We now need to look more closely at what banking capital is actually made of.
We have just seen how Fullarton and others take the difference between money as a means of circulation and money as a means of payment — and also as world money, where a drain of gold is at issue — and turn it into a difference between circulation ('currency') and capital.
Capital plays such a strange role here that the two sides mirror each other. Enlightened economics took great pains to drive it home that money is not capital. This banker's economics takes just as much pains to drive it home that money really is capital par excellence.
In the investigations that come later we show that what happens here is a confusion of money capital with moneyed capital, in the sense of interest-bearing capital. Money capital in that first sense is always no more than one transitional form of capital, different from capital's other forms, commodity capital and productive capital.
Banking capital consists of: (1) cash, gold or notes; (2) securities. The securities fall into two groups again. First, commercial paper — bills of exchange that are still outstanding, falling due from time to time, and whose discounting is the banker's real business. Second, public securities — government bonds, treasury bills, shares of every kind, in short interest-bearing paper, which is essentially different from bills of exchange. Mortgages can be counted in here too. The capital put together out of these tangible parts then divides again into the banker's own invested capital and the deposits that make up his banking capital, or borrowed capital. Banks that issue notes have notes on top of that. We leave deposits and notes aside for the moment.
One thing is clear: it makes no difference to what the banker's capital actually consists of — money, bills, interest-bearing paper — whether these various elements represent his own capital or deposits, the capital of other people. The same division would still hold if he ran his business with his own capital alone, or only with capital deposited with him.
The form of interest-bearing capital brings it about that any definite and regular money revenue appears as the interest on a capital, whether it springs from a capital or not. First the money income is turned into interest, and once we have the interest, we also have the capital it springs from. In the same way, with interest-bearing capital, any sum of value appears as capital as soon as it is not spent as revenue; it appears as the principal, in contrast to the possible or actual interest it can bear.
The matter is simple. Suppose the average rate of interest is 5 per cent a year. A sum of £500, turned into interest-bearing capital, would then bring in £25 a year. So any fixed annual income of £25 is taken as the interest on a capital of £500. But this is and remains a purely illusory notion — except in one case: where the source of the £25 is directly transferable, or takes a form in which it becomes transferable, whether that source is a mere title of ownership or a claim, or an actual element of production such as a piece of land. Let us take the national debt and wages as our examples.
The state has to pay its creditors a certain amount of interest every year for the capital it borrows. The creditor here cannot give notice to his debtor; he can only sell the claim, his title of ownership over it. The capital itself has been eaten up, spent by the state. It no longer exists. What the state's creditor holds is, first, a promissory note on the state, say for £100. Second, this note gives him a claim on the state's annual revenue, that is, on the year's product of the taxes, for a certain amount, say £5 or 5 per cent. Third, he can sell this note to anyone he likes. If the rate of interest is 5 per cent, and the state's security is assumed, then the holder A can as a rule sell the note to B for £100; for it comes to the same thing for B whether he lends out £100 at 5 per cent a year, or whether by paying out £100 he secures himself an annual tribute from the state of £5.
But in all these cases the capital whose offshoot — its interest — the state's payment is taken to be remains illusory, fictitious capital. It is not only that the sum lent to the state no longer exists at all. It was never intended at any point to be spent and invested as capital, and only by being invested as capital could it have been turned into a value that maintains itself. For the original creditor A, the share of the annual tax that falls to him represents interest on his capital, just as for the usurer the share of the spendthrift's wealth that falls to him does — although in neither case was the money sum lent spent as capital. For A, the possibility of selling the note on the state represents the possible return of his principal. As for B, from his own private standpoint his capital is invested as interest-bearing capital. In substance he has merely stepped into A's place and bought A's claim on the state.
However much these transactions multiply, the capital of the national debt remains a purely fictitious one, and from the moment the notes became unsaleable, the semblance of this capital would fall away. All the same, as we shall see shortly, this fictitious capital has a movement of its own.
In contrast to the capital of the national debt, where a minus appears as capital — interest-bearing capital being the mother of every crazy form, so that debts, for instance, can appear in the banker's mind as commodities — let us now look at labour-power. Here the wage is conceived as interest, and so labour-power is conceived as the capital that throws off this interest. If, for example, a year's wage is £50, and the rate of interest stands at 5 per cent, then one year's labour-power counts as equal to a capital of £1,000. The madness of the capitalist way of conceiving things reaches its peak here: instead of explaining the valorization of capital out of the exploitation of labour-power, the productivity of labour-power is explained the other way round, by the fact that labour-power itself is this mystical thing, interest-bearing capital. In the second half of the seventeenth century (in one writer of the period, for example) this was a favourite notion, but it is used in all seriousness today as well, partly by vulgar economists and mainly by German statisticians.
