Category Archives: Finance

Different Kinds of Finance

01 Tuesday Nov 2022

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Some fictional stories involve finance, of the high or low varieties. Other stories really ought to mention finance of some kind, due to the way that the setting is constructed, but the author never does—perhaps because the author is not comfortable with the subject. Finance is something that everyone is affected by, but few people understand deeply. Fortunately, the basic concepts are not difficult; and you might find them useful in your writing.

It often happens that someone wants to launch a business venture or some other project needing a lot of money; and other people who have money want to put it to work profitably, but have other people handle the details of executing. When the person with the money (“the investor,” let’s say) funds the person with the venture (“the founder”), hoping to earn a profit, that is what we call “finance.”

The two basic types of investment finance are debt and equity. (There are a few more exotic varieties, but they are fairly marginal and we can safely skip them.) Equity can take a few forms, but essentially, the investor and the founder are joint partners, and the investor is entitled to some fraction of the profits from the business. Exactly how much profit will depend on many factors—not least of which, how easy is it for the founder to find investment capital, and how much risk does either party want to take?

In a pure equity investment, the fortunes of the investor rise and fall with those of the venture. The investor can lose the entire investment if the venture fails, or make incredible amounts of money if the venture takes off. The investor’s interests are therefore closely aligned with those of the founder (at least in broad terms).

Debt, on the other hand, is more adversarial. If the founder borrows money from the investor, he is promising to return the money and the finance charge whether or not the business is profitable. And the investor maximum return is limited by the agreed-upon finance charge; the investor will make the same amount of money if the business is a modest success, spectacularly profitable, or even mildly unprofitable (as long as there is enough to cover the loan payments). Obviously, the investor would prefer that the business succeed, so that the founder has enough money to repay the loan. But a lender’s main interest will be safety, and he will not necessarily pursue the chance of high returns if it means taking high risks. He will also try to get his money back even if it means sucking the venture dry.

Lenders are happier when they can lend against some kind of collateral—some valuable good which can be seized if the loan is not repaid. This could be many things: a house, a car, a horse, family jewelry, or the rights to future royalties from sales of Harry Potter. The better the collateral, the less risk the lender is taking. In a well-functioning society, the lender will therefore charge less interest on a secured loan than an unsecured loan, because the chance of losses is smaller. (That is why you can still get a mortgage in America for less than 10% interest, while credit cards typically charge 15% and up.)

This also means that if you don’t have collateral—for example, if you are starting some sort of business venture and have nothing to show for it yet—it is very hard to get debt financing. Equity finance is better at handling business ventures without tangible assets.

But equity finance poses special problems: how do you keep track of how much money the business made, and the investors are entitled to? It is very easy for the management of a venture to hide profits from the investors, without a very complex infrastructure of laws, public data, and accountants to try and keep people honest. It took centuries of slow accumulated experience and trial-and-error before we arrived at the system for securities markets that we have today, and it is by no means perfect. But in previous times, equity investment was typically limited to partners who knew, and trusted, each other. Equity was thus on a relatively small scale, businesses were very hard to start, economies were relatively stagnant, and economic growth was slow.

Debt, on the other hand, is fairly easy to deal with. How much you owe is fixed by agreement; and the lender doesn’t need to know anything about how you made the money, only that you are able to repay on time. Debt was therefore the most common form of finance by far throughout history; and it is only recently that equity investments have been possible on a large scale.

However, even in ancient times it was possible to combine the two methods of investing. For example, the Babylonian Talmud records a common form of partnership in which half of an investment was considered equity, and half was debt. The founder thus had to repay half (but only half) of the investment regardless of the venture’s success or failure, along with a portion of the profits if there were any. Interests were better aligned between the partners, and the investor still had some degree of safety.

To summarize, when thinking about some sort of business venture that needs investor capital, like a caravan to the Far East, or a merchant ship, or a band of mercenaries sent to plunder the fabled City of Gems, you can think about useful investment structures with the following questions:

  • Who is taking the risk of irregular profits, and how much risk?
  • How well can the investor monitor the founder?
  • What kind of collateral is there?
  • Does the legal system or other external structures provide protections for either side, or make one kind of investing more attractive than the other?

