This chapter's subject, like all the credit phenomena we'll get to later, can't be gone into in detail here. The competition between lenders and borrowers, and the short-term ups and downs in the money market that come from it, are outside what we're looking at. Tracing the path the rate of interest follows over the industrial cycle would mean first laying out that cycle itself, and that can't be done here either. The same goes for how far the rate of interest evens out, more or less, across the world market. All we're dealing with here is the independent shape interest-bearing capital takes, and the way interest becomes independent of profit.
Interest is only a part of profit — on what we've assumed so far, the part the industrial capitalist has to pay the money capitalist. So the maximum limit on interest would seem to be profit itself, the point where the functioning capitalist's share would be zero. Leaving aside particular cases where interest is actually bigger than profit, and so can't be paid out of profit at all, perhaps the maximum limit should really be counted as the whole profit minus the part of it that, as we'll see later, resolves into wages of superintendence. The minimum limit of interest, by contrast, is completely indeterminate. It could fall to any depth at all. But circumstances working the other way keep stepping in and pushing it back up above that relative minimum.
'The relation between the sum paid for the use of a capital and that capital itself gives the rate of interest, measured in money.' 'The rate of interest depends, first, on the rate of profit; second, on the proportion in which the total profit is divided between lender and borrower' (the Economist, 22 January 1853).
Massie's point is that what a borrower pays as interest for the use of a sum is a part of the profit that sum is capable of producing, so the interest must always be governed by that profit.
Assume for a moment that interest holds a fixed share of total profit. Then interest simply tracks profit, and profit tracks the average rate of profit as it rises and falls. Say that share is one fifth: at a profit rate of 20 per cent, interest is 4 per cent and the functioning capitalist keeps 16; at 35 per cent, interest is 7 per cent and he keeps 28. Different profit rates yield different rates of interest, but each time the same fixed fraction of total profit is being taken as interest. And because the fraction stays fixed, the higher the general rate of profit climbs, the bigger the absolute gap between total profit and interest grows — meaning the functioning capitalist's own share grows too, not just proportionally but in raw amount.
Set aside everything else and treat the ratio between interest and total profit as fairly stable. Then the functioning capitalist is both able and willing to pay a higher or lower interest in direct proportion to his rate of profit — and since, as we have seen, the level of the rate of profit stands in inverse proportion to the development of capitalist production, a country's higher or lower rate of interest stands in that same inverse proportion to its level of industrial development. But this only holds so far as a difference in interest rates actually reflects a difference in profit rates, and that turns out by no means always to be true, as we'll see later. Still, in this qualified sense, one can say profit governs interest — more exactly, the general rate of profit does — and that this holds even for the average rate of interest.
In any case, the average rate of profit is to be taken as the maximum limit that ultimately determines interest.
We'll look more closely in a moment at relating interest to the average profit. Where a given whole, like profit, has to be divided between two people, what matters first is naturally the size of the whole being divided, and that — the size of the profit — is set by its average rate. Take the general rate of profit, and so the size of profit on a capital of a given size, say 100, as given: then variations in interest plainly run inversely to variations in the share of profit left to the functioning capitalist who works with borrowed capital. And the circumstances that set the size of the profit to be shared out — the value produced by unpaid labour — are very different from the circumstances that set how it's divided between these two kinds of capitalist, and often pull in quite opposite directions.
Looking at the turnover cycles modern industry moves through — calm, growing activity, prosperity, overproduction, crash, stagnation, calm again, and so on, cycles whose further analysis falls outside what we're looking at here — one finds that a low rate of interest generally corresponds to periods of prosperity or extra profit, a rising rate of interest to the turning point between prosperity and its collapse, and the maximum rate of interest, up to the harshest usury, to crisis. From summer 1843 there was a decided prosperity; the rate of interest, still 4 1/2 per cent in spring 1842, fell in spring and summer 1843 to 2 per cent, and in September even to 1 1/2 per cent; then during the 1847 crisis it rose to 8 per cent and more.
Still, on the other hand, low interest can go together with stagnation, and a moderately rising interest with growing activity.
