Why Economies Succeed or Fail paper "500 Word"
Rodrik_Feasible_Globalizations
FEASIBLE GLOBALIZATIONS
Dani Rodrik1 Harvard University
July 2002
Introduction
We want economic integration to help boost living standards. We want democratic
politics so that public policy decisions are made by those that are directly affected by them (or
their representatives). And we want self-determination, which comes with the nation-state. This
paper argues that we cannot have all three things simultaneously. The political trilemma of the
global economy is that the nation-state system, democratic politics, and full economic
integration are mutually incompatible. We can have at most two out of the three. It follows that
the direction in which we seem to be headed—global markets without global governance—is
unsustainable.
The alternative is a renewed “Bretton-Woods compromise:” preserving some limits on
integration, as built into the original Bretton Woods arrangements, along with some more global
rules to handle the integration that can be achieved. Those who would make a different choice—
toward tighter economic integration—must face up to the corollary: either tighter world
government or less democracy.
During the first four decades following the close of the Second World War, international
policy makers had kept their ambitions in check. They pursued a limited form of
internationalization of their economies, leaving lots of room for national economic management.
Successive rounds of multilateral trade negotiations made great strides, but focused only on the
most egregious of the barriers at the border and excluded large chunks of the economy
1 I am grateful to Michael Weinstein for very helpful suggestions.
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(agriculture, services, “sensitive” manufactures such as garments). In capital markets,
restrictions on currency transactions and financial flows remained the norm rather than the
exception. This Bretton Woods/GATT regime was successful because its architects subjugated
international economic integration to the needs and demands of national economic management
and of democratic politics.
This strategy changed drastically during the last two decades. Global policy is now
driven by an aggressive agenda of “deep” integration—elimination of all barriers to trade and
capital flows wherever those barriers may be found. The results have been problematic--in terms
of both economic performance (relative to the earlier post-war decades) and political legitimacy.
The simple reason is that “deep” economic integration is unattainable in a context where nation
states and democratic politics still exert considerable force.
The title of this essay conveys therefore two ideas. First, there are inherent limitations to
how far we can push global economic integration. It is neither feasible nor desirable to
maximize what Keynes called “economic entanglements between nations.”2 Second, within the
array of feasible globalizations, there are many different models to choose from. Each of these
models has different implications for whom we empower and whom we don’t, and who gains
and who loses. We need to recognize these two facts in order to make progress in the
globalization debate. One implication is that we need to scale down our ambitions with respect
to global economic integration. Another is that we need to do a better job of writing the rules for
a thinner version of globalization.
2 Keynes used this phrase in an essay written in the midst of the Great Depression, in which he appeared to have given up on free trade altogether: "I sympathize with those who would minimize, rather than those who would maximize economic entanglements between nations. Ideas, art, knowledge, hospitality and travel should be international. But let goods be homespun whenever it is reasonable and conveniently possible, and above all let finance be primarily national." (John Maynard Keynes, "National Self-Sufficiency", Yale Review, 1933.)
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My argument about the limits to globalization is not (or should not be) self-evident. It
rests on several building blocks, and it may be useful to state these at the outset. The argument
proceeds from the starting point that markets need to be embedded in a range of non-market
institutions in order to work well. These institutions perform several functions critical to
markets’ performance: they create, regulate, stabilize, and legitimate markets.
The second and much less appreciated point is that there is no simple or unique mapping
between these functions and the form that the institutional infrastructure can take. American-
style capitalism differs greatly from Japanese-style capitalism; there is tremendous variety in
labor-market and welfare-state institutions even within Europe; and low-income countries often
require heterodox institutional arrangements to embark on development.
The third point is that institutional diversity of this kind is a significant impediment to
full economic integration. Indeed, now that formal restrictions on trade and investment have
mostly disappeared, regulatory and jurisdictional discontinuities created by heterogeneous
national institutions constitute the most important barriers to international commerce. “Deep
integration” would require removing these transaction costs through institutional
harmonization—an agenda on which the World Trade Organization has already embarked.
However, once we recognize that institutional diversity performs a valuable economic (as well as
social) role, it becomes clear that this is a path full of dangers.
Fortunately, there are “feasible” models of globalization that would generate significantly
more benefits than our current version—and a much more equitable distribution thereof. I
discuss towards the end of the paper a modification of global rules that would produce
particularly powerful results: a multilaterally negotiated visa scheme that allows expanded (but
temporary) entry into the advanced nations of a mix of skilled and unskilled workers from
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developing nations. Such a scheme would create income gains that are larger than all of the
items on the WTO negotiating agenda taken together, even if it resulted in a relatively small
increase in cross-border labor flows.
Markets and non-market institutions
The paradox of markets is that they thrive not under laissez-faire but under the watchful
eye of the state. Here is how Jacques Barzun describes the extensive regulatory apparatus in
place in Venice at the height of its wealth and power around 1650:
There were inspectors of weights and measures and of the Mint; arbitrators of commercial disputes and of servants and apprentices’ grievances; censors of shop signs and taverns and of poor workmanship; wage setters and tax leviers; consuls to help creditors collect their due; and a congeries of marine officials. The population, being host to sailors from all over the Mediterranean, required a vigilant board of health, as did the houses of resort, for the excellence of which Venice became noted. All the bureaucrats were trained as carefully as the senators and councilors and every act was checked and rechecked as by a firm of accountants.3
What made Venice the epicenter of international trade and finance in 17th century Europe was
the quality of its public institutions. The same can be said of London in the 19th century and
New York in the second half of the 20th.
It is generally well understood that markets require non-market institutions—at the very
least, a legal regime that enforces property rights and contracts. Without property rights and
contract enforcement, markets cannot exist in any but the most rudimentary fashion. But the
dependence of markets on public institutions goes beyond property rights. Markets are not self-
regulating, self-stabilizing, or self-legitimating. Businessmen seldom meet together, complained
Adam Smith, without the conversation ending up in a “conspiracy against the public.” In the
3 Jacques Barzun, From Dawn to Decadence: 500 Years of Western Cultural Life, Perennial, New York, 2000, p. 172.
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absence of regulations pertaining to anti-trust, information disclosure, prudential limits, public
health and safety, and environmental and other externalities, markets can hardly do their job
correctly. Without a lender-of-last-resort and a public fisc, markets are prone to wild gyrations
and periodic bouts of underemployment. And without safety nets and social insurance to temper
risks and inequalities, markets cannot retain their legitimacy for long. The genius of capitalism,
where it works, is that it has managed to continually re-invent the institutional underpinnings of a
self-sustaining market economy: central banking, stabilizing fiscal policy, antitrust and
regulation, social insurance, political democracy.
What is generally less well understood is that the institutional basis of market economies
is not unique. Creating, regulating, stabilizing, or legitimating markets are functions that do not
map into specific institutional forms. Consider property rights, for example. What is relevant
from an economic standpoint is whether current and prospective investors have the assurance
that they can retain the fruits of their investments—and not the precise legal form that this
assurance takes. China, to take an extreme but illustrative example, has managed to provide
investors with this assurance despite the complete absence of private property rights.
Institutional innovations in the form of the Household Responsibility System or the Township
and Village Enterprises, it turns out, have served as functional equivalents of a private-enterprise
economy. How else can we explain the tremendous burst in entrepreneurial activity that has
taken place in China since the reforms of the late 1970s? By contrast, many countries fail to
provide investors with effective control rights over cash flow even though private property rights
are nominally protected. Russia during the 1990s provides a good example of the latter.
Perhaps the best way to observe that market economies are compatible with diverse
institutions is to note the variety that exists among today’s advanced countries. The United
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States, Europe, and Japan are all successful societies: they have each produced comparable
amounts of wealth over the long term. Yet their institutions in labor markets, corporate
governance, regulation, social protection, and banking and finance have differed greatly.
Scandinavia was everyone’s favorite in the 1970s; Japan became the model to emulate in the
1980s; and the United States was the undisputed king of the 1990s. Such predictable changes in
institutional fashions should not blind us to the reality that none of these models can be deemed a
clear winner in the contest of “capitalisms.” Furthermore, despite much talk about convergence
in recent years, there have been few real signs of it. Financial systems (and to a much lesser
extent corporate governance regimes) have tended to move towards an Anglo-American model.
But labor marker arrangements (as captured by union membership or collective bargaining
coverage rates) have in fact diverged.4
There are good reasons for institutional diversity, and for why national institutions are
resistant to convergence. For one thing, societies differ in the values and norms that shape their
institutional choices. To take an obvious example, Americans and Europeans tend to have
different views as regards the determinants of economic outcomes: compared to Americans,
Europeans put greater weight on luck and smaller weight on individual effort.5 Europeans
correspondingly favor extensive redistribution and social protection schemes. Americans, for
4 On the limited convergence in effective patterns of corporate governance, see Colin Mayer, “Corporate Cultures and Governance: Ownership, Control, and Governance of European and US Corporations,” Said Business School, University of Oxford, unpublished paper, March 2002, and Tarun Khanna, Joe Kogan, and Krishna Palepu, “Globalization and Corporate Governance Convergence? A Cross-Country Analysis,” Harvard Business School, unpublished paper, October 2001. On divergence in labor market institutions, see Richard Freeman, “Single Peaked vs. Diversified Capitalism: The Relation Between Economic Institutions and Outcomes,” National Bureau of Economic Research Working Paper 7556, Cambridge, MA, February 2000. 5 For an analysis of differences in attitudes towards inequality, see Alberto Alesina, Rafael di Tella, and Robert MacCulloch, “Inequality and Happiness: Are Europeans and Americans Different?” National Bureau of Economic Research Working Paper 8198, Cambridge, MA, April 2001.
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their part, tend to focus on equality of opportunity and tolerate much larger amounts of
inequality.
There is a second, subtler reason for the absence of convergence in institutional
arrangements. Different elements of a society’s institutional configuration tend to be mutually
reinforcing. Consider, for example, the manner in which Japanese society provides its citizens
with social protection. Unlike Europe, the Japanese government does not maintain an expensive
welfare state financed by transfers from taxpayers. Instead, social insurance has been provided
in the postwar period through a combination of elements unique to “Japanese-style” capitalism:
lifetime employment in large enterprises, protection of agriculture and small-scale services
(“mom-and-pop” stores), government-organized cartels, and regulation of product markets. All
of these have in turn repercussions for other parts of the institutional landscape. One implication
of these arrangements is that they strengthen “insiders” (managers and employees) relative to
“outsiders” (shareholders) and therefore necessitate a different corporate governance model than
the Anglo-American one: in Japan, “insiders” have traditionally been monitored and disciplined
not by shareholders but by banks.6 In the United States, by contrast, the prevailing model of
shareholder-value maximization privileges profits over the interests of insiders and other
“stakeholders.” But the flip side of this is that profit-seeking behavior is constrained by the
toughest anti-trust regime in the world. It is difficult to imagine governments in Europe or Japan
humiliating their premier high-tech company the way that U.S. has done with Microsoft.
With such mutual dependence among the different parts of the institutional landscape,
anything short of comprehensive change can be quite disruptive, and is therefore difficult to
6 See Masahiko Aoki, "Unintended Fit: Organizational Evolution and Government Design of Institutions in Japan," in M. Aoki et al, eds., The Role of Government in East Asian Economic Development: Comparative Institutional Analysis, Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1997.
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contemplate in normal times. The result is what economists call “path dependence” or
“hysteresis:” once the institutional setup performs reasonably successfully (and often when it is
not), it gets locked in.
The last major category of reasons for institutional diversity has to do with the special
needs of developing nations. Sparking and maintaining economic growth often requires
institutional innovations that can depart significantly from American or Western ideals of “best
practice.” Consider China again, the most spectacular case of success in the developing world in
the last quarter century. A Western trained economist advising China in 1978 would have
advocated the complete overhaul of the socialist economic regime: private property rights in
land, corporatization of state enterprises, deregulation and price liberalization, currency
unification, tax reform, reduction of import tariffs and elimination of quantitative restrictions on
imports. China undertook few of these, and those that it did take on (such as currency
unification and trade liberalization) were delayed for a decade or two after the onset of high
growth. Instead, the Chinese leadership devised highly effective institutional shortcuts. The
Household Responsibility System, Township and Village Enterprises, Special Economic Zones,
and Two-Tier Pricing, among many other innovations, enabled the Chinese government to
stimulate incentives for production and investment without a wholesale restructuring of the
existing legal, social, and political regime.7
The Chinese experience represents not the exception, but the rule: transitions to high
growth are typically sparked by a relatively narrow range of reforms that mix orthodoxy with
domestic institutional innovations, and not by comprehensive transformations that mimic best-
7 See the discussion of “transitional institutions” in Yingyi Qian, “How Reform Worked in China,” in Dani Rodrik, ed., In Search of Prosperity: Analytic Narratives on Economic Growth, Princeton University Press, Princeton, NJ, forthcoming.
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practice institutions from the West. South Korea and Taiwan since the early 1960s, Mauritius
since the early 1970s, India since the early 1980s, and Chile since the mid-1980s are some of the
more significant examples of this strategy.8
Institutional diversity versus deep integration
When economists talk about obstacles to global economic integration, they typically have
in mind things like import tariffs, quantitative restrictions on trade, multiple currency practices,
restrictive regulations on foreign borrowing and lending, and limitations on foreign ownership.
The past few decades have witnessed unparalleled reduction in such barriers, as all of these have
been eliminated or slashed across the globe. With the textbook impediments gone, one would
have expected national economies to become seamlessly integrated with each other. But, to their
surprise, economists have discovered that economic integration remains seriously incomplete.
To be sure, the volume of cross-border trade and investment flows has increased by leaps
and bounds in recent decades. Still, when measured against the benchmark of national markets,
international markets remain highly fragmented. A well-known study calculated that the volume
of trade between two Canadian provinces is 20 times larger than trade between a province and an
equidistant U.S. state across the border.9 While later academic studies have been able to reduce
this large differential, they all confirm that national borders exert strong depressing effects on
8 This is why studies such as David Dollar and Aaart Kraay’s “Trade, Growth, and Poverty” (Development Research Group, The World Bank, unpublished paper, March 2001), which purport to show that “globalizers” grow faster than “non-globalizers,” are so misleading. The countries used as exemplars of “globalizers” in these studies (China, India, Vietnam) have all employed heterodox strategies, and the last conclusion that can derived from their experience is that trade liberalization, adherence to WTO strictures, and adoption of the “Washington Consensus” are the best way to generate economic growth. China (until recently) and Vietnam were not even members of the WTO, and together with India, these countries remain among the most protectionist in the world. 9 John McCallum, “National Borders Matter: Canada-U.S. Regional Trade Patterns,” The American Economic Review, Vol. 85, No. 3. (Jun., 1995), pp. 615-623.
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economic exchange.10 A different strand of the literature has focused on a related phenomenon
trade economists call “missing trade.” This refers to the observation that factor flows (e.g., labor
and capital) embodied in trade fall far short of what standard theories of comparative advantage
predict. Given the very large differences in relative factor endowments across countries and the
apparent absence of formal trade barriers, there is much less trade in “factor services” than there
should be.11
From an economic standpoint, what matters most is not the volume of trade as much as
the degree of price convergence across national markets. Here too, the results have been
disappointing. Prices of tradable commodities often diverge substantially across national
markets, even after indirect taxes and retail costs are purged from the comparison.12 Moreover,
when prices do converge to a common level, the process of convergence tends to be slow, taking
several years.13 All of these pieces of evidence point to the same conclusion: national borders
continue to act as serious impediments to economic exchange, even though formal trade barriers
have all but disappeared.
It may come as a surprise that the situation is not much different in capital markets. In a
world of free capital mobility, households would place their wealth in internationally diversified
portfolios, and the location of enterprises would not affect their access to financing. In reality,
10 See James E. Anderson and Eric van Wincoop, “Gravity with Gravitas: A Solution to the Border Puzzle,” National Bureau of Economic Research Working Paper 8079, Cambridge, MA, January 2001. 11 The standard reference on this is Daniel Trefler, “The Case of the Missing Trade and Other Mysteries,” The American Economic Review, Vol. 85, No. 5. (Dec., 1995), pp. 1029-1046. 12 For example, Scott Bradford estimates that domestic prices of motorcycles and bicycles exceed world prices by 100% in the U.K., 76% in Bergium, and 60% in Germany. For these and other estimates, see Bradford, “Paying the Price: The Welfare and Employment Effects of Protection in OECD Countries,” Economics Department, Brigham Young University, December 2000, unpublished paper, Table 2. 13 See the survey by Kenneth S. Rogoff, “The Purchasing Power Parity Puzzle,” Journal of Economic Literature, Vol. 34, No. 2. (Jun., 1996), pp. 647-668.
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financial markets are subject to a great amount of “home bias.” Investments in plant and
equipment are still constrained by the availability of domestic savings and portfolios remain
remarkably parochial.14 Even in periods of exuberance, net capital flows between rich and poor
nations fall considerably short of what theoretical models would predict. And in periods of
panic, which occur with alarming frequency, capital flows from North to South can dry up in an
instant. Global foreign exchange markets may turn over $1.5 trillion in a single day, but any
investor who acts on the assumption that it’s all one big capital market out there and national
borders don’t matter would be in for a big surprise—sooner rather than later.
Where do these border barriers arise from if not from attempts by governments to directly
restrict trade and capital flows? We are now in a position to link this discussion with the
previous one on institutional diversity. The key point is that national borders, and the
institutional boundaries that they define, impose a wide array of transaction costs. Institutional
and jurisdictional discontinuities serve to segment markets in much the same way that transport
costs or import taxes do.
These transaction costs arise from various sources. Most obviously, contract
enforcement is more problematic across national boundaries than it is domestically. Domestic
courts may be unwilling--and international courts unable--to enforce a contract signed between
residents of two different countries. This problem exists across the board, but is particularly
severe in the case of capital flows as financial contracts inevitably involve a promise to repay. A
key reason why more capital does not flow to poorer countries is that there is no good way such
14 Linda Tesar and Ingrid Werner, “The Internationalization of Securities Markets since the 1987 Crash,” in R. Litan and A. Santomero, eds., Brookings-Wharton Papers on Financial Services, The Brookings Institution, Washington, DC, 1998.
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a promise can be rendered binding across national jurisdictions—short of resorting to the
gunboat diplomacy of old.
Often, contracts are implicit rather than explicit, in which case they require repeated
interaction between the parties or side constraints to make them sustainable. In the domestic
context, implicit contracts are often "embedded" in social networks, which allow incentives to be
aligned properly by providing sanctions against opportunistic behavior. One of the things that
keep businessmen honest is fear of social ostracism. The role played by ethnic networks in
fostering cross-border trade and investment linkages (as in the case of the Chinese in Southeast
Asia) is indicative of the importance of group ties in facilitating economic exchange.15 But such
ties are generally harder to set up across national borders, in the absence of fortuitous ethnic and
other social linkages. More broadly, the poor quality of national institutions and the lack of
adequate protection of property rights in many developing countries is a serious handicap for
these countries’ effective participation in the international economy.
Transaction costs also result from national differences in regulatory regimes and in the
rules of doing business—informal as well as legal. That such differences raise the cost of
buying, selling, and investing across national boundaries is one of the most frequent complaints
heard from businessmen around the world. Indeed, trade conflicts are increasingly the
consequence of these differences. When the United States blames Japan’s retail distribution
practices for keeping Kodak out of the Japanese market or when it lodges a complaint against the
EU in the WTO because of the latter’s ban on hormone treated beef, what is at issue is the impact
that different styles of regulation have on international trade. These complaints do not go in a
unique direction. Developing nations have won WTO judgments against the U.S. that centered
15 See Alessandra Casella and James Rauch, "Anonymous Market and Group Ties in International Trade," National Bureau of Economic Research Working Paper W6186, September 1997.
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on gasoline standards and fishing regulations enacted pursuant to the U.S. Clean Air Act and the
U.S. Endangered Species Act—on the grounds that these regulations were harmful to their sales
of gasoline and shrimp, respectively. Trade negotiations have correspondingly become more
focused on harmonizing such regulatory differences away. In the Uruguay Round, a major
victory for this agenda was the Agreement on Trade Related Aspects of Intellectual Property
Rights (TRIPs), which established a minimum patent length requirement. In the area of
international finance, a similar push is under way through the promulgation of a series of codes
and standards on corporate governance, capital adequacy, bank regulation, accounting, auditing,
and insurance.
In sum, national borders stand in the way of deep economic integration because they
demarcate institutional boundaries. One conclusion, and the one that many economists have
drawn, is that the way forward is to offset these centrifugal forces through international
agreements, harmonization and standard setting. That, after all, is how the economic gains from
further integration can be reaped. But, as I have argued earlier, diversity in national institutions
serves a real and useful purpose. It is rooted in national preferences, sustains social compacts,
and allows developing nations to find their way out of poverty. There is no easy choice here.
The political trilemma of the global economy
The tradeoffs can be illustrated with the help of Figure 1, which displays what I call the
political trilemma of the global economy.16 The key message of the figure is that the nation-state
system, deep economic integration, and democracy are mutually incompatible. We can have at
16 The discussion of this trilemma draws heavily on my “How Far Will International Economic Integration Go?” Journal of Economic Perspectives, Winter 2000.
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most two out of these three. If we want to push global economic integration much further, we
have to give up either the nation state or mass politics. If we want to maintain and deepen
democracy, we have to choose between the nation state and international economic integration.
And if we want to keep the nation state, we have to choose between democracy and international
economic integration.
To see the logic in this, consider a hypothetical perfectly integrated world economy in
which national borders do not interfere with exchange in goods, services or capital. Transaction
costs and tax differentials would be minor; convergence in commodity prices and factor returns
would be almost complete. Is such a world compatible with the nation-state system? Can we
maintain the nation-state system largely as is, but ensure that national jurisdictions—and the
differences among them—do not get in the way of economic transactions? Possibly, if nation
states were to singularly focus on becoming attractive to international markets. National
jurisdictions, far from acting as an obstacle, would then be geared towards maximizing
international commerce and capital mobility. Domestic regulations and tax policies would be
either harmonized according to international standards, or structured such that they pose the least
amount of hindrance to international economic integration. The only public goods provided
would be those that are compatible with integrated markets.
It is possible to envisage a world of this sort, and in fact many commentators believe we
already live in it. Governments today try to outdo each other in pursuing policies that they
believe will earn them market confidence and attract trade and capital inflows: tight money,
small government, low taxes, flexible labor legislation, deregulation, privatization, and openness
all around. These are the policies that comprise what Thomas Friedman (1999) has aptly termed
the Golden Straitjacket. As Friedman notes, the price of maintaining national sovereignty while
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markets become international is that politics has to be exercised over a much narrower domain.
"As your country puts on the Golden Straitjacket," Friedman writes (1999, 87),
two things tend to happen: your economy grows and your politics shrinks…. [The] Golden Straitjacket narrows the political and economic policy choices of those in power to relatively tight parameters. That is why it is increasingly difficult these days to find any real differences between ruling and opposition parties in those countries that have put on the Golden Straitjacket. Once your country puts on the Golden Straitjacket, its political choices get reduced to Pepsi or Coke--to slight nuances of tastes, slight nuances of policy, slight alterations in design to account for local traditions, some loosening here or there, but never any major deviation from the core golden rules.
The crowding out of democratic politics gets reflected in the insulation of economic policy
making bodies (central banks, fiscal authorities, and so on), the disappearance (or privatization)
of social insurance, and the replacement of developmental goals with the need to maintain
market confidence. Once the rules of the game are set by the requirements of the global
economy, domestic groups' access to, and their control over, national economic policy-making
has to be restricted.
No country went farther down this path in the 1990s than Argentina, which looked for a
while like the perfect illustration of Friedman's point. Argentina’s ultimate collapse carries an
important lesson for this discussion. Argentina undertook more trade liberalization, tax reform,
privatization, and financial reform than virtually any other country in Latin America. It did
everything possible to endear itself to international capital markets. Obtaining investment-grade
rating—the ultimate mark of approval by international markets—became the Argentine
government’s first priority.17 Why did international investors nonetheless abruptly abandon the
country as the decade was coming to a close?
17 The much-maligned currency board system, originally aimed at stopping inflation, eventually became part of this same strategy. A government that was prevented from printing money, it was felt, would be more attractive to foreign investors.
16
Whatever financial markets feared, it could not have been a lack of commitment by the
political leadership to pay back the foreign debt. Indeed, during the course of 2001 President de
la Rúa and economy minister Cavallo abrogated their contracts with virtually all domestic
constituencies--public employees, pensioners, provincial governments, bank depositors--so as to
not skip one cent of their obligations to foreign creditors. What ultimately sealed Argentina's
fate in the eyes of financial markets was not what Cavallo and de la Rúa were doing, but what
the Argentine people were willing to accept. Markets grew increasingly skeptical that the
Argentine congress, provinces, and common people would tolerate the policy of putting foreign
obligations before domestic ones. And in the end the markets were proven correct. After a
couple of days of mass protests and riots just before Christmas, Cavallo and de la Rúa had to
resign in rapid succession.
So Argentina’s lesson has proved to be a different one than Friedman’s: Mass politics
casts a long shadow on international capital flows, even when political leaders single-mindedly
pursue the agenda of deep integration. In democracies, when the demands of foreign creditors
collide with the needs of domestic constituencies, the former eventually yield to the latter. When
push comes to shove, democracy shoves the Golden Straitjacket aside.
Conceptually, an obvious alternative is to drop nation states rather than democratic
politics. This is the solution of “global federalism” shown in Figure 1. Global federalism would
align jurisdictions with markets, and remove the “border effects.” Politics need not, and would
not, shrink: it would relocate to the global level. This is the United States model expanded on a
global scale. Despite the continuing existence of differences in regulatory and taxation practices
among states, the presence of a national constitution, national government, and federal judiciary
ensures that markets in the U.S. are truly national. The European Union, while very far from a
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federal system at present, is headed broadly in the same direction. Under global federalism
national governments would not necessarily disappear, but their powers would be severely
circumscribed by supranational legislative, executive, and judicial authorities.
If this sounds like pie in the sky, it is. The historical experience of the U.S. shows how
tricky it is to establish and maintain a political union in the face of large differences in
institutional arrangements in the constituent parts. The halting way in which political institutions
within the EU have developed and the persisting complaints about their democratic deficit are
also indicative of the difficulties involved--even when the union encompasses a group of nations
at similar income levels and with similar historical trajectories. Federalism on a truly global
scale is at best a century away.
The only remaining option is to sacrifice the goal of deep economic integration. I have
termed this the Bretton Woods compromise in Figure 1. The essence of the Bretton Woods-
GATT regime was that countries were free to dance to their own tune as long as they removed a
number of border restrictions on trade and generally did not discriminate among their trade
partners.18 They were allowed (indeed encouraged) to maintain restrictions on capital flows, as
Keynes and the other architects of the postwar economic order did not believe that a system of
free capital flows was compatible with domestic economic stability. Even though an impressive
amount of trade liberalization was undertaken during successive rounds of GATT negotiations,
there were also gaping exceptions. Services, agriculture and textiles were effectively left out of
the negotiations. Various clauses in the GATT (on anti-dumping and safeguards, in particular)
permitted countries to erect trade barriers when their industries came under severe competition
18 John Ruggie has written insightfully on this, describing the system that emerged as "embedded liberalism." See his “International Regimes, Transactions, and Change: Embedded Liberalism in the Postwar Economic Order,” in Stephen D. Krasner, ed., International Regimes, Cornell University Press, Ithaca, NY, 1983.
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from imports. And developing country policies were effectively left outside the scope of
international discipline.
Until roughly the 1980s, these loose rules left enough space for countries to follow their
own, possibly divergent paths of development. Western Europe chose to integrate within itself
and to erect an extensive system of social insurance. Japan caught up with the West using its
own distinctive brand of capitalism, combining a dynamic export machine with large doses of
inefficiency in services and agriculture. China grew by leaps and bounds once it recognized the
importance of private initiative, even though it flouted every other rule in the guidebook. Much
of the rest of East Asia generated an economic miracle relying on industrial policies that have
since been banned by the WTO. And scores of countries in Latin America, the Middle East, and
Africa generated unprecedented economic growth rates until the late 1970s under import-
substitution policies that insulated their economies from the world economy.
The Bretton Woods compromise was largely abandoned in the 1980s as the liberalization
of capital flows gathered speed and trade agreements began to reach behind national borders.
We have since been trapped in the uncomfortable (and unsustainable) zone somewhere in
between the three nodes of Figure 1. Neither of the alternatives to the Bretton Woods
compromise provides a real way forward. The Golden Straitjacket may be feasible, but it is not
desirable. Global federalism may be desirable, but it is not feasible. If the principal locus of
democratic politics is to remain the nation state, we have to lower our sights on economic
globalization. We have no choice but to settle for a “thin” version of globalization–to reinvent
the Bretton Woods compromise for a different era.
Alternative globalizations: example of labor mobility
19
What kind of globalization should we strive for then? Posing the question is important in
its own right, as it makes us aware that there are real choices to be made. Global economic rules
are not written by Platonic rulers, or their present-day pretenders, academic economists. If WTO
agreements were truly about “free trade,” as their opponents like to point out, a single sentence
would suffice (“there shall be free trade”). The reality of course is that there is considerable
politics in agenda setting and rule making—and those who have power get more out of the
system than those who do not. While this is well understood at some level, advocates of
globalization have to a tendency to present their agenda with an air of inevitability, as if it has a
natural logic that only economic illiterates would reject. Recognizing that there is a multiplicity
of feasible globalizations—as there is a multiplicity of institutional underpinnings for capitalist
economies—would have an important liberating effect on our policy discussions.
To make the point as starkly as possible, consider the following thought experiment.
Imagine that the negotiators who recently met in Doha to hammer out an agenda for world trade
talks were really interested in boosting incomes around the world. Imagine further that they
really meant it when they said the new round would be a “development round,” i.e., one designed
to bring maximum benefit to poor countries. What would they have focused on? Increasing
market access for developing country exports? Reform of the agricultural regime in Europe and
other advanced countries? Intellectual property rights and public health in developing nations?
Rules on government procurement, competition policy, environment, or trade facilitation?
The answer is none of the above. These are areas where the benefits to developing
countries are slim at best. The biggest bang by far lies in something that was not even on the
agenda at Doha: relaxing restrictions on the international movement of workers. This would
20
produce the largest possible gains for the world economy, and for poor countries in particular.
Nothing else comes close to the magnitude of economic benefits that this would generate.
We know this because of a simple principle of economics. The income gains that derive
from international trade rise with the square of the price differentials across national markets.
Compare in this respect markets in goods and financial assets, on the one hand, with markets for
labor services, on the other. Removal of restrictions in markets for goods and financial assets
has narrowed the scope of price differentials in these markets (although not done away with them
completely, as we have seen). Remaining price wedges rarely exceed a ratio of 2 to 1.
Meanwhile, there has been virtually no liberalization of markets for cross-border labor services.
Consequently, wages of similarly qualified individuals in the advanced and low-income
countries can differ by a factor of 10 or more. Applying the economics principle enunciated
above, liberalizing cross-border labor movements can be expected to yield benefits that are
roughly 25 times larger than those that would accrue from the traditional agenda focusing on
goods and capital flows!
It follows that even a minor liberalization of international labor flows would create gains
for the world economy that are much larger than the combined effect of all the post-Doha
initiatives under consideration. Consider for example a temporary work visa scheme that
amounts to no more than 3 percent of the rich countries’ labor force. Under the scheme, skilled
and unskilled workers from poor nations would be allowed employment in the rich countries for
3-5 years, to be replaced by a new wave of inflows upon return to their home countries. A back-
of-the-envelope calculation indicates that such a system would easily yield $200 billion annually
for the citizens of developing nations, vastly more than the existing estimates of the gains from
the current trade agenda. The positive spillovers that the returnees would generate for their home
21
countries—the experience, entrepreneurship, investment, and work ethic they would bring back
with them and put to work—would add considerably to these gains. What is equally important,
the economic benefits would accrue directly to workers from developing nations. We would not
need to wait for trickle-down to do its job.
Relaxing restrictions on cross-border flows through temporary work contracts and other
schemes has a compelling economic logic, but is it politically feasible? One concern is that such
flows would have adverse distributional implications in labor markets of advanced countries. In
particular, wages of low-skill workers would be depressed. A second concern is that
immigration is already highly unpopular in many industrial countries. Indeed, worries about
crime and other social problems (as well as racism) have made immigration a hot political issue
in an increasing number or rich countries. Third, might increased labor flows enhance the threat
of terrorism in our post-September 11 world? All of these suggest that pushing for larger worker
inflows may well amount to political suicide.
But while opposition to immigration is real, the political factors at work are subtler than
is commonly supposed. Imports from developing countries—which are nothing other than
inflows of embodied labor services—create the same downward pressure on rich country wages
as immigration, and that has not stopped policymakers from bringing trade barriers down. The
bias towards trade and investment liberalization is certainly not due to the fact that that is
politically popular at home (whereas labor flows are not). The median voter in the advanced
countries is against both immigration and imports: fewer than 1 in 5 Americans and Britons
reject import restrictions when they are asked their views on trade policy. In these countries, the
proportion of voters who want to expand imports tends to be about the same or lower than the
proportion that believe immigration is good for the economy. In any case, a well-designed
22
scheme of labor inflows can mitigate much of the concern regarding adverse distributional
implications for the host countries. For example, we can imagine aligning the skill mix of
“guest” workers with that of the natives—allowing in no more than one construction worker or
fruit picker, say, for every physician or software engineer. Finally, there is no clear answer to
the question of whether the world would be a safer place with a small, multilaterally-regulated
regime of registered contract workers than it is presently. Arguments can be made in either
direction.