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(This post is part of Politics for Worldbuilders, an occasional series. Many of the previous posts in this series eventually became grist for my handbook for authors and game designers, Beyond Kings and Princesses: Governments for Worldbuilders. The topic of this post belongs in the planned second book in this series, working title Wealth for Worldbuilders. No idea when it will be finished, but it should be fun!)

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Economies Dependent on Outside Investment

26 Wednesday Oct 2022

Posted by in Economics, Finance, Politics, Politics for Worldbuilders, State Formation

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One of the most trafficked posts on this blog is a brief discussion of “Varieties of Capitalism” theory, pointing out how some capitalist economies feature a set of institutions that foster a more dynamic economy and radical innovation, and others have institutions that foster a more sedate, “managed” economy featuring more incremental innovation. (As far as I can surmise from web traffic stats, some comparative-politics professor at San Francisco State University must have noticed the post and included it in a course syllabus. I’m flattered!)

But in the years since I left grad school, the field has marched on. Apparently, scholars have identified at least one other “variety” of capitalism that fills in a bunch of empirical gaps of prior theory. This is the dependent market economy (DME), whose distinguishing feature is that it relies heavily on the foreign investment of outsiders for capital—typically transnational corporations. In this post, I’ll briefly discuss the key features of the DME that would be useful for worldbuilders.

The first economies to be designated as DMEs were found in Eastern and Central Europe, countries that had formerly been dominated by the Soviet Union. They featured an unusual combination of factors: a populace that was reasonably well educated and technically skilled, yet still had low wages, and where the countries’ economic institutions had been totally wiped away and could be built afresh according to the preferences of anyone with enough clout. These were the transnational corporations, who are always on the lookout for skilled, cheap labor. They used the lure of their massive investment to induce the former Warsaw Pact countries to establish institutions that were favorable to company interests—and turned these countries into favored sites for the assembly of “semistandardized industrial goods.”

What are the features of the DME, and the institutions that develop there?

  • A population that had reasonable technical skill—but not too much, or they could develop their own indigenous industries and not be dependent on outside investment.
  • Low wages.
  • A massively disproportionate level of foreign direct investment that dominates the economy, usually because of the lack of domestic capital. (For example, in 2007 Hungary and the Czech Republic both had FDI equal roughly half of their entire gross domestic product.)
  • Governance that is largely controlled by transnational corporate hierarchies, so local company subsidiaries take orders from the parent companies back home. (They also receive funding from back home, rather than relying on local banks or the stock market.)
  • Weak labor laws and no national labor unions.
  • On the other hand, individual companies typically treat their workers well in relative terms, because they don’t want their supply chains disrupted; so management and labor tend to work closely together, company by company. (But companies try to avoid simply paying higher wages, which defeats the point of the exercise!)
  • Little investment in worker training or a public education system, and the education system’s reorientation to the specific skill needs of the transnational companies, because companies don’t want to spend a lot of money or make it easy for their workers to leave, and because the DME is not meant to develop new technology—only to implement the technologies developed elsewhere.
  • Sectors of the economy where the country has a clear comparative advantage, such as the assembly of automobiles or electronics, are dominated by foreign ownership. The same is often true of the banking system, which needs a lot of capital. Meanwhile, less competitive segments of the economy remain in domestic hands, but languish. If left unchecked, this division could lead to tensions between wealthier and poorer worker groups in society.

We thus have another model for what an economy could look like, and why it would look that way. True, few worldbuilders will be working with a direct analogue to something like the collapse of the Iron Curtain; but if you’re thoughtful, you can extract useful principles from the foregoing for use in your work.

There are additional types of economies—chiefly the typical “dependency” economy (or supply region) that is exploited for basic commodities; the “patrimonialist” society with high corruption, patron-client networks, informal arrangements, and pervasive insecurity; and the incoherent mishmash that borrows features from several other economies which don’t necessarily work well in combination. I hope to explore some of these more in later writing.

******

(This post is part of Politics for Worldbuilders, an occasional series. Many of the previous posts in this series eventually became grist for my handbook for authors and game designers, Beyond Kings and Princesses: Governments for Worldbuilders. The topic of this post belongs in the planned second book in this series, working title Wealth for Worldbuilders. No idea when it will be finished, but it should be fun!)