The rate of interest reaches its highest point during crises, when people have to borrow to pay, whatever it costs. And since a rise in interest corresponds to a fall in the price of securities, this is at the same time a very handy opportunity for people with money capital available to snap up such interest-bearing securities at give-away prices — securities that, in the normal course of things, must climb back to at least their average price once the rate of interest falls again.
But there is also a tendency for the rate of interest to fall that is quite independent of any swings in the rate of profit. And it has two main causes:
I. 'Even supposing that capital were never borrowed except for productive investment, it is still possible for the rate of interest to shift without any shift at all in the rate of gross profit. For as a nation advances in the growth of wealth, a class of people keeps arising and growing who, through the work of their forebears, find themselves holding funds ample enough to live handsomely on the interest alone. Many others, too, who were active in business in their youth and prime, withdraw to live quietly in old age on the interest of the sums they themselves have accumulated. Both these classes tend to grow along with the country's growing wealth, since those who start out with a moderate capital reach an independent fortune more easily than those who start with little. So in old, rich countries, the part of the national capital whose owners do not want to put it to work themselves makes up a larger share of the society's whole productive capital than it does in newly settled, poorer countries. How numerous the class of rentiers is in England! And as the class of rentiers grows, so does the class of lenders of capital — for they are one and the same' (Ramsay).
II. The growth of the credit system, and with it the ever-growing hold that industrialists and merchants gain, through the bankers, over the money savings of every class in society, together with the advancing concentration of those savings into the sums that let them work as money capital — this too is bound to press the rate of interest down. More on this later.
On what fixes the rate of interest, Ramsay says it 'depends partly on the rate of gross profit, partly on the proportion in which that profit is divided into interest and profits of enterprise. This proportion depends on the competition between lenders and borrowers of capital; and that competition is influenced, but not exclusively governed, by the expected rate of gross profit. It is not exclusively governed by this, because on the one hand many people borrow with no intention at all of productive investment, and on the other hand the size of the whole loanable capital varies with the wealth of the country, independently of any change in gross profit' (Ramsay).
To work out the average rate of interest, you need two things: the average interest rate across the big ups and downs of the industrial cycle, and the rate charged on longer-term loans.
The average rate of interest that prevails in a country — as opposed to the market rate, which keeps shifting — cannot be fixed by any law. There is no natural rate of interest in the sense economists mean when they speak of a natural rate of profit or a natural rate of wages. Massie already put this exactly right:
The only real question, Massie said, is what share of these profits rightfully belongs to the borrower and what share to the lender; and there is no way to settle that except by the opinions of borrowers and lenders generally — because right and wrong here are simply whatever common consent makes them.
Demand and supply balancing out — even granting the average rate of profit as a starting point — means nothing at all here. Elsewhere that method is useful: it points past the surface of competition to the underlying rule that competition doesn't set but is instead governed by, and it lets someone caught up in the day-to-day of competition glimpse, however roughly, the real connection running underneath it. It is a way of getting from the ups and downs that go with competition to the outer limits of those ups and downs.
Not so with the average rate of interest. There is no reason at all why the ordinary give-and-take between lender and borrower should settle on, say, 3, 4 or 5 per cent, or on some fixed share — 20 or 50 per cent — of the gross profit. Where competition alone is doing the deciding, the outcome is simply accidental, a purely empirical matter; only pedantry or fantasy would try to dress up that accident as something necessary. Custom and legal tradition have just as much to do with fixing the average rate as competition itself does, at least once that rate is more than a statistical average and becomes an actual, going figure — courts even have to assume some average rate of interest as the legal one whenever interest has to be reckoned.
So why can the limits of the average rate not be derived from any general law? The answer lies simply in what interest is. It is only a part of the average profit. The same capital shows up in two capacities at once — as capital lent out, in the lender's hands, and as industrial or commercial capital, in the hands of the capitalist who actually puts it to work. But it functions, and produces profit, only once. Whether it counts as loan capital makes no difference inside the production process itself. How the two people with a claim on that one profit actually divide it between them is, as it stands, exactly as much a matter of chance and empirical fact as how partners divide up the shares of a joint business's profit.