If substantial liberalization of trade and investment has taken place, it is not because it
has been popular with voters at home, but largely because the beneficiaries have organized
successfully and become politically effective. Multinational firms and financial enterprises have
been quick to see the link between enhanced market access abroad and increased profits, and
they have managed to put these issues on the negotiating agenda. Temporary labor flows, by
contrast, have not had a well-defined constituency in the advanced countries. This is not because
the benefits are smaller, but because the beneficiaries are not as clearly identifiable. When a
Turkish worker enters the European Union or a Mexican worker enters the U.S., the ultimate
beneficiaries in Europe and the U.S. are not known ex ante. It is only after the worker lands a
job that his employer develops a direct stake in keeping him in the country. This explains why,
for example, the U.S. federal government spends a large amount of resources on border controls
to prevent hypothetical immigrants from coming in, while it has virtually no ability to deport
employed illegals or fine their employers once they are actually inside the country. The same
principle also explains why significant relaxations on labor restrictions do come about
occasionally, but only in response to pressure from well-organized interest groups such as
agricultural producers or Silicon Valley firms.
23
The lesson is that political constraints can be malleable. Economists have remained
excessively tolerant of the political realities that underpin the highly restrictive regime of
international labor mobility, even as they continually decry the protectionist forces that block
further liberalization of an already very open trading system.
To ensure that labor mobility produces benefits for developing nations it is imperative
that the regime be designed in a way that generates incentives for return to home countries.
While remittances can be an important source of income support for poor families, they are
generally unable to spark and sustain long-term economic development. Designing contract
labor schemes that are truly temporary is tricky, but it can be done. Unlike previous such
schemes, there need to be clear incentives for all parties—workers, employees, and home and
host governments—to live up to their commitments. One possibility would be to withhold a
portion of workers’ earnings until return takes place. This forced saving scheme would also
ensure to workers would come back home with a sizeable pool of resources to invest. In
addition, there could be penalties for home governments whose nationals failed to comply with
return requirements. For example, sending countries’ quotas could be reduced in proportion to
the numbers that fail to return. That would increase incentives for sending government to do
their utmost to create a hospitable economic and political climate at home and to encourage their
nationals’ return.
In the end, it is inevitable that the return rate will fall short of 100 percent. But even with
less than full compliance, the gains from reorienting our priorities towards the labor mobility
agenda remain significant.
24
Concluding remarks
I have highlighted two shortcomings of the current discussion on globalization. First,
there is inadequate appreciation of the fact that economic globalization is necessarily limited by
the scope of desirable institutional diversity at the national level. Under current political
configurations and economic realities, deep integration is a utopia. Second, there are many
possible models of “feasible globalization,” with different implications for economic benefits
and their incidence. As my discussion of labor mobility illustrates, we are not focusing currently
on areas of economic integration where the biggest gains are. The hopeful message is that it is
possible to squeeze much additional mileage out of globalization, while still remaining within the
boundaries of feasibility I have identified.
25
THE POLITICAL TRILEMMA OF THE WORLD ECONOMY Golden Global Straitjacket federalism
Bretton Woods compromise Figure 1: Pick two, any two
Deep economic integration
Democratic politics Nation state
Rodrik NBER Reporter 1999 East Asian mysteries
East Asian mysteries: past and present.
By Rodrik, Dani Publication: NBER Reporter Date: Monday, March 22 1999
East Asian Mysteries: Past and Present
Dani Rodrik*
* Rodrik is a Research Associate in the NBER's Programs on International Trade and Investment and International Finance and Macroeconomics and the Rafiq Hariri Professor of International Political Economy at the John F. Kennedy School of Government at Harvard University. His "Profile" appears later in this issue.
East Asia has long served as a Rorschach test for economists. The region's spectacular growth from the 1960s until the crash of 1997 spawned diverse interpretations that had as much to do with the preoccupations of the analyst as with the realities on the ground.
Observers with a favorable take on industrial policy saw in East Asia a confirmation of their theories on the importance of state intervention. Advocates of free markets saw instead the triumph of small government and unfettered private initiative. Trade economists viewed it as a miracle based on outward orientation, labor economists stressed the early emphasis on education, and macroeconomists pointed to the region's fiscal conservatism. Growth theorists debated the respective contributions of human capital, physical capital, and technology adoption. (1)
Interpretations of the recent crisis have had a similar quality. Critics of state-led industrialization have blamed East Asian governments for encouraging excessive investments with low marginal returns. Those who worry about moral hazard have focused on "crony capitalism." Economists skeptical of the rationality of international capital markets have viewed the crisis as yet another episode in the boom-and-bust saga of financial markets.
One reason that East Asia has something to offer to all persuasions is the region's diversity. The attitude toward economic policy ranges from the almost laissez-faire (Hong Kong) to the highly interventionist (South Korea, until recently). In terms of the rule of law, the region spans almost the entire feasible range, from Indonesia at one end to Singapore at the other. Japan and Korea are homogeneous societies, while the populations of Indonesia and Malaysia are ethnically diverse. Nor has growth performance been uniform: between 1960 and 1994, output per worker expanded at an average annual rate of 5.2 percent in Taiwan, compared with 2.9 percent in Indonesia. (2) Whether it is the miracle or the recent crisis that we are trying to explain, these facts suggest that there is no single East Asian story.
Growth in South Korea and Taiwan
In 1960 South Korea and Taiwan were as poor as many African countries are today. Their remarkable transformation in the three decades that followed is often portrayed as an example of what export-led growth can achieve in countries that chose to open themselves to international trade. That these two countries, along with others in the region, produced sustained export booms is not controversial. Yet there is much more to their story than outward orientation.
Figure 1 shows the relative price of exportable goods in four countries that experienced export booms: South Korea, Taiwan, Turkey, and Chile. (3) Because the timing of the booms differ (early 1960s in Korea and Taiwan, early 1980s in Turkey, and late 1980s in Chile), I have aligned each country's series relative to the start of their respective booms. As the figure reveals, in Turkey and Chile the export booms were accompanied by an increase in the relative profitability of exports of 50 percent or more. By contrast, the Korean and Taiwanese export booms took place despite the absence of a significant change in relative prices. This evidence makes it hard to ascribe East Asian export performance to export incentives, whether in the form of trade liberalization, exchange-rate depreciation, or export subsidies. (4) Moreover, since export/GDP ratios were exceptionally low in both countries early on - below 5 percent in South Korea in 1960 and barely above 10 percent in Taiwan - it is difficult to imagine how exports could account for the takeoff that these economies experienced in the early 1960s.
FIGURE 1
I interpret the growth experience of the two countries differently, as the result of a coherent investment strategy that was put in place by their governments in the late 1950s (Taiwan) and early 1960s (Korea). We start by noting that both economies benefited from initial levels of schooling that were high relative to the capital stock. The "latent" return to capital, we can presume, was therefore high. For reasons having to do with market failures - among which coordination failures strike me as particularly plausible - private investment needed a push before the latent returns would be realized. (5)
Both governments gave investment a big push. By the end of the 1950s in Taiwan and the early 1960s in Korea, economic growth had become a top priority for the leadership of the two countries. In Taiwan an important turning point was the Nineteen-Point Reform Program instituted in 1960, which contained a wide range of tax subsidies for investment and signaled a major shift in government attitudes toward investment. In Korea the chief form of investment subsidy was the extension of credit to large business groups at negative real interest rates. In addition to providing subsidies, the Korean and Taiwanese governments also played a much more direct, hands-on role by organizing private entrepreneurs into investments that they may not have otherwise made. Finally, public enterprises played a very important role in enhancing the profitability of private investment in both countries by ensuring that key inputs were available locally for private producers downstream. Not only did public enterprises account for a large share of manufacturing output and investment in each country, but their importance actually increased during the critical takeoff years of the 1960s.
The result was a discrete jump in the profitability of private investment, and an investment boom that lasted three decades. The rise in exports was a counterpart to the increased demand for capital goods, most of which had to be imported. (6)
The Hong Kong "Exception"
The story of Singapore's development is not unlike that of Korea and Taiwan. There, too, a government strongly committed to economic growth greatly subsidized private investment - and foreign investment in particular - after 1968. But what about Hong Kong? Doesn't Hong Kong's experience with laissez-faire invalidate claims about the importance of government policies in support of industrialization?
Hong Kong's experience is distinctive in the region for another reason as well: Hong Kong is the region's only country that has not had a sustained increase in investment (as a share of GDP) since 1960. In the early 1960s Hong Kong's investment rate fluctuated between 20 and 25 percent (according to Penn World Tables data), well above the levels for Singapore, South Korea, and Taiwan. By the late 1970s all of these countries had surpassed Hong Kong's investment rate, which had not changed at all. The cost (or perhaps the benefit) of not having an industrial policy was a flat investment ratio.
The evidence can therefore be read in one of two ways. One interpretation is that the pro-investment industrial policies of the interventionist countries (South Korea, Taiwan, and Singapore) were on balance harmful, and resulted in large-scale inefficiencies in resource allocation and in marginal investments with low return. These consequences, according to this line of reasoning, in turn show up in comparatively low levels of total factor productivity growth. (7) Another interpretation is that Hong Kong was already a rich country in 1960 - with a per capita GDP of 2,200 in 1985 purchasing power parity (PPP) dollars, a level that South Korea and Taiwan would not reach for at least a decade - and therefore much less in need of big-push policies of the type needed in the region's poorer countries. Hong Kong's transition to high investment appears to have taken place during the 1950s, when the island was a haven of stability in the region and a source of attraction for capital flight from China. Under this interpretation, the catch-up process would have been greatly delayed if the other governments of the region - not facing similar advantages - had emulated Hong Kong's laissez-faire policies nonetheless. (8)
Of course a third possibility is that both of these hypotheses are partially right. Perhaps an initial big push was required to override coordination and other market failures, but it was taken too far. Perhaps activist policies were maintained even though they had outlived their usefulness. The Asian financial crisis of 1997 lends some surface plausibility to this story. But we note that most countries of the region, including South Korea, had been liberalizing their economies at least since the 1980s. As I later suggest, it is equally plausible that the crisis was the product of the liberalization of these economies.
Varieties of Crises
In 1979-80 an already-overheated Korean economy was hit by several shocks: an oil price hike, a domestic harvest failure, and a political crisis stemming from the assassination of President Chung Hee Park. The current account deficit stood at 6.8 percent of GDP in 1979 and was to grow to 8.8 percent in 1980. The government was forced to go to the International Monetary Fund for a stand-by loan, and it implemented a major stabilization package in January 1980. The package had three components: a devaluation of the won by 17 percent, tightening of monetary and fiscal policies (which, however, was reversed later in the year as the magnitude of the recession became clearer), and a program aimed at improving energy efficiency in the economy. In 1980 the Korean economy contracted by 5 percent, but growth resumed thereafter, reaching 7 percent in 1981 and staying high throughout the 1980s and 1990s.
The 1980 stabilization was so successful that when the Korean economy was hit by the Asian financial crisis few observers reflected back on this earlier brush with balance-of-payments crisis. By many objective measures the situation had been more difficult in 1979-80: the current account deficit was larger and the domestic economic and political shocks more severe. Yet the consequences of the current crisis have been more momentous: Korea's GDP has fallen by 7 percent in 1998, and the slide is expected to continue (albeit at a slower pace) in 1999.
One major difference appears to be the role played by short-term capital flows. In 1979 Korea's short-term debt was around a quarter of its total external debt and fell short of the stock of foreign reserves. In 1997 short-term debt dominated its external liabilities to foreign banks, and the ratio of short-term debt to reserves stood well above 2. What is special about short-term debt in this context is its reversibility and therefore its potential to create panic. As Roberto Chang and Andres Velasco emphasize, the Asian crisis followed the now-typical pattern whereby financial liberalization results in a maturity mismatch between foreign assets and liabilities, eventually giving way to creditor panic. (9) The buildup of short-term debt that financial and capital-account liberalization engendered during the 1990s left the region vulnerable to a reversal in market sentiment and the possibility of stampede. It is perhaps this mistake - more than any other single cause - that accounts for the Asian financial crisis.
This is well illustrated by Figure 2. The figure shows the exposure to short-term debt of six East Asian countries just prior to the crisis (in mid-1997) and the cumulative depreciation of their currencies in the six months following the devaluation of the Thai baht (that is, during the second half of 1997). The three countries worst affected by the crisis (Thailand, Indonesia, and Korea) all had short-term bank debt exceeding their reserves. None was so exposed to short-term bank debt. Moreover, there is a close correlation between the extent of currency collapse experienced by each country and its short-term debt/reserves ratio. The more short-term debt a country had, the greater the penalty it received from currency markets.
FIGURE 2
There is another interesting regularity revealed by Figure 2. Indonesia and Malaysia have fared worse (not only in terms of currency collapse but also in terms of economic decline) than would have been predicted on the basis of their short-term debt exposure alone. These two countries are the least democratic of the six in the figure. Thus a lesson from the crisis is that democratic societies tend to be better at dealing with the consequences of external shocks. The case of Indonesia, where policymaking was paralyzed by riots, anarchy, and the ultimate downfall of the Suharto regime, illustrates the point in extremis.
The Virtues of Democracy
While democratic institutions are relatively recent in Thailand and Korea, they helped these two countries adjust to the crisis in a number of ways. First, they facilitated a smooth transfer of power from a discredited set of politicians to a new group of government leaders. Second, democracy imposed mechanisms of participation, consultation, and bargaining, enabling policymakers to fashion the consensus needed to undertake the necessary policy adjustments decisively. Third, because democracy provides for institutionalized mechanisms of "voice," in particular by giving labor a seat at the table, the Korean and Thai institutions obviated the need for riots, protests, and other kinds of disruptive actions by affected groups. Finally, democracy lowered popular support for noncooperative behavior by the society's disenchanted groups.
Systematic evidence from an earlier period of external turbulence - the late 1970s and early 1980s - confirms the importance of democracy in fostering economic adjustment. Contrary to conventional wisdom, countries with closed political systems and autonomous executives proved worse at managing the consequences of the oil shocks of the 1970s than countries in which non-elites had access to political institutions. (10) These findings, along with evidence from the recent Asian crisis, underscore the importance of having sound domestic institutions of conflict management in an era of global economic turmoil.
Endnotes
1. For a critique of some of the prevailing interpretations, see D. Rodrik, "King Kong Meets Godzilla: The World Bank and the East Asian Miracle," in Miracle or Design? Lessons from the East Asian Experience, A. Fishlow et al., eds. Washington, D.C.: Overseas Development Council, Policy Essay No. 11, 1994.
2. See D. Rodrik, "TFPG Controversies, Institutions, and Economic Performance in East Asia," NBER Working Paper No. 5914 , February 1997; published in The Institutional Foundation of Economic Development in East Asia, Y. Hayami and M. Aoki, eds. London: Macmillan, 1998. Here I show that the variation in economic performance within the region is well explained by three "exogenous" determinants: initial income, initial education, and quality of institutions (itself a function of ethnic fragmentation and income inequality).
3. The figure is taken from D. Rodrik, "The 'Paradoxes' of the Successful State" (Alfred Marshall Lecture), European Economic Review 41 (April 1997), pp. 411-42.
4. For a more extensive discussion and a reconciliation with the standard account, see D. Rodrik, "Getting Interventions Right: How South Korea and Taiwan Grew Rich," NBER Working Paper No. 4964 , December 1994; published in Economic Policy, 20 (1995).
5. D. Rodrik, "Getting Interventions Right"; D. Rodrik, "Coordination Failures and Government Policy: A Model with Applications to East Asia and Eastern Europe," Journal of International Economics 40 (February 1996), pp. 1-22 (revised version of "Do Low-Income Countries Have a High Wage Option?" NBER Working Paper 4451 , December 1994).
6. I discuss the conditions under which this process can generate an export boom without a corresponding change in relative prices in favor of exportable goods in D. Rodrik, "Trade Strategy, Exports, and Investment: Another Look at East Asia," NBER Working Paper No. 5339 , November 1995; published in Pacific Economic Review 2 (February 1997), pp. 1-24.
7. An interpretation of Singapore along these lines is provided in A. Young, "A Tale of Two Cities: Factor Accumulation and Technical Change in Hong Kong and Singapore," in NBER Macroeconomics Annual,7, O. Blanchard and S. Fischer, eds.. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1992.
8. D. Rodrik, "TFPG Controversies, Institutions, and Economic Performance in East Asia."
9. R. Chang and A. Velasco, "The Asian Liquidity Crisis," NBER Working Paper No. 6796 , November 1998.
10. D. Rodrik, "Where Did All the Growth Go? External Shocks, Social Conflict and Growth Collapses," NBER Working Paper No. 6350 , January 1998.
rodrik institutions for high quality growth
INSTITUTIONS FOR HIGH-QUALITY GROWTH:
WHAT THEY ARE AND HOW TO ACQUIRE THEM 1
Dani Rodrik Harvard University
October 1999
Sakenn pe prie dan sa fason (Everyone can pray as he likes.)
-- Mauritian folk wisdom2
I. Introduction
The comparative experience with economic growth over the last few decades has taught
us a number of important lessons. One of the more important of these is the importance of
private initiative and incentives. All instances of successful development are ultimately the
collective result of individual decisions by entrepreneurs to invest in risky new ventures and try
out new things. The good news here is that we have found homo economicus to be alive and
well in the tropics and other poor lands. The idea of "elasticity pessimism"--the notion that the
private sectors in developing countries would fail to respond quickly to favorable price and other
incentives--has been put to rest by the accumulating evidence. We find time and again that
investment decisions, agricultural production, or exports turn out to be quite sensitive to price
incentives, as long as these are perceived to have some predictability.
The discovery that relative prices matter a lot, and that therefore neo-classical economic
analysis has much to contribute to development policy, led for a while to what was perhaps an
excessive focus on relative prices. Price reforms--in external trade, in product and labor markets,
1 Draft paper prepared for the International Monetary Fund Conference on Second-Generation Reforms, Washington, DC, November 8-9, 1999.
2 Taken from Miles (1999).
2
in finance, and in taxation--were the rallying cry of the reformers of the 1980s, along with
macroeconomic stability and privatization. By the 1990s, the shortcomings of the focus on price
reform were increasingly evident. The encounter between neo-classical economics and
developing societies served to reveal the institutional underpinnings of market economies. A
clearly delineated system of property rights, a regulatory apparatus curbing the worst forms of
fraud, anti-competitive behavior, and moral hazard, a moderately cohesive society exhibiting
trust and social cooperation, social and political institutions that mitigate risk and manage social
conflicts, the rule of law and clean government--these are social arrangements that economists
usually take for granted, but which are conspicuous by their absence in poor countries.
Hence it became clear that incentives would not work or generate perverse results in the
absence of adequate institutions. Some of the implications of this were recognized early on, for
example in discussions on rent seeking in the trade policy context (where corruption was the
main issue) or in the discussions on common-property resources (where lack of adequately
defined property rights was the problem). But the broader point that markets need to be
supported by non-market institutions in order to perform well took a while to sink in. Three sets
of disparate developments conspired to put institutions squarely on the agenda of reformers. One
of these was the dismal failure in Russia of price reform and privatization in the absence of a
supportive legal, regulatory, and political apparatus. A second is the lingering dissatisfaction
with market-oriented reforms in Latin America and the growing realization that these reforms
have paid too little attention to mechanisms of social insurance and to safety nets. The third and
most recent is the Asian financial crisis which has shown that allowing financial liberalization to
run ahead of financial regulation is an invitation to disaster.
3
The question before policy makers therefore is no longer "do institutions matter?"3 but
"which institutions matter and how does one acquire them?" Following Lin and Nugent (1995,
2306-2307), it is useful to think of institutions broadly as "a set of humanly devised behavioral
rules that govern and shape the interactions of human beings, in part by helping them to form
expectations of what other people will do." I begin this paper with a discussion of the types of
institutions that allow markets to perform adequately. While we can identify in broad terms what
these are, I shall argue that there is no unique mapping between markets and the non-market
institutions that underpin them. The plausible variation in institutional setups is larger than is
usually presupposed.4
I then turn to the more difficult question of how one thinks about appropriate strategies
for institution building. I emphasize the importance of "local knowledge," and argue that a
strategy of institution building must not over-emphasize best-practice "blueprints" at the expense
of local experimentation. I make the case that participatory and decentralized political systems
are the most effective ones we have for processing and aggregating local knowledge. We can
think of democracy as a meta-institution for building good institutions.
The penultimate section of the paper provides a range of evidence indicating that
participatory democracies enable higher-quality growth: they allow greater predictability and
3 See Lin and Nugent (1995) for an excellent review of the huge literature on institutions as it relates to economic development specifically. This literature has been enriched recently by a growing body of empirical cross-national work that quantifies the growth-promoting effects of superior institutions. See Hall and Jones (1999) on "social infrastructure," Knack and Keefer (1995, 1996) on bureaucratic quality and social capital; Temple and Johnson (1998) on "social capability"; Rodrik (forthcoming) on institutions of conflict management. Recent work by Haufmann, Kraay, and Zoido-Lobaton (1999) has developed aggregate indicators of six different aspects of governance--voice and accountability, political instability and violence, government effectiveness, regulatory burden, rule of law, and graft--showing that all of these are significantly associated with income levels in the expected manner.
4 I refer the reader to Unger (1998) for a broader discussion of this point and of its implications. I have benefited greatly from talking with Roberto Unger on some of these issues.
4
stability, are more resilient to shocks, and deliver superior distributional outcomes. The
concluding section offers some implications for the design of conditionality.
II. Which Institutions Matter?
Institutions do not figure prominently in the training of economists. The standard Arrow-
Debreu model with a full set of complete and contingent markets extending indefinitely into the
future seems to require no assistance from non-market institutions. But of course this is quite
misleading even in the context of that model. The standard model assumes a well-defined set of
property rights. It also assumes that contracts are signed with no fear that they will be revoked
when it suits one of the parties. So in the background there exists institutions that establish and
protect property rights and enforce contracts. We must, in other words, have a system of laws
and courts to make even "perfect" markets function.
Laws in turn have to written and they have to be backed up by the use of sanctioned
force. That implies a legislator and a police force. The legislator's authority may derive from
religion, family lineage, or access to superior violence, but in each case she needs to ensure that
she provides her subjects with the right mix of "ideology" (a belief system) and threat of violence
to forestall rebellion from below. Or the authority may derive from the legitimacy provided by
popular support, in which case she needs to be responsive to her constituency's (voters') needs.
In either case, we have the beginnings of a governmental structure that goes well beyond the
narrow needs of the market.
One implication of all this is that the market economy is necessarily "embedded" in a set
of non-market institutions. Another is that not all of these institutions are there to serve the
needs of the market economy first and foremost, even if their presence is required by the internal
5
logic of private property and contract enforcement. The fact that a governance structure is
needed to ensure that markets can do their work does not imply that the governance structure
serves only that end. Non-market institutions will sometimes produce outcomes that are socially
undesirable, such as the use of public office for private gain. They may also produce outcomes
that restrict the free play of market forces in pursuit of a larger goal, such as social stability and
cohesiveness.
The rest of this section discusses five types of market-supporting institutions: property
rights; regulatory institutions; institutions for macroeconomic stabilization; institutions for social
insurance; and institutions of conflict management.
(a) Property rights
While it is possible to envisage a thriving socialist market economy in theory, as the
famous debates of the 1920s established, today's prosperous economies have all been built on the
basis of private property. As North and Thomas (1973) and North and Weingast (1989), among
many others have argued, the establishment of secure and stable property rights have been a key
element in the rise of the West and the onset of modern economic growth. It stands to reason
that an entrepreneur would not have the incentive to accumulate and innovate unless s/he has
adequate control over the return to the assets that are thereby produced or improved.
Note that the key word is "control" rather than "ownership." Formal property rights do
not count for much if they do not confer control rights. By the same token, sufficiently strong
control rights may do the trick even in the absence of formal property rights. Russia today
represents a case where shareholders have property rights but often lack effective control over
enterprises. Town and village enterprises (TVEs) in China are an example where control rights
6
have spurred entrepreneurial activity despite the absence of clearly defined property rights. As
these instances illustrate, establishing "property rights" is rarely a matter of just passing a piece
of legislation. Legislation in itself is neither necessary nor sufficient for the provision of the
secure control rights. In practice, control rights are upheld by a combination of legislation,
private enforcement, and custom and tradition. They may be distributed more narrowly or more
diffusely than property rights. Stakeholders can matter as much as shareholders.
Moreover, property rights are rarely absolute, even when set formally in the law. The
right to keep my neighbor out of my orchard does not normally extend to my right to shooting
him if he actually enters it. Other laws or norms--such as those against murder--may trump
property rights. Each society decides for itself the scope of allowable property rights and the
acceptable restrictions on their exercise. Intellectual property rights are protected assiduously in
the United States and most advanced societies, but not in many developing countries. On the
other hand, zoning and environmental legislation restricts the ability of households and
enterprises in the rich countries to do as they please with their "property" to a much greater
extent than is the case in developing countries. All societies recognize that private property
rights can be curbed if doing so serves a greater public purpose. It is the definition of what
constitutes "greater public purpose" that varies.
(b) Regulatory institutions
Markets fail when participants engage in fraudulent or anti-competitive behavior. They
fail when transaction costs prevent the internalizing of technological and other non-pecuniary
externalities. And they fail when incomplete information results in moral hazard and adverse
selection. Economists recognize these failures and have developed the analytical tools required
7
to think systematically about their consequences and possible remedies. Theories of the second
best, imperfect competition, agency, mechanism design, and many others offer an almost
embarrassing choice of regulatory instruments to counter market failures. Theories of political
economy and public choice offer cautions against unqualified reliance on these instruments.
In practice, every successful market economy is overseen by a panoply of regulatory
institutions, regulating conduct in goods, services, labor, asset, and financial markets. A few
acronyms form the U.S. will suffice to give a sense of the range of institutions involved: FTC,
FDIC, FCC, FAA, OSHA, SEC, EPA, and so on. In fact, the freer are the markets, the greater is
the burden on the regulatory institutions. It is not a coincidence that the United States has the
world's freest markets as well its toughest anti-trust enforcement. It is hard to envisage in any
country other than the United States a hugely successful high-tech company like Microsoft being
dragged through the courts for alleged anti-competitive practices. The lesson that market
freedom requires regulatory vigilance has been driven home recently by the experience in East
Asia. In South Korea and Thailand, as in so many other developing countries, financial
liberalization and capital-account opening led to financial crisis precisely because of inadequate
prudential regulation and supervision. 5
It is important to recognize that regulatory institutions may need to extend beyond the
standard list covering anti-trust, financial supervision, securities regulation and a few others.
This is true especially in developing countries where market failures may be more pervasive and
the requisite market regulations more extensive. Recent models of coordination failure and
5 See also the recent paper by Johnson and Shleifer (1999) that attributes the more impressive development of equity markets in Poland compared to the Czech Republic to the stronger regulations in the former country upholding minority shareholder rights and guarding against fraud.
8
capital market imperfections 6 make it clear that strategic government interventions may often be
required to get out of low-level traps and elicit desirable private investment responses. The
experience of South Korea and Taiwan in the 1960s and 1970s can be interpreted in that light.
The extensive subsidization and government-led coordination of private investment in these two
economies played a crucial role in setting the stage for self-sustaining growth (Rodrik 1995). It
is clear that many other countries have tried and failed to replicate these institutional
arrangements. And even South Korea may have taken a good thing too far by maintaining the
cozy institutional linkages between the government and chaebols well into the 1990s, at which
point these may have become dysfunctional. Once again, the lesson is that desirable institutional
arrangements vary, and that they vary not only across countries but also within countries over
time.
(c) Institutions for macroeconomic stabilization
Since Keynes, we have come to a better understanding of the reality that capitalist
economies are not necessarily self-stabilizing. Keynes and his followers worried about shortfalls
in aggregate demand and the resulting unemployment. More recent views of macroeconomic
instability stress the inherent instability of financial markets and its transmission to the real
economy. All advanced economies have come to acquire fiscal and monetary institutions that
perform stabilizing functions, having learned the hard way about the consequences of not having
them. Probably most important among these institutions is a lender of last resort--typically the
central bank--which guards against self-fulfilling banking crises.
6 See Stiglitz and Hoff (1999) for a useful survey and discussion.
9
There is a strong current within macroeconomics thought, represented in its theoretically
most sophisticated version by the real business cycles (RBC) approach--that disputes the
possibility or effectiveness of stabilizing the macroeconomy through monetary and fiscal
policies. There is also a sense in policy circles, particularly in Latin America, that fiscal and
monetary institutions--as currently configured--have added to macroeconomic instability, rather
than reduced it, by following pro-cyclical rather than anti-cyclical policies (Hausmann and Gavin
1996). These developments have spurred the trend towards central bank independence, and
helped open a new debate on designing more robust fiscal institutions.
Some countries (Argentina being the most significant example) have given up on a
domestic lender of last resort altogether by replacing their central bank with a currency board.
The Argentine calculation is that having a central bank that can occasionally stabilize the
economy is not worth running the risk that the central bank will mostly destabilize it. Argentine
history gives plenty of reason to think that this is not a bad bet. But can the same be said for
Mexico or Brazil, or for that matter, Turkey or Indonesia? What may work for Argentina may
not work for the others. The debate over currency boards and dollarization illustrates the
obvious, but occasionally neglected fact that the institutions needed by a country are not
independent of that country's history.
(d) Institutions for social insurance
A modern market economy is one where change is constant and idiosyncratic (i.e.,
individual-specific) risk to incomes and employment is pervasive. Modern economic growth
entails a transition from a static economy to a dynamic one where the tasks that workers perform
are in constant evolution and movement up and down in the income scale is frequent. One of the
10
liberating effects of a dynamic market economy is that it frees individuals from their traditional
entanglements--the kin group, the church, the village hierarchy. The flip side is that it uproots
them from traditional support systems and risk-sharing institutions. Gift exchanges, the fiesta,
and kinship ties--to cite just a few of the social arrangements for equalizing the distribution of
resources in traditional societies--lose much of their social insurance functions. And the risks
that have to be insured against become much less manageable in the traditional manner as
markets spread.
The huge expansion of publicly provided social insurance programs during the 20th
century is one of the most remarkable features of the evolution of advanced market economies.
In the United States, it was the trauma of the Great Depression that paved the way for the major
institutional innovations in this area: social security, unemployment compensation, public works,
public ownership, deposit insurance, and legislation favoring unions (see Bordo et al., 1998, 6).
As Jacoby (1998) notes, prior to the Great Depression the middle classes were generally able to
self-insure or buy insurance from private intermediaries. As these private forms of insurance
collapsed, the middle classes threw their considerable political weight behind the extension of
social insurance and the creation of what would later be called the welfare state. In Europe, the
roots of the welfare state reached in some cases to the tail end of the 19th century. But the
striking expansion of social insurance programs, particularly in the smaller economies most open
to foreign trade, was a post-World War II phenomenon (Rodrik 1998). Despite a considerable
political backlash against the welfare state since the 1980s, neither the U.S. nor Europe has
significantly scaled back these programs.
Social insurance need not always take the form of transfer programs paid out of fiscal
resources. The East Asian model, represented well by the Japanese case, is one where social
11
insurance is provided through a combination of enterprise practices (such as lifetime
employment and enterprise-provided social benefits), sheltered and regulated sectors (mom-and-
pop stores), and an incremental approach to liberalization and external opening. Certain aspects
of Japanese society that seem inefficient to outside observers—such as the preference for small-
scale retail stores or extensive regulation of product markets—can be viewed as substitutes for
the transfer programs that would otherwise have to be provided (as it is in most European
nations) by a welfare state. Such complementarities among different institutional arrangements
within a society have the important implication that it is very difficult to alter national systems in
a piecemeal fashion. One cannot (or should not) ask the Japanese to get rid of their lifetime
employment practices or inefficient retail arrangements without ensuring that alternative safety
nets are in place. Another implication is that substantial institutional changes come only in the
aftermath of large dislocations, such as those created by the Great Depression or the Second
World War.
Social insurance legitimizes a market economy because it renders it compatible with
social stability and social cohesion. At the same time, the existing welfare states in Western
Europe and the United States engender a number of economic and social costs--mounting fiscal
outlays, an "entitlement" culture, long-term unemployment--which have become increasingly
apparent. Partly because of that, developing countries, such as those in Latin America that
adopted the market-oriented model following the debt crisis of the 1980s, have not paid
sufficient attention to creating institutions of social insurance (Rodrik 1999). The upshot has
been economic insecurity and a backlash against the reforms. How these countries will maintain
social cohesion in the face of large inequalities and volatile outcomes, both of which are being
aggravated by the growing reliance on market forces, is a question without an obvious answer at
12
the moment. But if Latin America and the other developing regions are to carve a different path
in social insurance than that followed by Europe or North America, they will have to develop
their own vision--and their own institutional innovations--to bridge the tension between market
forces and the yearning for economic security.