Unfortunately two circumstances cut disagreeably across this thoughtless notion. First, the worker has to work in order to get this interest. Second, he cannot turn the capital value of his labour-power into money by transferring it. Rather, the annual value of his labour-power equals his average annual wage, and what he has to replace to its buyer through his labour is this value itself plus the surplus-value, the valorization of that value. Under the slave system the worker does have a capital value, namely his purchase price. And when he is hired out, the hirer has first to pay the interest on the purchase price and on top of that to replace the annual depreciation of the capital.
The formation of fictitious capital is called capitalizing. Any regularly repeating income is capitalized by reckoning it, at the average rate of interest, as the yield that a capital lent out at this rate would bring in. For example, if the annual income is £100 and the rate of interest 5 per cent, then the £100 would be the annual interest on £2,000, and this £2,000 now counts as the capital value of the legal title of ownership to that annual £100. For the person who buys this title of ownership, the annual £100 then does in fact represent the interest on the capital he has invested at 5 per cent. In this way every connection with the real valorization process of capital is lost, right down to the last trace, and the notion of capital as an automaton that valorizes itself out of itself takes firm hold.
Even where the promissory note — the security — does not represent purely illusory capital, as it does with the national debt, the capital value of this paper is purely illusory. We saw just now how the credit system produces joint-stock capital. The securities count as titles of ownership representing this capital. The shares of railway, mining, shipping and other companies represent real capital, namely the capital invested and functioning in these enterprises, or the sum of money advanced by the shareholders to be spent as capital in such enterprises. This in no way rules out their also representing nothing but swindle. But this capital does not exist twice: once as the capital value of the ownership titles, the shares, and once again as the capital really invested or still to be invested in those enterprises. It exists only in that latter form, and the share is nothing but a title of ownership, pro rata, to the surplus-value that this capital is to realize. A may sell this title to B, and B to C. These transactions change nothing in the nature of the matter. A or B has then turned his title into capital, while C has turned his capital into a mere title of ownership to the surplus-value to be expected from that share capital.
The value of these ownership titles moves on its own — and not only the value of government bonds but of shares too. That confirms the illusion that they are real capital standing beside the capital, or the claim, that they may give title to. They turn into commodities, and the price of a commodity like this has a movement and a fixing of its own. Its market value is set by something other than its nominal value, and none of this requires any change in the value of the real capital — though how that capital is valorized may change.
For one thing, the market value swings with how high and how secure the receipts are that the title gives a legal claim to. Suppose a share's nominal value — the sum paid in, which the share originally stands for — is £100, and the undertaking yields 10 per cent instead of 5 per cent. Other things equal, and with the rate of interest at 5 per cent, its market value then rises to 200, since capitalized at 5 per cent it now stands for a fictitious capital of £200. Whoever buys it at £200 gets a revenue of 5 per cent on that investment. The opposite happens when the undertaking's revenue falls away. The market value of these papers is partly speculative, since it is fixed not only by the revenue actually coming in but by the revenue expected, reckoned up in advance.
Take the valorization of the real capital as constant, though — or, where no capital exists at all, as with state debts, take the yearly yield as fixed by law and otherwise secure enough — and then the price of these securities rises and falls in the opposite direction to the rate of interest. Let the rate rise from 5 to 10 per cent, and a security that guarantees a yield of £5 now stands for a capital of only £50. Let it fall to 2 1/2 per cent, and the same security stands for a capital of £200. Its value is always only the capitalized yield — the yield reckoned up on an illusory capital at the going rate of interest.
In times of squeeze in the money market, these securities therefore fall in price twice over: first, because the rate of interest rises, and second, because they are thrown on the market in masses to be turned into money. That fall comes about regardless of whether the yield the papers guarantee their owner is constant, as with government bonds, or whether the valorization of the real capital they represent may also be caught by a disturbance in the reproduction process, as with industrial undertakings. In the second case, a further devaluation is simply added on to the one just described. Once the storm is over, these papers climb back to their earlier level, so far as they do not represent undertakings that have failed or are swindles. Their depreciation in a crisis acts as a powerful means of centralizing money wealth.
So far as the fall or rise in the value of these papers goes on independently of how the value of the real capital they represent moves, a nation's wealth is just as great after the fall or rise as before it.
Morris, the Governor of the Bank of England, told the committee on commercial distress in 1847-8 that by 23 October 1847 the public funds and the canal and railway shares had already been depreciated to the amount of £114,752,225.
So far as the depreciation of these papers did not express a real standstill of production and of traffic on the railways and canals, or the abandonment of undertakings already begun, or capital thrown away on enterprises positively worthless, the nation was not a penny the poorer for the bursting of these soap bubbles of nominal money capital.
All these papers represent, in fact, nothing but accumulated claims — legal titles — to future production. Their money value or capital value either represents no capital at all, as with state debts, or is regulated independently of the value of the real capital they represent.
In every country of capitalist production there exists a tremendous mass of so-called interest-bearing capital, or moneyed capital, in this form. And by the accumulation of money capital there is for the most part nothing to be understood but the accumulation of these claims on production, the accumulation of the market price, of the illusory capital value of these claims.