Compare this with the division between surplus-value and wages, which is what mainly decides the rate of profit in the first place: there, two genuinely different elements are at work — labour-power and capital — each an independent variable setting limits on the other, and it is their qualitative difference that produces the quantitative split of the value they produce between them. The same holds, as we shall see later, for the division of surplus-value between rent and profit. With interest, nothing of the kind happens. Here the qualitative distinction — as we are about to see — runs the other way round: it comes FROM a purely quantitative split of one and the same piece of surplus-value.
So: there is no 'natural' rate of interest. And yet, set against that: while no general law can fix the limits of the average or middling rate of interest — as distinct from the constantly shifting market rate — because all that is really going on is a split of the gross profit between two people who hold capital under different titles, the rate of interest, whether the average rate or the going market rate, appears, conversely, as something quite unlike the general rate of profit: a uniform, definite, palpable magnitude.
The rate of interest relates to the rate of profit rather as a commodity's market price relates to its value. Where the rate of interest is determined by the rate of profit at all, it is always by the general rate of profit — never by whatever specific rate happens to prevail in some particular branch of industry, and still less by the extra profit an individual capitalist might make in some particular line of business. So the general rate of profit does reappear in the average rate of interest as an empirical, given fact — though the average rate of interest is not a pure or reliable expression of it.
It is true that the rate of interest itself is always different depending on the class of security the borrower offers and on how long the loan runs. But within each of those classes it is uniform at any given moment. So this variation does not undermine the fixed, uniform character of the rate of interest.
In any country the average rate of interest appears, over long stretches, as a constant figure. That's not because interest follows some law of its own — it's because the general rate of profit itself only shifts slowly. The particular rates of profit in different branches keep changing all the time, but a change in one branch is offset by an opposite change in another, so the general rate barely moves over the long run. And it is exactly this fairly constant character of the general profit rate that shows up as the fairly constant character of the average, or common, rate of interest.
The market rate of interest is different: it keeps fluctuating, but at any given moment it stands as a fixed figure, the way a commodity's market price does. Why? Because on the money market, all the capital available to be lent confronts the capital actually at work as one single combined mass — so the balance between the supply of loanable capital on one side and the demand for it on the other settles the going rate of interest at that moment. And the more credit develops and concentrates, the more loanable capital takes on this general, social character and gets thrown onto the money market all at once, in one lump.
The general rate of profit is nothing like this. It only ever exists as a tendency — as the ongoing movement by which the particular rates of profit in different branches get levelled toward each other. This levelling is what the competition of capitalists actually consists of here: capitalists gradually pull capital out of branches where profit has stayed below average for a long time, and gradually pour it into branches where profit has stayed above average; or they divide up new capital between these branches in varying proportions. Here there is constant back-and-forth — capital flowing in and being drawn out between these different branches — but never that single, simultaneous, mass-scale movement you get when the rate of interest is being set.
We have seen that interest-bearing capital, though it belongs to a completely different category from an ordinary commodity, becomes a commodity of its own special kind — and that is why interest is its price, fixed at every moment by supply and demand, exactly the way an ordinary commodity's market price is. So the market rate of interest, even though it never stops moving, still shows up at any given moment looking just as fixed and uniform as a commodity's momentary market price. The money capitalists supply this commodity; the functioning capitalists buy it — they are its demand.
None of this happens when particular rates of profit get levelled to the general rate. If the prices of goods in some branch sit below or above their price of production — leaving aside the swings tied to a particular business or to the industrial cycle — the levelling happens by production expanding or shrinking, that is, by more or fewer goods being thrown on the market, which comes about as capital moves into or out of that branch. It is this levelling of average market prices down or up to prices of production that corrects the gap between a branch's own rate of profit and the general, average rate. But this process never looks like, and never can look like, industrial or commercial capital itself standing there as a commodity before a buyer, the way interest-bearing capital does. So far as it shows itself at all, it shows itself only in the swings and levellings that bring market prices of goods into line with prices of production — never as a direct fixing of the average profit.