(e) Institutions of conflict management
Societies differ in their cleavages. Some are made up of an ethnically and linguistically
homogenous population marked by a relatively egalitarian distribution of resources (Finland?).
Others are characterized by deep cleavages along ethnic or income lines (Nigeria?). These
divisions hamper social cooperation and prevent the undertaking of mutually beneficial projects.
Social conflict is harmful both because it diverts resources form economically productive
activities and because it discourages such activities by the uncertainty it generates. Economists
have used models of social conflict to shed light on questions such as: why do governments
delay stabilizations when delay imposes costs on all groups? (Alesina and Drazen 1991); why do
countries rich in natural resources often do worse than countries that are resource-poor? (Tornell
and Lane 1999); why do external shocks often lead to protracted economic crises that are out of
proportion to the direct costs of the shocks themselves? (Rodrik forthcoming).
All of these can be thought of as instances of coordination failure in which social
factions fail to coordinate on outcomes which would be of mutual benefit. Healthy societies
have a range of institutions that make such colossal coordination failures less likely. The rule of
law, a high-quality judiciary, representative political institutions, free elections, independent
trade unions, social partnerships, institutionalized representation of minority groups, and social
insurance are examples of such institutions. What makes these arrangements function as
13
institutions of conflict management is that they entail a double "commitment technology:" they
warn the potential "winners" of social conflict that their gains will be limited, and assure the
"losers" that they will not be expropriated. They tend to increase the incentives for social groups
to cooperate by reducing the payoff to socially uncooperative strategies.
II. How Are "Good" Institutions Acquired?
As I argued in the preceding section, a market economy relies on a wide array of non-
market institutions that perform regulatory, stabilizing, and legitimizing functions. Once these
institutions are accepted as part and parcel of a market-based economy, traditional dichotomies
between market and state or laissez-faire and intervention begin to make less sense. These are
not competing ways of organizing a society's economic affairs; they are complementary elements
that render the system sustainable. Every well-functioning market economy is a mix of state and
market, laissez faire and intervention.
(a) Accepting institutional diversity
A second major implication of the discussion is that the institutional basis for a market
economy is not uniquely determined. Formally, there is no single mapping between the market
and the set of non-market institutions required to sustain it. This finds reflection in the wide
variety of regulatory, stabilizing, and legitimizing institutions that we observe in today's
advanced industrial societies. The American style of capitalism is very different from the
Japanese style of capitalism. Both differ from the European style. And even within Europe,
there are large differences between the institutional arrangements in, say, Sweden and Germany.
14
It is a common journalistic error to suppose that one set of institutional arrangements
must dominate the others in terms of overall performance. Hence the fads of the decade: with its
low unemployment, high growth, and thriving culture, Europe was the continent to emulate
throughout much of the 1970s; during the trade-conscious 1980s, Japan became the exemplar of
choice; and the 1990s have been the decade of U.S.-style freewheeling capitalism. It is
anybody's guess which set of countries will capture the imagination if and when a substantial
correction hits the U.S. stock market.7
The point about institutional diversity has in fact a more fundamental implication. The
institutional arrangements that we observe in operation today, varied as they are, themselves
constitute a subset of the full range of potential institutional possibilities. This is a point that has
been forcefully and usefully argued by Roberto Unger (1998). There is no reason to suppose that
modern societies have already managed to exhaust all the useful institutional variations that
could underpin healthy and vibrant economies. Even if we accept that market-based economies
require certain types of institutions, as listed in the previous section,
such imperatives do not select from a closed list of institutional possibilities. The
possibilities do not come in the form of indivisible systems, standing or falling together.
There are always alternative sets of arrangements capable of meeting the same practical
tests. (Unger, 1998, 24-25)
We need to maintain a healthy skepticism towards the idea that a specific type of institution--a
particular mode of corporate governance, social security system, or labor market legislation, for
example--is the only type that is compatible with a well-functioning market economy.
7 Perhaps Europe will be back in fashion. As these words were being written, the New York Times published a major feature article with the title "Sweden, the Welfare State, Basks in a New Prosperity" (October 8, 1999).
15
(b) Two modes of acquiring institutions
How does a developing society acquire functional institutions--functional in the sense of
supporting a healthy, sustainable market-based system? An analogy with technology transfer is
helpful. Think of institution acquisition/building as the adoption of a new technology that allows
society to transforms its primary endowments (land, raw labor, natural resources) into a larger
bundle of outputs. Let us call this new technology a "market economy," where we understand
that the term encompasses all of the non-market institutional complements discussed previously.
Adoption of a market economy in this broad sense moves society to a higher production
possibilities frontier, and in that sense is equivalent to technical progress in economist's parlance.
But what kind of a technology is a market economy? To over-simplify, consider two
possibilities. One possibility is that the new technology is a general purpose one, that it is
codified, and that it is readily available on world markets. In this case, it can be adopted by
simply importing a blueprint from the more advanced economies. The transition to a market
economy, in this vision, consists of getting a manual with the title "how to build a market
economy" (a.k.a. the "Washington Consensus") and following the directions: remove price
distortions, privatize enterprises, harden budget constraints, enact legal codes, and so on.
A different possibility is that the requisite technology is highly specific to local
conditions and that it contains a high degree of tacitness. Specificity implies that the institutional
repertoire available in the advanced countries may be inappropriate to the needs of the society in
question--just as different relative factor prices in LDC agriculture require more appropriate
techniques than those that are available in the rich countries. Tacitness implies that much of the
16
knowledge that is required is in fact not written down, leaving the blueprints highly incomplete.8
For both sets of reasons, imported blueprints are useless. Institutions need to be developed
locally, relying on hands-on experience, local knowledge, and experimentation.
The two scenarios are of course only caricatures. Neither the blueprint nor the local-
knowledge perspective captures the whole story on its own. Even under the best possible
circumstances, an imported blueprint requires domestic expertise for successful implementation.
Alternatively, when local conditions differ greatly, it would be unwise to deny the possible
relevance of institutional examples from elsewhere. But the dichotomy--whether one
emphasizes the blueprint or the local knowledge aspect of the process--clarifies some key issues
in institution building and sheds light on important debates about institutional development.
Consider the debate on Chinese gradualism.
One perspective, represented forcefully in work by Sachs and Woo (forthcoming),
underplays the relevance of Chinese particularism by arguing that the successes of the economy
are not due to any special aspects of the Chinese transition to a market economy, but instead are
largely due to a convergence of Chinese institutions to those in non-socialist economies. In this
view, the faster the convergence, the better the outcomes. "[F]avorable outcomes have emerged
not because of gradualism, but despite gradualism" (Sachs and Woo, forthcoming, 3). The
policy message that follows is that China should focus not on institutional experimentation but
8 An example from South Korea's history with technology acquisition nicely illustrates the tacitness of technology. The Korean shipbuilder Hyundai started out by importing its basic design from a Scottish firm. But it soon found out that this was not working out. The Scottish design relied on building the ship in two halves, because the original manufacturer had enough capacity to build only half a ship at a time. When Hyundai followed the same course, it found out that it could not get the two halves to fit. Subsequent designs imported from European consulting firms also had problems in that the firms would not guarantee the rated capacity, leading to costly delays. In the end, Hyundai was forced to rely on in-house design engineers. This case is discussed in Amsden, 1989, 278-89.
17
on harmonizing its institutions with those abroad.9 The alternative perspective, perhaps best
developed in work by Qian and Roland, is that the peculiarities of the Chinese model represent
solutions to particular political or informational problems for which no blueprint-style solution
exists. Hence Lau, Qian, and Roland (1997) interpret the dual-track approach to liberalization as
a way of implementing Pareto-efficient reforms: an alteration in the planned economy that
improves incentives at the margin, enhances efficiency in resource allocation, and yet leaves
none of the plan beneficiaries worse off. Qian. Roland, and Xu (1999) interpret Chinese style
decentralization as allowing the development of superior institutions of coordination: when
economic activity requires products with matched attributes,10 local experimentation is a more
effective way of processing and using local knowledge.
Sachs, Woo and other members of the convergence school worry about the costs of
Chinese-style experimentalism because they seem to say "well, we already know what a market
economy looks like: it is one with private property and a unified system of prices--just get on
with it." Qian et al, on the other hand, find much to praise in it because they think the system
generates the right incentives for developing the tacit knowledge required to build and sustain a
market economy, and therefore they choose not to be bothered by some of the economic
inefficiencies that may be generated along the way. These two contrasting visions of where the
real action is in the transition to a market economy have been pervasive in our discussions of
policy and have played a determining role in shaping our preferences for
gradualism/experimentalism versus shock therapy.
9 Note however that the harmonization that Sachs and Woo (forthcoming) foresee is with the institutions in the rest of East Asia, not those of the U.S. or Western Europe.
10 Think again of the problem of fitting the two halves of a ship described in an earlier footnote.
18
Although my sympathies in this debate are with the experimentalists, I can also see that
there are dangers with experimentalism. First, one needs to be clear between self-conscious
experimentalism, on the one hand, and delay and gradualism designed primarily to serve
privileged interests, on the other. The dithering, two steps forwards, one step backwards style of
reform that prevails in much of the former Soviet Union and in many Sub-Saharan African
countries is driven not so much by a desire to build better institutions as it is by aversion to
reform. This has to be distinguished from a programmatic effort to acquire and process local
knowledge to better serve local needs. The gradualism that countries like Mauritius 11 or South
Korea12 have exhibited over their recent history is very different than the "gradualism" of
Ukraine or Nigeria.
Second, it is obviously costly--in terms of time and resources--to build institutions from
scratch when imported blueprints can serve just as well. Experimentalism can backfire if it
overlooks opportunities for institutional arbitrage. Much of the legislation establishing a SEC-
like watchdog agency for securities markets, for example, can be borrowed wholesale from those
countries that have already learned how to regulate these markets the hard way--by their own
trial and error. The same goes perhaps for an anti-trust agency, a financial supervisory agency, a
central bank, and many other governmental functions. One can always learn from the
institutional arrangements prevailing elsewhere even if they are inappropriate or cannot be
transplanted. Some societies can go further by adopting institutions that cut deeper--in social
11 See Wellisz and Saw (1993), Rodrik (1999b, chap. 3), and the discussion in the next sub-section on two-track reforms in Mauritius.
12 South Korea is often portrayed as a case where autonomous and insulated technocrats took a series of decisions without local input. Evans (1995) has usefully emphasized the "embedded" nature of bureaucratic autonomy in Korea, in particular the dense network of interactions between the bureaucracy and segments of the private sector that allowed for the exchange of information, the negotiation and renegotiation of policies, and the setting of priorities.
19
insurance, labor markets, fiscal institutions. Perhaps one reason that a "big bang" worked for
Poland is that this country had already defined its future: it wanted to be a "normal" European
society, with full membership in the European Union. Adopting European institutions wholesale
was not only a means to an end; it was also the ultimate objective the country desired.
The difficult questions, and the trade-offs between the blueprint and the experimentalist
approaches, arise when the attainable objectives are not so clear cut. What kind of a society do
the Chinese want for themselves, and can realistically hope to achieve? How about the
Brazilians, Indians, or Turks? Local knowledge matters greatly in answering these questions.
Blueprints, best practices, international codes and standards, harmonization can do the trick for
some of the narrowly "technical" issues. But large-scale institutional development by and large
requires a process of discovery about local needs and capabilities.
(c) Participatory politics as a meta-institution
The blueprint approach is largely top-down, relying on expertise on the part technocrats
and foreign advisors. The local-knowledge approach, by contrast, is bottom down and relies on
mechanisms for eliciting and aggregating local information. In principle, these mechanisms can
be as diverse as the institutions that they help create. But I would argue that the most reliable
forms of such mechanisms are participatory political institutions. Indeed, it is helpful to think of
participatory political institutions as meta-institutions that elicit and aggregate local knowledge
and thereby help build better institutions.
It is certainly true that non-democratic forms of government have often succeeded
admirably in the task of institution building using alternative devices. The previously mentioned
examples of South Korea (with its "embedded" bureaucratic autonomy) and China (with its
20
decentralization and experimentalism) come immediately to mind. But the broad, cross-national
evidence indicates that these are the exceptions rather than the rule. Nothing prevents
authoritarian regimes from using local knowledge; the trouble is that nothing compels them to do
so either.
The case of Mauritius illustrates nicely how participatory democracy helps build better
institutions that lay the foundation for sustainable economic growth. The initial conditions in
Mauritius were inauspicious from a number of standpoints. The island was a monocrop
economy in the early 1960s and faced a population explosion. A report prepared by James
Meade in 1961 was quite pessimistic about the island's future, and argued that "unless resolute
measures are taken to solve [the population problem], Mauritius will be faced with a catastrophic
situation" (Meade 1961, 37). Mauritius is also an ethnically and linguistically divided society
and its independence in 1968 was preceded by a series of riots between Muslims and Creoles.
Mauritius' superior economic performance has been built on a peculiar combination of
orthodox and heterodox strategies. To an important extent, the economy's success was based on
the creation of an export processing zone (EPZ) operating under free-trade principles, which
enabled an export boom in garments to European markets and an accompanying investment
boom at home. Yet the island's economy has combined the EPZ with a domestic sector that was
highly protected until the mid-1980s.13 Mauritius is essentially an example of an economy that
has followed a two-track strategy not too dissimilar to that of China. This economic strategy was
in turn underpinned by social and political arrangements that encouraged participation,
representation and coalition-building. Rather than discouraging social organization,
governments have encouraged it. In the words of Miles (1999), Mauritius is a "supercivil
13 Gulhati (1990, Table 2.10) reports an average effective rate of protection in 1982 for manufacturing in Mauritius of 89%, with a range of -24% to 824%.
21
society," with a disproportionately large number of civil society associations per capita.
The circumstances under which the Mauritian EPZ was set up in 1970 are instructive, and
highlight the manner in which participatory political systems help design creative strategies for
building locally adapted institutions. Given the small size of the home market, it was evident
that Mauritius would benefit from an outward-oriented strategy. But as in other developing
countries, policy makers had to contend with the import-substituting industrialists who had been
propped up by the restrictive commercial policies of the early 1960s prior to independence.
These industrialists were naturally opposed to relaxing the trade regime.
A Washington economist would have advocated across-the-board liberalization, without
regard to what that might do the precarious political and social balance of the island. Instead, the
Mauritian authorities chose the two-track strategy. The EPZ scheme in fact provided a neat way
around the political difficulties. The creation of the EPZ generated new opportunities of trade
and of employment, without taking protection away from the import-substituting groups and
from the male workers who dominated the established industries. The segmentation of labor
markets early on between male and female workers--with the latter predominantly employed in
the EPZ--was particularly crucial, as it prevented the expansion of the EPZ from driving wages
up in the rest of the economy, thereby disadvantaging import-substituting industries. New profit
opportunities were created at the margin, while leaving old opportunities undisturbed. There
were no identifiable losers. This in turn paved the way for the more substantial liberalizations
that took place in the mid-1980s and in the 1990s.
Mauritius found its own way to economic development because it created social and
political institutions that encouraged participation, negotiation, and compromise. That it did so
despite inauspicious beginnings and following a path that diverged from orthodoxy speaks
22
volumes about the importance of such institutions. The following section presents some cross-
national evidence suggesting that democracy tends in fact to be a reliable mechanism for
generating such desirable outcomes.
III. Participatory Political Regimes Deliver Higher-Quality Growth
In policy circles, the discussion on the relationship between political regime type and
economic performance inevitably gravitates toward the experience of a handful of economies in
East and Southeast Asia, which (until recently at least) registered the world’s highest growth
rates under authoritarian regimes. These countries constitute the chief exhibit for the argument
that economic development requires a strong hand from above. The deep economic reforms
needed to embark on self-sustaining growth, this line of thought goes, cannot be undertaken in
the messy push and pull of democratic politics. Chile under General Pinochet is usually exhibit
no. 2.
A systematic look at the evidence, however, yields a much more sanguine conclusion.
While East Asian countries have prospered under authoritarianism, many more have seen their
economies deteriorate—think of Zaire, Uganda, or Haiti. Recent empirical studies based on
samples of more than 100 countries suggest that there is little reason to believe democracy is
conducive to lower growth over long time spans.14 Neither is it the case that economic reforms
14 Helliwell (1994) and Barro (1996) try to control for the endogeneity of democracy in estimating the effect of the latter on growth. Helliwell finds that democracy spurs education and investment, but has a negative (and insignificant) effect on growth when investment and education are controlled. On balance, he finds no “systematic net effects of democracy on subsequent economic growth.” Barro finds a non-linear relationship, with growth increasing in democracy at low levels of democracy and decreasing in democracy at higher levels. The turning point comes roughly at the levels of democracy existing in Malaysia and Mexico (in 1994), and somewhat above South Africa’s level prior to its transition. A more recent paper by Chowdhurie-Aziz (1997) finds a positive association between the degree of non-elite participation in politics and economic growth. See also Tavares and Wacziarg (1996) who estimate a system of simultaneous equations and find a positive effect of democracy on growth through the channels of enhanced education, reduced inequality, and lower government consumption.
23
are typically associated with authoritarian regimes (Williamson 1994). Indeed, some of the most
successful reforms of the 1980s and 1990s were implemented under newly elected democratic
governments—think of the stabilizations in Bolivia (1985), Argentina (1991), and Brazil (1994),
for example. Among former socialist economies too, the most successful transitions have
occurred in the most democratic countries.
In fact, the record is even more favorable to participatory regimes than is usually
acknowledged. This section provides evidence in support of the following assertions:15
1. Democracies yield long-run growth rates that are more predictable.
2. Democracies produce greater short-term stability.
3. Democracies handle adverse shocks much better.
4. Democracies deliver better distributional outcomes.
The first of these implies that economic life is less of a crapshoot under democracy. The second
suggests that, whatever the long-run growth level of an economy, there is less instability in
economic outcomes under democratic regimes than under autocracies. The third finding
indicates that political participation improves an economy’s capacity to adjust to changes in the
external environment. The final point suggests that democracies produce superior distributional
outcomes.
Taken together, these results provide a clear message: participatory political regimes
deliver higher-quality growth. I would contend that they do so because they produce superior
institutions better suited to local conditions.
(a) Democracy and long-term performance
15 Most of the evidence presented in this section comes from Rodrik (1997, 1999c, and forthcoming).
24
Figure 1 shows a scatter plot for a sample of 90 countries. The figure shows the partial
relationship between a country’s level of democracy and its growth rate of GDP per capita
during the 1970-89 period, after initial income, education, and regional effects are controlled for.
Democracy is measured on a scale of 0 to 1, using the Freedom House index of political rights
and civil liberties. While the slope of the relationship is positive and statistically significant, this
result is not very robust. As is clear from the figure, removing Botswana--which is an important
outlier--would make a big difference to the results. This is in line with existing results in the
literature, which suggest that there is no strong, determinate relationship between political
participation and average levels of long-run growth.
Looking at individual cases, it becomes quickly evident why this is so. Among high-
growth countries, Taiwan, Singapore, and Korea rank low in terms of democracy (during the
period covered by the regression), this being the source of the conventional wisdom among
policymakers reported above. But some other countries, Botswana and Mauritius in particular,
have done equally well or even better under fairly open political regimes. (Note that the
rankings in this figure have to be interpreted relative to the benchmarks established by the
presence of the other controls in the regression.) Poor performers can similarly be found at
either end of the democracy spectrum: South Africa and Mozambique have done poorly under
authoritarian regimes, Papua New Guinea and Jamaica under relatively democratic ones.
Hence mean long-run growth rates tend not to depend systematically on political regime
type. But this is only part of the broader picture. A different question is whether democracy is
the safer choice in the following sense: is the cross-national variance in long-run growth
performance smaller under democracies than it is under autocracies? Since mean growth rates
25
do not differ, a risk-averse individual would unambiguously prefer to live under the regime
where expected long-run growth rates cluster more closely around the mean.
I first divide the country sample into two roughly equal-sized groups. I call those with
values of the democracy index less than 0.5 “autocracies” (n=48), and those with values greater
or equal to 0.5 “democracies” (n=45). The top panel in Table 1 shows the coefficients of
variation of long-run growth rates, computed across countries for the 1960-89 period, for the two
samples. The first row shows the unconditional coefficients of variation, without any controls
for determinants of growth rates. The second row displays the conditional version of the same,
where the variation now refers to the unexplained component from a cross national regression
(separate for each sample) with the following control variables: initial GDP per capita, initial
secondary school enrollment ratio, and regional dummies for Latin America, East Asia, and sub-
Saharan Africa. I find that the coefficient of variation (whether conditional or unconditional) is
substantially higher for autocracies than it is for democracies.
Since countries with authoritarian regimes tend to have lower incomes, perhaps this result
reflects the greater randomness in the long-run growth rates of poor countries. To check against
this possibility, I divided countries differently. First, I regressed the democracy index on income
and secondary enrollment levels across countries (R2 = 0.57). Then I regrouped my sample of
countries according to whether their actual democracy levels stood below or above the regression
line. Countries above (below) the regression line are those with greater (less) political
participation than would be expected on the basis of their income and educational levels. In the
bottom panel of Table 1, these two groups are labeled “high democracy” (n=49) and “low
democracy” (n=44) respectively. The coefficients of variation for long-term growth rates are
then calculated for each group in the same way as before. Our results remain qualitatively
26
unchanged, although the gap between the two groups shrinks somewhat: the coefficient of
variation is smaller in countries with greater political participation (where “greater” now refers to
the benchmark set by the cross-national regression relating participation levels to income and
education).
The bottom line is that living under an authoritarian regime is a riskier gamble than living
under a democracy.
(b) Democracy and short-term performance
A point similar, but not identical, to the one just discussed was anticipated by Sah (1991),
who argued that de-centralized political regimes (and democracies in particular) should be less
prone to volatility. The rationale behind this idea is that the presence of a wider range of
decision-makers results in greater diversification and hence less risk in an environment rife with
imperfect information. This is a point similar to the one made above regarding the importance of
local knowledge. Note that this specific argument is about short-term volatility in economic
performance, and not about the dispersion in long-term growth rates which was the focus of the
previous section.
To determine the relationship between regime type and volatility in short-run economic
performance, I focus on three national-accounts aggregates: (a) real GDP; (b) real consumption;
and (c) investment. (All data are from the Penn World Tables, Mark 5.6.) In each case,
volatility is measured by calculating the standard deviation of annual growth rates of the relevant
aggregate over the 1960-89 period (more accurately, by taking the standard deviation of the first
differences in logs). Then each measure of volatility is regressed on a number of independent
variables, including our measure of participation (democracy). The other independent variables
27
included are: log per-capita GDP, log population, exposure to external risk, and dummies for
Latin America, East Asia, sub-Saharan Africa, and OECD.
Table 2 shows the results. The estimated coefficient on the measure of democracy is
negative and statistically significant in all cases. A movement from pure autocracy (democracy
= 0) to pure democracy ( =1) is associated with reductions in the standard deviations of growth
rates of GDP, consumption, and investment of 1.3, 2.3, and 4.4 percentage points, respectively.
These effects are fairly sizable. Figure 2 shows a partial scatter plot which helps identify where
different countries stand. Long-standing democracies such as India, Costa Rica, Malta, and
Mauritius have experienced significantly less volatility than countries like Syria, Chile, or Iran,
even after controlling for country size and external shocks.16
Moreover, as the last column of Table 2 shows, causality seems to run directly from
regime type to volatility (rather than vice versa). In this column I have used secondary
enrollment ratio as an instrument for democracy (in addition to the other independent variables
mentioned earlier). This variable has all the properties of a desirable instrument, as it is well
correlated with democracy but virtually uncorrelated with the error term from the OLS
regression. With democracy instrumented in this fashion, the estimated coefficient actually
doubles in absolute value.
The evidence strongly suggests, therefore, that democracy is conducive to lower volatility
in economic performance.
(c) Democracy and resilience in the face of economic shocks
16 Similar findings have also been reported in Chandra (1998) and Quinn and Woolley (1998).
28
The late 1970s were a watershed for most developing economies. A succession of
external shocks during this period left many of them in severe payment difficulties. In some
cases, as in most of Latin America, it took almost a decade for macroeconomic balances to be
restored and for growth to resume. The question I now pose is whether democratic and
participatory institutions helped or hindered adjustment to these shocks of external origin.
The main thing I am interested in explaining is the extent of economic collapse following
an external shock. In another paper (Rodrik forthcoming), I have explored how social cleavages
and domestic institutions of conflict management mediate the effects of shocks on economic
performance. Here I focus on the role of participatory institutions specifically.
In a recent review of the growth experience of developing countries, Pritchett (1997) has
looked for breaks in trend growth rates. These breaks tend to coalesce around the mid- to late-
1970s, with 1977 as the median break year. I use the difference in growth rates before and after
the break as my dependent variable.
The basic story in Rodrik (forthcoming) is that the adjustment to shocks will tend to be
worse in countries with deep latent social conflicts and with poor institutions of conflict
management. Consequently, such countries will experience larger declines in growth rates
following shocks. These ideas are tested by regressing the change in growth on indicators of
latent conflict and on proxies for institutions of conflict management (in addition to other
variables17). Figure 3 displays a sample partial scatter plot, showing the relationship between
ethnic cleavages and the growth decline. Controlling for other variables, there is a systematic
17 Each regression in this paper includes the following variables on the right-hand side in addition to those specifically discussed: log GDP per-capita in 1975, growth rate prior to break year, measure of external shocks during the 1970s, ethno-linguistic fragmentation (elf60), and regional dummies for Latin America, East Asia, and sub-Saharan Africa.
29
relationship between these two: countries with greater ethnic and linguistic fragmentation
experienced larger declines in economic growth.
Our interest in democratic institutions in this context derives from the idea that such
institutions provide ways of regulating and managing social conflicts through participatory
means and the rule of law, and hence dissipate the adverse consequences of external shocks. To
test this hypothesis, we check to see whether our measure of democracy—this time restricted to
the 1970s only, to avoid possible reverse-causality—is related to changes in growth rates
subsequent to the shocks. The partial scatter plot shown in Figure 4, covering 101 countries,
suggests a clear affirmative answer. Countries with greater political freedoms during the 1970s
experienced lower declines in economic growth when their trend growth rate changed. The
relationship is highly significant in statistical terms; the t-statistic on the estimated coefficient on
democracy is 3.53, with a p-value of 0.001. Figure 5 shows the results when sub-Saharan
African countries are excluded from the sample. The reason to exclude these is both concern
with data quality and the possibility that the relationship is driven by a few African countries
with extreme values. But the relationship holds just as well in the restricted sample: the partial
slope coefficient is virtually unchanged and the t-statistic is almost as high (3.32). As these two
figures show, the hardest hit countries tended to be those with few political liberties (relative to
what would be expected of countries at their levels of income), such as Syria, Algeria, Panama,
and Gabon. Countries with open political regimes, such as Costa Rica, Botswana, Barbados, and
India, did much better.
These results are perhaps surprising in view of the common presumption that it takes
strong, autonomous governments to undertake the policy adjustments required in the face of
adversity. They are less surprising from the perspective articulated above: adjustment to shocks
30
requires managing social conflicts, and democratic institutions are useful institutions of conflict
management.
To probe the issues more deeply, I investigate the relationship between declines in
growth and three other aspects of political regime: (a) the degree of institutional (de jure)
independence of the executive; (b) the degree of operational (de facto) independence of the
executive; and (c) the degree to which non-elites can access political institutions. These three
variables come originally from the Polity III data (see Jaggers and Gurr, 1995), and have been re-
coded on a scale of 0 to 1 for the purposes of the current exercise. As before, I use the averages
of the values reported for each country during the 1970s. Note that these three indicators are
correlated with the Freedom House measure of democracy (which I have been using up to this
point) in the expected manner: independence of the executive tends to be lower in democracies,
and avenues of non-elite participation are larger. But there are interesting exceptions. The
United States, for example, ranks highest not only on the democracy index, but also in the degree
of institutional (de jure) independence of the executive. Other democracies with relatively
autonomous executives (de jure) are France, Canada, and Costa Rica. By contrast, South Africa
is coded as having had (during the 1970s) little democracy and little executive autonomy.
A nagging question in the literature on political economy is whether an insulated and
autonomous executive is necessary for the implementation of economic reforms.18 This question
is somewhat distinct from the question about democracy proper, since, as the examples just
mentioned illustrate, one can conceive of democratic systems that nonetheless have well-
insulated executives. Therefore the Polity III indicators are particularly relevant.
18 This literature is briefly surveyed and evaluated in Rodrik (1996).
31
The results shown in Figures (6)-(8) are again somewhat surprising—at least when
approached from the technocratic perspective. I find that more significant growth declines are
associated with greater institutional and operational independence of the executive and lower
levels of political access by non-elites.19 The estimated coefficients are statistically highly
significant in all cases. Therefore, not only do we not find that executive autonomy results in
better economic management, the results strongly suggest the converse: political regimes with
lower executive autonomy and more participatory institutions handle exogenous shocks better!20
This might be part of the explanation for why democracies experience less economic instability
over the long run (as demonstrated in the previous sub-section).
It is worth mentioning in passing that the recent experience in East Asia strongly
validates these results. South Korea and Thailand, with more open and participatory political
regimes handled the Asian financial crisis significantly better than Indonesia. I have argued in
Rodrik (1999b) that democracy helped the first two countries manage the crisis for at least three
reasons. First, it facilitated a smooth transfer of power from a discredited set of politicians to a
new group of government leaders. Second, democracy imposed mechanisms of participation,
consultation, and bargaining, enabling policy makers to fashion the consensus needed to
undertake the necessary policy adjustments decisively. Third, because democracy provides for
institutionalized mechanisms of “voice,” the Korean and Thai institutions obviated the need for
riots, protests, and other kinds of disruptive actions by affected groups, as well as lowering the
support for such behavior by other groups in society.
19 Moreover, the estimated signs on these variables remain unchanged if the Freedom House index of democracy is entered separately in the regression.
20 The finding on political participation echoes the argument in Isham et al. (1997) that more citizen voice results in projects with greater economic returns.
32
(d) Democracy and distribution
Finally, I turn to distributional issues. I have shown in Rodrik (1999c) that democracy
makes an important difference to the distribution of the enterprise surplus in the manufacturing
sectors of national economies. In particular, there is a robust and statistically significant
association between the extent of political participation and wages received by workers,
controlling for labor productivity, income levels, and other possible determinants. The
association exists both across countries and over time within countries (i.e. in panel regressions
with fixed effects as well as in cross-section regressions). Countries with greater political
participation than would have been predicted from their income levels such as India, Israel,
Malta, and Cyprus also have correspondingly higher wages relative to productivity. Some
countries at the other end of the spectrum—lower-than-expected values for the democracy index
and low wages—are Syria, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, and Mexico. Moving from Mexico’s level of
democracy to that of the U.S. is associated with an increase in wages of about 30 percent.
Instrumental-variables and event-study evidence suggests strongly that the relationship is causal;
that is, changes in political regime cause a redistribution of the enterprise surplus towards
workers.
Figure 9 shows a different type of evidence relating to economy-wide inequality. One
problem with the evidence on the functional distribution of income within manufacturing
(discussed above) is that a pro-labor distribution in manufacturing can go hand in hand with a
more regressive distribution overall. This would be the case, for example, where pro-labor
policies create a "labor aristocracy" to the detriment of the informal and rural sector worker.
Figure 9 is quite comforting on that score. It shows that the relationship between democracy and
33
economy-wide inequality (measured by the Gini coefficent from the high-quality Deininger-
Squire data set) is in fact negative. More participatory regimes produce greater equality not only
within the modern (manufacturing) sector, but throughout the economy. And they do so--as the
previous evidence indicates--without cost to economic growth and while producing greater
stability and resilience overall.
IV. Concluding remarks
Institutional reform has become the buzzword of the day. Policy advisors and
international financial institutions (IFIs) find it tempting to extend their advice and conditionality
to a broad range of institutional areas, including monetary and fiscal institutions, corporate
governance, financial and asset market supervision, labor-market practices, business-government
relations, corruption, transparency, and social safety nets. While such efforts have got the basic
diagnosis right--the development of a market-based economy requires a heavy dose of institution
building--they suffer from two weaknesses.
First, it is not clear whether the IFIs can overcome their bias towards a particular, "neo-
liberal" social-economic model--a model that is approximated, if not fully replicated, in the real
world by the United States. It is telling that when South Korea recently came under IMF
conditionality, the IMF asked the country to undertake an ambitious range of reforms in trade
and capital accounts, government-business relations, and labor-market institutions that entailed
remolding the Korean economy in the image of a Washington economist’s idea of a free-market
economy. This model is not only untested, it forecloses some development strategies that have
worked in the past, and others that could work in the future. If Korea, a country with an
exemplary development record, is subject to pressures of this kind, one can imagine what is in
34
store for small countries with more checkered economic histories. As I have argued in this paper,
an approach that presumes the superiority of a particular model of a capitalist economy is quite
restrictive in terms of the range of institutional variation that market economies can (and do)
admit.