One part of the banker's capital is now invested in these so-called interest-bearing securities. That part is itself a piece of the reserve capital, and it does not function in the banking business proper. The most important part consists of bills of exchange, that is, promises to pay issued by industrial capitalists or merchants. For the money-lender these bills are interest-bearing paper; that is, when he buys them he deducts the interest for the time they still have to run. This is what is called discounting. How large the deduction is from the sum the bill represents therefore depends on the rate of interest at the time.
The last part of the banker's capital, finally, consists of his money reserve in gold or notes. Deposits, unless they have been contractually tied up for a longer period, always stand at the depositors' disposal. They are in perpetual flux. But what one depositor withdraws another replaces, so that the general average amount fluctuates little in times of normal business.
The reserve funds of the banks, in countries of developed capitalist production, always express on average the size of the money that exists as a hoard; and part of this hoard in turn consists of paper — mere drafts on gold, which have no value of their own.
The greater part of banker's capital is therefore purely fictitious, and consists of claims (bills of exchange), state paper (which represents capital that is past) and shares (drafts on future revenue). It must not be forgotten that the money value of the capital which these papers stand for in the banker's strongbox is thoroughly fictitious even where they are drafts on secure revenues, as with government paper, or ownership titles to real capital, as with shares — that money value being regulated differently from the value of the real capital which they at least partly represent; or, where they represent a mere claim on revenues and no capital, the claim on that same revenue is expressed in a constantly changing fictitious money capital. On top of this, the fictitious banker's capital is for the greater part not his own capital but the public's, deposited with him, with or without interest.
Deposits are always made in money — gold or notes — or in drafts on them. Apart from the reserve fund, which contracts or expands with the needs of actual circulation, these deposits are in fact always in the hands of industrial capitalists and merchants, whose bills are discounted with them and who are given advances out of them; or else in the hands of dealers in securities (stockbrokers), of private people who have sold their securities, or of the government, in the case of treasury bills and new loans.
The deposits themselves play a double role. On the one hand, as already said, they are lent out as interest-bearing capital, and so are not to be found in the banks' tills — they figure only in their books, as credits of the depositors. On the other hand they function as mere book entries, in so far as the depositors' mutual credits are settled by cheques on their deposits and written off against one another; and it makes no difference at all whether the deposits lie with the same banker, so that he writes the different accounts off against each other, or whether this is done by different banks, which exchange their cheques and pay each other only the differences.
As interest-bearing capital and the credit system develop, all capital seems to double, and in places to treble. That is because the same capital, or even just the same claim on somebody, turns up in different hands under different forms. Most of this 'money capital' is purely fictitious.
Apart from the reserve fund, deposits are nothing but credits with the banker — and they never exist in the deposit itself. In so far as they serve clearing business, they function as capital for the bankers, once the bankers have lent them out. And the drafts the bankers hold on one another against these non-existent deposits are settled by writing the credits off against each other.
Adam Smith, on the part that capital plays when money is lent out:
Even in the money trade, Smith says, the money is as it were only the assignment that carries from one hand to another the capitals whose owners have no use for them. Those capitals can be bigger than the sum of money that serves as the tool of their transfer, almost without limit, since the same pieces of money serve one loan after another, just as they serve one purchase after another. Say A lends a thousand pounds to W, and W immediately buys a thousand pounds' worth of goods from B. B has no use for the money himself, so he lends the identical pieces to X, and X immediately buys another thousand pounds' worth of goods from C. In the same way, and for the same reason, C lends the money to Y, who again buys goods with it from D. So the same pieces of coin or paper can, within a few days, carry three different loans and three different purchases, each of them equal in value to the whole amount of those pieces. What A, B and C hand over to W, X and Y is the power to make those purchases, and that power is both the value and the use of the loans. The capital lent by the three money men equals the value of the goods that can be bought with it, and is three times the value of the money with which the purchases are made. All the same, all three loans can be perfectly safe, since the goods the different borrowers bought with them are used in such a way as to bring back an equal value in coin or paper, plus a profit, in due time. And just as the same pieces of money can serve different loans up to three times, or even thirty times, their value, so they can serve one after another as the means of repayment. (Book II, Chapter IV.)
The same coin, depending on how fast it circulates, can make one purchase after another — so it can carry out one loan after another just as well. Purchases move it from hand to hand; a loan is nothing but a transfer from one hand to another, with no purchase in between. To each seller the money stands for the changed form of his commodity; nowadays, when every value is expressed as a capital value, the same money represents one capital after another in the various loans — which is only another way of putting the earlier statement that it can realize one commodity value after another. At the same time it serves as a means of circulation, moving the material capitals from hand to hand. In a loan it does not pass from one hand to another as a means of circulation. As long as it stays in the lender's hand, it is not a means of circulation there, but the value-existence of his capital. And it is in this form that he hands it over to a third party in the loan. If A had lent the money to B, and B to C, with no purchases in between, the same money would represent not three capitals but only one — a single capital value. How many capitals it really represents depends on how often it functions as the value form of different commodity capitals.
