The special way commercial capital and money-dealing capital build up their money is taken up only in the next Part.
From what has been set out so far it follows by itself that nothing is sillier than treating merchant's capital — call it commercial capital or money-dealing capital — as a special sort of industrial capital, the way mining, agriculture, cattle-rearing, manufacture, transport and so on are branches that the division of labour in society carves out, and so separate fields for industrial capital to invest in. The plainest observation ought on its own to make this crude view impossible: every industrial capital, while it is passing through the phase of circulation in its reproduction process, performs — in its role as commodity capital and money capital — exactly the same jobs that look like the exclusive business of merchant's capital in both of its forms.
With commercial capital and money-dealing capital it is the other way round. Here the difference between industrial capital as productive and that same capital sitting in the circulation sphere has been made self-standing: the particular forms and functions that capital takes on there for a time now appear as forms and functions in their own right, belonging to a part of capital that has broken off — and those forms and functions exist exclusively inside that broken-off part, penned up there and nowhere else. A transformed form of industrial capital, on one side, and the material differences between productive capitals that come out of what the various branches of industry are like, on the other — these two are poles apart.
Economists in general treat distinctions of form in an off-hand way, because what genuinely interests them is the substantive side of things. Besides that, in the vulgar economist two further things lie behind this confusion. The first is that he simply cannot explain what is peculiar to commercial profit. The second is his apologetic endeavour: he wants to show that commodity capital and money capital, and consequently commodity-dealing capital and money-dealing capital, are forms that necessarily arise from the production process as such. But those forms come out of what the capitalist mode of production specifically is — and that mode presupposes the circulation of commodities, therefore also of money, as its basis from the start.
If the only thing setting commercial capital and money-dealing capital apart from grain-growing were the kind of thing that sets grain-growing apart from cattle-rearing and manufacturing, then it would be plain as day that production and capitalist production are one and the same, and in particular that the products of society have to be divided out among society's members — whether for productive or for individual consumption — by merchants and bankers, and must forever be so, no less eternally than meat is eaten by way of cattle-rearing and clothes are worn by way of their manufacture.
The great economists — Smith, Ricardo and the rest — consider capital in its basic form, that is, industrial capital; and they consider circulation capital (money capital and commodity capital) really only in so far as it is itself a phase in the reproduction process of every capital. So they are at a loss before commercial capital as a variety with a character of its own. The propositions about the formation of value, profit and so on that are drawn straight from looking at industrial capital do not fit commercial capital directly. So they in fact leave it aside altogether, and mention it only as one kind of industrial capital. Where they deal with it specifically — as Ricardo does with foreign trade — they try to show that trade creates no value (and so no surplus-value either). And whatever is true of foreign trade is true of trade at home as well.
So far we have looked at merchant's capital from the angle of the capitalist mode of production, and only within its limits. But trade predates the capitalist mode of production — and so does trading capital. Trading capital is in fact the oldest form in which capital has ever had an independent existence.
We have seen already that money-dealing, and the capital laid out in it, need nothing to develop except that large-scale trade exists, and, beyond that, commercial capital dealing in goods. So it's only this last kind we have to deal with here.
Commercial capital is boxed into the sphere of circulation, and its one job is to broker the exchange of commodities. So for it to exist, no other conditions are needed than those needed for simple commodity and money circulation — leaving aside the undeveloped forms that come straight out of barter. Or rather, that simple circulation is its condition of existence.
It makes no difference which mode of production the products came from — a primitive community, slave production, small peasants or petty-bourgeois producers, or capitalist production. However they were made, as commodities they must pass through an exchange process, with the changes of form that go with it.
The two extremes that commercial capital mediates are given to it, just as they are given for money and for the movement of money. All that is needed is that these extremes are there as commodities — whether production is commodity production all the way through, or only the surplus, over and above what producers need for themselves, gets thrown on the market. Commercial capital only mediates the movement of these extremes, the commodities, which are handed to it as preconditions.
How far production enters trade, and gets into merchants' hands, depends on the mode of production. It reaches its peak with fully developed capitalist production, where the product is made purely as a commodity and no longer as something the producer consumes directly.
But on the basis of any mode of production, trade helps to bring out a surplus product meant to go into exchange, so as to increase what the producers enjoy or hoard — 'producers' here meaning the people who own the products. So trade pushes production to be aimed more and more at exchange-value.
The metamorphosis of commodities, their movement, has two sides. In substance, it is different commodities being swapped for one another. In form, it is commodities turning into money — selling — and money turning into commodities — buying.
The work of commercial capital comes down to exactly these operations: exchanging commodities by buying and selling. So commercial capital does no more than mediate commodity exchange — and we must not take this, right from the start, as an exchange simply between the immediate producers. Under slavery, serfdom or tribute — the last where primitive communities are involved — the product belongs to, and is sold by, the slaveowner, the feudal lord, or the state that collects the tribute. A merchant does the buying and selling for many people. Purchases and sales collect in his hands, and so buying and selling stop being tied to the buyer's immediate need — the buyer here being a merchant.
Different societies may organize the spheres of production differently, and it is their commodity exchange the merchant mediates; yet his riches always take the form of money wealth, and his money is always capital at work. Its form is always M-C-M′: money — exchange-value in its independent shape — is where he starts, and making exchange-value grow is his independent purpose. The exchange of commodities, and the operations that carry it out — separated from production and done by people who do not produce — becomes a mere means of piling up wealth: not just wealth in any shape, but wealth as exchange-value, its general social form. What drives it and fixes its aim is turning M into M + ΔM, and the acts M-C and C-M′ that carry the act M-M′ through appear only as passing moments as it turns M into M + ΔM. This M-C-M′ is the movement that marks commercial capital out, and separates it from C-M-C, the trade in goods that happens directly between the producers, aimed only at swapping one use-value for another.