Building an Economy: Capital

12 Thursday May 2022

Posted by in Economics, Finance, Politics, Politics for Worldbuilders, State Formation, Writing

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Last post, we briefly noted that economies need capital to generate wealth and resources. Sometimes this amounts to a circular definition: we use money to make money. Moreover, money is infinitely flexible: we can use money profitably in a number of ways. If you have a moneymaking venture, and opportunities shift, you can easily shift your money in response. And it doesn’t have to be money; other forms of capital are also flexible and easily repurposed, like a computer, or a college degree in English.

But some kinds of capital are very specific: an aluminum-smelting furnace is designed to do one thing, smelt aluminum. You can’t use an aluminum smelter to bake bread, or dig a hole, or weave cloth. The smelter is capital, but it is a form of capital that cannot be repurposed; and if you tried to sell it, you’re likely to get back a fraction of its original cost. That changes things a great deal. If you invest in capital that is inflexible—whether because it has only a few use cases, or literally cannot be moved once it’s built—you’re committed. You will resist changes that make your capital worthless, and you will likely continue trying to pursue the original venture even after it stops making sense.

This has effects in the economy narrowly, but also in politics. Michael Hiscox argues that if the prevailing technology of capital in a society is flexible, capital can readily shift between uses and the important distinction is between people with lots of capital and those with little. As a result, you would tend to see broad political coalitions based on class: capital against labor, or haves versus have-nots. Policies favoring particular industries would be of little importance in the political system, since failing industries will simply have capital shift out of them with little drama; more important would be how to allocate the economy’s gains in general.

On the other hand, if capital is largely specific and inflexible—for example, large factories built around a single product that cannot be retooled easily, or large sources of natural resources like oil—then it will be difficult to shift between industries, and the economy will see a wide variety of industry-based interest groups. In such a setting, the workers in these industries would tend to be allies of their bosses; if the factory closes down, both groups suffer. And each industry will fight fiercely to defend its position, to push policies that favor it, to defeat policies that threaten it, and to squelch potential disruptor industries.

In the real world, economies tend to feature a mix of flexible and inflexible capital, which complicates things. (Some oligarchs’ wealth might be based on flexible capital, for example, and others’ on inflexible capital, which would potentially put them in conflict.) And it gets even more complicated once you factor in other types of resources—particularly land and labor, which we will discuss in future posts. (But we’ll be going nice and slowly, not least because I’m still figuring out the best way to present all of these factors, and build them into a workable model!).

Still, just the difference caused by flexible versus inflexible capital is already a powerful tool for story conflict. Not bad, eh?

*******

(This post is part of Politics for Worldbuilders, an occasional series. Many of the previous posts in this series eventually became grist for my handbook for authors and game designers, Beyond Kings and Princesses: Governments for Worldbuilders. The topic of this post belongs in the planned second book in this series, working title Tyranny for Worldbuilders. No idea when it will be finished, but it should be fun!)

Ways to Improve Peer-to-Peer Lending

30 Sunday Sep 2012

Posted by in Credit, Economics, Finance, Investing

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For a long time now, I’ve been interested in the potential for Peer-to-Peer lending (P2P). Rather than people depositing money with a bank, which then turns around and lends the money to borrowers while keeping most of the profit, in P2P lending some service matches borrowers and lenders directly. Ideally, this allows borrowers to get loans at a cheaper rate, while still giving lenders a better rate of return. It also allows nontraditional borrowers to get funded, if they can tell a good enough story. But there are problems with P2P, to which I would like to propose some solutions.

Right now, the biggest names in American P2P lending are Lending Club, and Prosper.com, where I was a small lender back around 2007 or so. When I participated on Prosper, I was able to see instances where the model worked perfectly, and other instances where the model caused problems. Among the advantages were that groups of people who knew each other (whether In Real Life or on the internet) could provide each other with funds at below-market rates, as an expression of their fellowship. This is something I liked a lot, since Judaism tends to frown on lending money at interest anyway. (More on that topic in another post…) Additionally, some borrowers whose credit score was relatively low were able to convince borrowers that they were a good risk anyway, because of factors that their credit score did not reflect.