What Adam Smith says about loans in general holds for deposits too, since a deposit is simply a particular name for the loans the public makes to the bankers. The same coins can serve as the instrument for any number of deposits.
It is unquestionably true, the pamphlet says, that the £1,000 someone deposits with A today is paid out again tomorrow and forms a deposit at B. The day after, paid out by B, it can form a deposit at C, and so on without end. So the same £1,000 in money can, through a series of transfers, multiply into an absolutely indeterminate sum of deposits. It is therefore possible that nine-tenths of all deposits in the United Kingdom have no existence beyond the book entries recording them in the bankers' books, for which the bankers in turn have to settle accounts. In Scotland, for instance, where the currency never went above £3 million, deposits come to £27 million. Unless there were a general run on the banks for their deposits, the same £1,000, sent back the way it came, could cancel an equally indeterminate sum with the same ease. Since the same £1,000 with which someone today settles a debt to a tradesman can tomorrow settle that tradesman's debt to the merchant, the day after the merchant's debt to the bank, and so on without end, the same £1,000 can travel from hand to hand and from bank to bank and cancel any conceivable sum of deposits. (The Currency Theory Reviewed, pp. 62, 63.)
Everything in this credit system doubles and trebles and turns into a mere phantom of the mind. The same holds for the 'reserve fund', where one thinks at last to lay hands on something solid.
Let us hear Mr Morris, the Governor of the Bank of England, once more:
The reserves of the private banks are in the hands of the Bank of England, in the form of deposits. The first effect of a gold drain seems to fall on the Bank of England alone; but it would act on the reserves of the other banks just as much, since what flows out is part of the reserve they hold with our Bank. In the same way it would act on the reserves of all the country banks. (Commercial Distress, 1847-8, nos. 3639, 3642.)
In the end, then, the reserve funds really do dissolve into the reserve fund of the Bank of England. But this reserve fund, too, has a double existence.
The reserve fund of the Banking Department equals the notes the Bank is entitled to issue minus the notes actually in circulation. The legal ceiling on the notes it may issue is £14 million (no metal reserve is required for that part; it is roughly the amount the state owes the Bank), plus the amount of the Bank's stock of precious metal. So if that stock is £14 million, the Bank may issue £28 million in notes; and if £20 million of them are circulating, the Banking Department's reserve fund comes to £8 million. These £8 million in notes are then, by law, the banking capital the Bank has at its disposal, and at the same time the reserve fund for its deposits.
Now let a gold drain come that cuts the metal stock by £6 million — for which an equal quantity of notes has to be destroyed — and the Banking Department's reserve would fall from £8 million to £2 million. On the one side the Bank would push its rate of interest up very sharply; on the other, the banks that have deposited with it, and its other depositors, would see the reserve fund behind their own credits at the Bank shrink very sharply. In 1857 the four biggest joint-stock banks in London threatened to call in their deposits unless the Bank of England obtained a 'government letter' suspending the Bank Act of 1844 — and without it the Banking Department would have gone bankrupt. So the Banking Department can fail, as it did in 1847, while any number of millions (in 1847, £8 million) lie in the Issue Department as a guarantee for the convertibility of the circulating notes. But that, in turn, is illusory.
A large part of the deposits — the part the bankers themselves have no immediate call for — passes into the hands of the bill-brokers (literally bill-dealers, in effect half bankers). In return they give the banker commercial bills as security for his advance, bills they have already discounted for people in London and in the provinces. The bill-broker is answerable to the banker for the repayment of this money at call (money that must be repaid at once on demand). And these dealings are on such an enormous scale that Mr Neave, the present Governor of the Bank [of England], says in his evidence: we know that one broker had 5 million, and we have grounds for supposing that another had between 8 and 10 million; one had 4, another 3 1/2, a third more than 8. I am speaking of deposits with the brokers. (Report of Committee on Bank Acts, 1857-8, p. V, section no. 8.)
The London bill-brokers ... carried on their enormous business without any cash reserve at all. They relied on the receipts from their bills as these fell due, or, if it came to it, on their power to get advances from the Bank of England against the deposit of the bills they had discounted. (ibid., p. VIII, section no. 17.) Two bill-broking firms in London stopped payment in 1847; both of them later took the business up again. In 1857 they suspended again. The liabilities of the one house were, in round numbers, £2,683,000 in 1847, against a capital of £180,000; its liabilities in 1857 were £5,300,000, while its capital was probably no more than a quarter of what it had been in 1847. The other firm's liabilities came to between £3 million and £4 million both times, on a capital of no more than £45,000. (ibid., p. XXI, section no. 52.)