So the more undeveloped production is, the more monetary wealth will gather in the hands of merchants — or show up as a specific form of merchants' wealth.
Inside the capitalist mode of production — that is, once capital has taken command of production itself and given it a wholly different, specific shape — commercial capital appears only as capital in one particular function. In every earlier mode of production, by contrast, commercial capital appears as capital's function par excellence — and it does so all the more where production consists directly in the producer supplying his own means of subsistence.
So it is not in the least difficult to see why commercial capital should appear as the historical form of capital long before capital ever subjected production to itself. That commercial capital exists at all, and reaches a certain size, is itself one of the historical preconditions that let the capitalist mode of production arise: first, because it makes possible the piling-up of monetary wealth; second, because the capitalist mode of production assumes production meant for trade, sold in bulk rather than to a single customer — which means merchants buy, not to meet their own personal wants, but to gather the buying acts of many into one. On the other side, every step in the development of commercial capital works to give production a character aimed more and more at exchange-value, turning more and more products into commodities. But its development, considered on its own — as we will see further below — is not enough to mediate and explain how one mode of production gives way to another.
Inside capitalist production, commercial capital is pushed down from the separate existence it once had: it becomes one particular moment within capital investment as a whole, and the equalization of profits brings its profit rate down to the general average. All it does now is act as productive capital's agent. As commercial capital develops it brings particular social conditions with it, but those conditions no longer decide anything here. It is the other way round: wherever commercial capital dominates, the conditions are out of date.
This holds even inside a single country — purely trading cities look far more like past conditions than manufacturing towns do.
Capital growing independently and predominantly as commercial capital means the same thing as production not being subjected to capital. It means capital is growing while production keeps organizing itself in a social form of production that is alien to capital and independent of it. And so, the more independently commercial capital develops, the less developed society is economically overall — the two move in inverse proportion to each other.
Independent mercantile wealth, when it is the dominant form of capital, means the circulation process has become independent of its two extremes — and those extremes are the producers themselves, the ones doing the exchanging. Those extremes stay independent of the circulation process, and it stays independent of them.
At this stage the product turns into a commodity through trade. It is trade that develops the shaping of products into commodities; it is not the movement of an already-produced commodity that forms trade. So capital first appears as capital inside the circulation process. There money develops into capital, and there the product develops first as exchange-value, as commodity and as money. Capital can take shape in circulation, and must take shape there, before it learns how to master its poles — the different spheres of production that circulation links together. Money and commodities moving in circulation can link spheres of production organized in the most varied ways, spheres whose inner structure still aims mainly at producing use-values.
This independence of the circulation process, in which a third party ties the spheres of production to one another, expresses two things at once. On one side, circulation has not yet taken hold of production; it stands towards production as towards something given in advance. On the other side, the production process has not yet taken circulation into itself as a mere moment.
Under capitalist production, by contrast, both are true. Production rests entirely on circulation, and circulation is no more than a moment, a passing phase of production — just the realization of the product produced as a commodity, and the replacement of its elements of production, which are likewise produced as commodities. Commercial capital, the form of capital that comes straight out of circulation, now shows up here as only one of the shapes capital takes as it moves through reproduction.
The law is this: the more independently commercial capital develops, the less developed capitalist production is. That law shows up most clearly in how the carrying trade developed — with the Venetians, the Genoese, the Dutch and so on. There the main gain was not made by exporting what the home country produced, but by acting as middleman for the exchange of products among communities whose commercial and other economic development was still backward, and by exploiting both countries that produced. Here commercial capital is pure, cut off from the extremes it mediates between, the spheres of production. This is one of the chief ways it comes into being.
But this monopoly over the carrying trade falls away, and the trade itself along with it, to the same degree that the peoples it exploited on both sides move forward economically — the peoples whose lack of development was the very basis of its existence. In the carrying trade this shows up not only as the decline of one particular branch of trade. It also shows up as the decline of the supremacy of the purely trading peoples, and of their commercial wealth in general, which rested on that carrying trade. And this is only one particular form in which commercial capital's subordination to industrial capital expresses itself as capitalist production advances.
As for how commercial capital carries on where it directly dominates production, a striking example is given not just by colonial trade in general (the so-called colonial system), but quite specifically by the operations of the old Dutch East India Company.
Since commercial capital moves as M-C-M', the merchant's profit comes about, first, through acts that stay wholly inside circulation - the two acts of buying and selling. Second, it gets realized in the last act, the sale. So it is profit upon alienation. On the face of it, a pure commercial profit standing on its own looks impossible so long as products are sold at their values. 'Buy cheap and sell dear' is the law of commerce - not an exchange of equivalents. The concept of value enters only so far as these commodities are all of them values, and therefore money; taken qualitatively, each is as much an expression of social labour as any other. They are not, however, equal values. How much of one product trades for another starts out entirely a matter of chance. They take on commodity form in so far as they are in some way exchangeable - expressions, that is, of the same third thing. Continued exchange, and reproduction for exchange on a more regular footing, gradually does away with that chance character. At the outset, though, this holds not for producers and consumers but for the mediator between the two - the merchant, comparing money prices and pocketing the difference. His own movement is what establishes the equivalence.
At the start, commercial capital is only the movement that mediates between extremes it does not control, and between preconditions it does not create.