The bad news came from several sources. First of all, because all money had to be provided by the individual lenders, as opposed to a centralized source of funds like a bank, many otherwise-attractive borrowers who didn’t know how to market themselves went unfunded. Second, the need to market yourself in the first place can be a turn-off. Borrowing from people you know can lead to tension and a loss of privacy. One of the biggest advantages of the modern system of bank or credit-card lending (as opposed to borrowing from friends and family, as the “unbanked” tend to do) is that banks can lend functionally unlimited amounts of money if they choose to, and your financial circumstances are strictly between yourself and your banker. With Prosper as it stands now, neither of these two factors are at work.

The next problem was due to greed. In the early years, lenders were attracted to the high rates paid by low-quality borrowers, particularly “HR” or high-risk borrowers who could be made to pay up to 30% interest per year. The problem was that in most cases, these borrowers were staggeringly bad risks; those of us who jumped in with both feet ended up losing quite a bit of money when the loans were not repaid. Ultimately, we lacked the knowledge and temperament to tell a good borrower from a bad one, and to resist the lure of fat profits for taking unacceptable risks. There is a reason that (until the era of government bailouts) bankers had a reputation for sobriety, prudence, and conservatism. Bankers who lacked these qualities soon ceased to be bankers.

Note that Prosper responded, ultimately, by excluding the lowest-quality borrowers from the market. This managed to improve default rates; but the fundamental problem remains, that lending decisions are being made by amateurs, many of whom do not understand the risks well enough.

Another institution that claims to be P2P, the British institution Zopa, avoids this second problem by soliciting investor capital and simply making all the lending decisions itself, as a traditional lender would. But in this case, there is no actual interaction between borrower and individual “lenders”; Zopa is actually something like a mutual fund for lending with investor funds, rather than bank capital. It is not really a true peer-to-peer vehicle.

Is there a way to mitigate the problems of P2P without going to the other extreme and quashing the social aspect altogether?

Suppose that you have a Lender institution, a depositor (David) who wants to earn some money, and several borrowers (Brad, Ben, and Betty). David puts a chunk of money (say $5000) into his bank account with the Lender. The Lender then asks David if he is willing to lend money to particular people, at any point in the future, and at what minimum interest rate. David knows Brad, Ben and Betty; he decides that he would be willing to spot Brad up to $500 at a time, but only at the market interest rate—he’s not a close friend or anything. Betty, on the other hand, is someone that David likes, so while he’d only trust her with $200, he’s willing to lend the money to her at a nominal 1% interest to cover fees. He knows that Ben is irresponsible with his money, so he’d rather not risk his own money on Ben.

Note that during this process, David does not know if Brad or Betty are actually trying to borrow money right now. That information is kept from him. So Brad and Betty get to keep their privacy. If Brad or Betty should choose to lobby David for more money, that’s their choice. In the meanwhile, money that’s not specifically earmarked for particular borrowers can be treated like a normal bank deposit, earning some amount of money for David and having some level of guarantees.

Now suppose that Betty finally decides to borrow $20,000 for a new car. The Lender can see her credit score, and other such raw numbers; but it also can see that David, and several other depositors, are willing to trust Betty with money. This does two things: first of all, it shows Lender that people trust her, which can be an additional factor in the Lender’s decision to lend or not. Second, it means that they have to risk less of their own money for the same profit, because they can use money from the depositors who know Betty while still earning servicing fees.

The final decision is the Lender’s; if Betty remains a bad risk, Lender can protect the depositors from her. But on the flip side, if people who know her only pony up $5000, the Lender would be able to make up the difference with its own funds if they like Betty as a borrower, instead of letting her languish in social-lending purgatory. The portion of the money coming from depositors directly could be at below-market interest rates if they like, keeping the social aspect of P2P lending. The balance, coming from Lender, would be at market rates.

Obviously, such a system would not be for everyone. Some people would do well enough on Prosper.com or similar sites, even without such a system. Others might prefer Zopa, or even a traditional bank. Still, I think that the proposed system would make P2P borrowing and lending more attractive for a lot of people, mitigating some of the problems while keeping most of the advantages.