Second, even if the IFIs could shed their preference in favor of the neo-liberal model,
there would remain an organizational bias towards providing similar, even if not identical, advice
to client governments. It would be difficult for institutions like the World Bank and the IMF to
adopt a "let a hundred flowers bloom" strategy, as it would appear that some countries are being
treated more or less favorably. The result is likely to be at best unfriendly to institutional
experimentation on the part of client governments.
To be sure, some institutional convergence can be useful and proper. No one can be
seriously against the introduction of proper accounting standards or against improved prudential
supervision of financial intermediaries. The more serious concern with regard to IFI
conditionality is that such standards will act as the wedge with which a broader set of
institutional preferences--in favor of open capital accounts, deregulated labor markets, arms-
length finance, American-style corporate governance, and hostile to industrial policies--will be
imparted on the recipient countries.
My focus on the importance of local knowledge, and on participatory democracy as a
meta-institution for eliciting and aggregating it, suggests that conditionality is perhaps better
targeted at basic political freedoms. I have shown in this paper that democracies perform better
on a number of dimensions: they produce less randomness and volatility, they are better at
managing shocks, and they yield distributional outcomes that are more desirable. One
interpretation of these results, and the one that I have emphasized throughout, is that democracy
35
helps build better institutions. While I am a great believer in institutional diversity, I see no
argument that would make it appropriate for some governments to deny their citizens basic
political rights such as freedom of speech, the right to vote and stand for political office, or
freedom of association. If there is one area where institutional conditionality is both appropriate
and of great economic value, it seems to me that this is it.
36
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Figure 1: Partial correlation between democracy and economic growth, 1970-89 (controlling for initial income, education, and regional dummies)
coef = .02196586, se = .00923168, t = 2.38
e ( g r7
0 8 9 | X
)
e( dem7089 | X ) -.462324 .478619
-.038903
.062969
Hungary
Poland
Yugoslav Chile
Syria
Iran, I.
Panama
Mozambiq
South af
Algeria
Uruguay
SingaporTaiwan
Jordan
Argentin
Korea
Paraguay
Haiti
Swazilan
Central
Niger
Mexico
Tunisia
Zaire
Peru
Spain
Myanmar
Togo
Ghana
Finland
Malawi
Uganda
Philippi
Seychell
United S
Guyana
Israel Bolivia
Mali
Zambia
Guatemal
Australi
Pakistan
Brazil
Zimbabwe
Germany,
Sierra L
Indonesi
Denmark
New Zeal
Cyprus
Thailand
Ecuador
Canada
Switzerl
TurkeyMalaysia
Sweden
France
Trinidad
Netherla
Greece
Venezuel
Belgium
Japan
El Salva
Italy
Banglade
United K
Senegal
Norway
Kenya
Honduras
Barbados
Fiji
Austria
Iceland
Portugal
Lesotho
Sri Lank
Ireland
Colombia
Jamaica
Malta
Mauritiu
Dominica
Papua Ne
Costa Ri
India
Botswana
40
coef = -.02327064, se = .0073816, t = -3.15 e ( s d c | X
)
e( dem7089 | X ) -.366946 .524269
-.024103
.046139
Syria
Haiti
Chile
Algeria
Panama
Iran, I.
Yugoslav
Jordan
Somalia
Singapor
Benin
Gabon
Uruguay
Paraguay
Congo
Nicaragu Turkey
Spain
Central
Tunisia
Chad
Burundi Mauritan
Finland Korea
Mali
Guyana
Niger
IndonesiArgentin
Guinea-B
Peru
Portugal
Guatemal
Zaire
Malawi
Philippi
Togo
Cape ver
Switzerl
South af
Mexico
Cote d'I
Greece
New Zeal
Bolivia
Iceland
Egypt
Uganda
Cameroon
France
Sweden
Ghana
Denmark
Germany, Australi
Ecuador
Ethiopia
Norway
CanadaMalaysia United S
Italy
Netherla
Madagasc
Thailand
Morocco
Zambia
El Salva
Liberia
Pakistan
Austria
Honduras
United KZimbabwe
Nepal
Tanzania
Ireland
BrazilBangladeFiji
TrinidadKenya
Japan
Burkina
Venezuel Cyprus
Senegal
Israel
Jamaica
Sri LankColombia
Dominica
Papua Ne
Nigeria
Barbados
Malta
Mauritiu
Costa Ri
India
Gambia
Figure 2: Partial correlation between democracy and consumption volatility
41
coef = -1.8392835, se = .83629833, t = -2.2 e ( d if fe
re n | X
)
e( elf60 | X ) -.557479 .553313
-5.65361
4.30598
Madagasc
KoreaBurundi
Somalia
Rwanda
Jordan
Mauritan
Egypt
Portugal
Haiti
JapanMalta
Dominica
Jamaica
Ireland
Colombia
Costa Ri
Greece
Italy
Iceland
Botswana
Germany,
Norway
Brazil
Denmark
Tunisia
ParaguayHonduras Sweden Netherla
El Salva Austria
Taiwan
Singapor
Barbados
Chile
Syria Zimbabwe
Malawi
Nicaragu
Venezuel
Israel
Finland Turkey
EthiopiaTogo
Congo
Uruguay
Burkina
Benin
Gambia
Panama
Mozambiq
Cyprus
Mauritiu
NigerFrance Central
Gabon Guinea
Ghana
Mexico
Senegal
Sierra L
Argentin Algeria
United K
Australi
Angola
Thailand
Sri Lank
Mali
Nigeria
Kenya
Zambia
New Zeal
Malaysia
Morocco
Spain
Chad
Cameroon
Zaire
Philippi
Tanzania
Cote d'I
Ecuador
Indonesi
Uganda
Pakistan
Guyana
South af
United SSwitzerl Belgium
Nepal
Peru
Trinidad
Guatemal
Bolivia Canada
India
Figure 3: Ethnic cleavages and growth differentials (pre- and post- break year in trend growth)
42
coef = 3.4063786, se = .96476657, t = 3.53
e ( d if fe
re n | X
)
e( democ70s | X ) -.548494 .667472
-5.12568
4.59929
Syria
Gabon
Algeria
Panama
Spain
Uruguay
Peru
Jordan
Tunisia
Chile
Argentin
Ecuador
Mozambiq Somalia
Benin
SingaporCongo
Uganda
Central
South af
Cote d'I
Taiwan
Haiti Egypt
Brazil
Paraguay
Portugal
Burundi
Nicaragu
Mexico
Morocco
Bolivia
Nepal
Guinea
Mali
Chad
Korea
Zaire
Cyprus
Finland
Mauritan
Angola
Israel Zimbabwe
Niger
Togo
Rwanda
Ghana
Malawi
Greece
Turkey
Philippi
Pakistan
SwitzerlUnited S
Sierra L
France Honduras
Cameroon
Canada
Italy
Trinidad
Tanzania
Zambia
Sweden
Senegal
Australi
Thailand
New Zeal Germany,
Japan
Indonesi
Guatemal
Denmark
Belgium
Netherla
Madagasc
Norway
United K
Venezuel
Iceland
Austria
Guyana
Ethiopia
Nigeria
Kenya
Ireland
Mauritiu
El Salva
Malaysia
Dominica
Sri Lank
Colombia Malta
Jamaica
Burkina
Barbados
India
Botswana
Costa Ri
Gambia
Figure 4: Democracy and growth differentials (pre- and post- break year in trend growth)
43
coef = 3.533285, se = 1.0630298, t = 3.32 e ( d if fe
re n | X
)
e( democ70s | X ) -.546667 .428284
-4.49398
3.69551
Syria Algeria
Uruguay
Panama
Tunisia
Spain
Jordan
Chile
Peru
Singapor
Argentin
Ecuador
Haiti
Nicaragu
TaiwanFinland
Egypt
Morocco
Portugal Brazil
Paraguay
Mexico
Israel
Switzerl
New Zeal
Philippi
Bolivia
Nepal
VenezuelIndonesi
Sweden
Korea
United S
Cyprus
Australi
Trinidad
Italy
France Germany,
Turkey
Denmark
United K
Canada
Norway Honduras
Iceland
Guyana
Greece
Netherla
Thailand
Belgium Austria
Ireland
Pakistan
Guatemal
Japan
Sri Lank
Dominica
Barbados
Malaysia
El Salva
Jamaica
Colombia
India
MaltaCosta Ri
Figure 5: Democracy and growth differentials (pre- and post- break year in trend growth), excluding sub-Saharan African countries
44
coef = -2.3612801, se = .9549911, t = -2.47 e ( d if fe
re n | X
)
e( mono_x | X ) -.559218 .443639
-5.22294
4.47472
Switzerl
Togo
Malaysia
Dominica
Botswana
Honduras
India
Jamaica
Burundi
Zimbabwe
Ethiopia
Niger
Burkina
Brazil
Ghana
Malta
Thailand
Turkey
Peru
South af
Trinidad
Uruguay
Ireland
Pakistan
Israel
GambiaJapan
Sri Lank
Iceland
Guyana
Belgium
Italy AustriaNew Zeal
United K
Norway
Finland
Netherla
Denmark Australi
Germany,
Taiwan
Sweden
Argentin
Mali
Chile
Colombia
Nigeria
Greece
Guatemal
Cameroon
Bolivia
Tanzania
Madagasc
Malawi
Benin
Guinea
IndonesiZaire
Congo
Zambia
Algeria
Philippi
Haiti
Nepal
Spain
Central Panama
Kenya
Chad
Uganda
France
Ecuador
Senegal
Sierra L
Korea
Jordan
Singapor
Paraguay
MoroccoGabon
Cote d'I
El Salva
Egypt
Nicaragu
Rwanda
Costa Ri
Tunisia
Somalia
Cyprus
Syria
Mexico
Portugal Venezuel
Canada
United S
Figure 6: Institutional (de jure) independence of the executive and growth differentials (pre- and post- break year in trend growth)
45
coef = -2.3367757, se = .63331585, t = -3.69
e ( d if fe
re n | X
)
e( xconst_x | X ) -.833472 .603293
-5.22294
4.47472
Gambia Jamaica
Botswana
Malaysia
India
Costa Ri
Zimbabwe
Sri Lank Colombia
Guyana
Malta
South af
Trinidad
Cyprus
Ireland
EthiopiaVenezuel
Tanzania
Israel Honduras
Turkey El Salva
Burkina Japan
Iceland
Italy
Dominica
Austria
Norway
United K
Kenya
Denmark
Finland
Germany,New Zeal
Netherla
Senegal
Madagasc
Belgium
Niger IndonesiSweden
AustraliCongo
Thailand
Sierra L
Togo
Switzerl
Canada
Guatemal
Ghana
Egypt
United S
Burundi
Guinea
Haiti
Nepal
Malawi
Singapor
Mali Pakistan
Taiwan
Ecuador
Rwanda
Chad
Portugal
Zaire
Cameroon
Central
Nigeria
Mexico
Philippi
Uruguay
Uganda
Zambia
Bolivia
Somalia
Korea
Paraguay
Chile
France
Benin
Greece
Jordan
Panama
Nicaragu
Peru Argentin
Morocco
Cote d'I
SpainTunisia
Brazil
Algeria
Gabon
Syria
Figure 7: Operational (de facto) independence of the executive and growth differentials (pre- and post- break year in trend growth)
46
coef = 2.4286182, se = .7411522, t = 3.28
e ( d if fe
re n | X
)
e( parcom_x | X ) -.568213 .94865
-5.22294
4.47472
Syria
SpainTunisia
Algeria
Gabon
Argentin
Uruguay
Taiwan
Jordan
Peru
Chile
Brazil
Panama
Cote d'I
Dominica
Somalia
Egypt
South af
Mexico
Nepal
Bolivia
Benin
Congo
Philippi
Nigeria
Singapor
Uganda
Nicaragu
Trinidad
Korea
Burundi
Central Zambia
Kenya
Malta
Chad
Greece
Portugal
Rwanda
Zaire
Paraguay
Cameroon
Israel
Haiti
Mali
Sierra L
Madagasc
Ghana
Malawi TurkeyMorocco
Zimbabwe
Senegal
Tanzania
Guinea United S
Pakistan
Sweden
Switzerl
Niger
Ecuador
Thailand
Australi Germany,
Canada
Netherla
DenmarkFrance
Finland
Norway
Ethiopia
Guatemal
New ZealAustria
United K
Belgium
Togo
El Salva
Italy
Sri Lank
Iceland
Japan
Indonesi
Burkina
Ireland
Cyprus
Guyana
Honduras
India
Venezuel
Colombia
Malaysia
Costa Ri
Jamaica
Botswana
Gambia
Figure 8: Ability of non-elites to access political institutions and growth differentials (pre- and post- break year in trend growth)
47
Figure 9: Partial association between democracy and economy-wide inequality (Gini coefficient), 1985-89
Controls: log gdp/cap, log gdp/cap squared, urbanization; dummies for Latin America, East Asia, SSA, socialist countries, and oil exporters.
coef = -11.764853, se = 4.6754887, t = -2.52 e ( g in
ia ll
| X
)
e( democnew | X ) -.48638 .310544
-13.3838
16.0142
Panama
Chile
Bahamas,
Tunisia
Jordan
South Af
SingaporAlgeria
Malawi
Malaysia
Mexico
Banglade
Ghana
Finland
Cote d'I
Morocco
Sri Lank
GuatemalUnited S
China
Lesotho
Cananda
Norway
Germany,
Indonesi
Korea
Turkey
Columbia
Pakistan
Australi
Sweden
Luxembou
Brazil
Austri Ecuador
Denmark
Japan
Itlay
Greece
Israel
Peru
Poland
Hungary
New Zeal
Thailand
Netherla
Bolivia United K
Jamaica Uganda
Honduras
Belgium
Spain
Nigeria
Uruguay
IrelandArgentinDominica
Costa Ri
Venezuel
Mauritiu
India
BotswanaPhilippi
48
Table 1
Variance of economic performance under different political regimes
coeff. of variation of long-run economic growth rates under: autocracies democracies
unconditional 1.05 0.54
conditional 0.70 0.48
"low democracy" "high democracy"
unconditional 1.02 0.61
conditional 0.64 0.54
Note: See text for explanation.
49
Table 2
Political participation and volatility of economic performance (estimated coefficient on democracy from multiple regression)
dependent variable standard deviation of growth
rate of: real GDP consumption investment consumption
OLS OLS OLS IV
democracy -1.31** -2.33** -4.36* -4.97** (0.60) (1.09) (1.61) (2.10)
N 101 101 101 88
Note: Additional regressors (not shown): log per-capita GDP, log population, a measure of exposure to external risk, dummies for Latin America, East Asia, sub-Saharan Africa, and OECD. Robust standard errors reported in parentheses. Secondary enrollment ratio used as instrument in IV estimation. Asterisks denote levels of statistical significance: ** 95 percent; * 99 percent.
Noble or savage
Dec 19th 2007 | from the print edition
Hemis.fr
Hunter-gatherers
Noble or savage? The era of the hunter-gatherer was not the social and
environmental Eden that some suggest
HUMAN beings have spent most of their time on the planet as hunter-
gatherers. From at least 85,000 years ago to the birth of agriculture
around 73,000 years later, they combined hunted meat with gathered
veg. Some people, such as those on North Sentinel Island in the
Andaman Sea, still do. The Sentinelese are the only hunter-gatherers
who still resist contact with the outside world. Fine-looking specimens
—strong, slim, fit, black and stark naked except for a small plant-fibre
belt round the waist—they are the very model of the noble savage.
Genetics suggests that indigenous Andaman islanders have been
isolated since the very first expansion out of Africa more than 60,000
years ago.
Hunter-gatherers: Noble or savage? | The Economist http://www.economist.com/node/10278703/print
1 of 8 8/20/2012 12:01 PM
About 12,000 years ago people embarked on an experiment called
agriculture and some say that they, and their planet, have never
recovered. Farming brought a population explosion, protein and
vitamin deficiency, new diseases and deforestation. Human height
actually shrank by nearly six inches after the first adoption of crops in
the Near East. So was agriculture “the worst mistake in the history of
the human race”, as Jared Diamond, evolutionary biologist and
professor of geography at the University of California, Los Angeles,
once called it?
Take a snapshot of the old world 15,000 years ago. Except for bits of
Siberia, it was full of a new and clever kind of people who had
originated in Africa and had colonised first their own continent, then
Asia, Australia and Europe, and were on the brink of populating the
Americas. They had spear throwers, boats, needles, adzes, nets. They
painted pictures, decorated their bodies and believed in spirits. They
traded foods, shells, raw materials and ideas. They sang songs, told
stories and prepared herbal medicines.
They were “hunter-gatherers”. On the whole the men hunted and the
women gathered: a sexual division of labour is still universal among
non-farming people and was probably not shared by their Homo erectus
predecessors. This enabled them to eat both meat and veg, a clever
trick because it combines quality with reliability.
Why change? In the late 1970s Mark Cohen, an archaeologist, first
suggested that agriculture was born of desperation, rather than
inspiration. Evidence from the Fertile Crescent seems to support him.
Rising human population density, combined perhaps with a cooling,
drying climate, left the Natufian hunter-gatherers of the region short of
acorns, gazelles and wild grass seeds. Somebody started trying to
preserve and enhance a field of chickpeas or wheat-grass and soon
planting, weeding, reaping and threshing were born.
Quite independently, people took the same step in at least six other
parts of the world over the next few thousand years: the Yangzi valley,
the central valley of New Guinea, Mexico, the Andes, West Africa and
the Amazon basin. And it seems that Eden came to an end. Not only
had hunter-gatherers enjoyed plenty of protein, not much fat and ample
vitamins in their diet, but it also seems they did not have to work very
Hunter-gatherers: Noble or savage? | The Economist http://www.economist.com/node/10278703/print
2 of 8 8/20/2012 12:01 PM
hard. The Hadza of Tanzania “work” about 14 hours a week, the !Kung
of Botswana not much more.
The first farmers were less healthy than the hunter-gatherers had been
in their heyday. Aside from their shorter stature, they had more
skeletal wear and tear from the hard work, their teeth rotted more, they
were short of protein and vitamins and they caught diseases from
domesticated animals: measles from cattle, flu from ducks, plague
from rats and worms from using their own excrement as fertiliser.
They also got a bad attack of inequality for the first time. Hunter-
gatherers' dependence on sharing each other's hunting and gathering
luck makes them remarkably egalitarian. A successful farmer, however,
can afford to buy the labour of others, and that makes him more
successful still, until eventually—especially in an irrigated river valley,
where he controls the water—he can become an emperor imposing his
despotic whim upon subjects. Friedrich Engels was probably right to
identify agriculture with a loss of political innocence.
Agriculture also stands accused of exacerbating sexual inequality. In
many peasant farming communities, men make women do much of the
hard work. Among hunter-gathering folk, men usually bring fewer
calories than women, and have a tiresome tendency to prefer catching
big and infrequent prey so they can show off, rather than small and
frequent catches that do not rot before they are eaten. But the men do
at least contribute.
Recently, though, anthropologists have subtly revised the view that the
invention of agriculture was a fall from grace. They have found the
serpent in hunter-gatherer Eden, the savage in the noble savage.
Maybe it was not an 80,000-year camping holiday after all.
Hunter-gatherers: Noble or savage? | The Economist http://www.economist.com/node/10278703/print
3 of 8 8/20/2012 12:01 PM
Hemis.fr
I know it's a drag Godric, but it's progress MEPL
In 2006 two Indian fishermen, in a drunken sleep aboard their little
boat, drifted over the reef and fetched up on the shore of North
Sentinel Island. They were promptly killed by the inhabitants. Their
bodies are still there: the helicopter that went to collect them was
driven away by a hail of arrows and spears. The Sentinelese do not
welcome trespassers. Only very occasionally have they been lured
down to the beach of their tiny island home by gifts of coconuts and
only once or twice have they taken these gifts without sending a
shower of arrows in return.
Several archaeologists and anthropologists now argue that violence
was much more pervasive in hunter-gatherer society than in more
recent eras. From the
!Kung in the Kalahari to the Inuit in the Arctic and the aborigines in
Australia, two-thirds of modern hunter-gatherers are in a state of
almost constant tribal warfare, and nearly 90% go to war at least once
a year. War is a big word for dawn raids, skirmishes and lots of
posturing, but death rates are high—usually around 25-30% of adult
males die from homicide. The warfare death rate of 0.5% of the
population per year that Lawrence Keeley of the University of Illinois
calculates as typical of hunter-gatherer societies would equate to 2
billion people dying during the 20th century.
At first, anthropologists were inclined to think this a modern pathology.
But it is increasingly looking as if it is the natural state. Richard
Wrangham of Harvard University says that chimpanzees and human
beings are the only animals in which males engage in co-operative and
systematic homicidal raids. The death rate is similar in the two species.
Steven LeBlanc, also of Harvard, says Rousseauian wishful thinking has
led academics to overlook evidence of constant violence.
Not so many women as men
die in warfare, it is true. But
that is because they are
often the object of the
fighting. To be abducted as a
sexual prize was almost
Hunter-gatherers: Noble or savage? | The Economist http://www.economist.com/node/10278703/print
4 of 8 8/20/2012 12:01 PM
Homo sapiens
wrought havoc on
many ecosystems
as Homo erectus
had not
certainly a common female fate in hunter-gatherer society. Forget the
Garden of Eden; think Mad Max.
Constant warfare was necessary to keep population density down to
one person per square mile. Farmers can live at 100 times that density.
Hunter-gatherers may have been so lithe and healthy because the weak
were dead. The invention of agriculture and the advent of settled
society merely swapped high mortality for high morbidity, allowing
people some relief from chronic warfare so they could at least grind out
an existence, rather than being ground out of existence altogether.
Notice a close parallel with the industrial revolution. When rural
peasants swapped their hovels for the textile mills of Lancashire, did it
feel like an improvement? The Dickensian view is that factories
replaced a rural idyll with urban misery, poverty, pollution and illness.
Factories were indeed miserable and the urban poor were overworked
and underfed. But they had flocked to take the jobs in factories often to
get away from the cold, muddy, starving rural hell of their birth.
Eighteenth-century rural England was a place
where people starved each spring as the
winter stores ran out, where in bad years and
poor districts long hours of agricultural
labour—if it could be got—barely paid enough
to keep body and soul together, and a place
where the “putting-out” system of textile
manufacture at home drove workers harder for lower pay than even the
factories would. (Ask Zambians today why they take ill-paid jobs in
Chinese-managed mines, or Vietnamese why they sew shirts in
multinational-owned factories.) The industrial revolution caused a
population explosion because it enabled more babies to survive
—malnourished, perhaps, but at least alive.
Returning to hunter-gatherers, Mr LeBlanc argues (in his book
“Constant Battles”) that all was not well in ecological terms, either.
Homo sapiens wrought havoc on many ecosystems as Homo erectus
had not. There is no longer much doubt that people were the cause of
the extinction of the megafauna in North America 11,000 years ago and
Australia 30,000 years before that. The mammoths and giant kangaroos
never stood a chance against co-ordinated ambush with stone-tipped
Hunter-gatherers: Noble or savage? | The Economist http://www.economist.com/node/10278703/print
5 of 8 8/20/2012 12:01 PM
Another fine environmental mess we've got ourselves into Bridgeman Art Library
spears and relentless pursuit by endurance runners.
This was also true in Eurasia. The earliest of the great cave painters,
working at Chauvet in southern France, 32,000 years ago, was
obsessed with rhinoceroses. A later artist, working at Lascaux 15,000
years later, depicted mostly bison, bulls and horses—rhinoceroses must
have been driven close to extinction by then. At first, modern human
beings around the Mediterranean relied almost entirely on large
mammals for meat. They ate small game only if it was slow moving
—tortoises and limpets were popular. Then, gradually and inexorably,
starting in the Middle East, they switched their attention to smaller
animals, and especially to warm-blooded, fast-breeding species, such
as rabbits, hares, partridges and smaller gazelles. The archaeological
record tells this same story at sites in Israel, Turkey and Italy.
The reason for this shift, say Mary Stiner and Steven Kuhn of the
University of Arizona, was that human population densities were
growing too high for the slower-reproducing prey such as tortoises,
horses and rhinos. Only the fast-breeding rabbits, hares and partridges,
and for a while gazelles, could cope with such hunting pressure. This
trend accelerated about 15,000 years ago as large game and tortoises
disappeared from the Mediterranean diet altogether—driven to the brink
of extinction by human predation.
In times of prey scarcity, Homo erectus, like other predators, had
simply suffered local extinction; these new people could innovate their
way out of trouble—they could shift their niche. In response to
demographic pressure, they developed better weapons which enabled
them to catch smaller, faster prey, which in turn enabled them to
survive at high densities, though at the expense of extinguishing many
larger and slower-breeding prey. Under this theory, the atlatl or spear-
throwing stick was invented 18,000 years ago as a response to a
Hunter-gatherers: Noble or savage? | The Economist http://www.economist.com/node/10278703/print
6 of 8 8/20/2012 12:01 PM
Soon collecting
wild grass seeds
evolved into
planting and
reaping crops,
which meant fewer
proteins and
vitamins but ample
calories
Malthusian crisis, not just because it seemed like a good idea.
What's more, the famously “affluent society”
of hunter-gatherers, with plenty of time to
gossip by the fire between hunts and gathers,
turns out to be a bit of a myth, or at least an
artefact of modern life. The measurements of
time spent getting food by the !Kung omitted
food-processing time and travel time, partly
because the anthropologists gave their
subjects lifts in their vehicles and lent them
metal knives to process food.
Agriculture was presumably just another
response to demographic pressure. A new threat of starvation
—probably during the millennium-long dry, cold “snap” known as the
Younger Dryas about 13,000 years ago—prompted some hunter-
gatherers in the Levant to turn much more vegetarian. Soon collecting
wild grass seeds evolved into planting and reaping crops, which
reduced people's intake of proteins and vitamins, but brought ample
calories, survival and fertility.
The fact that something similar happened six more times in human
history over the next few thousand years—in Asia, New Guinea, at least
three places in the Americas and one in Africa—supports the notion of
invention as a response to demographic pressure. In each case the
early farmers, though they might be short, sick and subjugated, could
at least survive and breed, enabling them eventually to overwhelm the
remaining hunter-gatherers of their respective continents.
It is irrelevant to ask whether we would have been better off to stay as
hunter-gatherers. Being a niche-shifting species, we could not help
moving on. Willingly or not, humanity had embarked 50,000 years ago
on the road called “progress” with constant change in habits driven by
invention mothered by necessity. Even 40,000 years ago, technology
and lifestyle were in a state of continuous change, especially in western
Eurasia. By 34,000 years ago people were making bone points for
spears, and by 26,000 years ago they were making needles. Harpoons
and other fishing tackle appear at 18,000 years ago, as do bone spear
throwers, or atlatls. String was almost certainly in use then—how do
Hunter-gatherers: Noble or savage? | The Economist http://www.economist.com/node/10278703/print
7 of 8 8/20/2012 12:01 PM
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you catch rabbits except in nets and snares?
Nor was this virtuosity confined to practicalities. A horse, carved from
mammoth-ivory and worn smooth by being used as a pendant, dates
from 32,000 years ago in Germany. By the time of Sungir, an open-air
settlement from 28,000 years ago at a spot near the city of Vladimir,
north-east of Moscow, people were being buried with thousands of
laboriously carved ivory beads and even little wheel-shaped bone
ornaments.
Incessant innovation is a characteristic of human beings. Agriculture,
the domestication of animals and plants, must be seen in the context of
this progressive change. It was just another step: hunter-gatherers may
have been using fire to encourage the growth of root plants in southern
Africa 80,000 years ago. At 15,000 years ago people first domesticated
another species—the wolf (though it was probably the wolves that took
the initiative). After 12,000 years ago came crops. The internet and the
mobile phone were in some vague sense almost predestined 50,000
years ago to appear eventually.
There is a modern moral in this story. We have been creating ecological
crises for ourselves and our habitats for tens of thousands of years. We
have been solving them, too. Pessimists will point out that each
solution only brings us face to face with the next crisis, optimists that
no crisis has proved insoluble yet. Just as we rebounded from the
extinction of the megafauna and became even more numerous by
eating first rabbits then grass seeds, so in the early 20th century we
faced starvation for lack of fertiliser when the population was a billion
people, but can now look forward with confidence to feeding 10 billion
on less land using synthetic nitrogen, genetically high-yield crops and
tractors. When we eventually reverse the build-up in carbon dioxide,
there will be another issue waiting for us.
Hunter-gatherers: Noble or savage? | The Economist http://www.economist.com/node/10278703/print
8 of 8 8/20/2012 12:01 PM
nisa
Mokyr_Property Rights
American Economic Association
Intellectual Property Rights, the Industrial Revolution, and the Beginnings of Modern Economic Growth Author(s): Joel Mokyr Reviewed work(s): Source: The American Economic Review, Vol. 99, No. 2, Papers and Proceedings of the One Hundred Twenty-First Meeting of the American Economic Association (May, 2009), pp. 349- 355 Published by: American Economic Association Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/25592423 . Accessed: 20/08/2012 20:35
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American Economic Review: Papers & Proceedings 2009, 99:2, 349-355
http://www.aeaweb.org/articles.php?doi=10.1257/aer.99.2.349
Intellectual Property Rights, the Industrial Revolution, and the
Beginnings of Modern Economic Growth
By Joel Mokyr*
There is a growing consensus that in all cases of successful and unsuccessful economic
growth, institutions mattered (Elhanan Helpman 2008; Daron Acemoglu, Simon Johnson, and James Robinson 2005). Somewhat oddly, little detailed research has been done to date to relate the Industrial Revolution, the taproot of mod ern economic growth, to its institutional origins (but see Mokyr 2008). The focus of institutional
analysis has been either on earlier episodes of
mostly Smithian growth, such as the commer cial revolutions in medieval Europe (Avner Greif 2005), or on more modern experiences, when good data allowed researchers to have a
meaningful debate on how to test hypotheses on the importance of institutions. The main argu
ment made about institutions and the British Industrial Revolution is that political events from the late seventeenth century on created a regime that supported an executive that was sufficiently constrained to create a "rule of law" and respect private property rights, and yet not engage in (or permit others to engage in) unbridled rent-seek
ing (Douglass North and Barry Weingast 1989; Kenneth Dam 2005).
Part of this argument is that in this age intellectual property rights (IPR) began to be
increasingly respected. The reason this argu ment is central is that, in the end, the Industrial Revolution was a set of technological improve ments, a few large and dramatic, most mun
dane and incremental. The kind of institutions that incentivize technological progress differ from those that support the growth of markets
by protecting property rights. It is true that in a wholly lawless society technological progress is unlikely, but all the same the institutions that
support the different kinds of growth are not
likely to be identical. Indeed, one could argue that to some extent the reverse was needed for
* Departments of Economics and History, Northwestern
University, Evanston, IL 60208 (e-mail: j-mokyr@ northwestern.edu).
rapid technological change: some property rights had to be extinguishable when they got in the way. This was true not just for such concrete
matters as eminent domain used to expropriate land or parliamentary enclosures (which termi nated de facto property rights of smallholders), but also to extinguish a host of monopolies and other rent-generating exclusions and privil?ges that had been regarded as assets in an earlier age but were effectively used to block technological progress.
What kind of institutions encouraged techno
logical progress? Inventions needed incentives, and IPRs provided incentives for successful inventors. It was therefore fortunate, the argu
ment goes, that Britain indeed had a patent system, established in 1624. While the num ber of patents was stagnant until the middle of the eighteenth century, it started rising steeply in the mid-1750s, more or less at the time of the traditional Industrial Revolution (Richard Sullivan 1989). It thus stands to reason that IPR's provide an essential part of the puzzle of how institutions contributed to the origins of the Industrial Revolution. North (1981, 164-66) provided the canonical statement: the rate of technological change depended on the inventor's ability to capture a larger share of the benefits of his invention. Only the patent system created a set of systematic incentives that raised the private rate of return closer to the social rate.
What could be wrong with this picture? The answer is basically "almost everything." Yet this is not to deny the importance of some form of IPRs for the process. The historical difficulty is not to establish that the patent system had on balance a positive effect on technological prog ress, but rather to ask whether the effect could be
large enough to account for a substantial propor tion of the acceleration of technological prog ress we are trying to explain. Moreover, other
institutions may have been equally important or more so than the patent office.
349
350 AEA PAPERS AND PROCEEDINGS MAY2009
I. Patents and the Industrial Revolution
The notion that patents were part and parcel of an enlightened economy was already stressed
by Adam Smith and still expressed in similar terms a century later by John Stuart Mill (Smith 1759, 83; Mill 1848, 933). Enlightenment think ers reasonably argued that it would be better if market forces and free enterprise (as opposed to
government officials or academic committees) determined payoffs. Moreover, they felt that pat ents encouraged innovation and that innovation was the key element in economic growth, both
by encouraging more R&D and by getting more investors to put "venture capital" into risky proj ects. No less a light that J. W. Goethe thought that in Britain patents transformed inventions into real assets. "One may well ask why are
they in every respect in advance of us?" (cited by Friedrich Klemm 1964, 173). From a practi cal point of view, they felt that patents were the
price society paid for disclosure and that disclo sure was essential for the unfettered dissemina tion of useful knowledge. The full specification of the patent made the technical details acces sible to others.