Out of the simple form of commodity circulation, C–M–C, money emerges not just as a yardstick of value and a means of circulation, but as the commodity's absolute shape, and so wealth's — as a hoard — and its keeping itself and growing as money becomes an end in itself. In the same way, out of the simple circulation form of commercial capital, M–C–M′, money, the hoard, emerges as something that maintains and increases itself through mere alienation.
The trading peoples of the ancient world lived like Epicurus's gods in the intermundia — the spaces between the worlds — or rather like the Jews in Poland, who lived in the pores of that society. The trade of the earliest independent, hugely developed trading cities and peoples rested, as pure carrying trade, on the barbarism of those producing peoples among whom they played middleman.
In the stages before capitalist society, trade rules over industry; in modern society, the reverse is true. Trade will naturally react back, more or less, on the communities it is plied between. It brings production more and more under the sway of exchange-value, by making what people enjoy and what they live on hinge more on selling than on using the product directly. That is how it breaks up the old relations. It increases the circulation of money.
And it no longer lays hold of only the surplus; step by step it eats away at production itself, and makes whole branches of production depend on it. But how far this dissolving effect goes depends a great deal on the nature of the producing community.
While commercial capital is what handles the exchange of products between undeveloped communities, commercial profit does not merely look like fleecing and trickery — a large part of it grows out of exactly that. Not to mention that trade also exploits the gap between the production prices of different countries, and in this respect it works towards the equalising and fixing of commodity values.
On top of that, those ways of producing themselves mean that commercial capital takes for itself a predominant part of the surplus product. Partly it does so by serving as the go-between among communities whose production is still essentially aimed at use-value, and for whose economic set-up it is of subordinate importance that the part of the product which enters circulation at all should be sold, and indeed that products should be sold at their value. Partly it does so because under those earlier ways of producing the main owners of the surplus product, the ones the merchant deals with — the slaveholder, the feudal landlord, the state (the oriental despot, say) — are the ones holding the wealth that gets enjoyed, and it is round them that the merchant sets his snares, as Adam Smith already correctly sniffed out, in the passage quoted, for the feudal period. Commercial capital in a dominant position is therefore everywhere a system of plunder, and its growth among the trading peoples of antiquity and of modern times goes together directly with violent plunder, piracy, slave-raiding and the subjugation of colonies: Carthage, Rome, and later the Venetians, the Portuguese, the Dutch, and so on.
The growth of trade and of commercial capital always turns production more towards exchange-value, widens its scope, makes it more varied and more cosmopolitan, and turns money into world money. That is why trade always has a more or less dissolving effect on whatever organization of production it finds in place — and all those organisations, in all their various forms, are mainly aimed at use-value. How far it actually brings about the dissolution of the old way of producing depends first of all on how firm that way is and how well its parts hang together. And where this process of dissolution ends up — that is, which new way of producing replaces the old — is not for trade to decide; what decides it is the character of the old mode of production itself. In the ancient world, the effect of trade and the growth of commercial capital always results in a slave economy; depending on the starting point, it may also result only in a patriarchal slave system, geared to producing the direct means of subsistence, being turned into one geared to producing surplus-value. In the modern world, by contrast, it ends in the capitalist mode of production. It follows from all this that these outcomes were themselves dependent on circumstances quite different from the growth of commercial capital.
Once town industry separates off from agriculture as a branch of its own, the things it makes are commodities right from the outset, and selling them therefore calls for trade to act as go-between. That trade leans on the growth of towns, and that the towns in turn are conditioned by trade, are to that extent self-evident.
But whether industrial development keeps step with all this depends entirely on other circumstances. Ancient Rome, already in its later republican period, had commercial capital on a larger scale than the ancient world had ever known before, and this with no progress in craft production at all. Corinth, and other Greek cities of Europe and Asia Minor, had a highly developed craft industry alongside the growth of trade. On the other side, in direct contrast to town development and its conditions, a commercial spirit and the growth of commercial capital are often the mark of peoples who are not settled at all, but nomadic.
There is no doubt about it — and it is precisely this fact that has bred some quite false views — that in the 16th and 17th centuries the great revolutions in trade that came with the geographical discoveries, and that rapidly increased the growth of commercial capital, were a main moment in moving the feudal mode of production over into the capitalist one. The world market's sudden expansion, the swelling flood of commodities in circulation, the race between the European nations for Asian goods and American treasure, the colonial system — all of these helped substantially to burst the feudal limits on production. But in its first period, the manufacturing period, the modern mode of production developed only where the conditions for it had grown up inside the middle ages. Compare Holland with Portugal, for instance.
And while in the 16th century, and partly still in the 17th, the sudden widening of trade and the creation of a new world market had a predominant influence on the fall of the old mode of production and the rise of the capitalist one, this worked the other way round once the capitalist mode of production had been created. The world market itself is the basis of this mode of production. On the other hand, the necessity immanent in it to produce on an ever greater scale drives it to expand the world market constantly, so that trade is not what revolutionizes industry here; industry is forever revolutionizing trade. Commercial domination, too, is now tied to the greater or lesser predominance of the conditions of large-scale industry. Compare England and Holland, for instance. Holland's fall from being the leading trading nation tells the story of how commercial capital was subordinated to industrial capital.
How firmly pre-capitalist national modes of production resist trade's dissolving action, given how solid they are and how well their parts hang together, comes out strikingly in the English dealings with India and China. The broad base of production there is the union of small-scale agriculture with domestic industry, and in India there is also the form of village communities resting on common ownership of the land — which was, incidentally, the original form in China as well. In India the English also used the political and economic power they held directly, as rulers and as receivers of ground-rent, to break these small economic communities apart. Where their trade does have a revolutionary effect on the mode of production, it does so only by destroying, through the cheapness of their goods, the spinning and weaving that had formed part of this union of industrial and agricultural work since ancient times — and so tearing the communities apart. Even here they manage this work of dissolution only very gradually. Still less so in China, where direct political power does not come to their aid. The great economy and saving of time that come from farming and manufacture being directly joined offer the most stubborn resistance here to the products of large-scale industry, in whose price there enter the faux frais — the incidental costs — of the circulation process that perforates them everywhere. By contrast, Russian trade leaves the economic basis of Asiatic production untouched.