The general rate of profit is actually fixed by: first, the surplus-value the total capital produces; second, the ratio of that surplus-value to the value of the total capital; and third, competition — but only so far as competition is the movement through which capitals invested in particular branches try to draw an equal share of that surplus-value, in proportion to their own size. So the general rate of profit gets its determination from grounds quite different from, and far more complicated than, the market rate of interest, which is fixed directly and immediately by supply and demand — and that is why it is not a plain, given fact the way the rate of interest is. The particular rates of profit in the different branches are themselves more or less uncertain; but so far as they do show themselves, what shows is not how alike they are but how much they differ. And the general rate of profit itself never shows up as an actual, directly visible shape of the real rate of profit — it appears only as a floor beneath profit.
In drawing out this difference between the rate of interest and the rate of profit, we have so far left aside two more things that help keep the rate of interest steady. First, interest-bearing capital already existed in earlier times, and there is a general rate of interest handed down by tradition. Second, the world market has a much more direct influence on fixing the rate of interest — independent of any one country's own conditions of production — than it has on the rate of profit.
Average profit is never simply given; it only turns up as the end result of working out how opposing swings cancel each other out — and that takes investigation. The rate of interest is different. Wherever it holds generally, even just for one place, it is a fact fixed fresh every day, a fact that industrial and commercial capital actually build into their calculations as a given, a starting point. It becomes a plain property of any sum of £100 that it will bring in 2, 3, 4, or 5 per cent. Weather reports do not record the barometer and thermometer more exactly than stock-market reports record the rate of interest — not for this or that particular sum of capital, but for loanable capital as such, capital on the money market generally.
On the money market only lenders and borrowers face each other. The commodity has one and the same form: money. Every particular shape capital can take — depending on which branch of production or circulation it is invested in — is wiped out here. Capital exists here purely as value on its own account, in money's undifferentiated, self-identical form. The competition between particular branches stops here too: they are all lumped together simply as borrowers of money, and capital confronts every one of them in a form that is still indifferent to just how it will actually be used.
What industrial capital only appears as through the movement and competition among the particular branches — the common capital of the class, in principle — capital here really is that, in weight and mass, in the demand and supply for capital. And money capital on the money market really does take the form in which, as a shared element indifferent to its particular use, it gets distributed among the different branches, among the capitalist class, according to what each branch's production actually needs. On top of this, as large-scale industry develops, money capital, so far as it shows up on the market at all, is less and less represented by the individual capitalist who owns this or that slice of the capital that is out there — more and more it turns up as a concentrated, organized mass, placed under the control of bankers who represent the capital of society, in a way quite unlike anything in actual production itself. So on the demand side, loanable capital is confronted by the sheer weight of a whole class; and on the supply side, it itself shows up en masse as loan capital.
These are some of the reasons why the general rate of profit looks like a blurred, hazy picture standing next to the sharply fixed rate of interest — a rate that does move up and down in size, but because it moves the same way for every borrower, it always confronts them as something fixed and given. It is much like the way money's own value can change without stopping it from having the same value against every commodity; or the way market prices of goods change every day without stopping the daily reports from quoting them. It is exactly the same with the rate of interest, which gets quoted just as regularly as the 'price of money'. That is because here capital itself, in money form, is offered as a commodity; fixing its price is simply fixing its market price, the way it is fixed for every other commodity — so the rate of interest always presents itself as a general rate, so much for so much money, a plain quantity.
The rate of profit is nothing like that. It can differ even within one and the same branch, at the very same market price, depending on the different conditions under which individual capitals produce the same good — because the rate of profit on an individual capital is not set by the market price of the good at all, but by the gap between the market price and the cost price. And these different rates of profit — first within one branch, then between different branches — can only ever be levelled out through constant fluctuation.
(A note for working out later.) A particular form of credit. As we know, when money serves as a means of payment rather than a means of purchase, the goods change hands first and their value is only realized later. If payment only happens after the goods have been resold, then that resale does not look like a consequence of the purchase — rather, it is the sale that makes the purchase real. The sale, in other words, becomes a way of buying.
Second: certificates of debt, bills of exchange, and the like become means of payment for the creditor.
Third: settling debt certificates against each other takes the place of money.