We now need to look more closely at what banking capital is actually made of.
We have just seen how Fullarton and others take the difference between money as a means of circulation and money as a means of payment — and also as world money, where a drain of gold is at issue — and turn it into a difference between circulation ('currency') and capital.
Capital plays such a strange role here that the two sides mirror each other. Enlightened economics took great pains to drive it home that money is not capital. This banker's economics takes just as much pains to drive it home that money really is capital par excellence.
In the investigations that come later we show that what happens here is a confusion of money capital with moneyed capital, in the sense of interest-bearing capital. Money capital in that first sense is always no more than one transitional form of capital, different from capital's other forms, commodity capital and productive capital.
Banking capital consists of: (1) cash, gold or notes; (2) securities. The securities fall into two groups again. First, commercial paper — bills of exchange that are still outstanding, falling due from time to time, and whose discounting is the banker's real business. Second, public securities — government bonds, treasury bills, shares of every kind, in short interest-bearing paper, which is essentially different from bills of exchange. Mortgages can be counted in here too. The capital put together out of these tangible parts then divides again into the banker's own invested capital and the deposits that make up his banking capital, or borrowed capital. Banks that issue notes have notes on top of that. We leave deposits and notes aside for the moment.
One thing is clear: it makes no difference to what the banker's capital actually consists of — money, bills, interest-bearing paper — whether these various elements represent his own capital or deposits, the capital of other people. The same division would still hold if he ran his business with his own capital alone, or only with capital deposited with him.
The form of interest-bearing capital brings it about that any definite and regular money revenue appears as the interest on a capital, whether it springs from a capital or not. First the money income is turned into interest, and once we have the interest, we also have the capital it springs from. In the same way, with interest-bearing capital, any sum of value appears as capital as soon as it is not spent as revenue; it appears as the principal, in contrast to the possible or actual interest it can bear.
The matter is simple. Suppose the average rate of interest is 5 per cent a year. A sum of £500, turned into interest-bearing capital, would then bring in £25 a year. So any fixed annual income of £25 is taken as the interest on a capital of £500. But this is and remains a purely illusory notion — except in one case: where the source of the £25 is directly transferable, or takes a form in which it becomes transferable, whether that source is a mere title of ownership or a claim, or an actual element of production such as a piece of land. Let us take the national debt and wages as our examples.
The state has to pay its creditors a certain amount of interest every year for the capital it borrows. The creditor here cannot give notice to his debtor; he can only sell the claim, his title of ownership over it. The capital itself has been eaten up, spent by the state. It no longer exists. What the state's creditor holds is, first, a promissory note on the state, say for £100. Second, this note gives him a claim on the state's annual revenue, that is, on the year's product of the taxes, for a certain amount, say £5 or 5 per cent. Third, he can sell this note to anyone he likes. If the rate of interest is 5 per cent, and the state's security is assumed, then the holder A can as a rule sell the note to B for £100; for it comes to the same thing for B whether he lends out £100 at 5 per cent a year, or whether by paying out £100 he secures himself an annual tribute from the state of £5.
But in all these cases the capital whose offshoot — its interest — the state's payment is taken to be remains illusory, fictitious capital. It is not only that the sum lent to the state no longer exists at all. It was never intended at any point to be spent and invested as capital, and only by being invested as capital could it have been turned into a value that maintains itself. For the original creditor A, the share of the annual tax that falls to him represents interest on his capital, just as for the usurer the share of the spendthrift's wealth that falls to him does — although in neither case was the money sum lent spent as capital. For A, the possibility of selling the note on the state represents the possible return of his principal. As for B, from his own private standpoint his capital is invested as interest-bearing capital. In substance he has merely stepped into A's place and bought A's claim on the state.
However much these transactions multiply, the capital of the national debt remains a purely fictitious one, and from the moment the notes became unsaleable, the semblance of this capital would fall away. All the same, as we shall see shortly, this fictitious capital has a movement of its own.
In contrast to the capital of the national debt, where a minus appears as capital — interest-bearing capital being the mother of every crazy form, so that debts, for instance, can appear in the banker's mind as commodities — let us now look at labour-power. Here the wage is conceived as interest, and so labour-power is conceived as the capital that throws off this interest. If, for example, a year's wage is £50, and the rate of interest stands at 5 per cent, then one year's labour-power counts as equal to a capital of £1,000. The madness of the capitalist way of conceiving things reaches its peak here: instead of explaining the valorization of capital out of the exploitation of labour-power, the productivity of labour-power is explained the other way round, by the fact that labour-power itself is this mystical thing, interest-bearing capital. In the second half of the seventeenth century (in one writer of the period, for example) this was a favourite notion, but it is used in all seriousness today as well, partly by vulgar economists and mainly by German statisticians.