The exit from feudal production takes two different shapes. Either the producer himself becomes a merchant and a capitalist — as against farming that produced for its own needs, and as against the guild-tied handicraft of medieval town industry. That is the way that really revolutionizes production.
Or else the merchant gets production directly into his own hands. However often this works historically as a transition — the English clothier of the seventeenth century, for instance, who brought the weavers under his control although they were independent, sold them the wool and bought the cloth back from them — it does not, by itself, bring about the overthrow of the old mode of production. It conserves that mode, rather, and holds on to it as its own precondition.
For the most part, this went on until roughly mid-century: in the French silk trade, and in English hosiery and lace, the man who counted as a manufacturer was, in most cases, one only on paper. He was really just a merchant, one who let the weavers carry on in their old, scattered way, and exercised no rule over them but a merchant's — it was for him, in fact, that they worked. This practice everywhere stands in the way of the genuine capitalist mode of production, and it goes under as that mode develops.
It does not overturn the way production is carried on; it only makes the position of the direct producers worse. It turns them into plain wage-labourers and proletarians, worse off than the workers directly subsumed under capital, and it appropriates their surplus labour on the basis of that old mode of production.
Much the same relation, a little modified, holds for part of London's furniture-making, which is still run on handicraft lines — in Tower Hamlets especially, where it is carried on very extensively. The work is split into a great many branches that are independent of one another. One business turns out chairs and nothing else, another only tables, a third only cupboards, and so on. But these businesses are themselves run more or less as handicraft, by a small master with a few journeymen. Their output is too large all the same for them to work directly for private customers. Their buyers are the owners of furniture stores. Every Saturday the master turns up at one of these stores to sell what he has made, and the haggling over the price goes on just as it does in a pawnshop over the sum advanced on some item. These masters depend on the weekly sale — if only so they can buy fresh material for next week and pay their journeymen. In these circumstances they are really nothing but go-betweens, standing between the merchant and the workers they employ. The merchant is the actual capitalist, and the greater part of the surplus-value lands in his pocket.
Something similar holds in the passage into manufacture out of branches that were formerly carried on as handicraft, or as sidelines of rural industry. Whether such a small owner-run business goes on to large-scale industry depends on the technical level it has reached — on whether it already uses machines that still allow a handicraft-style operation. The machine is then driven by steam instead of by hand, as has happened recently, for example, in the English hosiery trade.
So the transition takes three forms. First, the merchant becomes an industrialist outright — this is what happens in trades founded on commerce, luxury industries above all, where merchants bring in the raw materials and the workers together from abroad, as they came into Italy from Constantinople in the fifteenth century. Second, the merchant turns the small masters into his go-betweens (middlemen), or else buys directly from the producer who works on his own account; he leaves that producer nominally independent, and leaves his way of producing unchanged. Third, the industrialist turns merchant himself and starts producing directly, on a large scale, for trade.
In the Middle Ages the merchant is only someone who 'transferred' goods, as Poppe rightly says — goods produced by guild craftsmen, or by peasants. The merchant becomes an industrialist; or rather, he gets handicraft production, small rural industry above all, to work for him. On the other side, the producer becomes a merchant. Take the master cloth-weaver: instead of receiving his wool from the merchant bit by bit, in small portions, and working with his journeymen for that merchant, he now buys wool or yarn for himself and sells his cloth to the merchant. The elements of production enter the production process as commodities he has bought himself. And instead of producing for one particular merchant, or for particular customers, the cloth-weaver now produces for the whole world of trade. The producer is his own merchant. Commercial capital now does nothing but carry out the circulation process.
Trade was originally the precondition for turning guild handicraft, rural domestic craft and feudal agriculture into capitalist businesses. It develops the product into a commodity: in part by finding a market for it, in part by supplying new commodity equivalents and new raw and auxiliary materials to production, and so opening up branches of production that are founded on trade from the start — founded both on production for the market and the world market, and on conditions of production that come from the world market. Once manufacture grows at all strong, and still more once large-scale industry does, it creates its own market and conquers it with its commodities. At that point trade turns into industrial production's servant — and for industrial production the constant widening of the market is a condition of existence. An ever more extensive mass production floods the market that exists, and so keeps working at widening that market, at breaking through its limits. What sets a limit to this mass production is not trade (in so far as trade only gives expression to demand that already exists), but the size of the capital in operation and the productivity of labour that has been developed.
The industrial capitalist always has the world market before him; he compares, and must keep comparing, his own cost prices with market prices — not only at home, but across the whole world. In the earlier period this comparison fell almost exclusively to the merchants, and that is what secured commercial capital its mastery over industrial capital.
The first attempt to theorize the modern mode of production — mercantilism — necessarily took off from the surface appearances of circulation, in the shape they take on as something independent in the movement of commercial capital. So it seized only the semblance of things. Partly because commercial capital is capital's first free form of existence at all; partly because of the overwhelming influence it had in the first period of upheaval, when feudal production was overturned and modern production was coming into being. The real science of modern economics begins only where theory passes from the circulation process to the production process. Interest-bearing capital is, to be sure, an age-old form of capital too. But why mercantilism does not set out from it, and instead takes up a polemical relation to it, we shall see later.