(Anyone who likes can implement this system. I only ask that you drop me a note or a comment letting me know, if you got the idea from this post.)

An Idea for How to Make Renting Homes Better

01 Sunday Jul 2012

Posted by in Credit, Economics, Finance, Investing, Real Estate

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Many fortunes are made in real estate. And, lured by those stories of success, lots of people have tried their hand at real-estate investing as well, with highly variable results. Meanwhile, many people who cannot buy homes of their own decide to rent instead.

But the present rental market has a lot of flaws in its structure. Take, for example, a common strategy used by new investors who don’t want to sink a lot of capital into a house. They will instead rent a place, perhaps for a long term to bring down their monthly rent, and then turn around and sublet it out to someone else for a higher price.

Now, these people are certainly providing a service of some kind. They are providing income to the owner of the property; if they chose a longer rental term, they are also providing a guarantee of long-term occupancy. But the eventual renter is paying a higher rate for his home than the owner is receiving. It’s possible that the renter has low credit and would not otherwise qualify, or perhaps would not have heard about the apartment without the marketing efforts of the investor-renter; but still, it seems that there ought to be more opportunities for mutual benefit.

One thing that’s always struck me about renting is that most landlords do not allow you to prepay your rent. There are good legal reasons for this, but it still seems to be a missed opportunity. The typical landlord carries a mortgage with an interest rate of more than 5%, sometimes much more. By contrast, 10-year Treasury notes are yielding around 1.6%. If a renter could sink extra cash into prepaying rent, with an annualized discount of (let’s say) 3%, and the landlord used the extra cashflow to pay down the mortgage, it would benefit both sides. All that is necessary is to create the appropriate legal structure.

When you think about the components of a property’s value, you could break it down into two parts: the right to live in a place for a given time, and the actual ownership of the property. Suppose you actually broke them into separate pieces. For example, I could have a house I wanted to rent out, but I wasn’t interested in collecting a rent check every month. Instead, I created a product: the right to live in my house for ten years. I then assigned that product a value, just like a piece of real estate. Say the house itself is worth $100,000; I then value ten years of use at, say, $40,000. If I find a buyer, I can get all that cash upfront and not have to worry about collecting rent every month. At the end of the term, I still own the house and can benefit from its price appreciation, tax depreciation, and so on.

Now suppose I’m a renter, or investor-renter. Buying a ten-year lease gives me a discounted price, compared to having to pay for it month by month. It also lets me lock in the price for the entire term, giving me stability. Plus, since I don’t actually own the house, I don’t have to worry about property taxes. But how might I come up with all that cash up front? If this becomes the norm, it ought to be easy to borrow that money from the bank—especially when you consider that a ten-year rental term is an asset like property is, and can be used to sublet the house in turn, or repossessed by the bank if necessary.

It would be easier for a bank to repossess rental rights than a full property, meanwhile. At all times, there is an actual owner who is interested in maintaining the value of the property, as opposed to home foreclosures that often sit vacant and get trashed, destroying massive amounts of value. And it is easier to rent a property than to sell it, and lots of managers that the bank can call upon to fill up their newly-repossessed asset. Finally, it ought to be easier to appraise use-rights than the actual underlying property, making underwriting easier. So from the bank’s perspective, this might be an attractive asset class.

Subletting a rental-agreement house will provide more gains from trade, in this scenario. I, the investor-renter, have provided the benefits of upfront capital, allowing me to get a good price. I can then sublet to a traditional renter, who does not have to provide upfront capital but can still pay a price comparable to the going rate. I make money from the difference between my discounted upfront payment, and the month-by-month payments of the renter, without having to “overcharge” as subletting investors must do today.

This all will need fleshing out, of course. Navigating the legal minefields alone will be an effort, not one that I care to undertake right now, and people would have to work out the practical problems involved with any new asset class. And this kind of structure will not be appropriate in many cases. Still, its mere existence would cause ripple effects out into the market that would benefit everyone. And perhaps someone more enterprising can see this idea and make use of it.