This chapter's subject, like all the credit phenomena we'll get to later, can't be gone into in detail here. The competition between lenders and borrowers, and the short-term ups and downs in the money market that come from it, are outside what we're looking at. Tracing the path the rate of interest follows over the industrial cycle would mean first laying out that cycle itself, and that can't be done here either. The same goes for how far the rate of interest evens out, more or less, across the world market. All we're dealing with here is the independent shape interest-bearing capital takes, and the way interest becomes independent of profit.
Interest is only a part of profit — on what we've assumed so far, the part the industrial capitalist has to pay the money capitalist. So the maximum limit on interest would seem to be profit itself, the point where the functioning capitalist's share would be zero. Leaving aside particular cases where interest is actually bigger than profit, and so can't be paid out of profit at all, perhaps the maximum limit should really be counted as the whole profit minus the part of it that, as we'll see later, resolves into wages of superintendence. The minimum limit of interest, by contrast, is completely indeterminate. It could fall to any depth at all. But circumstances working the other way keep stepping in and pushing it back up above that relative minimum.
'The relation between the sum paid for the use of a capital and that capital itself gives the rate of interest, measured in money.' 'The rate of interest depends, first, on the rate of profit; second, on the proportion in which the total profit is divided between lender and borrower' (the Economist, 22 January 1853).
Massie's point is that what a borrower pays as interest for the use of a sum is a part of the profit that sum is capable of producing, so the interest must always be governed by that profit.
Assume for a moment that interest holds a fixed share of total profit. Then interest simply tracks profit, and profit tracks the average rate of profit as it rises and falls. Say that share is one fifth: at a profit rate of 20 per cent, interest is 4 per cent and the functioning capitalist keeps 16; at 35 per cent, interest is 7 per cent and he keeps 28. Different profit rates yield different rates of interest, but each time the same fixed fraction of total profit is being taken as interest. And because the fraction stays fixed, the higher the general rate of profit climbs, the bigger the absolute gap between total profit and interest grows — meaning the functioning capitalist's own share grows too, not just proportionally but in raw amount.
Set aside everything else and treat the ratio between interest and total profit as fairly stable. Then the functioning capitalist is both able and willing to pay a higher or lower interest in direct proportion to his rate of profit — and since, as we have seen, the level of the rate of profit stands in inverse proportion to the development of capitalist production, a country's higher or lower rate of interest stands in that same inverse proportion to its level of industrial development. But this only holds so far as a difference in interest rates actually reflects a difference in profit rates, and that turns out by no means always to be true, as we'll see later. Still, in this qualified sense, one can say profit governs interest — more exactly, the general rate of profit does — and that this holds even for the average rate of interest.
In any case, the average rate of profit is to be taken as the maximum limit that ultimately determines interest.
We'll look more closely in a moment at relating interest to the average profit. Where a given whole, like profit, has to be divided between two people, what matters first is naturally the size of the whole being divided, and that — the size of the profit — is set by its average rate. Take the general rate of profit, and so the size of profit on a capital of a given size, say 100, as given: then variations in interest plainly run inversely to variations in the share of profit left to the functioning capitalist who works with borrowed capital. And the circumstances that set the size of the profit to be shared out — the value produced by unpaid labour — are very different from the circumstances that set how it's divided between these two kinds of capitalist, and often pull in quite opposite directions.
Looking at the turnover cycles modern industry moves through — calm, growing activity, prosperity, overproduction, crash, stagnation, calm again, and so on, cycles whose further analysis falls outside what we're looking at here — one finds that a low rate of interest generally corresponds to periods of prosperity or extra profit, a rising rate of interest to the turning point between prosperity and its collapse, and the maximum rate of interest, up to the harshest usury, to crisis. From summer 1843 there was a decided prosperity; the rate of interest, still 4 1/2 per cent in spring 1842, fell in spring and summer 1843 to 2 per cent, and in September even to 1 1/2 per cent; then during the 1847 crisis it rose to 8 per cent and more.
Still, on the other hand, low interest can go together with stagnation, and a moderately rising interest with growing activity.