The special way commercial capital and money-dealing capital build up their money is taken up only in the next Part.
From what has been set out so far it follows by itself that nothing is sillier than treating merchant's capital — call it commercial capital or money-dealing capital — as a special sort of industrial capital, the way mining, agriculture, cattle-rearing, manufacture, transport and so on are branches that the division of labour in society carves out, and so separate fields for industrial capital to invest in. The plainest observation ought on its own to make this crude view impossible: every industrial capital, while it is passing through the phase of circulation in its reproduction process, performs — in its role as commodity capital and money capital — exactly the same jobs that look like the exclusive business of merchant's capital in both of its forms.
With commercial capital and money-dealing capital it is the other way round. Here the difference between industrial capital as productive and that same capital sitting in the circulation sphere has been made self-standing: the particular forms and functions that capital takes on there for a time now appear as forms and functions in their own right, belonging to a part of capital that has broken off — and those forms and functions exist exclusively inside that broken-off part, penned up there and nowhere else. A transformed form of industrial capital, on one side, and the material differences between productive capitals that come out of what the various branches of industry are like, on the other — these two are poles apart.
Economists in general treat distinctions of form in an off-hand way, because what genuinely interests them is the substantive side of things. Besides that, in the vulgar economist two further things lie behind this confusion. The first is that he simply cannot explain what is peculiar to commercial profit. The second is his apologetic endeavour: he wants to show that commodity capital and money capital, and consequently commodity-dealing capital and money-dealing capital, are forms that necessarily arise from the production process as such. But those forms come out of what the capitalist mode of production specifically is — and that mode presupposes the circulation of commodities, therefore also of money, as its basis from the start.
If the only thing setting commercial capital and money-dealing capital apart from grain-growing were the kind of thing that sets grain-growing apart from cattle-rearing and manufacturing, then it would be plain as day that production and capitalist production are one and the same, and in particular that the products of society have to be divided out among society's members — whether for productive or for individual consumption — by merchants and bankers, and must forever be so, no less eternally than meat is eaten by way of cattle-rearing and clothes are worn by way of their manufacture.
The great economists — Smith, Ricardo and the rest — consider capital in its basic form, that is, industrial capital; and they consider circulation capital (money capital and commodity capital) really only in so far as it is itself a phase in the reproduction process of every capital. So they are at a loss before commercial capital as a variety with a character of its own. The propositions about the formation of value, profit and so on that are drawn straight from looking at industrial capital do not fit commercial capital directly. So they in fact leave it aside altogether, and mention it only as one kind of industrial capital. Where they deal with it specifically — as Ricardo does with foreign trade — they try to show that trade creates no value (and so no surplus-value either). And whatever is true of foreign trade is true of trade at home as well.
So far we have looked at merchant's capital from the angle of the capitalist mode of production, and only within its limits. But trade predates the capitalist mode of production — and so does trading capital. Trading capital is in fact the oldest form in which capital has ever had an independent existence.
We have seen already that money-dealing, and the capital laid out in it, need nothing to develop except that large-scale trade exists, and, beyond that, commercial capital dealing in goods. So it's only this last kind we have to deal with here.
Commercial capital is boxed into the sphere of circulation, and its one job is to broker the exchange of commodities. So for it to exist, no other conditions are needed than those needed for simple commodity and money circulation — leaving aside the undeveloped forms that come straight out of barter. Or rather, that simple circulation is its condition of existence.
It makes no difference which mode of production the products came from — a primitive community, slave production, small peasants or petty-bourgeois producers, or capitalist production. However they were made, as commodities they must pass through an exchange process, with the changes of form that go with it.
The two extremes that commercial capital mediates are given to it, just as they are given for money and for the movement of money. All that is needed is that these extremes are there as commodities — whether production is commodity production all the way through, or only the surplus, over and above what producers need for themselves, gets thrown on the market. Commercial capital only mediates the movement of these extremes, the commodities, which are handed to it as preconditions.
How far production enters trade, and gets into merchants' hands, depends on the mode of production. It reaches its peak with fully developed capitalist production, where the product is made purely as a commodity and no longer as something the producer consumes directly.
But on the basis of any mode of production, trade helps to bring out a surplus product meant to go into exchange, so as to increase what the producers enjoy or hoard — 'producers' here meaning the people who own the products. So trade pushes production to be aimed more and more at exchange-value.
The metamorphosis of commodities, their movement, has two sides. In substance, it is different commodities being swapped for one another. In form, it is commodities turning into money — selling — and money turning into commodities — buying.
The work of commercial capital comes down to exactly these operations: exchanging commodities by buying and selling. So commercial capital does no more than mediate commodity exchange — and we must not take this, right from the start, as an exchange simply between the immediate producers. Under slavery, serfdom or tribute — the last where primitive communities are involved — the product belongs to, and is sold by, the slaveowner, the feudal lord, or the state that collects the tribute. A merchant does the buying and selling for many people. Purchases and sales collect in his hands, and so buying and selling stop being tied to the buyer's immediate need — the buyer here being a merchant.
Different societies may organize the spheres of production differently, and it is their commodity exchange the merchant mediates; yet his riches always take the form of money wealth, and his money is always capital at work. Its form is always M-C-M′: money — exchange-value in its independent shape — is where he starts, and making exchange-value grow is his independent purpose. The exchange of commodities, and the operations that carry it out — separated from production and done by people who do not produce — becomes a mere means of piling up wealth: not just wealth in any shape, but wealth as exchange-value, its general social form. What drives it and fixes its aim is turning M into M + ΔM, and the acts M-C and C-M′ that carry the act M-M′ through appear only as passing moments as it turns M into M + ΔM. This M-C-M′ is the movement that marks commercial capital out, and separates it from C-M-C, the trade in goods that happens directly between the producers, aimed only at swapping one use-value for another.