Unfortunately two circumstances cut disagreeably across this thoughtless notion. First, the worker has to work in order to get this interest. Second, he cannot turn the capital value of his labour-power into money by transferring it. Rather, the annual value of his labour-power equals his average annual wage, and what he has to replace to its buyer through his labour is this value itself plus the surplus-value, the valorization of that value. Under the slave system the worker does have a capital value, namely his purchase price. And when he is hired out, the hirer has first to pay the interest on the purchase price and on top of that to replace the annual depreciation of the capital.
The formation of fictitious capital is called capitalizing. Any regularly repeating income is capitalized by reckoning it, at the average rate of interest, as the yield that a capital lent out at this rate would bring in. For example, if the annual income is £100 and the rate of interest 5 per cent, then the £100 would be the annual interest on £2,000, and this £2,000 now counts as the capital value of the legal title of ownership to that annual £100. For the person who buys this title of ownership, the annual £100 then does in fact represent the interest on the capital he has invested at 5 per cent. In this way every connection with the real valorization process of capital is lost, right down to the last trace, and the notion of capital as an automaton that valorizes itself out of itself takes firm hold.
Even where the promissory note — the security — does not represent purely illusory capital, as it does with the national debt, the capital value of this paper is purely illusory. We saw just now how the credit system produces joint-stock capital. The securities count as titles of ownership representing this capital. The shares of railway, mining, shipping and other companies represent real capital, namely the capital invested and functioning in these enterprises, or the sum of money advanced by the shareholders to be spent as capital in such enterprises. This in no way rules out their also representing nothing but swindle. But this capital does not exist twice: once as the capital value of the ownership titles, the shares, and once again as the capital really invested or still to be invested in those enterprises. It exists only in that latter form, and the share is nothing but a title of ownership, pro rata, to the surplus-value that this capital is to realize. A may sell this title to B, and B to C. These transactions change nothing in the nature of the matter. A or B has then turned his title into capital, while C has turned his capital into a mere title of ownership to the surplus-value to be expected from that share capital.
The value of these ownership titles moves on its own — and not only the value of government bonds but of shares too. That confirms the illusion that they are real capital standing beside the capital, or the claim, that they may give title to. They turn into commodities, and the price of a commodity like this has a movement and a fixing of its own. Its market value is set by something other than its nominal value, and none of this requires any change in the value of the real capital — though how that capital is valorized may change.
For one thing, the market value swings with how high and how secure the receipts are that the title gives a legal claim to. Suppose a share's nominal value — the sum paid in, which the share originally stands for — is £100, and the undertaking yields 10 per cent instead of 5 per cent. Other things equal, and with the rate of interest at 5 per cent, its market value then rises to 200, since capitalized at 5 per cent it now stands for a fictitious capital of £200. Whoever buys it at £200 gets a revenue of 5 per cent on that investment. The opposite happens when the undertaking's revenue falls away. The market value of these papers is partly speculative, since it is fixed not only by the revenue actually coming in but by the revenue expected, reckoned up in advance.
Take the valorization of the real capital as constant, though — or, where no capital exists at all, as with state debts, take the yearly yield as fixed by law and otherwise secure enough — and then the price of these securities rises and falls in the opposite direction to the rate of interest. Let the rate rise from 5 to 10 per cent, and a security that guarantees a yield of £5 now stands for a capital of only £50. Let it fall to 2 1/2 per cent, and the same security stands for a capital of £200. Its value is always only the capitalized yield — the yield reckoned up on an illusory capital at the going rate of interest.
In times of squeeze in the money market, these securities therefore fall in price twice over: first, because the rate of interest rises, and second, because they are thrown on the market in masses to be turned into money. That fall comes about regardless of whether the yield the papers guarantee their owner is constant, as with government bonds, or whether the valorization of the real capital they represent may also be caught by a disturbance in the reproduction process, as with industrial undertakings. In the second case, a further devaluation is simply added on to the one just described. Once the storm is over, these papers climb back to their earlier level, so far as they do not represent undertakings that have failed or are swindles. Their depreciation in a crisis acts as a powerful means of centralizing money wealth.
So far as the fall or rise in the value of these papers goes on independently of how the value of the real capital they represent moves, a nation's wealth is just as great after the fall or rise as before it.
Morris, the Governor of the Bank of England, told the committee on commercial distress in 1847-8 that by 23 October 1847 the public funds and the canal and railway shares had already been depreciated to the amount of £114,752,225.
So far as the depreciation of these papers did not express a real standstill of production and of traffic on the railways and canals, or the abandonment of undertakings already begun, or capital thrown away on enterprises positively worthless, the nation was not a penny the poorer for the bursting of these soap bubbles of nominal money capital.
All these papers represent, in fact, nothing but accumulated claims — legal titles — to future production. Their money value or capital value either represents no capital at all, as with state debts, or is regulated independently of the value of the real capital they represent.
In every country of capitalist production there exists a tremendous mass of so-called interest-bearing capital, or moneyed capital, in this form. And by the accumulation of money capital there is for the most part nothing to be understood but the accumulation of these claims on production, the accumulation of the market price, of the illusory capital value of these claims.