Tax Farming

17 Sunday Jun 2012

Posted by in Better Fantasy, Economics, Finance, History, Politics, State Formation, Writing

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April 15th is a date seared into the brains of most Americans—being the due date for us to turn in our tax returns to the Internal Revenue Service. In the modern era, most governments have wide-ranging powers to tax their populaces. Yes, you have problems with tax evasion here and there, but most urban dwellers are used to paying taxes as a matter of course (though we certainly aren’t happy about it).

When you think about it, though, the smooth collection of taxes requires a vast infrastructure of information processing, bureaucracy, and coercive enforcement if necessary. All of that came about very late in historical terms. In the United States, tax withholding from our salaries was only instituted during World War II, for example. (In a delicious bit of historical irony, the concept was developed in part by famed free-market economist Milton Friedman, when he worked for the Treasury in the early days of the war. For the rest of his life, he hoped that tax withholding would eventually be abolished.) The first income tax in the United States was a temporary measure enacted during the Civil War.

In other countries, the story was similar. The seminal work on this subject, at least in comparative politics, is Margaret Levi’s Of Rule and Revenue, a study of taxation systems throughout history. Levi’s basic argument is that rulers are constrained in how they can tax populations by their ability to coerce the people, the ease with which money can be hidden, and limitations in measuring technology. (I previously wrote of similar concerns behind the institution of English nobility.) In short, early rulers had a very hard time raising taxes directly, simply because it was next to impossible to extend their control over the populace.

So what did they do? The strategies of rulers were many, but in this piece I want to focus on a particular practice called “tax farming.” In its basic form, the ruler created some sort of tax or tariff—a 10% tax on salt, for example—but rather than collecting the taxes itself, the ruler would sell off the right to collect the tax to some private party. This was the tax farmer. The tax farmer would pay a large sum up front to the government, and in exchange would gain the right to ruthlessly apply the salt tax to anyone within his jurisdiction and pocket the proceeds.

This is not the same as modern privatized tax collection, where the private party must transmit collected taxes to the government. Here, the tax farmer is the direct beneficiary of tax revenue. In general, tax farming was incredibly lucrative for the farmer, while the state was forced to sell the future revenues at discount prices, simply because it lacked the capacity to collect taxes itself. (Here, we see another example of a principal-agent problem.)

A nice (free!) overview of tax farming in the 18th century can be found here, by the eminent scholar Eugene White. The French monarchy, for one, was heavily dependent on tax farming for revenue. This dependence was a major contributor to the French Revolution, for two reasons. First, royal revenues were always rather stunted because the tax farmers absorbed much of the take, weakening state power. Second, the tax farmers of France were notorious for harshly oppressing the populace in order to squeeze every last sou that they could. (Similar concerns were at play with the Publicans of ancient Rome; a nice overview can be found here.)

This is all very interesting, but why is it worth knowing? In fact, it is surprising just how relevant the principle of tax farming can be, even in modern society. Take casinos, for example. They pay a large sum of money to local and state governments, and in return gain the right to siphon vast amounts of money from willing gamblers. The voluntary nature of the transaction makes it more palatable, of course, but even then the addictive nature of gambling muddles things.

Even more striking is the history of the banking system. That subject is so fascinating that it deserves its own post, but for now, suffice it to say that for decades, many U.S. states raised nearly half of their revenue by selling monopoly banking charters. In return, a particular bank would be given exclusive control of its town, free to earn considerable profits from its residents.

Neither casinos nor early banks are really the same as tax farming, of course. But they are both indirect means of collecting revenue, in which private parties gain outsized profits compared to the government’s take. Other examples can be seen with only a little effort, and the idea of tax farming is a useful lens for viewing much government policy.

Aside from that, this is another opportunity to bang my hobby horse of more realistic fantasy writing. As noted, tax farming was often the cause of massive oppression of the people, and resulting political unrest. I’d bet my last cent that some budding fantasy author could spin a much more interesting story using tax farming as an ingredient, than the typical “Evil Overlord wants to oppress the peasants for the lulz.”

The key thing to remember is that a king turns to tax farming when he needs more money that he can easily extract with his own efforts. It is the hallmark of lands with difficult travel, poor communication, and weak and divided political loyalties. In time, the tax farmers can become extremely powerful in their own right, perhaps even rivaling the established authority in the same way that Italian mercenaries would often overthrow their employers. If that isn’t fertile soil for a good story, I don’t know what is.