So the more undeveloped production is, the more monetary wealth will gather in the hands of merchants — or show up as a specific form of merchants' wealth.
Inside the capitalist mode of production — that is, once capital has taken command of production itself and given it a wholly different, specific shape — commercial capital appears only as capital in one particular function. In every earlier mode of production, by contrast, commercial capital appears as capital's function par excellence — and it does so all the more where production consists directly in the producer supplying his own means of subsistence.
So it is not in the least difficult to see why commercial capital should appear as the historical form of capital long before capital ever subjected production to itself. That commercial capital exists at all, and reaches a certain size, is itself one of the historical preconditions that let the capitalist mode of production arise: first, because it makes possible the piling-up of monetary wealth; second, because the capitalist mode of production assumes production meant for trade, sold in bulk rather than to a single customer — which means merchants buy, not to meet their own personal wants, but to gather the buying acts of many into one. On the other side, every step in the development of commercial capital works to give production a character aimed more and more at exchange-value, turning more and more products into commodities. But its development, considered on its own — as we will see further below — is not enough to mediate and explain how one mode of production gives way to another.
Inside capitalist production, commercial capital is pushed down from the separate existence it once had: it becomes one particular moment within capital investment as a whole, and the equalization of profits brings its profit rate down to the general average. All it does now is act as productive capital's agent. As commercial capital develops it brings particular social conditions with it, but those conditions no longer decide anything here. It is the other way round: wherever commercial capital dominates, the conditions are out of date.
This holds even inside a single country — purely trading cities look far more like past conditions than manufacturing towns do.
Capital growing independently and predominantly as commercial capital means the same thing as production not being subjected to capital. It means capital is growing while production keeps organizing itself in a social form of production that is alien to capital and independent of it. And so, the more independently commercial capital develops, the less developed society is economically overall — the two move in inverse proportion to each other.
Independent mercantile wealth, when it is the dominant form of capital, means the circulation process has become independent of its two extremes — and those extremes are the producers themselves, the ones doing the exchanging. Those extremes stay independent of the circulation process, and it stays independent of them.
At this stage the product turns into a commodity through trade. It is trade that develops the shaping of products into commodities; it is not the movement of an already-produced commodity that forms trade. So capital first appears as capital inside the circulation process. There money develops into capital, and there the product develops first as exchange-value, as commodity and as money. Capital can take shape in circulation, and must take shape there, before it learns how to master its poles — the different spheres of production that circulation links together. Money and commodities moving in circulation can link spheres of production organized in the most varied ways, spheres whose inner structure still aims mainly at producing use-values.
This independence of the circulation process, in which a third party ties the spheres of production to one another, expresses two things at once. On one side, circulation has not yet taken hold of production; it stands towards production as towards something given in advance. On the other side, the production process has not yet taken circulation into itself as a mere moment.
Under capitalist production, by contrast, both are true. Production rests entirely on circulation, and circulation is no more than a moment, a passing phase of production — just the realization of the product produced as a commodity, and the replacement of its elements of production, which are likewise produced as commodities. Commercial capital, the form of capital that comes straight out of circulation, now shows up here as only one of the shapes capital takes as it moves through reproduction.
The law is this: the more independently commercial capital develops, the less developed capitalist production is. That law shows up most clearly in how the carrying trade developed — with the Venetians, the Genoese, the Dutch and so on. There the main gain was not made by exporting what the home country produced, but by acting as middleman for the exchange of products among communities whose commercial and other economic development was still backward, and by exploiting both countries that produced. Here commercial capital is pure, cut off from the extremes it mediates between, the spheres of production. This is one of the chief ways it comes into being.
But this monopoly over the carrying trade falls away, and the trade itself along with it, to the same degree that the peoples it exploited on both sides move forward economically — the peoples whose lack of development was the very basis of its existence. In the carrying trade this shows up not only as the decline of one particular branch of trade. It also shows up as the decline of the supremacy of the purely trading peoples, and of their commercial wealth in general, which rested on that carrying trade. And this is only one particular form in which commercial capital's subordination to industrial capital expresses itself as capitalist production advances.
As for how commercial capital carries on where it directly dominates production, a striking example is given not just by colonial trade in general (the so-called colonial system), but quite specifically by the operations of the old Dutch East India Company.
Since commercial capital moves as M-C-M', the merchant's profit comes about, first, through acts that stay wholly inside circulation - the two acts of buying and selling. Second, it gets realized in the last act, the sale. So it is profit upon alienation. On the face of it, a pure commercial profit standing on its own looks impossible so long as products are sold at their values. 'Buy cheap and sell dear' is the law of commerce - not an exchange of equivalents. The concept of value enters only so far as these commodities are all of them values, and therefore money; taken qualitatively, each is as much an expression of social labour as any other. They are not, however, equal values. How much of one product trades for another starts out entirely a matter of chance. They take on commodity form in so far as they are in some way exchangeable - expressions, that is, of the same third thing. Continued exchange, and reproduction for exchange on a more regular footing, gradually does away with that chance character. At the outset, though, this holds not for producers and consumers but for the mediator between the two - the merchant, comparing money prices and pocketing the difference. His own movement is what establishes the equivalence.
At the start, commercial capital is only the movement that mediates between extremes it does not control, and between preconditions it does not create.