One part of the banker's capital is now invested in these so-called interest-bearing securities. That part is itself a piece of the reserve capital, and it does not function in the banking business proper. The most important part consists of bills of exchange, that is, promises to pay issued by industrial capitalists or merchants. For the money-lender these bills are interest-bearing paper; that is, when he buys them he deducts the interest for the time they still have to run. This is what is called discounting. How large the deduction is from the sum the bill represents therefore depends on the rate of interest at the time.
The last part of the banker's capital, finally, consists of his money reserve in gold or notes. Deposits, unless they have been contractually tied up for a longer period, always stand at the depositors' disposal. They are in perpetual flux. But what one depositor withdraws another replaces, so that the general average amount fluctuates little in times of normal business.
The reserve funds of the banks, in countries of developed capitalist production, always express on average the size of the money that exists as a hoard; and part of this hoard in turn consists of paper — mere drafts on gold, which have no value of their own.
The greater part of banker's capital is therefore purely fictitious, and consists of claims (bills of exchange), state paper (which represents capital that is past) and shares (drafts on future revenue). It must not be forgotten that the money value of the capital which these papers stand for in the banker's strongbox is thoroughly fictitious even where they are drafts on secure revenues, as with government paper, or ownership titles to real capital, as with shares — that money value being regulated differently from the value of the real capital which they at least partly represent; or, where they represent a mere claim on revenues and no capital, the claim on that same revenue is expressed in a constantly changing fictitious money capital. On top of this, the fictitious banker's capital is for the greater part not his own capital but the public's, deposited with him, with or without interest.
Deposits are always made in money — gold or notes — or in drafts on them. Apart from the reserve fund, which contracts or expands with the needs of actual circulation, these deposits are in fact always in the hands of industrial capitalists and merchants, whose bills are discounted with them and who are given advances out of them; or else in the hands of dealers in securities (stockbrokers), of private people who have sold their securities, or of the government, in the case of treasury bills and new loans.
The deposits themselves play a double role. On the one hand, as already said, they are lent out as interest-bearing capital, and so are not to be found in the banks' tills — they figure only in their books, as credits of the depositors. On the other hand they function as mere book entries, in so far as the depositors' mutual credits are settled by cheques on their deposits and written off against one another; and it makes no difference at all whether the deposits lie with the same banker, so that he writes the different accounts off against each other, or whether this is done by different banks, which exchange their cheques and pay each other only the differences.
As interest-bearing capital and the credit system develop, all capital seems to double, and in places to treble. That is because the same capital, or even just the same claim on somebody, turns up in different hands under different forms. Most of this 'money capital' is purely fictitious.
Apart from the reserve fund, deposits are nothing but credits with the banker — and they never exist in the deposit itself. In so far as they serve clearing business, they function as capital for the bankers, once the bankers have lent them out. And the drafts the bankers hold on one another against these non-existent deposits are settled by writing the credits off against each other.
Adam Smith, on the part that capital plays when money is lent out:
Even in the money trade, Smith says, the money is as it were only the assignment that carries from one hand to another the capitals whose owners have no use for them. Those capitals can be bigger than the sum of money that serves as the tool of their transfer, almost without limit, since the same pieces of money serve one loan after another, just as they serve one purchase after another. Say A lends a thousand pounds to W, and W immediately buys a thousand pounds' worth of goods from B. B has no use for the money himself, so he lends the identical pieces to X, and X immediately buys another thousand pounds' worth of goods from C. In the same way, and for the same reason, C lends the money to Y, who again buys goods with it from D. So the same pieces of coin or paper can, within a few days, carry three different loans and three different purchases, each of them equal in value to the whole amount of those pieces. What A, B and C hand over to W, X and Y is the power to make those purchases, and that power is both the value and the use of the loans. The capital lent by the three money men equals the value of the goods that can be bought with it, and is three times the value of the money with which the purchases are made. All the same, all three loans can be perfectly safe, since the goods the different borrowers bought with them are used in such a way as to bring back an equal value in coin or paper, plus a profit, in due time. And just as the same pieces of money can serve different loans up to three times, or even thirty times, their value, so they can serve one after another as the means of repayment. (Book II, Chapter IV.)
The same coin, depending on how fast it circulates, can make one purchase after another — so it can carry out one loan after another just as well. Purchases move it from hand to hand; a loan is nothing but a transfer from one hand to another, with no purchase in between. To each seller the money stands for the changed form of his commodity; nowadays, when every value is expressed as a capital value, the same money represents one capital after another in the various loans — which is only another way of putting the earlier statement that it can realize one commodity value after another. At the same time it serves as a means of circulation, moving the material capitals from hand to hand. In a loan it does not pass from one hand to another as a means of circulation. As long as it stays in the lender's hand, it is not a means of circulation there, but the value-existence of his capital. And it is in this form that he hands it over to a third party in the loan. If A had lent the money to B, and B to C, with no purchases in between, the same money would represent not three capitals but only one — a single capital value. How many capitals it really represents depends on how often it functions as the value form of different commodity capitals.