The rate of interest reaches its highest point during crises, when people have to borrow to pay, whatever it costs. And since a rise in interest corresponds to a fall in the price of securities, this is at the same time a very handy opportunity for people with money capital available to snap up such interest-bearing securities at give-away prices — securities that, in the normal course of things, must climb back to at least their average price once the rate of interest falls again.
But there is also a tendency for the rate of interest to fall that is quite independent of any swings in the rate of profit. And it has two main causes:
I. 'Even supposing that capital were never borrowed except for productive investment, it is still possible for the rate of interest to shift without any shift at all in the rate of gross profit. For as a nation advances in the growth of wealth, a class of people keeps arising and growing who, through the work of their forebears, find themselves holding funds ample enough to live handsomely on the interest alone. Many others, too, who were active in business in their youth and prime, withdraw to live quietly in old age on the interest of the sums they themselves have accumulated. Both these classes tend to grow along with the country's growing wealth, since those who start out with a moderate capital reach an independent fortune more easily than those who start with little. So in old, rich countries, the part of the national capital whose owners do not want to put it to work themselves makes up a larger share of the society's whole productive capital than it does in newly settled, poorer countries. How numerous the class of rentiers is in England! And as the class of rentiers grows, so does the class of lenders of capital — for they are one and the same' (Ramsay).
II. The growth of the credit system, and with it the ever-growing hold that industrialists and merchants gain, through the bankers, over the money savings of every class in society, together with the advancing concentration of those savings into the sums that let them work as money capital — this too is bound to press the rate of interest down. More on this later.
On what fixes the rate of interest, Ramsay says it 'depends partly on the rate of gross profit, partly on the proportion in which that profit is divided into interest and profits of enterprise. This proportion depends on the competition between lenders and borrowers of capital; and that competition is influenced, but not exclusively governed, by the expected rate of gross profit. It is not exclusively governed by this, because on the one hand many people borrow with no intention at all of productive investment, and on the other hand the size of the whole loanable capital varies with the wealth of the country, independently of any change in gross profit' (Ramsay).
To work out the average rate of interest, you need two things: the average interest rate across the big ups and downs of the industrial cycle, and the rate charged on longer-term loans.
The average rate of interest that prevails in a country — as opposed to the market rate, which keeps shifting — cannot be fixed by any law. There is no natural rate of interest in the sense economists mean when they speak of a natural rate of profit or a natural rate of wages. Massie already put this exactly right:
The only real question, Massie said, is what share of these profits rightfully belongs to the borrower and what share to the lender; and there is no way to settle that except by the opinions of borrowers and lenders generally — because right and wrong here are simply whatever common consent makes them.
Demand and supply balancing out — even granting the average rate of profit as a starting point — means nothing at all here. Elsewhere that method is useful: it points past the surface of competition to the underlying rule that competition doesn't set but is instead governed by, and it lets someone caught up in the day-to-day of competition glimpse, however roughly, the real connection running underneath it. It is a way of getting from the ups and downs that go with competition to the outer limits of those ups and downs.
Not so with the average rate of interest. There is no reason at all why the ordinary give-and-take between lender and borrower should settle on, say, 3, 4 or 5 per cent, or on some fixed share — 20 or 50 per cent — of the gross profit. Where competition alone is doing the deciding, the outcome is simply accidental, a purely empirical matter; only pedantry or fantasy would try to dress up that accident as something necessary. Custom and legal tradition have just as much to do with fixing the average rate as competition itself does, at least once that rate is more than a statistical average and becomes an actual, going figure — courts even have to assume some average rate of interest as the legal one whenever interest has to be reckoned.
So why can the limits of the average rate not be derived from any general law? The answer lies simply in what interest is. It is only a part of the average profit. The same capital shows up in two capacities at once — as capital lent out, in the lender's hands, and as industrial or commercial capital, in the hands of the capitalist who actually puts it to work. But it functions, and produces profit, only once. Whether it counts as loan capital makes no difference inside the production process itself. How the two people with a claim on that one profit actually divide it between them is, as it stands, exactly as much a matter of chance and empirical fact as how partners divide up the shares of a joint business's profit.