Out of the simple form of commodity circulation, C–M–C, money emerges not just as a yardstick of value and a means of circulation, but as the commodity's absolute shape, and so wealth's — as a hoard — and its keeping itself and growing as money becomes an end in itself. In the same way, out of the simple circulation form of commercial capital, M–C–M′, money, the hoard, emerges as something that maintains and increases itself through mere alienation.
The trading peoples of the ancient world lived like Epicurus's gods in the intermundia — the spaces between the worlds — or rather like the Jews in Poland, who lived in the pores of that society. The trade of the earliest independent, hugely developed trading cities and peoples rested, as pure carrying trade, on the barbarism of those producing peoples among whom they played middleman.
In the stages before capitalist society, trade rules over industry; in modern society, the reverse is true. Trade will naturally react back, more or less, on the communities it is plied between. It brings production more and more under the sway of exchange-value, by making what people enjoy and what they live on hinge more on selling than on using the product directly. That is how it breaks up the old relations. It increases the circulation of money.
And it no longer lays hold of only the surplus; step by step it eats away at production itself, and makes whole branches of production depend on it. But how far this dissolving effect goes depends a great deal on the nature of the producing community.
While commercial capital is what handles the exchange of products between undeveloped communities, commercial profit does not merely look like fleecing and trickery — a large part of it grows out of exactly that. Not to mention that trade also exploits the gap between the production prices of different countries, and in this respect it works towards the equalising and fixing of commodity values.
On top of that, those ways of producing themselves mean that commercial capital takes for itself a predominant part of the surplus product. Partly it does so by serving as the go-between among communities whose production is still essentially aimed at use-value, and for whose economic set-up it is of subordinate importance that the part of the product which enters circulation at all should be sold, and indeed that products should be sold at their value. Partly it does so because under those earlier ways of producing the main owners of the surplus product, the ones the merchant deals with — the slaveholder, the feudal landlord, the state (the oriental despot, say) — are the ones holding the wealth that gets enjoyed, and it is round them that the merchant sets his snares, as Adam Smith already correctly sniffed out, in the passage quoted, for the feudal period. Commercial capital in a dominant position is therefore everywhere a system of plunder, and its growth among the trading peoples of antiquity and of modern times goes together directly with violent plunder, piracy, slave-raiding and the subjugation of colonies: Carthage, Rome, and later the Venetians, the Portuguese, the Dutch, and so on.
The growth of trade and of commercial capital always turns production more towards exchange-value, widens its scope, makes it more varied and more cosmopolitan, and turns money into world money. That is why trade always has a more or less dissolving effect on whatever organization of production it finds in place — and all those organisations, in all their various forms, are mainly aimed at use-value. How far it actually brings about the dissolution of the old way of producing depends first of all on how firm that way is and how well its parts hang together. And where this process of dissolution ends up — that is, which new way of producing replaces the old — is not for trade to decide; what decides it is the character of the old mode of production itself. In the ancient world, the effect of trade and the growth of commercial capital always results in a slave economy; depending on the starting point, it may also result only in a patriarchal slave system, geared to producing the direct means of subsistence, being turned into one geared to producing surplus-value. In the modern world, by contrast, it ends in the capitalist mode of production. It follows from all this that these outcomes were themselves dependent on circumstances quite different from the growth of commercial capital.
Once town industry separates off from agriculture as a branch of its own, the things it makes are commodities right from the outset, and selling them therefore calls for trade to act as go-between. That trade leans on the growth of towns, and that the towns in turn are conditioned by trade, are to that extent self-evident.
But whether industrial development keeps step with all this depends entirely on other circumstances. Ancient Rome, already in its later republican period, had commercial capital on a larger scale than the ancient world had ever known before, and this with no progress in craft production at all. Corinth, and other Greek cities of Europe and Asia Minor, had a highly developed craft industry alongside the growth of trade. On the other side, in direct contrast to town development and its conditions, a commercial spirit and the growth of commercial capital are often the mark of peoples who are not settled at all, but nomadic.
There is no doubt about it — and it is precisely this fact that has bred some quite false views — that in the 16th and 17th centuries the great revolutions in trade that came with the geographical discoveries, and that rapidly increased the growth of commercial capital, were a main moment in moving the feudal mode of production over into the capitalist one. The world market's sudden expansion, the swelling flood of commodities in circulation, the race between the European nations for Asian goods and American treasure, the colonial system — all of these helped substantially to burst the feudal limits on production. But in its first period, the manufacturing period, the modern mode of production developed only where the conditions for it had grown up inside the middle ages. Compare Holland with Portugal, for instance.
And while in the 16th century, and partly still in the 17th, the sudden widening of trade and the creation of a new world market had a predominant influence on the fall of the old mode of production and the rise of the capitalist one, this worked the other way round once the capitalist mode of production had been created. The world market itself is the basis of this mode of production. On the other hand, the necessity immanent in it to produce on an ever greater scale drives it to expand the world market constantly, so that trade is not what revolutionizes industry here; industry is forever revolutionizing trade. Commercial domination, too, is now tied to the greater or lesser predominance of the conditions of large-scale industry. Compare England and Holland, for instance. Holland's fall from being the leading trading nation tells the story of how commercial capital was subordinated to industrial capital.
How firmly pre-capitalist national modes of production resist trade's dissolving action, given how solid they are and how well their parts hang together, comes out strikingly in the English dealings with India and China. The broad base of production there is the union of small-scale agriculture with domestic industry, and in India there is also the form of village communities resting on common ownership of the land — which was, incidentally, the original form in China as well. In India the English also used the political and economic power they held directly, as rulers and as receivers of ground-rent, to break these small economic communities apart. Where their trade does have a revolutionary effect on the mode of production, it does so only by destroying, through the cheapness of their goods, the spinning and weaving that had formed part of this union of industrial and agricultural work since ancient times — and so tearing the communities apart. Even here they manage this work of dissolution only very gradually. Still less so in China, where direct political power does not come to their aid. The great economy and saving of time that come from farming and manufacture being directly joined offer the most stubborn resistance here to the products of large-scale industry, in whose price there enter the faux frais — the incidental costs — of the circulation process that perforates them everywhere. By contrast, Russian trade leaves the economic basis of Asiatic production untouched.