What Adam Smith says about loans in general holds for deposits too, since a deposit is simply a particular name for the loans the public makes to the bankers. The same coins can serve as the instrument for any number of deposits.
It is unquestionably true, the pamphlet says, that the £1,000 someone deposits with A today is paid out again tomorrow and forms a deposit at B. The day after, paid out by B, it can form a deposit at C, and so on without end. So the same £1,000 in money can, through a series of transfers, multiply into an absolutely indeterminate sum of deposits. It is therefore possible that nine-tenths of all deposits in the United Kingdom have no existence beyond the book entries recording them in the bankers' books, for which the bankers in turn have to settle accounts. In Scotland, for instance, where the currency never went above £3 million, deposits come to £27 million. Unless there were a general run on the banks for their deposits, the same £1,000, sent back the way it came, could cancel an equally indeterminate sum with the same ease. Since the same £1,000 with which someone today settles a debt to a tradesman can tomorrow settle that tradesman's debt to the merchant, the day after the merchant's debt to the bank, and so on without end, the same £1,000 can travel from hand to hand and from bank to bank and cancel any conceivable sum of deposits. (The Currency Theory Reviewed, pp. 62, 63.)
Everything in this credit system doubles and trebles and turns into a mere phantom of the mind. The same holds for the 'reserve fund', where one thinks at last to lay hands on something solid.
Let us hear Mr Morris, the Governor of the Bank of England, once more:
The reserves of the private banks are in the hands of the Bank of England, in the form of deposits. The first effect of a gold drain seems to fall on the Bank of England alone; but it would act on the reserves of the other banks just as much, since what flows out is part of the reserve they hold with our Bank. In the same way it would act on the reserves of all the country banks. (Commercial Distress, 1847-8, nos. 3639, 3642.)
In the end, then, the reserve funds really do dissolve into the reserve fund of the Bank of England. But this reserve fund, too, has a double existence.
The reserve fund of the Banking Department equals the notes the Bank is entitled to issue minus the notes actually in circulation. The legal ceiling on the notes it may issue is £14 million (no metal reserve is required for that part; it is roughly the amount the state owes the Bank), plus the amount of the Bank's stock of precious metal. So if that stock is £14 million, the Bank may issue £28 million in notes; and if £20 million of them are circulating, the Banking Department's reserve fund comes to £8 million. These £8 million in notes are then, by law, the banking capital the Bank has at its disposal, and at the same time the reserve fund for its deposits.
Now let a gold drain come that cuts the metal stock by £6 million — for which an equal quantity of notes has to be destroyed — and the Banking Department's reserve would fall from £8 million to £2 million. On the one side the Bank would push its rate of interest up very sharply; on the other, the banks that have deposited with it, and its other depositors, would see the reserve fund behind their own credits at the Bank shrink very sharply. In 1857 the four biggest joint-stock banks in London threatened to call in their deposits unless the Bank of England obtained a 'government letter' suspending the Bank Act of 1844 — and without it the Banking Department would have gone bankrupt. So the Banking Department can fail, as it did in 1847, while any number of millions (in 1847, £8 million) lie in the Issue Department as a guarantee for the convertibility of the circulating notes. But that, in turn, is illusory.
A large part of the deposits — the part the bankers themselves have no immediate call for — passes into the hands of the bill-brokers (literally bill-dealers, in effect half bankers). In return they give the banker commercial bills as security for his advance, bills they have already discounted for people in London and in the provinces. The bill-broker is answerable to the banker for the repayment of this money at call (money that must be repaid at once on demand). And these dealings are on such an enormous scale that Mr Neave, the present Governor of the Bank [of England], says in his evidence: we know that one broker had 5 million, and we have grounds for supposing that another had between 8 and 10 million; one had 4, another 3 1/2, a third more than 8. I am speaking of deposits with the brokers. (Report of Committee on Bank Acts, 1857-8, p. V, section no. 8.)
The London bill-brokers ... carried on their enormous business without any cash reserve at all. They relied on the receipts from their bills as these fell due, or, if it came to it, on their power to get advances from the Bank of England against the deposit of the bills they had discounted. (ibid., p. VIII, section no. 17.) Two bill-broking firms in London stopped payment in 1847; both of them later took the business up again. In 1857 they suspended again. The liabilities of the one house were, in round numbers, £2,683,000 in 1847, against a capital of £180,000; its liabilities in 1857 were £5,300,000, while its capital was probably no more than a quarter of what it had been in 1847. The other firm's liabilities came to between £3 million and £4 million both times, on a capital of no more than £45,000. (ibid., p. XXI, section no. 52.)