Compare this with the division between surplus-value and wages, which is what mainly decides the rate of profit in the first place: there, two genuinely different elements are at work — labour-power and capital — each an independent variable setting limits on the other, and it is their qualitative difference that produces the quantitative split of the value they produce between them. The same holds, as we shall see later, for the division of surplus-value between rent and profit. With interest, nothing of the kind happens. Here the qualitative distinction — as we are about to see — runs the other way round: it comes FROM a purely quantitative split of one and the same piece of surplus-value.
So: there is no 'natural' rate of interest. And yet, set against that: while no general law can fix the limits of the average or middling rate of interest — as distinct from the constantly shifting market rate — because all that is really going on is a split of the gross profit between two people who hold capital under different titles, the rate of interest, whether the average rate or the going market rate, appears, conversely, as something quite unlike the general rate of profit: a uniform, definite, palpable magnitude.
The rate of interest relates to the rate of profit rather as a commodity's market price relates to its value. Where the rate of interest is determined by the rate of profit at all, it is always by the general rate of profit — never by whatever specific rate happens to prevail in some particular branch of industry, and still less by the extra profit an individual capitalist might make in some particular line of business. So the general rate of profit does reappear in the average rate of interest as an empirical, given fact — though the average rate of interest is not a pure or reliable expression of it.
It is true that the rate of interest itself is always different depending on the class of security the borrower offers and on how long the loan runs. But within each of those classes it is uniform at any given moment. So this variation does not undermine the fixed, uniform character of the rate of interest.
In any country the average rate of interest appears, over long stretches, as a constant figure. That's not because interest follows some law of its own — it's because the general rate of profit itself only shifts slowly. The particular rates of profit in different branches keep changing all the time, but a change in one branch is offset by an opposite change in another, so the general rate barely moves over the long run. And it is exactly this fairly constant character of the general profit rate that shows up as the fairly constant character of the average, or common, rate of interest.
The market rate of interest is different: it keeps fluctuating, but at any given moment it stands as a fixed figure, the way a commodity's market price does. Why? Because on the money market, all the capital available to be lent confronts the capital actually at work as one single combined mass — so the balance between the supply of loanable capital on one side and the demand for it on the other settles the going rate of interest at that moment. And the more credit develops and concentrates, the more loanable capital takes on this general, social character and gets thrown onto the money market all at once, in one lump.
The general rate of profit is nothing like this. It only ever exists as a tendency — as the ongoing movement by which the particular rates of profit in different branches get levelled toward each other. This levelling is what the competition of capitalists actually consists of here: capitalists gradually pull capital out of branches where profit has stayed below average for a long time, and gradually pour it into branches where profit has stayed above average; or they divide up new capital between these branches in varying proportions. Here there is constant back-and-forth — capital flowing in and being drawn out between these different branches — but never that single, simultaneous, mass-scale movement you get when the rate of interest is being set.
We have seen that interest-bearing capital, though it belongs to a completely different category from an ordinary commodity, becomes a commodity of its own special kind — and that is why interest is its price, fixed at every moment by supply and demand, exactly the way an ordinary commodity's market price is. So the market rate of interest, even though it never stops moving, still shows up at any given moment looking just as fixed and uniform as a commodity's momentary market price. The money capitalists supply this commodity; the functioning capitalists buy it — they are its demand.
None of this happens when particular rates of profit get levelled to the general rate. If the prices of goods in some branch sit below or above their price of production — leaving aside the swings tied to a particular business or to the industrial cycle — the levelling happens by production expanding or shrinking, that is, by more or fewer goods being thrown on the market, which comes about as capital moves into or out of that branch. It is this levelling of average market prices down or up to prices of production that corrects the gap between a branch's own rate of profit and the general, average rate. But this process never looks like, and never can look like, industrial or commercial capital itself standing there as a commodity before a buyer, the way interest-bearing capital does. So far as it shows itself at all, it shows itself only in the swings and levellings that bring market prices of goods into line with prices of production — never as a direct fixing of the average profit.
