value of the advanced capital is always there in the state of money-capital — in a form that belongs not to its sphere of production, but to its sphere of circulation.
We have already seen that when the market is far away, the time capital spends locked in commodity form gets longer, and this directly delays the money flowing back — which in turn delays capital's conversion from money-capital into productive capital.
We have also seen (Chapter VI) that, when it comes to buying materials, the buying time — how near or far the main sources of raw material are — can force a business to buy raw material for longer stretches ahead and keep it on hand as productive stock, as latent or potential productive capital. That means, for the same scale of production, both the amount of capital that has to be advanced at once and the length of time it has to be advanced for get bigger.
Something similar happens with the periods, shorter or longer, in which different branches of business see large amounts of raw material thrown onto the market. In London, for instance, big wool auctions happen every three months and set the pace for the wool market, while the cotton market is renewed more or less continuously from one harvest to the next, though not always evenly. These periods fix the main dates on which such raw materials get bought, and they also shape the speculative purchases — buying further or less far ahead of need — in these materials. In just the same way, the nature of the goods a business produces shapes how far, and for how long, it deliberately holds the finished product back from sale as potential commodity-capital.
"The farmer, then, must also be something of a speculator, and hold back from selling his produce according to how the times stand..."
(A few general rules follow.)
"Still, when it comes to selling produce, most depends on the person, on the product itself, and on the locality. A man with skill and luck (!) and enough working capital behind him can't be blamed if he lets a harvest sit for a year when the price is unusually low; but a man short of working capital, or simply (!) short of the speculative instinct, has to aim at the going average prices and sell whenever and as often as he gets the chance. Wool that sits unsold for more than a year almost always comes to harm, while grain and oilseed can be kept a couple of years without losing quality. Products that usually swing sharply up and down over short periods — oilseed, hops, teasels, and the like — are rightly held back in years when the price sits well below the production price. Least of all should one delay selling things that cost money to maintain day by day, like fattened livestock, or things that spoil, like fruit or potatoes. In some districts a product is on average cheapest at certain times of year and dearest at others — grain, for instance, is often cheaper around Martinmas than between Christmas and Easter in some places. And in some districts certain products, wool for example, can only be sold well at certain times, in wool markets where trade otherwise tends to be slack." (Kirchhof, p.302.)
Looking at the second half of circulation time — the stage in which money turns back into the elements of productive capital — what matters is not just this exchange on its own, and not just how long it takes the money to flow back, depending on how far away the market is where the product was sold. What matters above all is how large a part of the advanced capital must constantly sit in money form, in the state of money-capital.
Set speculation aside for now. How much a business has to buy of the goods that must always be on hand as productive stock depends on how often that stock needs renewing — and that in turn depends on market conditions, which differ from one raw material to the next. So money has to be advanced, from time to time, in larger amounts all at once. It flows back — faster or slower depending on how the capital turns over — but always in pieces. Part of it is spent again just as constantly, in short intervals: this is the part that goes back into wages. But another part — the part that has to go back into raw material and the like — has to be built up over longer stretches, as a reserve fund, whether for buying or for paying. This part therefore exists in the form of money-capital, though how large it is at any moment keeps changing.
We shall see in the next chapter how other circumstances, whether they come from the process of production or from circulation, also force a definite portion of the advanced capital to sit in money form. But here is the general point: economists are very apt to forget that a part of the capital a business needs doesn't just pass through the three forms — money-capital, productive capital, commodity-capital — one after another. Different portions of that capital constantly hold all three forms side by side at once, even though the relative size of those portions keeps shifting. It is above all the part that is always there as money-capital that economists forget — even though grasping exactly this is essential to understanding how bourgeois economy works, and it makes itself felt as such in practice too.