The exit from feudal production takes two different shapes. Either the producer himself becomes a merchant and a capitalist — as against farming that produced for its own needs, and as against the guild-tied handicraft of medieval town industry. That is the way that really revolutionizes production.
Or else the merchant gets production directly into his own hands. However often this works historically as a transition — the English clothier of the seventeenth century, for instance, who brought the weavers under his control although they were independent, sold them the wool and bought the cloth back from them — it does not, by itself, bring about the overthrow of the old mode of production. It conserves that mode, rather, and holds on to it as its own precondition.
For the most part, this went on until roughly mid-century: in the French silk trade, and in English hosiery and lace, the man who counted as a manufacturer was, in most cases, one only on paper. He was really just a merchant, one who let the weavers carry on in their old, scattered way, and exercised no rule over them but a merchant's — it was for him, in fact, that they worked. This practice everywhere stands in the way of the genuine capitalist mode of production, and it goes under as that mode develops.
It does not overturn the way production is carried on; it only makes the position of the direct producers worse. It turns them into plain wage-labourers and proletarians, worse off than the workers directly subsumed under capital, and it appropriates their surplus labour on the basis of that old mode of production.
Much the same relation, a little modified, holds for part of London's furniture-making, which is still run on handicraft lines — in Tower Hamlets especially, where it is carried on very extensively. The work is split into a great many branches that are independent of one another. One business turns out chairs and nothing else, another only tables, a third only cupboards, and so on. But these businesses are themselves run more or less as handicraft, by a small master with a few journeymen. Their output is too large all the same for them to work directly for private customers. Their buyers are the owners of furniture stores. Every Saturday the master turns up at one of these stores to sell what he has made, and the haggling over the price goes on just as it does in a pawnshop over the sum advanced on some item. These masters depend on the weekly sale — if only so they can buy fresh material for next week and pay their journeymen. In these circumstances they are really nothing but go-betweens, standing between the merchant and the workers they employ. The merchant is the actual capitalist, and the greater part of the surplus-value lands in his pocket.
Something similar holds in the passage into manufacture out of branches that were formerly carried on as handicraft, or as sidelines of rural industry. Whether such a small owner-run business goes on to large-scale industry depends on the technical level it has reached — on whether it already uses machines that still allow a handicraft-style operation. The machine is then driven by steam instead of by hand, as has happened recently, for example, in the English hosiery trade.
So the transition takes three forms. First, the merchant becomes an industrialist outright — this is what happens in trades founded on commerce, luxury industries above all, where merchants bring in the raw materials and the workers together from abroad, as they came into Italy from Constantinople in the fifteenth century. Second, the merchant turns the small masters into his go-betweens (middlemen), or else buys directly from the producer who works on his own account; he leaves that producer nominally independent, and leaves his way of producing unchanged. Third, the industrialist turns merchant himself and starts producing directly, on a large scale, for trade.
In the Middle Ages the merchant is only someone who 'transferred' goods, as Poppe rightly says — goods produced by guild craftsmen, or by peasants. The merchant becomes an industrialist; or rather, he gets handicraft production, small rural industry above all, to work for him. On the other side, the producer becomes a merchant. Take the master cloth-weaver: instead of receiving his wool from the merchant bit by bit, in small portions, and working with his journeymen for that merchant, he now buys wool or yarn for himself and sells his cloth to the merchant. The elements of production enter the production process as commodities he has bought himself. And instead of producing for one particular merchant, or for particular customers, the cloth-weaver now produces for the whole world of trade. The producer is his own merchant. Commercial capital now does nothing but carry out the circulation process.
Trade was originally the precondition for turning guild handicraft, rural domestic craft and feudal agriculture into capitalist businesses. It develops the product into a commodity: in part by finding a market for it, in part by supplying new commodity equivalents and new raw and auxiliary materials to production, and so opening up branches of production that are founded on trade from the start — founded both on production for the market and the world market, and on conditions of production that come from the world market. Once manufacture grows at all strong, and still more once large-scale industry does, it creates its own market and conquers it with its commodities. At that point trade turns into industrial production's servant — and for industrial production the constant widening of the market is a condition of existence. An ever more extensive mass production floods the market that exists, and so keeps working at widening that market, at breaking through its limits. What sets a limit to this mass production is not trade (in so far as trade only gives expression to demand that already exists), but the size of the capital in operation and the productivity of labour that has been developed.
The industrial capitalist always has the world market before him; he compares, and must keep comparing, his own cost prices with market prices — not only at home, but across the whole world. In the earlier period this comparison fell almost exclusively to the merchants, and that is what secured commercial capital its mastery over industrial capital.
The first attempt to theorize the modern mode of production — mercantilism — necessarily took off from the surface appearances of circulation, in the shape they take on as something independent in the movement of commercial capital. So it seized only the semblance of things. Partly because commercial capital is capital's first free form of existence at all; partly because of the overwhelming influence it had in the first period of upheaval, when feudal production was overturned and modern production was coming into being. The real science of modern economics begins only where theory passes from the circulation process to the production process. Interest-bearing capital is, to be sure, an age-old form of capital too. But why mercantilism does not set out from it, and instead takes up a polemical relation to it, we shall see later.