The general rate of profit is actually fixed by: first, the surplus-value the total capital produces; second, the ratio of that surplus-value to the value of the total capital; and third, competition — but only so far as competition is the movement through which capitals invested in particular branches try to draw an equal share of that surplus-value, in proportion to their own size. So the general rate of profit gets its determination from grounds quite different from, and far more complicated than, the market rate of interest, which is fixed directly and immediately by supply and demand — and that is why it is not a plain, given fact the way the rate of interest is. The particular rates of profit in the different branches are themselves more or less uncertain; but so far as they do show themselves, what shows is not how alike they are but how much they differ. And the general rate of profit itself never shows up as an actual, directly visible shape of the real rate of profit — it appears only as a floor beneath profit.
In drawing out this difference between the rate of interest and the rate of profit, we have so far left aside two more things that help keep the rate of interest steady. First, interest-bearing capital already existed in earlier times, and there is a general rate of interest handed down by tradition. Second, the world market has a much more direct influence on fixing the rate of interest — independent of any one country's own conditions of production — than it has on the rate of profit.
Average profit is never simply given; it only turns up as the end result of working out how opposing swings cancel each other out — and that takes investigation. The rate of interest is different. Wherever it holds generally, even just for one place, it is a fact fixed fresh every day, a fact that industrial and commercial capital actually build into their calculations as a given, a starting point. It becomes a plain property of any sum of £100 that it will bring in 2, 3, 4, or 5 per cent. Weather reports do not record the barometer and thermometer more exactly than stock-market reports record the rate of interest — not for this or that particular sum of capital, but for loanable capital as such, capital on the money market generally.
On the money market only lenders and borrowers face each other. The commodity has one and the same form: money. Every particular shape capital can take — depending on which branch of production or circulation it is invested in — is wiped out here. Capital exists here purely as value on its own account, in money's undifferentiated, self-identical form. The competition between particular branches stops here too: they are all lumped together simply as borrowers of money, and capital confronts every one of them in a form that is still indifferent to just how it will actually be used.
What industrial capital only appears as through the movement and competition among the particular branches — the common capital of the class, in principle — capital here really is that, in weight and mass, in the demand and supply for capital. And money capital on the money market really does take the form in which, as a shared element indifferent to its particular use, it gets distributed among the different branches, among the capitalist class, according to what each branch's production actually needs. On top of this, as large-scale industry develops, money capital, so far as it shows up on the market at all, is less and less represented by the individual capitalist who owns this or that slice of the capital that is out there — more and more it turns up as a concentrated, organized mass, placed under the control of bankers who represent the capital of society, in a way quite unlike anything in actual production itself. So on the demand side, loanable capital is confronted by the sheer weight of a whole class; and on the supply side, it itself shows up en masse as loan capital.
These are some of the reasons why the general rate of profit looks like a blurred, hazy picture standing next to the sharply fixed rate of interest — a rate that does move up and down in size, but because it moves the same way for every borrower, it always confronts them as something fixed and given. It is much like the way money's own value can change without stopping it from having the same value against every commodity; or the way market prices of goods change every day without stopping the daily reports from quoting them. It is exactly the same with the rate of interest, which gets quoted just as regularly as the 'price of money'. That is because here capital itself, in money form, is offered as a commodity; fixing its price is simply fixing its market price, the way it is fixed for every other commodity — so the rate of interest always presents itself as a general rate, so much for so much money, a plain quantity.
The rate of profit is nothing like that. It can differ even within one and the same branch, at the very same market price, depending on the different conditions under which individual capitals produce the same good — because the rate of profit on an individual capital is not set by the market price of the good at all, but by the gap between the market price and the cost price. And these different rates of profit — first within one branch, then between different branches — can only ever be levelled out through constant fluctuation.
(A note for working out later.) A particular form of credit. As we know, when money serves as a means of payment rather than a means of purchase, the goods change hands first and their value is only realized later. If payment only happens after the goods have been resold, then that resale does not look like a consequence of the purchase — rather, it is the sale that makes the purchase real. The sale, in other words, becomes a way of buying.
Second: certificates of debt, bills of exchange, and the like become means of payment for the creditor.
Third: settling debt certificates against each other takes the place of money.