Coordinated versus Liberal Market Economies

11 Monday Jun 2012

Posted by in Credit, Economics, Finance

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[Welcome! If you enjoy worldbuilding, check out my handbook for authors and game designers, Beyond Kings and Princesses: Governments for Worldbuilders.]

Capitalist economies (not the same thing as free-market economies, necessarily) depend on those with money providing capital to firms that need it. For most of human history, most actual investment was done by a small number of people, those with the skills and inclination to form relationships with businesses. Vast amounts of money was economically sterile, being hoarded as gold or silver treasures in the vault of some nobleman or other (just as today one might stuff hundred-dollar bills into a mattress). For the economy to grow and develop, somehow a mechanism needed to be set up to allow savings to be automatically channeled into investment.

This mechanism was the banks. When you deposit money in a bank account, the bank then turns around and lends it to someone who wishes to borrow. The bank serves as an intermediary between you, the saver who wants nothing more than a safe place to store your money (with maybe a little interest on top), and the borrower. Thus, savings that were previously useless to the economy are now being recirculated. (This can lead to systemic fragilities, of course, but those must wait for another post.)

Most bank-dominated systems work in a style called relationship banking. A company forms a long-term exclusive relationship with a bank, that will provide access to capital in exchange for a large degree of control over the company’s decisions—the bank wants to make sure that the company isn’t going to waste the money, after all. This sort of system relies on personal relationships and insider knowledge more than on things like a credit score, which only came into common use in the 1980s or so.

Some economies, such as those in much of Europe, take this logic even further and structure their entire economy around such long-term relationships between firms. Business contracts, decisions on who to hire and how to train them, and access to capital are all made through a close-knit network of powerful executives; insider knowledge and relationships are the key factors here. This is called a coordinated market economy, and you can read a fuller description of it in Hall and Soskice’s Varieties of Capitalism. (Amazon link here.)

Coordinated market economies have some advantages over the American/British system of comparatively liberal market economies. The system in general is more stable; you don’t get the day-to-day disruptions common in the US economy, for example, because everything is based on long-term relationships. In particular, new upstarts find it very difficult to break into such a system, because they can’t get access to capital and they can’t win contracts from existing businesses. While this may seem bad to the American ear, it has the advantage that firms in such an economy can specialize in extremely narrow niches of production, leading to incremental innovation. This is why German companies are known for their precision manufacturing, for example: because they have the luxury of intense specialization in their particular areas.

On the other hand, because it is so difficult for new firms to compete, a continuing hazard of such economies is that the whole system begins to stagnate. Disruptive innovations find it hard to survive in such systems, and instead gravitate to the more open liberal market economies like the United States.

In a liberal market economy, access to capital for big firms is usually gained via the public markets: the stock market and bond market. This means that the long-term relationships typical of Continental economies are less important here. Instead, decisions about who to invest in are driven by the release of public data, for example in annual reports or tax filings. Using such data, market participants decide who to channel their capital to.

There are drawbacks to this system. Particularly in the last thirty years, company executives can be driven to chase quarterly targets at the expense of long-term viability. The business environment is volatile and always changing, making it extremely difficult to plot long-term strategy and to pursue incremental improvement.

On the other hand, this system is much more hospitable to disruptive innovation, as we can see just in the last decade or two. While it can be gut-wrenching while you’re in the middle of it, overall it leads to a more dynamic and healthy economic system over time; stagnation is less of a threat here.

The main difference between these two systems is in the ability to get investment capital without sucking up to a bank. From that relatively minor difference, massive differences in total economic structure can develop. (More details in the Hall/Soskice link.)

Again, institutions matter. And seemingly small differences in institutions can lead to major differences in outcomes.

Bills of Exchange, Banking, and the Little Things

05 Tuesday Jun 2012

Posted by in Credit, Economics, Finance, History

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Jared Rubin writes about the diverging history of the Christian and Muslim systems of finance back in the Middle Ages. At the time, both Christianity and Islam was enforcing restrictions on lending at interest; Islam also had a ban on financial speculation in general. At the same time, the Islamic world had a financial tool called the bill of exchange, which was meant to facilitate the movement of money between cities. When this tool spread into the Christian world, it became the basis for an explosion of international banking unlike anything seen in the world before then. Why? And why did it not have this effect in the Islamic world?