Yet there was legitimate doubt, even from those who shared the same objectives and hopes for
society. Eighteenth century thought developed a growing belief that monopolies of all types, even temporary ones, were bad. There was an
intuitive sense that access to knowledge should
be free because anything that limited access to useful knowledge was bad for the Baconian
program, the cornerstone of Enlightenment eco nomic thought. It was realized that patents were used strategically, for example, to block research
by nonpatentees in some directions, and thus
actually slowed down innovation (as the classic
examples of Thomas Savery's patent blocking Thomas Newcomen from patenting his steam
engine, and James Watt blocking high-pressure engines, attest). Some writers also pointed out that patents were used as false quality signals and lured investors and consumers into fraudu lent schemes (e.g., "patent medicine"). There
was also a moral sense that inventors, like scien
tists, were serving the public good, and should be rewarded by honors and patronage, not neces
sarily financial rewards related to the economic
impact of the invention. In short, there were considerable ideological
differences between adherents of the Baconian
program as to the efficacy of a patent system. The eighteenth-century philosophes had to con front the notion that if a society wished to pro mote technological change, it needed to create the economic incentives for inventive activities to take place. An uncomfortable clash between what seemed "just" and what was necessary if
progress were to be attained was recognized. The question is, of course, what the historical record has to say about the impact of the patent system on the Industrial Revolution.
The number of patents filed in Britain, as
noted, seems at first glance to track the his
tory of the Industrial Revolution. Yet the ques tion remains if this can be taken as evidence of the role that patents played in incentivizing and
stimulating the processes that eventually gen erated modern economic growth. It is impor tant to stress that the experience of Britain with patents during the Industrial Revolution was based on the British system as it existed, not as it might have been if a new system had been designed de novo, as the United States was after Independence. The differences between the two were striking (B. Zorina Khan and
Kenneth L. Sokoloff 1998). Before the big reform of 1852, taking out a patent in Britain was very expensive: for England alone the filing fee was ?100, but for the Kingdom as a whole it came to ?350, not counting other expenses. A Lancashire linen manufacturer, Samuel Taylor,
spent ?125 on filing for a patent in 1772, and in addition had to be in London away from his business for six months to complete the formali ties (James Harrison 2006, 11). Many patents
were infringed upon, and judges before 1825 or so were often hostile to patentees, considering them monopolists (Eric Robinson 1972, 137). No patent was fully valid until it had been tested
by courts, but people rarely sued: between 1770 and 1850 only 257 patent cases came before the courts, out of 11,962 patents granted (Harry I. Dutton 1984, 71). The patent system was riddled
by the widely condemned practice of so-called caveats, which were an expression of the intent to file a particular patent later on, and acquiring a block on any application before warning the filer. Competitors could use caveats to delay the
sealing of a patent, as well as for industrial espi onage. The bureaucratic process that a potential patentee had to go through has been described as a "tortuous labyrinth" and was ridiculed by none other than Charles Dickens in his little
VOL. 99 NO. 2 INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY RIGHTS AND MODERN ECONOMIC GROWTH 351
novella A Poor Man's Tale of a Patent. Some of the most eminent men of science and tech
nology in the period condemned the system as it existed. Babbage, never one to mince words, denounced the patent law as a "system of vicious and fraudulent legislation" which deprived the inventor of the fruits of his genius and put the
most productive citizens of society in a position of "legalized banditti," and "a fraudulent lottery which gives its blanks to genius and its prizes to knaves" (Charles Babbage 1830, 321, 333). The
objections were not so much against the system in general as against the way the law was writ ten and carried out in Britain, especially the
high cost of patenting and the sense that even the granting of a patent was "almost wholly illu
sory" until the patent had been sustained by a court of law, at an even higher cost (Babbage, 334).
Moreover, the experience of other coun
tries seems to lend little support for a central role for patents. The most striking case is the Netherlands which, despite its high degree of economic development in the seventeenth cen
tury, did not figure prominently in the Industrial Revolution. Yet it had a patent system, estab lished in the sixteenth century. The number of patents fell sharply at the end of the Dutch Golden Age in the 1670s and did not recover before 1800 (Karel Davids 2008).
Finally, the impact of costly and cumber some patents is illustrated by the sharp increase in the number of patents filed in 1852 after the
filing costs were reduced, which by itself does not prove that the number of patents filed until then was suboptimal. It has also been suggested that patents were primarily the outcome of a
non-cooperative competitive "race to the bot
tom" process in which patents were taken out
preemptively, much like an arms race or an
advertisement campaign that lead to an equilib rium in which all actors are worse off. Patents,
together with the heavy use of caveats in com
petitive industries, were more of a competitive tool to thwart would-be competitors than a gen uine reward for technological creativity (Dutton 1984, 182-83). Moreover, it is striking that many of the
important inventors of the Industrial Revolution viewed the patent system negatively and chose not to use it. Some of them were eminent sci entists who brought the cultural norms of the world of science into technology, such as Papin,
Davy, Hales, Faraday, Priestley, and Rumford.
They refused to take out patents as a matter of
principle. Many eighteenth century scientists dabbled in invention, and this cultural spillover tells us something interesting about their moti vation and incentives. "When one loves sci
ence," wrote Claude Berthollet to another
inventor, James Watt, "one had little need for fortune which would only risk one's happiness" (cited by A.E. Musson and Eric Robinson 1969,
266). The same holds for the field of engineer ing, central to technological growth during the Industrial Revolution. Many of the great engi neers of the Industrial Revolution, Watt being the great exception, had little interest in patent ing (Christine MacLeod 1988, 103-06). A case in point is the career of John Rennie, who opened the revolutionary Albion Mills (using steam
engines to grind flour) for anyone to see in 1786, to James Watt's horror, and did not take out a
patent in his life. Rennie was obviously signal ing his capabilities rather than selling specific knowledge, soon securing consulting and spe cial manufacturing jobs from all over Britain, as well as from the Continent. Abraham Darby II declined to take out a patent on his coke-smelt
ing process, allegedly saying that "he would not
deprive the public from such an acquisition" (cited by MacLeod 1988, 185). Others tried to
patent and failed, with little effect on their sub
sequent careers, or in some of the most famous
cases, successful inventors were let down by the intellectual property system, Parliament stepped in to reward them for their contributions to the
welfare of the realm. Thus, Samuel Crompton, inventor of the mule, and Edmund Cartwright, inventor of the power loom, were awarded such
grants. The largest award, not surprisingly, went to Edward Jenner, discoverer of the smallpox vaccination process, who was awarded ?30,000 in 1815.
Adam Smith's strictures notwithstanding, Britain did not entirely rely on the verdict of the market when rewarding innovation, even in the realm of prescriptive knowledge. The signaling and reputation culture of the world of science and mathematics spilled over onto large areas of
prescriptive knowledge, and in those areas pat ents had no large role to play. Moreover, other incentives beside patents mattered. In a few instances prizes may have been decisive, espe cially in the famous case of the marine chro nometer: the prize was given not only to John
352 AEA PAPERS AND PROCEEDINGS MAY 2009
Harrison, the inventor (after much trouble) but also to lesser-known inventors who had made further improvements on the original longitude measuring clock. Much smaller but perhaps not
insignificant were the prizes awarded by the
Society of Arts, founded in 1754, a society that was in principle opposed to patents. In all these cases, and many others, there was an explicit recognition that if society wanted a continu ous stream of technical improvements, it had to make the activity that generated innovation
financially attractive, even to those who did not
rely on patents. Technological progress, at least in some areas, was not the fiercely competitive process that a well-functioning patent system implies. Economic historians have found some
examples of what Robert C. Allen (1983) has termed collective invention, that is, the main actors in technological innovation freely shar
ing information and claiming no ownership to it
(see also Alessandro Nuvolari 2004). Examples are few, but technical knowledge was shared on a much larger scale than the cases of col lective invention suggest. Within the techni cal committees of the Society of Arts, people shared ideas and "sharpened minds" with oth ers engaged in similar occupations (Harrison 2006, xxiii).
Equally enlightening regarding the role of the
patent system in the Industrial Revolution is the
question of what proportion of inventions was ever patented in the first place. The question is hard to answer because, while the numerator of the ratio is known and recorded, the denomina tor is vague and poorly defined: what is the set of total inventions made over this time? This is a different question from what proportion of pat ents were ever commercially exploited or even
technically feasible, which is often raised as a source of doubt on the use of patent statistics as an indicator of inventive activity. An elegant and persuasive answer for one point in time was
provided recently in pioneering papers by Petra Moser (2005, 2007). Moser argued that the pro portion of new inventions exhibited in major industrial exhibitions would be an upper bound of the true and observed ratio, since the exhibits were the most innovative and potentially impor tant of all inventions. Her data show that of all British exhibits that were selected to be dis
played at the Crystal Palace in London in 1851, only 11 percent were patented, and that even if we look at award winners (the cr?me de la cr?me
of all exhibits) only less than 16 percent were
patented. This cannot be attributed entirely to the high cost of the British patent system alone, since the American system was far cheaper and
more accessible, yet the proportion of American exhibits that were patented was not much differ ent (14.2 percent).
II. Patents and Incentives in the Industrial Revolution
All in all, then, the enthusiasm shown by North for a patent system as one of the decisive factors in stimulating technological progress in this age must be tempered by some undeni able historical facts and data. Yet it remains to be seen to what extent that actually reduces the
patent system to insignificance, as some econo
mists have recently argued (David Levine and Mich?le Boldrin 2008). The propensity to pat ent differed greatly between industries, and in industries in which patenting was important, such as machinery, innovation would tend to be concentrated in economies in which patent protection was stronger, whereas textile inven
tions could be found in countries in which pat ent protection was weak or absent (Moser 2005). A particularly striking case for patents biasing the process is documented by Murmann (2003) for the nineteenth century German chemical
industry. The question of incentives has not, however,
been fully settled. The point that should be made is that for the purpose of achieving technologi cal progress, what mattered was not the actual
working of the patent system but the way it was
perceived by inventors contemplating a project. There is considerable anecdotal evidence that the hope for a successful patent remained heav
ily on the minds of many of the great inventors of the age. Richard Roberts, a prodigiously cre ative engineer, told an 1851 parliamentary com mittee that, were it not for the patent system, he would not have invented as much as he did, and the inventions he would have made would have lain on the shelves. A patent made it possible for an independent inventor to find a manufacturer who would take up a proposed invention, giving him the security he required that profits would not be competed away right away (Great Britain 1851, 187). Otherwise, Bessemer wrote in his
Autobiography, "no manufacturer will go to the trouble and expense of trying to work out the
VOL. 99 NO. 2 INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY RIGHTS AND MODERN ECONOMIC GROWTH 353
proposed invention....And so the invention is lost to the world in consequence of having been
given away" (Henry Bessemer 1905, ch. VIII). This was by no means a universally held view, but it did not have to be. As long as a signifi cant number of would-be inventors believed they had a reasonable chance at hitting a jackpot, some case for an incentive system would be esta blished. In that regard, the economic success of a few famous players would provide the signal needed.
The basic argument goes back to a "lucky fools" theory of entrepreneurship, suggested in a seminal paper by John Vincent Nye (1991). The main idea is that entrepreneurship and invention are like unfair gambles or lotteries, but a few spectacular and well-publicized suc cess cases led others to believe that the odds were better than they really were. After all,
precisely because by definition all inventions are in some dimension dissimilar (unlike lot
tery tickets), the conditional odds that underlie decisions in this activity may be systematically higher than the unconditional ones. Modern
theory has developed the concept of optimal expectations, in which agents have higher cur rent utility if they are overly optimistic about the future and therefore behave as if they are
risk-loving when the returns are highly skewed
(Markus Brunnermeier and Jonathan Parker
2005). This is hardly a new insight: Adam Smith already noted (in a different context) people had an absurd presumption in their own good fortunes: "The over-weening conceit which the greater part of men have of their own abilities... The chance of gain is by every man
more or less over-valued, and the chance of
loss...undervalued" (Smith 1776, 120). There were, of course, examples to support
such views. In a few cases, patents were suf
ficiently successful that Parliament actually voted to extend them: the Lombe brothers and Thomas Savery's patents were both extended, and so was Watt's patent of 1769, possibly the most famous patent in history. Some others, too, gambled on the patent system and won: the Scottish bleacher Charles Tennant's 1798
patent on bleaching powder made him a very rich man. The effect these salient events must have had on would-be inventors must be a bit like the effect of a few fabulously wealthy
National Basketball Association players on
aspiring teenage basketball players, who invest
huge amounts of their time in trying to "be like Mike" (Michael Jordan). The skewed distribu tion of rents may have created an exaggerated impression of the potential payoffs. From a pri vate welfare point of view, this was inefficient
(since the vast bulk of this R&D paid no
return), but from a social point it may have been desirable precisely because of the vast
spillover effects of a few successful inventors. These spillovers constituted the vast bulk of the social surplus created by technological change.
William Nordhaus (2004) has estimated that in modern America only 2.2 percent of the surplus of an invention is captured by the inventor him self. Things were surely not looking better for inventors in the eighteenth century. As long as, on average, people were willing to be fooled, a few vastly successful patents would keep hope alive. The incentive effects of the patent system may have been larger than its historical impor tance, if it led potential inventors to believe that a patent was a possible way to riches. However, it was not the only way to exploit inventions for financial benefit. First-mover advantage or overall good business acumen (or partner ing with someone who had it) was another, as the careers of Josiah Wedgwood and Richard
Arkwright illustrate. To win the patent gamble in eighteenth century Britain, one had to be
more ingenious. One also had to be lucky.
III. Concluding Remarks
The importance of the patent system in the British Industrial Revolution has to be scaled down. Inventors were not all motivated primar
ily by a desire to maximize income: the "two
sharp spurs that quicken invention and animate
application," as William Shipley, the founder of the Society of Arts, put it in 1753, were "Profit and Honour." Much of the reward was indirect, through "honor," which was clearly a reflection of the importance of signaling and reputation in this world. Nor can we altogether rule out any role for altruism, as well as a direct utility from
being able to solve hard problems?what could be termed the "crossword puzzle" motive.
None of this is to suggest that money was
unimportant to most inventors. But the patent system, for the vast majority of them, offered a false hope, and the expected payoff of a patent was in all likelihood negative. Why, then, did
people come back? Even after the debacles of
354 AEA PAPERS AND PROCEEDINGS MA Y 2009
Arkwright and Argand in the 1780s, hopeful inventors were filing for patents. The answer
must be that learning from the experience of others, when those others are demonstrably different, is limited, and that individuals have a strong ability to cling to the belief that their odds are better than they really are. This is
clearly not a rational expectations equilibrium, but ex ante it is not individually irrational, because there is no easy way to test whether
any invention will be one of the chosen ones. Once inventors learned their true type, it may have been too late for them. For the vast bulk of inventors, patenting was either not an option at all, an option declined, or an option that disap pointed bitterly. For them this setup was surely inferior.
But inventors were a small subset of the popu lation. Given that the benefits of the inventions
were almost entirely captured by the population of consumers at large in increased consumer sur
pluses, the patent system may well have had the unintentional side effect of stimulating a level of inventive activity that was about right. By cheat
ing the few, it benefitted the many. Had there been no patent system altogether, or had no one ever been able to get rich on 14 years of monop oly, the level of inventive activity may have been lower. Honor alone would not have been enough in some industries. On the other hand, had the
system been more open and accessible, and had patents been more enforced, blocking patents and monopolies in rapidly changing industries may have slowed down the pace of progress. As it was, it may just have been enough to help keep Britain as the Workshop of the World until deep into the nineteenth century.
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- Article Contents
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- Issue Table of Contents
- The American Economic Review, Vol. 99, No. 2, Papers and Proceedings of the One Hundred Twenty-First Meeting of the American Economic Association (May, 2009), pp. i-x, 1-646
- Front Matter
- Editors' Introduction [pp. viii-viii]
- Foreword [pp. ix-ix]
- Richard T. Ely Lecture
- Immigration and Inequality [pp. 1-21]
- US Immigration Issues
- The Demography of Mexican Migration to the United States [pp. 22-27]
- Do Immigrants and Their Children Free Ride More than Natives? [pp. 28-34]
- The Labor Supply of Immigrants in the United States: The Role of Changing Source Country Characteristics [pp. 35-40]
- Immigration and Poverty in the United States [pp. 41-44]
- The Skill Content of Jobs and the Evolution of the Wage Structure
- This Job Is "Getting Old": Measuring Changes in Job Opportunities Using Occupational Age Structure [pp. 45-51]
- New Evidence on the Returns to Job Skills [pp. 52-57]
- Job Polarization in Europe [pp. 58-63]
- Data Watch: Implementation of a New Architecture for the US National Accounts
- Implementation of a New Architecture for the US National Accounts [pp. 64-68]
- Perspectives on the New Architecture for the US National Accounts [pp. 69-73]
- Integrated GDP-Productivity Accounts [pp. 74-79]
- The Integrated Financial and Real System of National Accounts for the United States: Does It Presage the Financial Crisis? [pp. 80-86]
- Data Watch: Data Initiatives
- Expectations and Perceptions in Developing Countries: Their Measurement and Their Use [pp. 87-92]
- Egalitarianism and Competitiveness [pp. 93-98]
- Are Two Cheap, Noisy Measures Better than One Expensive, Accurate One? [pp. 99-103]
- Health and Wealth
- Early Life Health and Cognitive Function in Old Age [pp. 104-109]
- Life Expectancy and Old Age Savings [pp. 110-115]
- Approaches to Estimating the Health State Dependence of the Utility Function [pp. 116-121]
- The Economy and Health
- Why Are Recessions Good for Your Health? [pp. 122-127]
- Child Benefits, Maternal Employment, and Children's Health: Evidence from Canadian Child Benefit Expansions [pp. 128-132]
- Average Earnings and Long-Term Mortality: Evidence from Administrative Data [pp. 133-138]
- Human Capital Acquisition and Entrepreneurship
- Time-Use Patterns and Women Entrepreneurs [pp. 139-144]
- How Do Remittances Affect Human Capital Formation of School-Age Boys and Girls? [pp. 145-148]
- The Impact of Unexpected Maternal Death on Education: First Evidence from Three National Administrative Data Links [pp. 149-153]
- Motherhood Delay and the Human Capital of the Next Generation [pp. 154-158]
- The Psychology of Food Consumption
- Strategies for Promoting Healthier Food Choices [pp. 159-164]
- Mindless Eating and Healthy Heuristics for the Irrational [pp. 165-169]
- Time Use and Food Consumption [pp. 170-176]
- Air Pollution and Health around the World
- Fetal Exposures to Toxic Releases and Infant Health [pp. 177-183]
- Winter Heating or Clean Air? Unintended Impacts of China's Huai River Policy [pp. 184-190]
- Voluntary Compliance, Pollution Levels, and Infant Mortality in Mexico [pp. 191-197]
- The Economic Impacts of Climate Change
- Temperature and Income: Reconciling New Cross-Sectional and Panel Estimates [pp. 198-204]
- Impact of Climate Change on Rice Production in Thailand [pp. 205-210]
- Climate Change and Birth Weight [pp. 211-217]
- The Economics of Malaria
- Economic Effects of Childhood Exposure to Tropical Disease [pp. 218-223]
- What Matters (And What Does Not) in Households' Decision to Invest in Malaria Prevention? [pp. 224-230]
- Commitment Mechanisms and Compliance with Health-Protecting Behavior: Preliminary Evidence from Orissa, India [pp. 231-235]
- Intrahousehold Allocation of Free and Purchased Mosquito Nets [pp. 236-241]
- Disease and Development: Historical and Contemporary Perspectives
- Urbanization, Mortality, and Fertility in Malthusian England [pp. 242-247]
- Malthusian Dynamism and the Rise of Europe: Make War, Not Love [pp. 248-254]
- How Relevant Is Malthus for Economic Development Today? [pp. 255-260]
- Macroeconomic Narratives from Africa and the Diaspora
- Institutions versus Policies: A Tale of Two Islands [pp. 261-267]
- Metals or Management? Explaining Africa's Recent Economic Growth Performance [pp. 268-274]
- South Africa's Post-Apartheid Two-Step: Social Demands versus Macro Stability [pp. 275-281]
- Conflict and Development
- Defensive Weapons and Defensive Alliances [pp. 282-286]
- Can Development Aid Contribute to Social Cohesion after Civil War? Evidence from a Field Experiment in Post-Conflict Liberia [pp. 287-291]
- Repression or Civil War? [pp. 292-297]
- Political Economy under Weak Institutions
- Do Juntas Lead to Personal Rule? [pp. 298-303]
- Consolidation of New Democracy, Mass Attitudes, and Clientelism [pp. 304-309]
- The Real Swing Voter's Curse [pp. 310-315]
- Polls, Votes, and Elections
- Lies, Damn Lies, and Pre-Election Polling [pp. 316-322]
- Racial Bias in the 2008 Presidential Election [pp. 323-329]
- Bayesian Learning and the Pricing of New Information: Evidence from Prediction Markets [pp. 330-336]
- Intellectual Property Rights and Economic Growth in the Long Run
- A Model of Discovery [pp. 337-342]
- The Empirical Impact of Intellectual Property Rights on Innovation: Puzzles and Clues [pp. 343-348]
- Intellectual Property Rights, the Industrial Revolution, and the Beginnings of Modern Economic Growth [pp. 349-355]
- New Empirical Approaches to Decision Making under Uncertainty
- Identifying Preferences under Risk from Discrete Choices [pp. 356-362]
- Risk Preferences in the PSID: Individual Imputations and Family Covariation [pp. 363-368]
- Heterogeneity in the Response of Consumption to Income
- Endogenous Effective Discounting, Credit Constraints, and Wealth Inequality [pp. 369-373]
- Did the 2008 Tax Rebates Stimulate Spending? [pp. 374-379]
- The Effects of Population Aging on the Relationship among Aggregate Consumption, Saving, and Income [pp. 380-386]
- Disentangling Insurance and Information in Intertemporal Consumption Choices [pp. 387-392]
- Household Heterogeneity in Financial Markets
- Measuring the Financial Sophistication of Households [pp. 393-398]
- Who Bears Aggregate Fluctuations and How? [pp. 399-405]
- Momentum Traders in the Housing Market: Survey Evidence and a Search Model [pp. 406-411]
- Rationality in the Consumer Credit Market
- Payday Loans and Credit Cards: New Liquidity and Credit Scoring Puzzles? [pp. 412-417]
- What Do High-Interest Borrowers Do with Their Tax Rebate? [pp. 418-423]
- What Do Consumers Really Pay on Their Checking and Credit Card Accounts? Explicit, Implicit, and Avoidable Costs [pp. 424-429]
- Online Advertising Markets
- Online Ad Auctions [pp. 430-434]
- The Quest for QWERTY [pp. 435-440]
- Skewed Bidding in Pay-per-Action Auctions for Online Advertising [pp. 441-447]
- Beliefs and Disagreement in Organizations
- Authority versus Persuasion [pp. 448-453]
- Financial Risk Management: When Does Independence Fail? [pp. 454-458]
- Over My Dead Body: Bargaining and the Price of Dignity [pp. 459-465]
- International Aspects of Financial-Market Imperfections
- The Aftermath of Financial Crises [pp. 466-472]
- Expropriation Dynamics [pp. 473-479]
- Financial Instability, Reserves, and Central Bank Swap Lines in the Panic of 2008 [pp. 480-486]
- Trade, Product Turnover and Quality
- The Margins of US Trade [pp. 487-493]
- Trade Liberalization and New Imported Inputs [pp. 494-500]
- Plants and Imported Inputs: New Facts and an Interpretation [pp. 501-507]
- Public Policies, Public Funding, and Their Impact
- Another Look at the Impacts of Health Reform in Massachusetts: Evidence Using New Data and a Stronger Model [pp. 508-511]
- Disability Screening and Labor Supply: Evidence from South Africa [pp. 512-516]
- A Theory of Brain Drain and Public Funding for Higher Education in the United States [pp. 517-521]
- Public Policy and the Dynamics of Children's Health Insurance, 1986-1999 [pp. 522-526]
- Pensions and Health Care: Fiscal Challenges for State and Local Governments
- How Should Public Pension Plans Invest? [pp. 527-532]
- Will Public Sector Retiree Health Benefit Plans Survive? Economic and Policy Implications of Unfunded Liabilities [pp. 533-537]
- Discounting State and Local Pension Liabilities [pp. 538-542]
- The Revival of Fiscal Policy
- Implementing the New Fiscal Policy Activism [pp. 543-549]
- The Lack of an Empirical Rationale for a Revival of Discretionary Fiscal Policy [pp. 550-555]
- Rethinking the Role of Fiscal Policy [pp. 556-559]
- Capital Market Frictions and Liquidity
- Capital Reallocation and Growth [pp. 560-566]
- Information, Liquidity, and the (Ongoing) Panic of 2007 [pp. 567-572]
- Is Monetary Policy Effective during Financial Crises? [pp. 573-577]
- Liquidity, Macroeconomics, and Asset Prices
- A Note on Liquidity Risk Management [pp. 578-583]
- Global Imbalances and Financial Fragility [pp. 584-588]
- Leverage and the Central Banker's Put [pp. 589-593]
- Monetary Policy, Liquidity, and Financial Crises
- Market and Public Liquidity [pp. 594-599]
- Money, Liquidity, and Monetary Policy [pp. 600-605]
- The Credit Crisis: Conjectures about Causes and Remedies [pp. 606-610]
- The Economics Major as Part of a Liberal Education
- The Economics Major as Part of a Liberal Education: The Teagle Report [with Comment] [pp. 611-623]
- Completing an Economics PhD in Five Years: Let the Data (Literally) Speak for Themselves
- Completing an Economics PhD in Five Years [pp. 624-629]
- Proceedings of the One Hundred Twenty-First Annual Meeting [pp. 630-646]
- Back Matter
mokyr_Institutional_Origins_2008
The Institutional Origins of the Industrial Revolution
Joel Mokyr Depts. of Economics and History Northwestern University Berglas School of Economics Tel Aviv University
Final version Nov. 2007.
Parts of this essay are based on Joel Mokyr, The Enlightened Economy (Yale University Press and Penguin Press, 2007) and other essays as cited in the text. The comments of Avner Greif, Elhanan Helpman, Deirdre McCloskey, Michael Silver, and Joachim Voth on an earlier version are acknowledged with gratitude.
1
North (1981, p. 166) comes close to linking the institutional changes of the late eighteenth century with the Industrial1
Revolution when he maintains that it was explained by “a combination of better-specified and enforced property rights and increasingly efficient and expanding markets.” North and Weingast (1989, p. 831) are more prudent and wonder if arguing that without the Glorious Revolution the British economy would have followed a very different path and would not have experienced an Industrial Revolution would be “claiming too much.”
Introduction. The new institutional economics has, so far, had little to say about the Industrial
Revolution. In their survey of Institutions and Modern Growth, Acemoglu, Johnson, and Robinson (2005)
acknowledge eighteenth century Britain as a successful economy and much like North and Weingast (1989)
before them search for the institutional causes in seventeenth-century political developments and in the
constraints placed on the British executive (the monarchy and the royal bureaucracy) by Parliament before
and after the Glorious Revolution. In this framework a grand coalition of merchants and landowners emerged,
keen on protecting commerce and property. For the first time in British history, the commitment problem,
in which property rights were enforced by a suitably constrained entity, approached solution.
While neither Acemoglu et al. nor North and Weingast actually say so explicitly, they imply that
these reforms paved the road to the British Industrial Revolution. Others are not so prudent. Mancur Olson1
(1982, pp. 78-83, 128) had no doubt that “a few decades after stable and nationwide government had been
established in Britain, the Industrial Revolution was on its way.” In his recent survey, Kenneth Dam (2005,
p. 84) makes the statement that “the Glorious Revolution provided a strong base for later enjoyment of the
fruits of the Industrial Revolution ... that made England arguably the wealthiest country in the world.” The
accounts pointing to the formal political institutions established in late Stuart and Williamite Britain rely on
the notion of credible commitment: the crown deliberately relinquished many of its prerogatives to Parlia-
ment, and thus committed itself to pay its debts and to respect the property of its citizens. At the same time,
Parliament made its own commitment to sound public finance credible by not removing all of the Crown’s
power. One way or another, if institutions were the key to economic growth and “rule” in the formulation
of Rodrik et al. (2005), they should have played a major role in the central event that triggered modern
economic growth: the British Industrial Revolution.
Yet, surprisingly, there has been little effort to apply the new insights of institutional analysis to the
central event of modern economic history to date, and the institutional origins of the Industrial Revolution
2
Arguably, it could be maintained that the Industrial Revolution followed a contagion model, in which Britain was2
indispensable as a model to be emulated and followed, and that without its leadership, the Continent would not have been able to develop. That the British example was widely followed and imitated in various forms on the Continent cannot be denied. Britain’s example shaped some of the forms of the Industrial Revolution on the Continent. But the consensus today is thatFrance, Prussia, Belgium, Switzerland, and Northern Italy followed quite different but equally successful technological and institutional trajectories. Given that much of the nineteenth century technology was actually invented on the Continent, it seems implausible that British leadership was a necessary condition for the Industrial Revolution in the West as a whole.
remain poorly understood. The reason for this gap in the literature relates to two sources of confusion. One
is the distinction between the events in Britain, which made it the leading economy in the Industrial Revo-
lution, and developments in the larger North Atlantic economy, which refer to the Industrial Revolution in
a wider area and the origins of modern growth in the West. This confusion mars much of the debate. Thus
the stress on the Glorious Revolution by the institutionalists cited above, or the heavy emphasis on the fortui-
tous presence of useful minerals (Pomeranz, 2000; Wrigley, 1987, 1988) can explain the Industrial Revo-
lution in Britain or in the Walloon areas of Belgium, but not in Switzerland or Saxony. On the other hand,
emphases on modern science (Bekar, Carlow and Lipsey, 2005; Jacob and Stewart, 2005) or the Enlighten-
ment (Mokyr, 2005; 2006a) stress the pan-european aspects of eighteenth-century developments that created
the background for a European Industrial Revolution. The latter approach implies that national politics or
geographical conditions may well explain British lead, but not the more general economic development that
led to the emergence of a multinational convergence club by 1914, in which Britain was at best a primus inter
pares. Institutional analysis falls somewhere in between those two approaches. Each country had its own2
national and local institutions, but certain institutional elements were shared, imitated, and spilled over so
that a “European mode” may be discerned in the continent-wide pressures toward reform after 1750. Institu-
tional changes were inspired by Enlightenment thought that affected much of the Western World (Mokyr,
2006c). The analysis in this paper will be concerned with the “smaller” question of Britain’s leadership and
will thus focus primarily on the institutional environment in Great Britain. In other Western societies,
however, institutional changes before 1850 helped create the convergence club as it existed in 1914.
The second source of confusion is that the new Northian literature focuses on formal institutional
transformations, in which the Crown committed to respect the property rights of the landowning and
mercantile classes, made contracts more enforceable, and reduced transactions costs and uncertainty. Such
3
an account explains growth in an economy in which institutions lubricated the wheels of commerce, finance,
agriculture, and premodern artisanal manufacturing and cottage industries. It led to an improvement in the
allocation of resources and the accumulation of more capital. In this fashion such changes provide an expla-
nation of Smithian Growth, in an economy with a static technology. The Industrial Revolution, however,
was far more than that. Had it not been, the process of economic growth would have eventually asymptoted
off into a new stationary state. In the final analysis the Industrial Revolution rested on key technological
breakthroughs and their application to production by a class of successful industrial entrepreneurs. These
successes did not, moreover, lead to a new technological equilibrium but made room for the far more
astonishing phenomenon of the non-convergence of technology to a new set of dominant designs. Instead,
continued improvement in technology after 1800 became the rule. How are we then to link the essence of
the British Industrial Revolution to the events of 1688, and beyond and how did institutional factors, broadly
defined, help elevate Britain to the leading position it took in the Industrial Revolution?
Below I argue that the traditional emphasis on formal institutions has been over-emphasized, and that
the enforcement of property rights by the state was less crucial than the Northian interpretation has sugges-
ted. The importance of institutions extended beyond politics and formal institutions. We need to take account
“cultural beliefs” as defined by Greif (2005), which created an environment in which inventors and entre-
preneurs could operate and cooperate freely. Equally important, we need to pay attention to those institutions
that stimulated and encouraged technological progress and not just the growth that depends on well-
functioning markets. Formal institutions such as state-enforced patent rights may have been overestimated
at the expense of informal private order institutions
II - IPR’s and technological progress in the Industrial Revolution
Any institutional analysis that purports to deal with modern economic growth needs to recognize that
what the Industrial Revolution meant was that technology increasingly became the engine of economic
growth and that without it the process would inevitably have fizzled out. Which institutional structure was
really conducive to technical innovation? We need to face the possibility that institutions that enhanced
efficiency in a static commercial-agrarian economy were not identical to those that transformed production
4
Goethe may have been somewhat naive when he wrote that the British patent system's great merit was that it turned3
invention into a "real possession, and thereby avoids all annoying disputes concerning the honor due" (cited in Klemm, 1964, p. 173). Note, however, his emphasis on “honor” as opposed to profit. Not so the Scottish Enlightenment writers. In his Lectures on Jurisprudence (1762-66 [1978), pp. 83, 472], Adam Smith admitted that the patent system was the one monopoly (or “priviledge” as he called it) he could live with, because it left the decision on the merit of an invention to the market rather than to officials. Smith thought, somewhat unrealistically, that if an “invention was good and such as is profitable to mankind, [the inventor] will probably make a fortune by it.”
through rapid technological change. Secure property rights in land may have been important in a techno-
logically static commercial economy, whereas a more dynamic economy required the flexibility provided
by eminent domain and even the option to extinguish some traditional property rights if need be, such as
happened through enclosure and railway acts. Credit markets like Britain’s were adapted to short-term
merchant credit and bills of exchange, but not necessarily for the fixed capital goods needed to set up a
factory. In other words, a technologically dynamic society needs institutions that encourage creative des-
truction à la Schumpeter rather than those that support static efficiency. To be sure, some of those institutions
may have overlapped (e.g. those that provided access to capital under high degrees of uncertainty), but on
the whole “good institutions” are historically contingent.