Bills of exchange worked like this.  Suppose you were a merchant traveling from Baghdad to Basra, to buy trade goods there. However, you don’t want to carry a great deal of money with you; to do so, you would need to hire bodyguards, not to mention the pack animals necessary to carry the precious metal itself (remember, silver and gold are quite heavy). This could be quite expensive; for example, the cost of moving gold bullion from Rome to Naples in this period has been estimated at between 8% and 12% of its value. So you deposit your money with an associate in Baghdad, and receive a bill of exchange for its value. This you must present to your Baghdad associate’s business partner in Basra, who will then give you cash. In this way, you don’t need to physically transport cash. And later, the business partners in Baghdad and Basra can settle their own balance, perhaps with a similar bill of exchange going the opposite direction.

Now, one can think of this transaction in two ways, which are not mutually exclusive. First, the business partners in Baghdad and Basra are clearly providing a service to you, the merchant, who can avoid the danger and expense of transporting your money. But remember too that you are fronting money to the issuer of the bill of exchange. Looked at this way, the bill issuer is borrowing your money.

Islamic law came down firmly on the side of the first understanding. The law required the merchant to pay a fee to the bill issuer—that is, the bill issuer is effectively being paid to borrow money. Furthermore, bills of exchange were dated, and needed to be redeemed by the specified date. If a bill were redeemed late, the merchant would be forced to pay a cumulative penalty. Unscrupulous businessmen sometimes exploited this by refusing to redeem bills of exchange on time, inflicting the penalty on the hapless merchant.

What this meant was that it was extremely risky to deal with bills of exchange from people you didn’t trust. Furthermore, you had little incentive to expand the network of people whose bills you used, since you were being forced to pay for the privilege. So bills of exchange, while useful in certain circumstances, did not stimulate the creation of the sprawling banking networks that grew in Europe later.

To understand the effect of the bill of exchange in Europe, we must understand the difference in conditions.

European trade was made particularly difficult because the different lands each had their own currencies. Furthermore, kings and princes often imposed bans on importing foreign coins into their lands. These bans existed for the good of the ruler alone: when the ruler issues his own currency, he earns seigniorage, the difference between the value of the silver or gold in a coin and its face value. So the more of his coins a ruler can impose on a captive populace, the more money he makes. (Worse, it was a depressingly common practice for rulers in need of cash to debase their currency, reducing its silver content so that each coin was worth less in reality.)

So to trade across lands, a European merchant needed a way to convert currencies—without paying the massive fees that local princes usually demanded. The bill of exchange answered the need. A merchant would deposit money with a banker in Florence, let’s say, and receive a bill of exchange payable in Lyons. The difference was that the bill of exchange was for a different currency than was deposited.

This was prohibited in Islamic lands, where currency swaps of this kind were viewed as speculation. But speculation was not banned in Christianity. So merchants were able to evade capital controls by creative use of debt contracts. Even better, merchants could take advantage of the predictable shifts of currency rates so that they would be repaid in more valuable money than they had lent out, effectively earning “stealth” interest and evading the Christian prohibition on usury.

Thus, Christian merchants and bankers had a huge incentive to expand their ties with other cities, since every additional city offered more opportunities to issue bills of exchange and therefore to lend money profitably. This is how the fabled Medici banking network was built up, for example: by establishing subsidiaries in cities across Europe and transacting bills of exchange between them, at considerable profit.

The upshot was that the creative use of bills of exchange supercharged international trade in Europe (while stunting intra-national trade, since there was no profit to be made in exchanging currencies), where its effects in Islamic lands had been more modest. And in Europe it led to the creation of the first international banking empires, where it did nothing of the sort in Islamic lands. All because of a few seemingly minor details: the Muslim prohibition of speculating in currencies, and Islamic law allowing the bill issuer to charge the lender instead of the other way around.

What lessons can we take away from this? First of all, the little things can have big effects. Second, there’s no way to predict the systemic outcome of a given tool, once human ingenuity gets turned loose to play. Third, the history of finance is pretty cool.