At first glance it would seem that the British patent system, in force since 1624, was a classic
example of successful protection of intellectual property rights, and that the incentives to innovate it created
were central to its economic success (North, 1981). The idea that technological progress depended on3
inventors’ incentives through a patent system has become increasingly dubious on both historical and
theoretical grounds (MacLeod, 1988; Boldrin and Levine, 2006; MacLeod and Nuvolari, 2007). Our concept
of intellectual property rights has been too limited and too conditioned on modern circumstances. In the
centuries before the Industrial Revolution, useful knowledge, both “natural philosophy” or science (broadly
defined) and “the useful arts” or technology, developed much more along a system of open science, akin to
modern open-source technology (Mokyr, 2006, 2007). While we should not altogether dismiss the role for
the British patent system as an institutional factor in the Industrial Revolution, the new research casts some
doubt on its strategic importance and at the same time shows the extent to which Britain’s advantage on its
European neighbors was limited. After all, many European nations adopted a patent law similar to Britain’s
after the French Revolution, and the patent system of the United States was far more user friendly (for
5
Andrew Yarranton, a seventeenth-century tin-plater and navigation engineer, found his business harmed by a patentee4
incapable of working it properly (MacLeod, 1988, p. 184).
The bureaucratic procedure to take out a patent was referred to by contemporaries as “cumbrous machinery.” It had been5
little changed since it was established in 1536, and contemporaries delighted in ridiculing it, as in Charles Dickens’s short story A Poor Man’s Tale of a Patent.
inventors) than Britain’s (Khan and Sokoloff, 1998), but none of this reduced British technological lead
before 1850. Moreover, Moser (2007) has shown that only a small proportion of the significant inventions
made in Britain by the middle of the nineteenth century were ever patented.
Eighteenth century writers were torn between the Baconian concept of knowledge-generation as an
open, cooperative activity, and the belief in the sanctity of property and individual rights. Contemporary
opponents of the patent system identified it as a rent-seeking device, often used to block new entry, conve-
niently ignoring the fact that those who resisted patents, such as guilds, were sometimes motivated by
protecting their own incumbency from unwelcome entrants (MacLeod, 1988, pp. 83, 113). It was also noted
in the late seventeenth century that patentees often were not the best qualified persons to exploit the
inventions. A different critique, but equally telling, was made by J.T. Desaguliers, who pointed out (1763,4
Vol. 2, p. viii) that (much like modern venture capitalists), a patent was often interpreted by investors as an
official imprimatur of the quality of an invention and that “several persons who have money, ready to supply
boasting Engineers with it in the hope of great Returns, and especially if the project has the Sanction of an
Act of Parliament to support it, and then the Bubble becomes compleat and ends in Ruin.” The problem how
society should reward those who gave their time and money to develop knowledge that was of great benefit
to the rest of society remained. Such rewards, it was understood, needed to be established if society was to
enjoy the fruits of sustained technological progress, but how this was to be achieved remained in dispute.
Moreover, not all inventors sought the rewards of a successful patent, and certainly not many actually
attained it. In Britain, the state only recognized and enforced the inventor’s right (Hilaire-Perez, 2000). It did
not normally evaluate the invention’s contribution to society. Britain’s patent system, however, was not
exactly inviting: it charged a patentee around £ 300 for the right to patent in the entire Kingdom, not counting
the costs of traveling to and staying in London (Khan and Sokoloff, 1998). Many patents were infringed5
upon, and judges were often hostile to patentees, considering them monopolists (Robinson, 1972, p. 137).
6
The pioneers of the paper-making machines, Henry and Sealy Fourdrinier, too, were awarded a grant of £ 20,000 by a6
Parliamentary committee (after many manufacturers testified selflessly that the continuous paper machines had been of huge benefit to their respective branches), though this amount was later reduced to £ 7,000 and paid as late as in 1840, when Henry was already in his seventies. Edward Jenner was voted a grant of £ 30,000 in 1815. The scientist William Sturgeon, one of the pioneers of electrical technology in the 1830s, fell on hard times toward the end of his life, and was awarded a one -off payment of £200 plus a small pension by Lord John Russell’s government. In all these cases, and many others, there was an explicit recognition that these people had added to the well-being of the realm, in other words, they had produced positive externalities. But they also reflect a recognition that invention was costly and risky, and that if society wanted to generate a continuous stream of technical improvements, it had to make the activity that generated innovation financially attractive even to those who had placed their knowledge freely at society’s disposal.
A considerable number of the inventors in the Industrial Revolution placed their inventions at the public’s
disposal, and others for one reason or another failed to secure a patent or subsequently lost it. Politicians rea-
lized that rewarding inventors who made significant contributions to the nation’s technological capabilities
made good public policy, unless it was done excessively and used for patronage. Thus Thomas Lombe,
denied a patent extension in 1732, was awarded a substantial cash settlement by Parliament. In the first de-
cade of the nineteenth century, Samuel Crompton, the inventor of the mule, and Edmund Cartwright, the in-
ventor of the power loom, were also voted substantial awards by Parliament in recognition of their unpa-
tented inventions. Such procedures were at times arbitrary (the estate of Henry Cort was denied a similar
request), but they reflect a public acknowledgment that invention was costly and risky, and that if society
wanted a continuous stream of technical improvements, it had to make the activity that generated innovation
financially attractive. It seems that the main effect of the patent system on innovation was to goad potential6
inventors into believing that they, too, could make as much money as successful patentees such as the Lombe
brothers of Derbyshire or James Watt. Although precious few ever did, the expectation may have been
enough for many.
Britain was not the only Western nation to cultivate institutions that encouraged technological
progress. France and the Netherlands had patent systems in which innovations could yield considerable bene-
fits to their propagators. The type of encouragement given to inventors in Britain differed from the French
system, where government agents were put in charge of evaluating the contribution of certain inventions to
the realm. The difference between the two systems can be overstated: at times the British authorities
recognized the national interest in pursuing a new technology and was willing to take the iniative. An
example was the Board of Longitude, established in 1714 by Parliament, which promised a large sum to the
7
Britain's greatest post-1830 inventor, Henry Bessemer, believed that "the security offered by patent law to persons who7
expend large amounts of money in pursuing novel inventions, results in many new and important improvements in our manufactures" (Bessemer, [1905] 1989, p. 82). Not all inventors concurred with this view, but if enough of them saw it this way, the British patent system deserves some credit. H. I. Dutton (1984, p. 203) has argued that for many inventors patents were the only means by which they could appropriate a sufficient return for their effort and that patents thus provided security in an exceptionally risky activity. The patent law was often poorly defined and the courts unfriendly to inventors, but it remained in most cases the best incentive for inventive activity. Dutton argues that the patent laws were a "slightly imperfect" system that created an ideal system in which there was enough protection for inventors to maintain an incentive for inventions, yet was not so watertight as to make it overly expensive for users. If inventors systematically overestimated the rate of return on inventions by not fully recognizing the weaknesses of the patent system, they would have produced more innovations than in a world of perfect information. Another distinguished engineer, Richard Roberts, stressed that had it not been for the patent system, he would not have invented as much as he did, and the inventions he would have made would have lain on the shelves (Great Britain, 1851, p. 187).
person who successful cracked the problem of measuring longitude at sea. Almost a century later, the British
Navy under the leadership of Samuel Bentham (Jeremy’s brother) established the Portsmouth shipyards
where the great engineer Marc I. Brunel and the instrument maker Henry Maudslay developed an advanced
mass-production interchangeable-parts system in making wooden blocks for the Royal Navy. Military
objectives aside, the British government normally left picking technological winners to the free market and
the private sector, and the patent system reflected that attitude.
The exact impact of the patent system and other positive incentives on the technological creativity
that eventually helped produce a more prosperous nation is hard to establish. Some economists have recently
gone so far as to dismiss it altogether. Boldrin and Levine have argued that intellectual property rights were
unimportant in bringing about economic growth, and have specifically pointed to the Industrial Revolution
as a period that provides “a mine of examples of patents hindering economic progress while seldom enriching
their owners and of great riches and economic successes achieved without patents” (Boldrin and Levine,
2005, chapter 4, p. 7). Such an extreme position neglects that the patent system was important ex ante in
giving would-be inventors hope for success, in a fashion not dissimilar to why people purchase lottery tickets
(Dutton, 1984). If no one ever won the lottery, people would stop buying tickets, but the number of winners
need not be very large to keep hope alive. But the continuing debate on the issue exemplifies the complexity7
of the institution. It also underlines the difficulty in separating exactly those elements we think of as
“institutional” and those that belong properly to the category of “technological creativity.”
Britain created alternative organizations that encouraged innovation and the dissemination of useful
knowledge beyond the Patent system. A notable example is the Society of Arts, founded in 1754, which
8
William Shipley, its founder, viewed its purpose as follows “Whereas the Riches, Honour, Strength and Prosperity of a8
Nation depend in a great Measure on Knowledge and Improvement of useful Arts, Manufactures, Etc... several [persons], being fully sensible that due Encouragements and Rewards are greatly conducive to excite a Spirit of Emulation and Industry have resolved to form [the Society of Arts] for such Productions, Inventions or Improvements as shall tend to the employing of the Poor and the Increase of Trade.”
explicitly aimed at disseminating existing technical knowledge as well as at augmenting it through an active
program of awards and prizes, encouraging networking through correspondence, the publication of
periodicals, and the organization of meetings. Only inventions that had not been patented were eligible for8
one of the Society’s prizes. Although such effects are hard to measure, there can be little doubt that the
Society helped to stimulate invention by increasing the social standing of inventors in Britain and improve
communication between creative and knowledgeable people. In 1799, two paradigmatic figures of the
Industrial Enlightenment, Sir Joseph Banks and Benjamin Thompson (Count Rumford), founded the Royal
Institution, devoted to research and charged with providing public lectures of scientific and technological
issues. Furthermore, there were the Mechanics Institutes, the first one established by Birkbeck in 1804 in
London, and which spread to Scotland and then to the rest of the country. Mechanics Institutes provided
technical and scientific instruction to the general public. Private institutions seem to have been quite adequate
for most of Britain’s needs. All in all, the British patent system was on balance a positive institution, but in
no way can we credit it with giving Britain the edge that turned it into the first industrial nation.
In addition to institutions that encourage innovation, a society that hopes to benefit from techno-
logical progress needs venture capital. The traditional story is that venture capital in Britain was hard to come
by because lenders tended to be conservative. Most fixed capital that embodied the new technology such as
machines and engines was scraped together from private sources and from retained earnings. Yet even at the
early stages of the Industrial Revolution some of the institutions that emerged in Britain were favorable to
venture capital. One such institution was country banks, which experienced a veritable explosion in the
second half of the eighteenth century. In 1750 there were no more than a dozen such banks, while in 1800
there were 370. A recent paper (Brunt, 2006) has gone so far as to compare these banks to modern venture
capitalists, though the analogy appears stretched. There is some evidence, however, that country bankers
believed that they had inside information in high-risk industries and thus invested in them, copper mining
in Cornwall being the best-known example . They failed in large numbers during crises, which indeed may
9
be consistent with their participation in vulnerable industries. Yet again, it is important not to see the years
of the Industrial Revolution through a twenty-first century perspective. The total amount of fixed capital
needed for the Industrial Revolution was not very large in the early stages, and of that, not all was high-risk
capital.
III: Law, order, and institutions
Economic growth depends on law and order, but the two are not identical. Legal centralism, as Oliver
Williamson has referred to it, places the law, and the state that enforces it, at the center of the stage. The
issue then becomes one of credible commitment between a Hobbesian entity with a monopoly of violence,
and its subjects. The subjects want the state to enforce the rules of the game but not to accumulate so much
power that the state can threaten those very rights it is asked to protect. “Order” in the sense of the protection
of property and contract enforcement can be attained through norms reflecting the willingness of individuals
to voluntarily overcome their tendency to behave opportunistically. In that fashion they create what can be
called an economic civil society in which reputational or other mechanisms support a world in which most
people believe that it is proper to behave in a cooperative way. The key to successful economic exchanges
here is not necessarily an impartial and efficient third-party enforcing agency, but the existence of a level
of trust or other self-enforcing institutions within relevant networks of commerce, credit, wage-labor, and
other contractual relations that support free market activities. In other words, the state is neither necessary
nor sufficient. The simple model in which it is only the state and threat of its justice and police systems that
makes people behave cooperatively seems a poor description of any known situation.
How much of a “law and order society” was Britain before the Industrial Revolution? Crime was of
course a serious problem in this society, though it is not easy to quantify it. The Swiss tourist De Saussure
(1902, p. 127) found in 1726 that Britain had a “surprising quantity of robbers” but other foreign travellers
also commented widely on the low levels of murder and violent crime in Britain, and one scholar feels that
the murder rate in mid eighteenth century London would astonish a modern observer accustomed to modern
10
One attempt was made by the famous political economist and magistrate Patrick Colquhoun who tried to count the number9
of “persons who are supposed themselves by criminal or immoral pursuits.” Despite his clear attempt to show the criminality of London’s environment, the numbers are actually rather modest. Out of a population of 865,000 he counted 115,000 such persons. This figure seems startlingly high, until we realize that it included 50,000 “unfortunate females who support themselves by prostitution” and 10,000 “servants, male and female out of place principally from ill behaviour and loss of character” not to mention 2,000 “itinerant Jews, wandering from street to street, holding out temptations to pilfer and steal.” Cf. Colquhoun, 1797, pp. vii-xi.
By 1760, the great legal scholar Blackstone complained that “Yet, though . . . we may glory in the wisdom of the English10
law, we shall find it more difficult to justify the frequency of Capital Punishment to be found therein, inflicted ... by a multitude of successive independent statutes upon crimes very different in their natures.” He added that the list was so dreadful that crime-victims were reluctant to press charges and juries reluctant to convict (Blackstone, 1765-69, Vol. 4, p. 18).
This argument has been made with great emphasis by Hay (1975), who stressed the strong class-bias in eighteenth-century11
British criminal law. For a critique, see Langbein (1983a), who has argued effectively that the bark of these draconian criminal codes was worse than their bite.
Eighteenth century law enforcement was in the hands of local magistrates and a part-time local parish constables. For the12
rest, justice had to rely on volunteers, local informers, vigilante groups, and private associations specializing in prosecutions of felons. Some 450 such organizations were established in England between 1744 and 1856. London developed its first constables after Henry Fielding was appointed magistrate at Bow Street in 1748, and his professional assistants or thieftakers became known as “Bow Street Runners.” Yet it was not until after 1830 that anything remotely resembling a professional police force began to emerge in the rest of Britain and as late as 1853, half the counties in Britain were still without police. In fact, the eighteenth century idea of “police” was quite different from ours: the word meant something like a series of regulations and regulatory agencies for the supervision of the manners, morals, and health of society rather than a body of officers (Paley, 2004).
American or even European cities as “remarkably low” (Langbein, 1983b). Yet the admittedly somewhat9
tenuous evidence suggests that violent crime was declining over the eighteenth century and that crimes
against property moved more or less pari passu with population growth (Beattie, 1974; Beattie, 1986). There
was also collective crime. Local rioting, either for economic or political grievances, was common. Machine
breaking, bread riots, turnpike riots, or rioting against some unpopular group like Catholics, Irish immigrants,
or dissenters were common. Turnpike riots, the Gordon riots of 1780, and the Bristol Bridge riot of 1793 all
sowed fear in the hearts of property-owning classes. Food rioters, forgers, thieves, and those who resisted
enclosures and new machinery forcibly were all threatened by execution and transport.However, daily crime
that seriously endangered the accumulation of capital and the proper conduct of commerce was on the whole
rare. To be sure, eighteenth century Britain passed a myriad of draconic laws protecting property by imposing
ferocious penalties on those who infringed on it. The harshness of the penalties seems to suggest that10
violent crime and crimes against property were regarded as serious issues. Yet it also meant that the
authorities were reluctant to spend resources on law-enforcement, hoping that the harsh punishments could
deter would-be criminals. Hanoverian Britain had no professional police force comparable to the con-11
stabulary that emerged after 1830, and the court system was unwieldy, expensive, and uncertain. Britain12
11
Small debts could be settled through courts of voluntary arbitration known as Courts of Conscience (also known as Courts13
of Requests), which became increasingly popular after 1750 for settling debts without the burden of expensive court cases. These courts, significantly, were unpopular among working people who objected to the way they dealt with tallies run up in ale houses — a tell-tale sign that they were effective.
depended on the deterrent effect of draconian penalties because it had no official mechanism of law-
enforcement, prosecution was mostly private, and crime prevention was largely self-enforcing, with more
than 80 per cent of all prosecutions carried out by the victims. Few victims were willing to proceed with the
costly and burdensome tasks of prosecuting a crime (Emsley, 2005, pp. 183-186). Patrick Colquhoun noted
in 1797 that “not one in one hundred offences that is discovered or prosecuted” (1797, p. vii). The growing
volume of both domestic and international commerce and credit was supported less by formal law and order
and third-party arbitration than by private-order institutions.
If formal law enforcement was a last resort in the enforcement of contracts and the protection of pro-
perty rights, how did markets function? What kept transactions costs and opportunistic behavior to mushroom
to the point where they jeopardized the levels of exchange and division of labor required for a sophisticated
economy? A different way of posing the same question was expressed by the young French economist
Adolphe Blanqui (1824, p. 326) visiting London who wondered how a town twice the size of Paris (nearly
a million people) could maintain order with only a handful of watchmen and constables. He seemed less than
satisfied by the answer that the English go to bed and lock up their shops early, and was more inclined to
believe that they were harder-working and more enlightened.
At closer examination, day-to-day security depended more on social conventions and self-enforcing
modes of behavior than on the administration of justice by an impartial judiciary. Commercial disputes rarely
came to court and were often settled through arbitration. Even patent litigation was rare: out of almost 13
12,000 patents issued between 1770 and 1850, only 257 ever came before the courts (Dutton, 1984, p. 71).
Indeed, the number of civil cases that came to court in the eighteenth century declined precipitously relatively
to their mid seventeenth century levels: the number of cases heard at the King’s Bench and Common Pleas
in 1750 was only a sixth of what it was in 1670 (Brooks, 1989, p. 364). As figs. 1-3 demonstrate, there can
be little doubt that the British as a whole were becoming less litigious in the eighteenth century before things
12
The most likely alternative to a decline in litigiousness is that courts became less accessible and more costly. On the other14
hand, courts enforced contracts (both written and verbal) increasingly through procedures called “actions on the case” (such as assumpsit for debt) in which courts enforced contracts without a formal trial (though such trials could sometimes still result). Brooks (1998, p. 91) adds that it is even possible that the high volume of trials in the seventeenth century may have exerted a “pedagogic effect” on debtor-creditor relationships.
Francis Place, (1771-1854), the radical politician and reformer, for instance, noted that “the progress made in refinement15
of manners and morals seems to have gone on simultaneously with the improvement in arts, manufactures and commerce... we are a much better people than we were [half a century ago], better instructed, more sincere and kind-hearted, less gross and brutal” (cited by George, 1966, p. 18). Beattie (1986, p. 138-9) concurs with this view, and concludes that in 1800 British cities, and especially London, were less violent and dangerous places than in 1660.
picked up again in the nineteenth century. Interpreting this fact seems less than straightforward. Does it
support the view that legal institutions were becoming less important as a contract enforcement mechanism?
One could argue that if courts were extremely efficient, they might be used less. Or was there a deeper14
social transformation? Historians such as Lawrence Stone (1985) have indeed argued that the social tensions
and violence of the English world before 1650 gradually transformed it into a kinder and gentler environment
in which contentiousness declined. Some contemporary commentators felt that in the late eighteenth century,
behavior was slowly changing. 15
13
14
Whether eighteenth century Britain was really becoming a kinder and gentler place is a difficult
issue, but at least within the circles of commerce, finance and manufacturing, trust relations and private
settlement of disputes seem to have prevailed over third party enforcement. Most business was conducted
through informal codes of conduct and relied on local reputation and religious moralizing to imbue honesty
and responsibility. Voluntary compliance and respect for property and rank as social norms (private-order
institutions, in Greif’s terminology) may have been as important as formal property rights in turning the
wheels of the British economy. These norms involved a variety of signalling devices associated with “gentle-
manly” codes and were commented on by contemporaries as “politeness” in a variety of contexts (Langrod,
2000). Economics suggests that such behavior is often associated with attempts to signal one’s
trustworthiness to potential partners in the market. These norms applied only to the middling classes. The
laboring classes and the unwashed poor remained outside this society, so the norms did not apply to them.
Hence, these classes had to be controlled by force, and the draconian laws protecting property from them
reflected this need.
Observant contemporaries noted that informal institutions, that is, customs, traditions, and
conventions delineating acceptable behavior were at least as important as a formal rule of law. Charles
Davenant (1699, p. 55) put it well: “Nowadays Laws are not much observed, which do not in a manner
execute themselves” and felt that because the magistrates did not have a strong motive to perform his duty,
private persons might be relied upon “to put the laws in execution.” Defoe (1701, p. 87) added caustically
that “the English must be unaccountably blameable, whose Laws are the people’s own Act and Deed, made
at their Request ... yet no Nation in the World makes such a jest of their Laws as the English.” What
Davenant and Defoe were observing that an increasing number of people were bargaining “in the shadow
of the law,” that is, the parties in disputes knew what the stakes were and the (substantial) loss they would
incur in case they went to trial. Yet the law itself set a guideline to dividing up the resources in dispute, and
thus made the bargaining process more likely to result in cooperation, since knowledge of the law, as well
as the costs of going to trial, were common to both sides, and the legal process may have become more
15
The term “bargaining in the shadow of the law” originates with Mnookin and Kornhauser, 1979. 16
As Brewer, 1982, p. 214, who was one of the first to point to the importance of this phenomenon, noted, “reliability,17
fairness and generosity were the qualities most highly valued... these attitudes oiled the wheels of commerce and enabled men to make greater profits.”
Adam Smith, in his Lectures of Jurisprudence, thought he had the answer: “Whenever commerce is introduced into any18
country, probity and punctuality always accompany it. These virtues in a rude and barbarous country are almost unknown. Of all the nations in Europe, the Dutch, the most commercial, are the most faithfull to their word...There is no natural reason why an Englishman or a Scotchman should not be as punctual in performing agreements as a Dutchman. It is far more reduceable to self interest, that general principle which regulates the actions of every man, and which leads men to act in a certain manner from views
conducive to private ordering by discouraging people to go to trial and compromise. The Hobbesian view,16
that insists that order can only achieved through firm third-party enforcement, may well be true for many
societies (depending on many parameters, delineated by Cooter, Marks, and Mnookin, 1982), but it appears
that for Britain in the century following Hobbes’s death (1679) it was becoming an increasingly less apt
description of social reality in Britain. What this means is that we cannot really place the efficiency of the
State at the center of the stage of institutional explanations of the British economic miracle.
Indeed, the argument that Britain’s advantage in leading the Industrial Revolution was due to its
efficient enforcement of property rights after 1688 needs to be revisited. What mattered was that within the
merchant and artisan classes there existed a level of trust that made it possible to transact with non-kin, and
increasingly with people who were, if not strangers, certainly not close acquaintances. In an age when the
costs of legal action went up, its availability and efficiency declined, fewer and fewer people took a recourse
to the law and replaced by common behavioral codes among people belonging to the same class. . We might17
have expected the reverse: the growing integration of goods and factor markets and the widening of the
domestic market, and especially the increase in transactions at arm’s length throughout the period of the
Industrial Revolution eventually necessitated a formal system of law enforcement. But in the eighteenth
century this was far from clear.
Directions of causality are difficult to establish here. Most enlightenment thinkers believed that the
correlation between people cooperating and behaving honestly was caused by a mechanism running from
prior commercialization to behavior. It was thought that commerce led to more trustworthy behavior, much
like Montesquieu’s influential notion of doux commerce which established an association between the
“gentle ways of man” and the establishment of trade (Hirschman, 1977, p. 60). But it seems more plausible18
16
of advantage, and is as deeply implanted in an Englishman as a Dutchman. A dealer is afraid of losing his character, and is scrupulous in observing every engagement... Where people seldom deal with one another, we find that they are somewhat disposed to cheat, because they can gain more by a smart trick than they can lose by the injury which it does their character” (1762, p. 327).
Defoe (1703, p. 19) famously wrote that "Wealth, however got, in England makes lords of mechanics, gentlemen of rakes;19
Antiquity and birth are needless here; 'Tis impudence and money makes a peer." Dr. Johnson, in the same spirit, noted that "An English tradesman is a new species of gentleman" if he prospered sufficiently (Porter, 1990, p. 50). McCloskey (2006, pp. 294-96) traces the transformation of the word “honor” in English and French from its aristocratic sense (“reputation”) to its more capitalist sense of “honesty” (reliability, truth-telling) and “politeness” (“doing the right thing”) when the importance of these concepts began to increase in the eighteenth century, and discovers that the same change occurred in the Dutch language.
By the mid-Victorian times, this was expressed almost as a caricature by Samuel Smiles describing what really mattered20
for the gentleman: “The true gentleman has a keen sense of honour, - scrupulously avoiding mean actions. His standard of probity in word and action is high. He does not shuffle or prevaricate, dodge or skulk; but is honest, upright, and straightforward. His law is rectitude - action in right lines. When he says YES, it is a law... Above all, the gentleman is truthful. He feels that truth is the ‘summit of being,’ and the soul of rectitude in human affairs” (Smiles, 1859).
As Daunton (1989, p. 125) summarizes the traditional argument, “the more an occupation or a source of income allowed21
for a life style which was similar to that of the landed classes, the higher the prestige it carried and the greater the power it conferred. The gentleman-capitalist did not despise the market economy but he did hold production in low regard and avoided full-time work.”
that the causal arrow went primarily in the other direction, that is, certain forms of behavior led to coopera-
tive behavior that made market transactions possible, even at arm’s length, and thus encouraged economic
development.
By 1700, “gentleman” had come to mean quite different things, one an socio-economic status, the
other a code of behavior. A gentleman, Asa Briggs (1959, p. 411) notes, was someone who accepted the19
notion of progress but was always suspicious of the religion of gold. An individual signalled that he was
trustworthy and would not behave opportunistically because, like a true gentleman, he was not primarily
motivated by greed. Gentlemanly capitalism was a way in which opportunistic behavior was made suffi-
ciently taboo that only in a few cases was it necessary to use the formal institutions to punish deviants, since
the behavior is to a large extent internalized. The notion that eighteenth century landowners were scrupu-20
lously honest or indifferent to money is a myth, but the pretension was a good signal for behavior that was
less than maximally opportunistic and could thus sustain more readily cooperative trust-equilibria. The idea
of a gentlemanly culture is traditionally associated with an aristocratic aversion to business and is thus often
held to be antithetical to economic development. But in a different sense, being a gentleman meant that one21
could be trusted and Gentlemanly Capitalism provided a shared code, based on honor and obligation, which
acted as a blueprint to prevent opportunistic behavior (Cain and Hopkins, 1993). The behavior of actual
17
An example of this kind of arrangement existed in Manchester in the 1820s, where the Manchester Fire and Life Assurance22
Company’s boardroom provided “interconnected circuits of political, business, and social activities” to generate not only information underlying collective action but also regarding the reputations of the major players. Similar conditions were noted among Bristol sugar refiners in 1769 (Pearson, 1991, p. 388).
country gentlemen and the moral codes believed to be associated with them and emulated if one was to be
regarded as such should not be confused. Landowning parasitic drones were no more “gentlemen” than
sword-wielding medieval thugs were “chivalrous.” By adopting these codes, an individual signalled that he
was trustworthy and would not behave opportunistically. In eighteenth-century Britain, a businessman’s most
important asset was perhaps his reputation as a “gentleman” even if he was not a gentleman by birth or
occupation.
Economists and other social scientists have come to the conclusion that social norms of cooperation
and decency can prevail even in societies with ineffective formal law enforcement (Ellickson, 1991). This
happens in tightly knit groups in which reputational mechanisms work effectively and social remedial norms
can be applied. One such model (e.g., Spagnolo, 1999) is supported by the linkage of two types of games,
one a social game that lasts for a very long time and the other a one-shot economic game. If two agents face
one another in both spheres, the punishment in one game may be used to induce cooperation in the other.22
This is in some sense a formalization of the importance of trustworthiness through social networking and its
effect on market efficiency. These models point to the likelihood that trust can be transferred from a social
relationship into an economic relation and thus sustain cooperative outcomes in which exchange can take
place and disputes are resolved even without the strict enforcement of contracts by a powerful system of
impartial courts or arbiters. It is this kind of environment, whether or not one wants to refer to it as "social
capital", that created the possibility of cooperation even when standard behavior in finite games would
suggest that defection and dishonest behavior might have been a dominant strategy. In Britain during the
Industrial Revolution, the social norms of what was perceived to be a gentlemanly culture with an emphasis
on honesty and meeting one’s obligations, supported cooperative equilibria that allowed commercial and
credit transactions to be consummated and partnerships to survive without overly concern about possible
defections and other forms of opportunistic behavior. Gentlemen (or those who aspired to become gentlemen)
moved in similar circles and faced one another in a variety of linked contexts.
18
John Locke, for instance, wrote in 1693 that a gentleman’s upbringing should endow him with a love of virtue and23
reputation make him from within “a good, a vertuous, and able man” and with “Habits woven into the very Principles of his Nature,” not because he feared retribution but because this defined his very character (Locke, [1733, pp. 46-47). Many decades later, the French historian Hippolyte Taine, who stayed in London in 1858, summarized the concept of a gentleman as “the three syllables that summarize the history of English society” (Taine [1872], 1958, p. 144). The essence of the gentleman as Locke and his successors saw him “was to be his integrity” (Carter 2002, p. 335). Paul Langford (2000, p. 126) observes that one of the British aristocracy’s prime characteristics was the belief in fair play and that a cheating lord was a traitor to his class.
The prevalence of a social convention that defined “gentlemanly” or “polite” behavior and penalized
serious deviations from it through irreparable damage to one’s reputation, supplemented formal (legal)
relations with a moral code that enabled an effective mode of transacting without relying on the State except
in extremis. Blackstone referred to Britain as a “Polite and Commercial People.” Politeness was widely
equated with law-abiding behavior, and it was intuitively sensed that commercial success depended a great
deal on politeness. A market economy depended on people constraining their inclination to behave
opportunistically. In other words, economic agents did not play necessarily “defect” (even if that might have
been in their immediate interest) and expected others to do the same. Modern economics teaches that if this
is to be effective, agents need to send out costly signals that indicate to others that they are reliable and
trustworthy because they belong to a class of reliable and trustworthy agents (see e.g., Posner, 2000). Such
signals were what “politeness” were all about: gentlemanly customs in dress, manners, housing,
transportation, and speech observed by the British upper classes, and their gradual adoption by the
commercial and skilled artisanal classes in the eighteenth century marks the change in British society. They
helped created a gentlemanly capitalism and thus an environment in which businessmen and entrepreneurs
could deal with one another and with their subordinates in a cooperative fashion that made commerce work
even without the heavy hand of third-party law enforcement. In other words, what made commerce and credit
possible was that middle class people increasingly absorbed and imitated a set of behavioral norms that made
them eschew opportunistic behavior that might have been personally advantageous in the very short run but
socially destructive.
This kind of behavior was observed and blessed by Enlightenment thinkers. The Enlightenment23
view associated with Montesquieu cited above that commerce made people more virtuous and honest must
be seen to operate in reverse: it is a sense of honesty and the importance of maintaining a gentlemanly reputa-
19
The French traveler Pierre Jean Grosley noted the “politeness, civility and officiousness” of citizens and shopkeepers24
“whether great or little” (Grosley, 1772, Vol. 1, pp. 89, 92). The eighteenth century Italian writer and philosopher Alessandro Verri felt that London merchants were far more trustworthy than their Paris counterparts (cited by Langford, 2000, p. 124). One French visitor to early nineteenth century London noted that British shopkeepers were fundamentally honest, and that a child could shop as confidently as the most street-wise market shopper (Nougaret, 1816, vol. ii, p. 12). Charles Dupin (1825, pp. xi-xii) went as far as to attribute Britain’s economic successes to the “wisdom, the economy and above all the probity” of its citizens. Reputation was critical. Prosper Mérimée, commenting on the open access policies in the British Museum Library in 1857, observed that “The English have the habit of showing the greatest confidence in everyone possessing character, that is, recommended by a gentleman ... whoever obtains one is careful not to lose it, for he cannot regain it once lost” (1930, pp. 153-54).
“At my begining I was too credulos and too slow in caling, and seldom made use of atturney, except to write letters to25
urge payments, being always tender of oppressing poor people with law charges, but rather to loose all or get what I could quietly, than give it to atturnies. And I never sued any to execution for debt, nor spend 20s in prosecuting any debter, and to loose all was more satisfaction to me than getting all to the great cost of my debtor, and to the preservation of my reputation.” Stout (1967), pp. 120-21.
tion that allowed a market economy to function effectively. To be sure, the ideal of “gentleman” was not
static and changed over the course of the eighteenth century, and the relation between ideal and norm on the
one hand and reality on the other is always problematic. The question is not whether the preponderance of
British middle- class economic agents invariably behaved like this, as much as whether it affected their
behavior (and the way other expected them to behave) enough to make a growing market economy feasible
without the need for incessant litigation.24
One issue is whether the cooperative norms of behavior were the result of the fear of social sanctions
and loss of reputation, or whether they had been “internalized” into a belief in virtue and good behavior
(McCloskey, 2006, passim). Intellectual Historians seem to favor the internalization hypothesis. Pocock
(1985, p. 49) feels that “manners” (that is, cooperative codes of behavior) combined ethical behavior with
legal concepts, “with the former predominating.” Yet the importance of a good reputation in the business
world of eighteenth century Britain was clearly paramount, and Daniel Defoe was only one of many to realize
this when he compared the reputation of a tradesman to that of a maiden, easily damaged by evil tongues and
almost impossible to repair and describes how such reputations were made and lost around the coffee house
through slander (Defoe, 1738, Vol. I, p. 197). Elsewhere he notes (ibid., p. 361) that a shopkeeper may
borrow at better terms than a prince “if he has the reputation of an honest man.” An illustration is the career
of William Stout (1665-1752), whose autobiography appeared in 1851, and whose economic success was
largely fueled by his meticulous reputation for honesty and generosity. He covered the debts incurred by25
20
The extent of the spreading of these clubs is reflected by the founding of the Sublime Club of Beefsteaks” devoted to26
carnivory in 1735. The total number of friendly societies membership in 1800 is estimated at 600,000 (Porter, 1990, pp. 156-57).
Pearson (1991) documents in details the interconnected political, social, and financial networks of Manchester’s cotton27
elite in the post 1815 period. These tight circuit were more effective in provincial towns, where information flowed more easily than in the metropole, and may have been a contributor to the advantage that provincial towns had over the capital.
a dissolute apprentice as well as a nephew. As a Quaker, Stout may have been an unusual case, but his
success in business was clearly consistent with the notion that cooperation was a remunerative strategy.
In order to function, a reputation-based system needed good information and communications, and
these were provided through the many networks of friendly societies and masonic lodges that emerged all
over Britain in the eighteenth century (Jacob, 1997, pp. 92-94). Such networks exist in every society, but the
ones established in the eighteenth century were open and accessible to middle class men and thus were an
ideal vehicle for the transmission of the information that supports reputational mechanisms. Many of these
clubs were purely social, eating and drinking clubs, or devoted to common interests and hobbies, but they
clearly functioned as clearing houses for information as well. From the point of view of commercial and26
financial development, what mattered was the emergence of networks of merchants, industrialists, engineers,
inventors, and financiers whose interactions and information exchanges (much of it in the form of gossip and
rumor-mongering) were critical to the emergence of these social norms. The unskilled workers and paupers27
were not part of these circles and thus not expected to behave the same way, but harsh as this may sound, they
did not matter in this context.
Cooperation and the Industrial Revolution
As noted, institutions that foster cooperative behavior are conducive to efficiency and well-
functioning markets, which are clearly growth-enhancing. However, it is not clear how they would be
instrumental in bringing about an Industrial Revolution, which was driven by innovation. One way to connect
social norms and technological progress is to realize that social norms determined the way entrepreneurs
interacted with their economic environment, with customers, suppliers, workers, and competitors, and to
stress that within a competitive economy, many of the most successful actors were actually more cooperative
than we would like to expect. These were norms that were increasingly important in determining the behavior
21
The great ironmonger John Wilkinson, who played such a strategic role in helping Watt cast his cylinders, invested widely28
outside his field of expertise such as banks, agricultural improvements, mines, and the many canals promoted by his friend and fellow ironmaster, Richard Crawshay.
Recent work on the history of entrepreneurs in the United States seems to have come to the same conclusion that networks29
and trust-through-connections are as important in entrepreneurial success as talent and ambition. See Laird (2006).
of the inventors, skilled craftsmen, financiers, merchants, and the owners of the new mills and mines that
defined the Industrial Revolution.
An emphasis on middle class social norms provides us with answers to some long-debated issues
regarding entrepreneurship in the British Industrial Revolution (Mokyr, 2007). The typical successful British
entrepreneur in the Industrial Revolution was not so much a self-absorbed obsessive monomaniac as much
as a networked and connected member of a community, his behavior constrained by its moral codes. A tell-
tale sign of that is the diversified projects in which many of them engaged, investing in local improvements
and subscribing to projects such as roads, bridges, canals, dockworks, and later railroads. They could28
engage in sectors they knew little about because they felt they could trust their partners (Pearson and
Richardson, 2001). It may thus be the case that an entrepreneurial explanation of Britain’s early success is
not far off the mark, but rather than look only at the incentives and characteristics of individuals, we may be
advised to see how they dealt with one another. 29
Britain was not unique in developing such social norms, but on the eve of the Industrial Revolution
it had far more of a middle class than any other nation (excepting the United Provinces), and it was this
bourgeoisie that was at the center of affairs. This class consisted of merchants, artisans, farmers, and
mechanics, people with a mentality of acquisitiveness, a desire toward social upward mobility, and a willing-
ness to invest in the education and well-being of one’s children (Doepke and Zilibotti, 2006). As a result,
perhaps, more of the middle class children survived to maturity by the late seventeenth century, and this led
to a slow swelling of their ranks (Clark and Hamilton, 2005). These values were also followed and emulated
by others, aspiring to join the better life of the better-off bourgeoisie. In Britain, more than on the Continent,
the energies of this class were directed toward activities that we would regard as productive and entre-
preneurial. I would add here that a middle class adopting the social norms of “gentlemen” created the envi-
ronment of trust and cooperation that was necessary for the Industrial Revolution to take place. The emer-
22
gence of a middle class created a demand for non-subsistence goods, especially home furnishings and
hardware, which demanded artisans with the kind of skills that were needed if the great inventors were to be
able to turn their blueprints into reality.
One interesting possibility for such an effect is through the idea of cooperation in technological
progress itself. Economic historians have found some examples of what Allen (1983) has termed collective
invention, that is, the main actors in technological innovation freely sharing information and claiming no
ownership to it. There are three reasonably well-documented cases of successful collective invention: the
case documented by Allen (1983) of the Cleveland (UK) iron industry between 1850 and 1875; the case
documented by MacLeod (1988, pp. 112-113, 188) of the English clock- and instrument makers, and the case
documented by Nuvolari (2004) of the Cornish steam-engine makers after 1800. Examples of such cases are
not many, and they required rather special circumstances that were not common, and collective invention in
its more extreme form, to judge from its short lifespans, was vulnerable and ephemeral.
On a more general level, however, Gentlemanly Capitalism generated a great deal of cooperation in
the generation of technological progress. The main point to keep in mind is that most of the people who gene-
rated useful knowledge during the British Industrial Revolution did not do so primarily to make money. This
does not mean that they were indifferent to money (though a few were independently wealthy) but rather that
the game they were in was not a profit-maximizing project but a signalling game in which individuals tried
to demonstrate to their peers their intellectual and technical capabilities. Useful knowledge that was not
immediately patentable (and some that was) was placed in the public realm. New scientific knowledge, since
the great breakthroughs of the seventeenth century, was expected to be published and made available. In
earlier centuries many natural philosophers had been keeping knowledge under a cloak of secretiveness,
believing that it somehow conveyed power or gave the owner an edge in some deep and mysterious way.
Such habits impeded its diffusion and access by others. The culture of secretiveness had begun to abate long
before 1700, by which time the notion of “credit by priority” had been well-established, as the famous quarrel
23
Other early examples of such priority disputes can be cited such as the dispute between Newton and Hooke (about the30
inverse-square force law) or the battle between two Dutchmen, Jan Swammerdam and Reinier de Graaf. on the discovery of certain aspects of female reproduction.
This process has been documented in great detail by Eamon, 1994, pp. 319-50 who pointed to the influence of Francis31
Bacon and his followers in establishing this rule, as they realized that any progress was going to be the result of a cooperative effort. More recently Paul David (2004) has argued that open science established the quality of intellectual superstars, much in demand by courts and universities for prestige reasons.
A recent survey (Bowler and Morus, 2005, pp. 320-21) refers to the class of “gentlemanly specialists”, men who led the32
development of useful knowledge but did not make their living from it and were suspicious of anyone who did. At the same time, those who were not independently wealthy needed to find patronage either as University Professors or from government, industry, or wealthy individuals.
between Newton and Leibniz on the origins of calculus attests. Scientific discoveries of any kind were to30
be published, communicated, and placed in the public realm. When the unusual case occurred that an31
eccentric scientist (e.g. John Flamsteed, the first astronomer royal, or the pathologically shy Henry
Cavendish, a leading chemist of the second half of the eighteenth century) refused to do so, others would take
exception.
Open science, much like open source technology, was not practiced primarily by idealistic altruists
whose objective was the warm glow from seeing humanity enriched by their knowledge (though there were
some of those). It was run by ambitious and hard working people who had clear objectives in mind. Yet the
standard pecuniary incentive system central to the economic interpretation of technological change must be
supplemented by a more complex one that includes peer recognition and the sheer utility of being able to do
what one desires. Credit was given in terms of reputation, which correlated with university positions, court-
related appointments, public honors, and sometimes a pension from a ruler or a rich citizen. Even those
scientists who discovered matters of significant importance to industry, such as Claude Berthollet, Count
Rumford, Joseph Priestley, or Humphry Davy, usually wanted credit, not profit. Berthollet willingly shared32
his knowledge of the bleaching properties of chlorine with some savvy Scots, who soon were able to turn his
discovery into a profitable venture.“When one loves science,” wrote Berthollet to one of those Scots, James
Watt, “one had little need for fortune which would only risk one’s happiness” (cited by Musson and
Robinson, 1969, p. 266). The great engineer John Smeaton took only one patent in his entire illustrious
career, his colleague John Rennie none at all. Some entrepreneurs, too, refused to take out patents out of
principle. Abraham Darby II declined to take out a patent on his coke-smelting process allegedly saying that
24
Josiah Tucker, a keen contemporary observer, pointed out that “the Number of Workmen [in Britain] and their greater33
Experience excite the higher Emulation, and cause them to excel the Mechanics of other Countries in theses Sorts of Manufactures” (Tucker, 1758, p. 26). He must have thought of men like John Whitehurst, William Murdoch, Bryan Donkin, John Wilkinson, John Kay, Edward Troughton, not quite hall of fame inventors, but brilliant craftsmen. At Soho, on which a lot is known, the highly skilled “turners” were kept from the equally skilled fitters, and these men would require many years of apprenticeship and work as assistants (Roll, 1930, pp. 181-83).
“he would not deprive the public from such an acquisition” (cited by McLeod, 1988,p. 185) and Richard
Trevithick, a century later, likewise failed to take out a patent on his high pressure engine. William Godwin
noted in 1798 that “Knowledge is communicated to too many individuals to afford its adversaries a chance
of suppressing it. The monopoly of science is substantially at an end. By the easy multiplication of copies
and the cheapness of books, everyone has access to them” (Godwin, 1798, pp. 282-83). In that more general
sense, social norms did have an effect on technology, though it is hard to quantify them.
An overlooked but critical consequence of these social norms is in the formation of human capital.
As I have argued elsewhere, what set Britain apart from other European countries was not its capacity to
accumulate more and better science or even a higher propensity to invent, but the much higher level of
competence of its skilled workers. Britain could draw on a large cadre of highly skilled craftsmen and tech-
nicians. These people might not have been the flashy inventors who came up with the revolutionary insights,
but they were those who could read a blueprint, understood practical technicalities such as tolerance,
lubrication, tension, and torque, and had experience with the qualities of iron, wood, leather and other
materials (Mokyr, 2007b). Harris (1992, p. 33) describes them as “unanalysable pieces of expertise, the33
‘knacks’ of the trade,” that is to say, knowledge that is primarily tacit and could not be learned except through
experience and imitation. Harris’s view may be conditioned by his expertise of the coal and iron industry,
but much of the same was true in hardware, textiles, instrument-making, and engineering. He notes that such
skills were taken for granted at home and thus were noted mostly by foreign visitors, including industrial
spies (ibid.,p. 26, see also Harris, 1998). Harris singles out the competence of the British iron puddler,
requiring not only skills but experience and “almost artistic judgement,” and adds that foreigners would have
had a hard time importing this competence, because it was the British skilled worker who was the repository
of the knowledge. He absorbed the skills needed to work with coal and iron “with the sooty atmosphere in
which he lived” and would find it hard to know even what needed to be explained (Harris, 1992, pp. 28, 30).
25
The French scientists and industrialists Jean-Antoine Chaptal noted that in many branches of manufacturing the British34
had become dominant, but that even after importing the machinery the French could not compete and sold at twice the price of the British because they lacked the immense details, the customs, and the “turns of hand” (dexterity) and that while the slow progress of industry could be accelerated by learned men, there was no substitute for experience (Chaptal, 1819, Vol. 2, pp. 430-31).
The French political economist Jean-Baptiste Say, a keen observer of the economies of his time, noted in 1803 that “the35
enormous wealth of Britain is less owing to her own advances in scientific acquirements, high as she ranks in that department, as to the wonderful practical skills of her adventurers in the useful application of knowledge and the superiority of her workmen” (Say [1803], 1821 Vol. I, pp. 32-33.). Another Swiss visitor, De Saussure had noticed the same seventy-five years earlier: “English workmen are everywhere renowned, and justly. They work to perfection, and though not inventive, are capable of improving and of finishing most admirably what the French and Germans have invented" (de Saussure, 1902, p. 218, letter dated May 29, 1727). The great engineer John Farey, who wrote an important treatise on steam power, testified a century later that "the prevailing talent of English and Scotch people is to apply new ideas to use, and to bring such applications to perfection, but they do not imagine as much as foreigners."
It was understood that these skills could not be readily transferred from country to country.34
The evidence that Britain’s comparative advantage was in the skills and competence of her workmen
as much as in the characteristics of her entrepreneurs is above all that it imported technological ideas and
exported machines and skilled workmen, even if there were legal restrictions on those exports. . When it3 5
imported an invention, such as the Jacquard loom or chlorine bleaching, it improved them by a sequence of
microinventions. The British paper industry, for instance, imported the Frenchman Nicolas Robert’s paper-
making machinery, but British mechanics such as Bryan Donkin and Henry Fourdrinier made important
improvements in it. An even more telling example is that of the reverberatory furnace, first described by
Vanoccio Biringuccio in 1540 in glassblowing , and adopted in Britain in the early seventeenth century. By
1700, this device had been adapted successfully to non-ferrous metals by unknown British skilled workmen
before its famous adaptation to iron-puddling.
What were the institutional causes of Britain’s high level of competence? It had preciously little to
do with institutions of formal education even if some of the dissenting academies were increasingly
committed to teach practical skills. Instead, it was almost entirely the result of apprenticeships. It was the
product of a process of human capital formation that relied precisely on the kind of trust that contracts would
be honored even if the fine details of daily contact between master and apprentice were impossible to specify,
much less monitor. Britain’s increasingly weak guilds had little to do with this enforcement, and indeed there
is ample evidence that in many cases the process went awry. Apprentices and masters at times brought court
cases against one another, and only a portion of apprentices ever completed their service (Rushton, 1991;
26
Local studies have concluded that in the eighteenth century while masters had an incentive and opportunities to exploit36
and abuse the young, few apparently did so (Rushton, 1991, p. 101). Reputation effects seem to have been important here, since apprentices without parents protecting them were in greater jeopardy of being in some way cheated by their masters.
Humphries (2007, pp. 22-23) recounts a number of cases in which disputes between master and apprentice were resolved37
by social and reputational pressures, many of them supported by the need of the master to maintain his social relations with the parents. Her sample of hundreds of autobiographical accounts of working class people, provides a unique picture of the centrality of apprenticeship in the intergenerational transfer of human capital.
In 1777 the calico printers admitted that fewer than 10 percent of their workers had served because "the trade does not38
require that the men they employ should be brought up to it; common labourers are sufficient" (Mantoux, 1928, p. 453).
Wallis, 2006). Yet here it is the atypical that may have left us the records, not the typical, and while the courts
provided some kind of protection of last resort, the normal case was clearly for the contract to be carried out
and most apprentices completed their terms. Those who did on average benefitted economically. Despite the
fact that apprenticeship relationships lent themselves to opportunistic behavior (such as hold-up strategies
by both master and apprentice, depending on the timing pattern of the training), the system served Britain
well and supplied it with a layer of skilled artisans like no other because apprenticeship contracts were largely
self-enforcing and efficient (Humphries, 2003). Apprenticeship took place within a “traditional network3 6
of friends, neighbours, co-religionists, and next of kin” (Humphries, 2007, p. 11). The apprentices37
themselves had quite a few incentives to complete their contract: only an apprentice with a completed term
received the right of settlement in a county, and in those areas and trades controlled by guilds, they were
barred from practicing a trade if they did not complete their term. This stricture was repealed in 1814, but38
the institution of apprenticeship survived. It was obviously to a large extent self-enforcing rather than
dependent on the letter of the law or the power of the guild. In the later nineteenth century apprenticeship
as an institution was weakened, yet it was sufficiently flexible to withstand the changes and survive until deep
into the twentieth century. Apprenticeship was ideal to transmit the kind of tacit artisanal knowledge that was
the essential component of competence. It was not perfect, but by all appearances it worked as a self-
enforcing institution rather than as one that relied entirely on third party enforcement (though for the social
norms to work, a recourse to legal action as a pis aller was necessary).
To summarize, it is the complementary relation between the human capital and the social capital that
explains Britain’s leadership in the Industrial Revolution. The economy that could produce the technical
acumen to follow up on new ideas and turn them into an economic reality was also able to create a group of
27
entrepreneurs to exploit it, people with the ability to take advantage of the opportunities that the inventors
and the mechanics created. This relationship appears up in the many pairings of technical ability and busi-
nessmen. Boulton found his Watt, Clegg his Murdoch, Marshall his Murray, and Cooke his Wheatstone.
These pairings were made possible by a network of information flows and personal relationships that made
trust and cooperation within a certain class of people the default. Here, too, the importance of private order
seems predominant, and while they, too, existed in the shadow of the law, the success of the institutions was
determined by its self-enforcing properties.
IV - Formal Political Institutions.
Despite the centrality of informal institutions in the argument above, the state was obviously a factor
as well. How and why did British formal institutions help bring about an Industrial Revolution?
The issue in the premodern European economies was threefold: first, rents had to be protected from
greedy and violent neighbors, both inside and outside the economy. For that reason, a third-party enforcer
simultaneously charged with using its monopoly of violence to protect the economy from foreigners was
essential. Second, this state itself should be prevented from expropriating so much of the rent that there is
too little left to make it worthwhile to exert much effort, so its needs to be constrained somehow. Third, once
in existence, the state eventually became the rule-writing body, and its control may be used by powerful
“lobbies” to direct a larger part of the rents to them through non-market allocations. Solving these three
problems simultaneously is hard, and few nations succeeded. Britain in the period 1700-1850 gradually came
closer, though the process was still far from complete by 1850.
A large literature, inspired by North and Weingast, 1989, has drawn connection between formal
institutions such as constraints on the executive and “rule of law” and economic development. Yet the precise
connection between the events of the Glorious Revolution and the Industrial Revolution that followed more
than half a century later remains murky. The supporting evidence used by North and Weingast, pointing to
a decline in the interest rates paid by the State, has been called into question (Quinn, 2001; Sussman and
Yafeh, 2003; Stasavage, 2007). But even if it was confirmed, it has never been made clear how improved
borrowing conditions for the government in the first half of the eighteenth century led to technological
28
breakthroughs more than half a century later. A further paradox appears when we compare the British with
the Dutch experience. The 1688-89 revolution led to the importation of Dutch institutions and Dutch ideas
(carried, in part, by the entourage of William III), and hence the experience of the two countries as the two
most successful economies in the eighteenth century might be explained by these shared experiences. The
problem, of course, is that the Dutch not only did not have an Industrial Revolution when Britain did, theirs
was unusually late (Mokyr, 1976, 2000; Van Zanden, 1993; Van Zanden and Van Riel, 2004). Did the
institutional experience of the two nations diverge at some later point? Or is the model simply incomplete?
The sole focus on the State as the source of social order, as I have argued above, may be
overemphasized. But the fundamental problem remains: an economy needs to protect rents if it is to generate
them from cooperative and creative behavior. Formal institutions mattered in large part because the written
formal rules and the court system established the second layer of economic cooperation when the first failed,
or when conflicts needed to be resolved. More important, they wrote and rewrote the rules by which others
played the economic game. The Glorious Revolution and the subsequent reforms established Parliament as
a legitimate meta-institution: a body that could write laws that helped define the economic environment. It
reduced the contestability of laws, regulations, and taxes, and had the power to repeal or amend rules that
no longer worked or were recognized to be detrimental. What helped economies grow and sustain their
growth was not just having the kind of institutions that were conducive to economic development, but also
to have the kind of agility that allowed institutions to change when the environment changed. As a matter of
principle, there are few features of institutions that are invariably suitable for growth; once we are beyond
the platitudes such as “law and order are better than chaos and crime,” the institutional requirements for
economic growth themselves changed over time precisely because Smithian growth requires different
institutions than Schumpeterian growth. It is hence not just important to judge whether an economy inherited
from the past appropriate institutions that allowed it to grow, but also whether it had the flexibility to change
and adapt them at relatively low cost when the need arose.
The way Britain’s political system worked in the eighteenth century gave the country an agility not
found elsewhere. After 1750 Parliament increasingly became concerned with its need to solve coordination-
and other potential market-failures and assumed new responsibilities, as indicated by its role in agricultural
29
Legislation in the 1690s and early 1700s eliminated the royal prerogative as a form of legislation and abolished the King’s39
right to absolve certain individuals of certain laws. Other legislation established Parliamentary oversight on government spending and a “civil list” that specified what royal funds would be spent on. Parliament ensured that it met regularly and an Act of Settlement assured that Parliament maintained control over the royal succession. The Act of Settlement of 1701 also established an independent judiciary, in which judges were appointed for life and could only be removed if convicted of a felony or impeached. Whether or not that really established a full “rule of law” (Dam, 2006, p. 85) on the ground remains controversial.
As one historian notes, “a reverence for Parliament became an increasingly important part of élite attitudes and a vital40
part of élite patriotism...the knowledge that the institution they served was ... efficient [and] by the standards of the time not obstructive reassured British patricians of their polity’s superiority... There is evidence that even lower down the social scale Parliament inspired respect” (Colley, 1992, pp. 50, 52).
reforms, transportation, research (in limited areas), the regulation of weights and measures, the protection
of innovators from violent resistance to new technology, and eventually with spillover effects from industria-
lization such as urban public health and child labor. It is this agility that gave Britain what North has called
adaptive efficiency that other societies lacked to the same extent. Although some enlightened monarchs on
the continent were able to introduce reforms into the formal institutions of their state in the second half of
the eighteenth century, most of those introduced before 1789 did not survive as more conservative ministers
or successors revoked them. In the end, the Continent needed revolution and war to attain a structure that
Britain had achieved over the eighteenth century without bloodshed and upheaval.It has been tempting to link
the political changes of 1688-89 to subsequent changes. The Glorious Revolution once and for all solved the
commitment problem: it created a set of constraints on the executive that in the words of one recent author
(Dam, 2006, p. 85) took care of the predatory ruler problem. The Bill of Rights of 1689 was followed by a
string of Laws that established Parliament once and for all as the institution that wrote the rules and had the
power to change other institutions. Parliament acquired legitimacy in the sense that when it changed the39
rules, even the losers in these actions would not deny its right to do so and had a responsibility to comply.40
At the same time, Parliament was the body that had the capacity of being receptive to both the changing needs
of the economy and the changing ideology and beliefs of its elite, and change the rules of the economic game
accordingly. It could imbue the British polity with the most important institution needed for economic
change: institutional agility and adaptability, or in North’s term, adaptive efficiency.
There is no obvious reason to infer that establishing Parliament as “the place where absolute despotic
power, which must in all governments reside somewhere, is entrusted” as Blackstone noted in 1765 (1765-69,
Book 1, ch.2, section III) was to be a key to economic progress. After all, the newly-found power of
30
For examples of such influences, see Mokyr 2006c.41
Parliament could have been (and was to a considerable extent) abused by special-interest legislation that
served distributive coalitions. But parliamentary power meant that changes occurred increasingly from the
top down, even if the initiative came from below. Changes in the beliefs at the top eventually affected the
entire country. During the entire period under discussion, British Parliament changed British laws in accor-
dance with what its members viewed as their own interests and Britain’s perceived needs. Their idea of the
national interest, however, was not invariant to the elite’s ideology, which became increasingly liberal after
1760 under the influence of Enlightenment authors. Parliament made the enclosure of land in recalcitrant41
areas possible simply by passing a set of Bills of Enclosure. It solved the coordination problems inherent in
having local interests collaborate in building canals and roads by passing Turnpike Acts. It supported
entrepreneurs and innovators against technologically conservative interests and those protecting their rents.
It awarded pensions and prizes to inventors who had solved a problem of national importance such as
determining longitude at sea and mechanical cotton-spinning.
Moreover, in the decades after the Glorious Revolution, the overall level of energy and efficiency
with which Parliament did its work increased steeply. The total number of acts passed during the rules of
Charles II and James II was 564, or 20 per annum. In the 25 years between the Bill of Rights and the
Hanoverian ascension (1689-1714), this number increased to 1,752 or 70 per annum; by the period 1760-1800
it rose to 8,351 or 209 per annum (Hoppit,1996, p. 117). It should be stressed that this legislation was mostly
serving narrow and special (mostly local) interests, or serving some national rent-seeking lobby. “Specific”
legislation directed at a particular place or institution remained between two thirds and three quarters of all
acts throughout the period 1688-1800 (Hoppit, 1996, p. 117). The legal historian Maitland felt that “one is
inclined to call the [eighteenth] century the century of privilegia. [Parliament] seems afraid to rise to the
dignity of a general proposition... it deals with this common and that marriage” (Maitland, 1911, p. 393). Yet
over the course of the eighteenth century rent-seeking attempts by local and national interests started slowly
to run into resistance. Many special interest groups’ legislated privileges, monopolies, exclusions, the
limitations on labor mobility, occupational choice, and barriers to technological innovation found themselves
31
on the defensive as the eighteenth century wore on and the more free-market ideas of the Enlightenment
began to sink in. It was a very different Parliament in 1774 that tossed out the Calicot Act — a shameless
piece of special interest legislation benefitting the wool and silk industry — from the one that had passed it
in 1721 (Mokyr and Nye, 2007). After 1780, Parliament increasingly used its powers to make selected dents
in the rent-seeking machinery of the ancient regime under the platform of making the economy more efficient
and streamlined. Parliament, rather than a venal institution that awarded the rights to the highest bidder, in
the late eighteenth century was becoming the arbitrator of disputes between special interest groups.
Two political phenomena were at the center of this process. One was the centralization of rent-
seeking and lobbying. By allowing growing domestic market integration (through turnpike and canal bills,
for instance), Parliament oversaw the gradual disappearance of local monopolies. By the late eighteenth
century, Prime Minister William Pitt refused to meddle in local matters, which were “large areas of policy
in which ministers and party politicians need not involve themselves” (Langford, 1991, p. 205). Rent-seeking
and redistribution remained an essential part of the Hanoverian state until the closing years of the eighteenth
century, but it became more nation-wide and coordinated. Mercantilist practices had been mostly part of a
complex rent-seeking alliance between crown and mercantile interests (Ekelund and Tollison, 1997). Once
centralized, however, the process was more amenable to changes from the top down (Mokyr and Nye, 2007).
The striking fact is that the Industrial Revolution was accompanied, on the whole, by a growing liberalization
of economic activity.
A further way how the state mattered in subsequent economic development is the matter of British
public finance and Empire. As is well-recognized, the British fiscal system, based on the combination of
excise taxes and government borrowing, was far sounder than elsewhere (Brewer, 1989; O’Brien 1988, 2002;
Stasavage, 2003). North &Weingast’s influential paper argued that the reforms of 1689 created a healthy
institutional foundation of British public finance. The connection of this reform to subsequent economic
development is, however, not clear. Its importance after 1700 is largely for what it did not do: despite the
high taxes, the British state did not expropriate the surplus created by economic growth to threaten the
incentives of those who created it. They could do so because taxes, while at times exorbitant, were relatively
neutral and did not affect the efficiency of the economy too much. It is unclear how fiscal soundness through
32
Thus Jean-François Melon, a friend of Montesquieu’s, wrote in the 1730s that the “the spirit of commerce and of polity42
are inseparable... the spirit of conquest and the spirit of commerce mutually exclude each other in a nation” and added that it was commerce, not violence that supplied the “wisdom for preservation” (Melon, 1738, pp. 136-39).
Kindleberger (1978, p. 52) who admits that in some cases “free trade is the hypocrisy of the export interest” felt that “in43
the English case it was more a view of a world at peace, with cosmopolitan interests served as well as national.”
high excise taxes contributed materially to the Industrial Revolution, but clearly compared to what could have
been, it did not get too much in the way.
Why and how did redistribution fall on hard times in Europe during and after the Industrial
Revolution? There is no good theory that explains why “grabbing hands” slowly become weaker but it clearly
did in this period. Part of the reason must have been that these institutions had been very much part of the
zero-sum mentality of the pre-enlightenment world, and the notion that exclusionary rents were on the whole
Pareto-dominated did not come naturally to most actors, either on the giving or the receiving end of rent-
generating privileges. The areas against which British (and continental) policy makers particularly aimed
their arrows were monopolies, subsidies, labor market restrictions, tariffs, poor relief, and price controls. By
1850, much of this regulatory machinery had been dismantled. Foreign trade, too, was regarded differently
with eighteenth century enlightenment thought foreshadowing the insights of political economy. The42
growing influence of the beneficial effects of trade promulgated by Smith and Ricardo made their mark on
policy makers (Grampp, 1987; Mokyr, 2006).43
Enlightenment- induced changes in ideology and beliefs on the part of policy makers in charge of
writing the rules played a central role in the American and French Revolutions, as well as the various reforms
attempted in various European nations before 1789 (Scott, 1990). Reforms in Britain did not always come
easy even if they did not require a Bastille. The liberal reforms of the 1780s (including the Eden treaty with
France in 1786) made room for the more conservative and reactionary 1790s and early1800s, when war with
Revolutionary France caused a retrenchment. But it was reculer pour mieux sauter. After Waterloo, the
reform movement picked up steam led by both Whigs and so-called liberal Tories, and within a few decades
had dismantled much of the remaining rent-seeking apparatus. Thus, the Statute of Artificers was abolished
in 1814, the enumeration clauses (that forced British colonial goods to be shipped to third markets through
Britain) in the Navigation Acts were repealed in 1822, the monopoly of the East India company was ended
33
As Harris (2000) has shown, the Bubble Act was primarily used as an exclusionary tool by incumbents to reduce entry44
and competition.
by two parliamentary acts in 1813 and 1833, the law prohibiting the emigration of artisans was repealed in
1824, the export prohibition on machinery was weakened in 1824 and repealed in 1843, the Bubble Act
thrown out in 1825. Other exclusionary arrangements that fell out of favor were serfdom and colonial44
slavery, prohibitions restricting the use of certain kinds of machinery, usury laws (repealed as late as 1854
but rarely enforced long before), and similar rent-seeking relics. As Nye (2007) has argued, protection was
the last vestige of privilege and the ancient regime economy to go. By the middle of the nineteenth century,
it is hard to find many instances of the kind of age-of-mercantilism rent-seeking that still predominated in
1721 when Robert Walpole became the first Prime Minister. Perhaps the most telling proof of the change in
political culture is the sharp decline in patronage and sinecures, that in 1750 still had been very much part
of the power structure. By 1830, the Duke of Wellington said that as prime minister he commanded virtually
no patronage (cited by Rubinstein, 1983, p. 57). By the mid-1830s, the total cost of all unreformed sinecures
was estimated at under £ 17,000, down from £ 200,000 two decades earlier (Harling, 1995, p. 136). Rent-
seeking in all its manifestations had become socially and politically unacceptable in early nineteenth-century
Britain. There is no good explanation for this decline except to attribute it to the impact of Enlightenment
thought, filtering through many layers and channels to the minds of the members of the British political elite
in both parties. In England the influence of the Enlightenment had been more mixed with religious sentiment
than in Scotland or on the Continent. Evangelical beliefs of what was moral mixed with Enlightenment
notions of what was socially desirable to produce a regime that cultivated a governing style of disinterested
public service. When the process was complete, by the second third of the nineteenth century, the British
economy was as free of distributional institutions as any economy can ever hope to be.
The Hanoverian state did one more thing with great energy: it conducted foreign policy. In the
eighteenth century this was a “blue-water” policy in the service of Empire driven by hostility toward its
colonial competitors. The debate on the exact impact of the British Empire on the economy is still
unresolved. But on the path to a more modern economy driven by technological progress, Empire was a
distraction, not a factor, the expenditures on the navy and the army a cost, not a benefit. The enormous public
34
debt in Britain was incurred to pay for expensive wars and colonial ventures rather than to fund
infrastructure. While some scholars (e.g., O’Brien, 2002, 2007; Ormrod, 2002) strongly feel that these hard-
fisted policies materially contributed to the Industrial Revolution, others have found such an inference had
to accept (Harley, 2004). The mechanisms proposed linking Britain’s Imperial policies to the Industrial
Revolution have not been really persuasive despite continuous attempts to show such connections. If Adam
Smith and modern economic historians turn out to be correct in their assessment, it may well turn out to be
that the fiscal structures set up by the Glorious Revolution were largely engaged in paying for a gigantic
white elephant.
Mercantilist ideologies viewed economic international relations as something close to a zero sum
game, in which aggressive foreign policies were believed to pay off economically. Britain’s good fortune was
that its political institutions prevented these costly misadventures from ruining the economy altogether (as
it did to a greater extent in its Continental competitors). A direct connection between the sound public finance
that formed the basis of Britain’s political success and the technological progress of the Industrial Revolution
seems, however, far from obvious. It must be cast in terms of things that did not happen but could have (such
as a total collapse of public finance of the kind that brought about the French Revolution). Taxation was
heavily skewed toward excises on middle-class goods, which may well have created a more favorable set
of incentives for potential entrepreneurs who knew that they would be able to keep their profits and not have
to share them with the tax collector.
British Parliament, then, was an agency that helped channel Enlightenment ideas into the realm of
political action. It hardly needs to be pointed out that this change was slow, the result of a protracted
struggle, hard-fought bargaining, and that victory was far from inexorable. Until at least the mid eighteenth
century, Parliament was in many ways a corrupt body, manipulated by special interests driven by rent-seeking
and mercantilist ideology and some of that corruption remained in place at least till the 1832 reforms
(Rubinstein, 1983). But because it had the power to rewrite the rules that applied to others, Parliament could
adapt to changing needs and beliefs what was good for the nation, as well as for them. It remains an
unanswered question why a body dominated by landlords would allow legislation that eventually undermined
their de facto power base. Acemoglu-Johnson-Robinson rightly claim that the reforms were motivated by the
35
Total government gross income went from a peak of £ 69.2m in 1817 to a trough of £56.3m in 1854. The national debt45
peaked at £ 844 m in 1819 and then fell to £ 774m in 1854. Nominal GDP went from £ 322m in 1821 to £ 718m in 1854, thus reducing per capita taxation by 57 percent and national indebtedness by 59 percent.
fear that the masses could have used their de facto power and rebelled. Whether that threat was credible is
not altogether clear. Parliament seems to have had no qualms in using violence to quell organized protests
and riots. It is also the case that many of the men in power believed for a long time that reforms were good
for the nation and that they would be able to profit from the changing economy (Hilton, 1979).
To sum up, what is most striking is what did not happen. The state may have had the theoretical
capability to be more predatory and repressive, but was generally constrained from doing so. Taxes, while
heavy in the eighteenth century and even more so during the French Wars, were levied primarily on
consumption of the middle classes, whereas landowners (who had the political power to block progress) saw
their relative tax burden lighten and entrepreneurs had no real worry that the government would in some way
expropriate their profits. The Industrial Revolution began to generate large surpluses and profits for
entrepreneurs and those who owned the resources they needed, though their exact timing and magnitude are
not quite clear. These surpluses could have readily been expropriated by the powerful political factions that
controlled British government, and used for their own benefit or perhaps to bankroll colonial adventures.
Nothing of the sort happened. Once the distractions of the Napoleonic Wars were over, the income tax was
abolished with great glee, and real government spending per capita was sharply contracted. After Waterloo45
a more liberal creed began to replace the mercantilist instincts that had still ruled during much of the
Hanoverian years. Neither the British government nor powerful special interests had more than a nibble from
the gains that improving technology generated.
V- Institutions, Politics, and Economic Progress
Why did sustained growth not occur more often and in more places before the nineteenth century?
One standard argument is that technology was constrained by the poor understanding of the fundamental
principles of the natural regularities that made certain technologies work (Mokyr, 2002). The alternative
argument is one of negative feedback. In one version, Malthusian dynamics undid any gains in technology,
36
institutions, and even favorable environmental shocks (Clark, 2007).To that, however, we should add the
underappreciated problem of negative institutional feedback and institutional inertia, which held back pre-
industrial societies. Jones (1988) has gone so far as to argue that growth might well have been the normal
state in pre-industrial societies had not institutional blockages again and again terminated it.
Before 1800 economic growth was more of a regional than a national phenomenon; throughout the
pre-industrial past there were some areas and cities that did well for a variety of reasons. Such local wealth
gave rise to two kinds of negative institutional feedback: internal feedback, in which local priests, rulers, and
powerful strongmen tried to extricate the rents for their own use and external feedback, generated by strong
but poor neighbors or more remote predators. One way or another, regions that did well through trade or
manufacturing attracted someone’s greed and envy. Time and again, prosperous regions in Germany, Central
Europe, the Low Countries, and Northern Italy, had their wealth physically destroyed through war, their trade
impeded by tariffs, navigation acts, and privateers, or were forced to spend crippling amounts on defense.
Either way, predatory warfare, continental and colonial, remained the rule during much of the eighteenth
century and a direct outgrowth of the zero-sum ideology that underlay Mercantilist-Cameralist policies. In
this world growth, in an almost dialectical way, generated the mechanisms that undid it. After the defeat of
Napoleon, such predatory wars within Europe became rare, although Europeans obviously did not include
non-western nations in their more enlightened approach to foreign policy. Whether the century of the Pax
Britannica was entirely attributable to a new and less aggressive political outlook in Europe or the result of
a new balance of power is unclear, but the few wars fought on European soil after 1815 (or elsewhere in the
world between European colonial powers) were less predatory, destructive, and costly to the industrializing
powers. As a result, the fruits of economic growth were not wasted on military spending and wars until the
disasters of 1914 and beyond.
The other blockage to economic progress before the Industrial Revolution was resistance by vested
interests, who had large fixed capital invested in the technological and political status quo. Acemoglu,
Johnson, and Robinson (2005) raise a central question: if the income distributions in all societies were closely
associated with the distribution of political power, why would anyone in a position to block change ever
agree to give it up? In Britain, the landed classes had traditionally controlled much of Parliament, after 1688
37
Rubinstein’s rather heroic estimate of landed and non-landed millionaires and half millionaires dying between 1809 and46
1859 shows 179 landed millionaires vs. 10 non-landed millionaires, and 338 landed half-millionaires as compared to 54 non-landed ones (1981, pp. 60-65). As Rubinstein (ibid., p. 61) remarks, “an observer entering a room full of Britain’s 200 wealthiest men in 1825 might be forgiven for thinking that the Industrial Revolution had not occurred.”
in an informal coalition with the resurgent mercantile interests. Both of these groups had a lot to gain from
maintaining the status quo in which mercantilist measures channeled rents to merchants and shipping interests
and landlords received bounties on farm exports. How did this cosy arrangement slip between their fingers
in the nineteenth century? In terms of political economy, the astonishing fact remains that the coalition that
controlled parliament until deep in the nineteenth century, the large landlords and the merchant-financial
elite, did not block the process that was to end their grip on power. Indeed, in a series of measures starting
in the early 1820s and culminating in the great reform acts of 1829 and 1832, they opened the political pro-
cess and provided increased political power to groups that had previously been excluded from de iure power.
Part of the answer must simply be that nobody saw it coming: the technological innovations of the
Industrial Revolution transformed the British economy to a degree that was completely unforeseeable in the
mid eighteenth century. Part of the answer was that the old coalition was given a soft landing, and that
eventual losers were compensated and bribed to cooperate: the Corn Laws were renewed in 1815 to maintain
the income of those classes in a position to block economic reforms and some of the old arrangements were
phased out gingerly and gradually. A third part of the answer is that the old landowning class benefitted from
the development, in part because of the continued rise in rents until 1815, but also because many of them
were able to profit from the rise in value of urban properties, mining areas, and other real estate. Economic46
losers who were not political losers, as Acemoglu-Johnson-Robinson (2005, p. 435) maintain, would have
been able to redistribute the incremental income to themselves if they retained political power. Indeed, the
powerful British political elite did so, at least for a transition period long enough to absorb the shock and
weaken their resistance. Finally, of course, there was the fear of rebellion. Commercial and industrial
interests acquired de facto power during the Industrial Revolution, and obviously at some point those who
wrote the rules had to heed their desires. Acemoglu and Robinson (2006, p. 350 ) argue that the concessions
made after 1832 (they had actually started in the mid 1820s, with the repeal of the Combination Acts), were
in large part motivated by a desire to pre-empt a rebellion or the need to repress it violently. Such pre-emptive
38
William Lovett’s Charter dated from 1838 and fizzled out after 1848, twenty tears before the next big electoral reform.47
The most serious outbreak of violence was the 1838 Newport riot that left fifteen people dead.
Huskisson “zealously and consistently subscribed to the theories of Adam Smith. Smith’s teaching, reflected in practically48
every reform in the twenties” (Brady, 1967, p. 133). Equally well-documented is the enormous influence that Wealth of Nations had on other policy makers, especially after Dugald Stewart, Smith’s successor at Edinburgh, turned the book into a fountainhead of wisdom (Herman, 2001, pp. 229-30; see also Rothschild, 2001). Among Stewart’s pupils were two future Prime Ministers, Palmerston and John Russell. His program was to remove all state support and protection for manufacturing and agriculture.
action seems plausible (the British had closely followed the unfolding events in Paris in 1830), and it is clear
that the Reform Crisis of 1831-32, including the rather serious Bristol riots in October 1831, was instrumental
in bringing about reform (Stevenson, 1979, p. 221).
But the exact magnitude of the threat to overthrow the existing order remains unknown. The modest
scale of British political riots, and the poor coordination between different groups suggests that the likelihood
of success was never overriding. The reforms enfranchised the middle classes, but did little for the unskilled
working poor, the displaced domestic workers, and paupers. Archer (2000, p. 93) concludes that the middle
classes were as fearful of a violent revolution as any hard-line conservative. The Chartist movement, which
was largely middle class and which in its early stages prompted a few outbreaks of local violence, actually
followed rather than preceded the 1832 electoral reforms and led to no further franchise enlargements. The47
year 1848 passed by relatively peacefully in Britain. On the other hand, any serious threat to the existing
order would have been suppressed harshly. During the biggest threats, in the late 1790s and early 1800s, the
government clamped down hard on dissidents through both legal and violent methods.
A separate role for changing ideology among the ruling elites therefore cannot be dismissed. The
impact of liberal political economy, the Enlightenment’s proudest offspring, on many of the policymakers
of the epoch is too easy to document to ignore. The dominant figure in the “liberal Tory” government of Lord
Liverpool of the 1820s was William Huskisson, an avowed Smithian, who passed a series of tariff reductions
and was instrumental in re-energizing the reform movement in the 1820s. The Enlightenment led to the48
more extreme radical reform movement of the 1820s in which ideologues like Joseph Hume and Francis
Place fought for reform legislation informed and inspired by Political Economy as they interpreted it. The
astonishing historical fact is not that such radicals were tolerated (though Place was dubbed “a bad man” for
his outrageous advocacy of contraceptives; he himself sired sixteen children), but how successful they
39
Even the aristocratic Whigs led by Earl Grey, the architect of the successful Reform Act of 1832, were motivated by a49
mixture of “fear of revolution, a natural desire to consolidate their power, and — above all — their own brand of patriotism” (Colley, 1992, p. 345).
eventually proved to be in implementing their liberal programs.
The ideological background of the post-1820 reforms should not be oversimplified. We can
distinguish at least three enlightenment-inspired reform movements that were quite different in emphases and
goals. Political economy and ideology differed not only on how and when mercantilism should be dismantled,
but also on the fate of colonies and internal regulation. In addition to the pure Smithians, whose main guiding
principle was the strong complementarity of peace, prosperity and free trade, there were the so-called
Christian political economists, who combined the logic of Enlightenment with the resurgent evangelical
religion. This school helped convert the landed elites to believe in freer trade, even if their worldview was
more nationalistic and cyclical that the eighteenth century Scottish Enlightenment movement had hoped for
(Howe, 2002). Boyd Hilton (1977) has maintained that beside Enlightenment there was “atonement”, a
religious reaction to Jacobinism that inspired some writers to support free trade for its intrinsic moral view.
On their left were Ricardians and Benthamites, whose belief in free trade was more extreme and who implied
that the landed aristocracy, on whose behalf the Corn Laws had passed, was essentially parasitic. Yet in the
end these ideas were all elaborations and variations on the ideas of eighteenth century Enlightenment
intellectuals, and the institutional support for the emergence of the liberal market economy in the first half
of the nineteenth century cannot be imagined without them.49
The other potentially important institutional impediment to the Industrial Revolution was resistance
by the interests most directly affected by the technological changes affecting various industries after 1750.
Resistance to new technology by organized or unorganized workers was a major issue in the eighteenth
century and remained so during the Industrial Revolution. The groups that were on the losing end were above
all domestic-industry workers who were being out-competed by factories, artisans of various levels of skills
whose human capital was threatened by obsolescence, and small-scale farmers, the victims of the enclosure
movement. These groups had access to a variety of effective means that were a times quite successful: from
peaceful petitions to Parliament to legal strikes, to illegal rioting and machine-breaking, skilled and semi-
40
Thus, in Wiltshire, shearmen through the “Wiltshire outrages” of 1802 were able to prevent the introduction of gig mills50
until after 1815; the machinery destroyed during the Luddite riots took some years to replace; and as late as 1830, the Captain Swing riots delayed the introduction of agricultural machinery into the South of England by many years. Randall (1991, p. 289) feels that the resistance, at least in some areas, gave the artisans “many extra years respite.”
The language used by the committee is telling: “If Parliament had acted on such principles [on which the use of these51
particular machines is objected to] 50 years ago, the Woollen Manufacture would never have attained to half its present size...its Augmentation is principally to be ascribed to the general spirit of enterprize and industry among a free and enlightened people... It is likewise an important consideration...that we are at this day surrounded by powerful and civilized Nations, who are intent on cultivating their Manufactures and pushing their Commerce” and specifically mentioned the worrisome evidence of such an establishment being set up in Paris. See Great Britain, B.P.P. 1806 No. 3 (“Select Committee on State of Woollen Manufacture of England”), p. 7.
skilled workers found ways to signal their disapproval. Many of these struggles had short term or local
effects, and may well slowed-down the path of technological change in some regions. The struggle over50
“employment” can be seen in part as one over the sunk cost in specific human capital, and in part over
threatened local market power. In fact, if there was ever a serious chance of popular uprising (Acemoglu and
Robinson’s de facto power), this may have been it. But the state did not make many concessions; it cracked
down mercilessly on rioters, siding unilaterally with innovating employers.
In the 1790s and early 1800s the world was inevitably viewed by British policy makers in harsher
terms than the peaceful harmony between cooperative nations that Enlightenment writers dreamed about. The
implication of this new outlook was that in a hostile world Britain could not afford to pass on technological
opportunities and supported employers against workers. In 1806, a Committee was appointed to decide the
complaints of the West Country clothiers into the new gig mills that they felt threatened their livelihood. E.P.
Thompson (1963, p. 528) feels that “it would be a sad understatement to say that the men’s witnesses before
the 1806 Committee met with a frosty reception.” It is telling that the final report of the committee was
written by William Wilberforce, M.P., better known for his successful moral campaign against the slave
trade. As the biography written by his sons recalls, Wilberforce had to mediate between the valuable men “of
small capital who, with the aid of their own families, prepared the goods at home” and “enterprising
capitalists.” He laid down the “clear principles on which trade must be conducted” (Wilberforce, 1838, Vol.
3, pp. 263-67). These principles supported the employers’ rights without any hesitation. There can be no
doubt that the concern about foreign competition was the main motive of the men in power to refuse the
demands of the anti-innovation lobbies. While the Report piously reiterated its conventional recognition51
41
Some of the transactions between Poor Law authorities and mill owners resembled the slave trade; e.g., the purchase of52
seventy children from the parish of Clerkenwell by Samuel Oldknow in 1796 (Mantoux, 1928, p. 411).
of the “merits and value of the domestic system,” it also felt that the “apprehensions about it being rooted
out by the Factory System were at present at least wholly without foundation” (Great Britain, 1806, p. 10,
emph. added). Above all, however, Wilberforce and his colleagues regarded as gospel that “the right of every
man to employ [his] Capital according to his own discretion... is one of those privileges every Briton
considers his birthright” (p. 12). The resistance movement went underground, but with enough determination
and force on the part of the State, it had little chance to prevail. The people in power had made up their minds
— the eighteenth century was over.
There are other answers to question why the lower classes, both the working and the indigent poor,
did not rebel more. British institutions provided something no other state did, a mandatory outdoor poor-relief
system that remained in force until 1834. Its net effects on industrialization remains a matter of dispute
(Solar, 1995). The poor law provided a big carrot next to a large stick of violent suppression and achieved
its main goal, namely domestic order. The British government, more than in any other state West of the Elbe
river, was able to keep its laboring poor in their place. The Poor Law, by providing the poorest workers with
a safety net and thus reducing the need to cling to land at all costs, contributed to the creation of a proletariat
needed for the factories and the railroad. It also helped in smoothing the labor supply both cyclically and
seasonally. In addition, the poor law supported the practice of so-called pauper apprenticeships. The
provision of young factory workers from workhouses run by local Poor Law guardians provided an important
source of unskilled labor for the factories, especially in rural and small-town mills before 1800. All the52
same, the magnitude of these effects is hard to ascertain and in all probability was second order.
VI: Conclusion
What were the institutional origins of the Industrial Revolution? As argued, this question only makes
sense if we distinguish the “big question” (why Europe?) from the “small question” (why Britain?).We
should emphasize that the differences between Britain and its European competitors was one of degree and
of timing. The question is what kind of institutional environment, formal and informal, was most fertile to
42
the successful sprouting of the seeds of the Industrial Revolution? The commercial environment and
incentives that institutions created for the innovators and entrepreneurs who made the Industrial Revolution
may have been central to Britain’s leadership, even if they are harder to observe and measure than differences
in the availability of coal. In part, its success was due to adaptive flexibility: the formal institutions of the
British polity, rather than being “right” or “wrong,” proved to be sufficiently agile to change with the
changing needs of the economy. Eventually, many of these advantages that gave Britain its lead were weak-
ened and the lead that it had in the Industrial Revolution was lost. To the extent that the Enlightenment and
its political and economic effects were important, other European nations could take equal advantage of them.
The solution to “the commitment problem” after 1688 and the role of Parliament in constraining the
executive have been at the center of the literature until now. We need, however, to be concerned with a wider
set of issues than just the matter of “who shall guard the guardian.” In part, the answer to the question of
economic success in this age is about the informal social norms that defined the cultural beliefs of the elites,
and allowed market exchange and innovation to operate in a regime of low transactions costs and reasonably
self-enforcing norms of what Greif has called private-order contract-enforcement institutions. Hence, we need
to consider the cultural beliefs of the political and technological elites. Cooperative behavior and trust based
on gentlemanly codes allowed not just market exchange to operate but also created opportunities for new
technology by allowing partnerships between inventors and entrepreneurship, and by providing Britain with
a large contingent of highly skilled and dexterous craftsmen through well-functioning apprenticeships.
Institutional analysis is an important component of the emergence of modern economic growth and
not just its continuation at later because the British Industrial Revolution occurred in a society that overcame
successfully and at comparatively low cost the institutional obstacles to sustained economic growth in earlier
times. Technological inertia, negative feedback, and opportunistic behavior at both the micro- and the macro
level were gradually overcome in Britain in the century after the Glorious Revolution. In addition, formal
institutions, above all the changing role and orientation of Parliament, complemented the changes in informal
institutions, to create an unexpected confluence of factors and circumstances that created the British
Industrial Revolution. Enlightenment ideas, through a variety of mechanisms, influenced decision makers
and legislators, hence real outcomes.
43
Assessing the “importance” of institutions relative to other factors such as geography or demography
assumes a separability that may be ahistorical. The synergy created by the interaction between the growth
of useful knowledge in the eighteenth century and the formal and informal institutions that emerged side-by-
side suggests a strong complementarity. With just technological progress but no institutional change, the
process would have hit barriers that would have aborted the take-off, as in nineteenth century Russia. Had
there been only better institutions, but no technological advances, the system would have similarly run out
of steam and asymptoted off into a new stationary state (Mokyr 2006a). Sustainable and continuous economic
growth needed both.
44
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Olson, Mancur, 1982. The Rise and Decline of Nations. Yale University Press.
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mokyr_enlightenment_2007
Max Weber Lecture Series MWP - LS 2007/07
The European Enlightenment, the Industrial Revolution, and Modern Economic Growth
Joel Mokyr
EUROPEAN UNIVERSITY INSTITUTE
MAX WEBER PROGRAMME
The European Enlightenment, the Industrial Revolution, and Modern Economic Growth
JOEL MOKYR
MAX WEBER LECTURE No. 2007/07
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The European Enlightenment, the Industrial Revolution, and Modern Economic Growth*
JOEL MOKYR
Northwestern University
Introduction. The issue of the emergence of modern economic growth in the nineteenth- century West has once again resumed its rightful place at the center of attention of a large group of scholars, coming from economics, history, and the other social sciences. While different approaches have been taken to understand the causes of the Great Divergence, they all share two fundamental assumptions. One is that modern economic growth started in the “West” — that is, selected economies in the northern Atlantic region. The other is that in this process Britain was a leader, while Continental Europe was a follower, if a rather quick one. *Version of June 2007. Parts of this lecture are based on my forthcoming book, The Enlightened Economy: An Economic History of Britain, 1700-1850. Prepared for the Penguin Economic History of Britain, forthcoming 2007 (Yale University Press and Penguin Press). .
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This lecture is primarily about the former assumption. It argues that most of the countries that in 1914 belonged to the “convergence club” — countries that were industrialized, urbanized, educated, and rich — were countries that in the eighteenth century were subject to the European Enlightenment. This strong correlation is not in and of itself proof of causality, we need at the very least establish the mechanisms through which the Enlightenment affected the “real economy” and show that they mattered. In doing so, I will deal only with part of the story. The Enlightenment affected the economy through two mechanisms. One is the attitude toward technology and the role it should play in human affairs. The other has to do with institutions and the degree to which rent-seeking and redistribution should be tolerated. This is an interpretation of the Enlightenment that will surely not cover everything we know about it, but it may be what mattered most from the point of view of economic growth. The second set of problems, dealing with the impact of institutions, has been dealt with elsewhere and will not be the subject of this lecture (Mokyr, 2006a, 2007a; Mokyr and Nye, 2007).
Do beliefs and attitudes matter to economic outcomes? The debate goes back at least to Marx, who famously argued against it.1 Keynes, on the other hand, went on record in his well-known last chapter of the General Theory arguing that ideas had the power to affect economic outcomes. In this debate, the answer the economic historian must give is that it all depends on the circumstances. But in the eighteenth century the circumstances were correct for changes in beliefs to affect economies as a whole. The Enlightenment changed the outlook of key persons on their natural environment, and their inventions and discoveries turned what might have become another technological efflorescence into a sea change in economic history. The importance of the Enlightenment to the subsequent economic development of Western Europe is consistent with both the temporal and geographical pattern of growth. The economic transformation occurred at the end of the Enlightenment and after it, and it was entirely confined to nations that had been exposed to it, although timing patterns were variable. By 1914, the convergence club of industrialized and rich economies consisted almost entirely of countries that had been exposed to it two centuries earlier. Such correlations do not constitute proof. What is needed is to unpack the mechanism that created modern economic growth and link it to the intellectual developments that preceded it. The Industrial Revolution and Modern Growth The Industrial Revolution itself, in its classical definition, did not suffice to generate sustained economic growth. It is easy to imagine a counterfactual technological steady state of the techniques that had emerged between 1750 and 1800 of throstles, wrought iron, coke-smelting, and stationary steam engines, in which there was a one-off shift from wool to cotton, from animate power to low-efficiency steam engines and
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1“It is not the consciousness of men that determines their being, but, on the contrary, their social being that determines their consciousness" (1859, p. 4). This view is reflected in the thinking of current-day economists, who are as far from Marxism as can be. For instance, “Ideology may perhaps be considered a random shock in a model of institutional change, … but the absence of any positive theory of idea formation or role for ideology leads us to support economizing activity as the primary explanation for institutional change… Ideology may be usefully be thought of as a ‘habit of mind’ originated and propelled by relative costs and benefits. As an explanation for events or policies, it is a grin without a cat” (Ekelund and Tollison, 1997, pp. 17-18).
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from expensive to plentiful wrought iron. It is easy to envisage the economies of the West settling into these techniques without taking them much further. Such a development would have paralleled the wave of inventions of the fifteenth century with the printing press, the three-masted ship, and iron-casting settling into dominant designs and the process of improvement subsequently slowing down to a trickle.
Why did this not happen? The fundamental reason is that before the Industrial Revolution all techniques in use were supported by very narrow epistemic bases. That is to say, the people who invented them did not have much of a clue as to why and how they worked.2 The pre-1750 world produced, and produced well. It made many path- breaking inventions. But it was a world of engineering without mechanics, iron-making without metallurgy, farming without soil science, mining without geology, water-power without hydraulics, dye-making without organic chemistry, and medical practice without microbiology and immunology. The main point to keep in mind here is that such a lack of an epistemic base does not necessarily preclude the development of new techniques through trial and error and simple serendipity. But it makes the subsequent wave of micro-inventions that adapt and improve the technique and create the sustained productivity growth much slower and more costly. If one knows why some device works, it becomes easier to manipulate and debug it, to adapt to new uses and changing circumstances. Above all, one knows what will not work and thus reduce the costs of research and experimentation. The Industrial Revolution, in short, would have been eventually constrained by the narrowness of useful knowledge and ground to a stop. And yet, a simple connection between the Scientific Revolution of the seventeenth century and the Industrial Revolution that followed it has proven remarkably elusive.3 Scholars have found it difficult to link the main technological breakthroughs of the Industrial Revolution to the scientific discoveries of its time, although some notable exceptions to this rule can be pointed out. The solution consists of two components. One is simply a matter of timing: while the main advances during the first stage of the Industrial Revolution (say, 1760-1800) were only weakly based on science, its subsequent momentum increasingly came to depend on the better understanding of the propositional knowledge underlying the invention. The second is that the epistemic base of inventions does not only include a modern definition of science, but a broader definition of knowledge including simply catalogs of phenomena and regularities that could be relied upon even if the underlying processes were not quite understood. Thus tables of the efficiency of steam power were already formulated in the 1710s and widely used in the eighteenth century long before scientists formulated the laws of thermodynamics.4 Lists and detailed descriptions of practices in fields as far apart as
2I have developed this framework in some detail in Mokyr (2002) and (2005). 3The opus classicus arguing the case for such a connection remains Musson and Robinson, 1969. Critical of this approach are Mathias, 1979; McKendrick, 1973; and Hall, 1974. A more recent assessment is Cohen, 2004. For recent attempts to rescue the importance of the rise of modern science in the eighteenth century see Bekar, Carlow and Lipsey, 2006 and Jacob and Stewart, 2005. 4In 1718, Henry Beighton published a table entitled A Calculation of the Power of the Fire (Newcomen’s) engine shewing the Diameter of the Cylinder, for Steam of the Pump that is Capable of Raising any Quantity of Water, from 48 to 440 Hogsheads an Hours; 15 to 100 yards. Beighton’s Table was reproduced in Jean T. Desaguliers’s widely read textbook, Course of Experimental Philosophy, p. 535. Desaguliers remarked that “Mr. Beighton’s table agreed with all the experiments made ever since 1717.”
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farming, geology, and the performance of water mills helped engineers and producers improve their practices. The centrality of technology in the emergence of modern economic growth is not really contested. Growth was possible through capital accumulation, increasing trade, better internal allocations, freer markets, and improved institutions. But all of those processes would eventually run into diminishing returns. It is technology that remains at the foundation of modern economic growth. Indeed, the various other definitions of the Industrial Revolution, such as a growing reliance on formal markets and a change in production organization toward the factory system were all endogenous to the changes in technology. A full explanation will need to deal with both the growth of useful knowledge and with the incentives and opportunities to take full advantage of it. Below I will cover only one aspect of it, namely the role played by the Enlightenment in generating this knowledge. The European Enlightenment was a multifaceted phenomenon, much of it concerned with natural law and justice, religious and political tolerance, human rights and freedom, inequality, legal reform, and much else. At the deepest level, however, the common denominator was the belief in the possibility and desirability of human progress and perfectibility through reason and knowledge. Kant’s famous suggestion for the motto of the Enlightenment as “dare to know” is particularly apposite in this context. The material aspect of this belief followed in the footsteps of Francis Bacon’s idea of understanding nature in order to control her and has been named in his honor the Baconian Program, although its parentage was of course far more complex than that. In the words of one scholar “The major purpose of Baconian natural philosophy is to produce innovations of which nature unaided is not capable” (Zagorin, 1998, p. 97). The program that Bacon suggested to attain material progress through technological progress consisted of the application of the inductive and experimental method to investigate nature, the creation of a universal natural history, and reorganization of science as a human activity (Gillespie, 1960, p. 78). Interestingly enough, Bacon has been heavily criticized by modern critics of industrial society. It is ironic that those who were born late enough to have benefited the most from advances inspired by his insights have heaped the most scorn on his “disastrously mistaken belief that nature and the creation are ordained for man’s benefit and rule” (Zagorin, 1998, p. 121). It is even more striking that those who regard the Industrial Revolution and the subsequent process of economic growth as fundamentally a positive development (that is to say, economic historians) have never given the Baconian Program much credit for this development. It is this omission that I hope to rectify below. Useful knowledge became the buzzword of the eighteenth-century Enlightenment. The term should not be associated simply with either ’science’ or ’technology’.5 It meant the combination of different kinds of knowledge supporting one another. The eighteenth century marked both an acceleration of the pace of research and a growing bias toward subject matter that, at least in principle, had some practical value. Indeed, Peter Burke
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5This point has been well-made by Inkster (2004), whose analysis parallels what follows in certain respects. Inkster proposes the term URK (’Useful and Reliable Knowledge’), which is much like the term proposed by Kuznets, who preferred ‘testable’. In my view reliability is an important characteristic of useful knowledge, but it seems less crucial than tightness, that is, the confidence and consensualness with which certain knowledge is held to be ‘true’.
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(2000, p. 44) has argued that the eighteenth century saw the rise of ’the idea of research’ and the sense that this knowledge could contribute to economic and social reform, a notion directly attributable to Bacon. The change in the pace of progress of knowledge after 1680 was indebted to the influence of Bacon but equally to the triumph of Newtonianism in the first half of the eighteenth century. The achievement of Newton did more than anything else to establish the prestige of formal science in the world of learning (Jacob and Stewart, 2004). The fundamental assumption of the Enlightenment, then, was that the growth of useful knowledge would sooner or later open the doors to prosperity. The belief was that the expansion of useful knowledge would solve technological problems and that the dissemination of existing knowledge to more and more people would have what we could call today substantial efficiency gains. These two notions formed the core of Denis Diderot’s beliefs and his admiration for Bacon permeates his writing as it does that of many other eighteenth-century philosophes and scientists. In Britain, of course, this belief was not only widespread, but formed the explicit motive for the foundation of organizations and societies that were designed to advance it, above all the Royal Society, and the Society of Arts.6 It was the triumph of hope over experience. Not all of it was abstract science: the taxonomic work of Linnaeus and the descriptive writings of Arthur Young increased useful knowledge just as much as the abstract mathematics of Laplace and the experiments of Priestley and Lavoisier. But it was also clear that this growth could only be carried out collectively, through a ’division of labor’ in which specialization and expertization were carried out at levels far higher than before, just as Bacon had foreseen in his New Atlantis in which Salomon’s House is a visualization of a modern research academy.7 All the same, the way useful knowledge increased in the eighteenth century was a far cry from the processes of R&D (corporate and government) of today. It might be better to say that much of it was by way of exploration and discovery, trial-and-error processes minimally informed by an understanding of the natural processes at work, inspired tinkering, and a great deal of serendipity and good fortune, albeit favored by prepared and eager minds. Over the eighteenth century these research processes became more systematic, careful, and rigorous. By the early nineteenth century the interaction between knowledge “what” (propositional) and knowledge “how” (prescriptive) became much tighter. It is this phenomenon, more than anything else, that prevented the early Industrial Revolution from fizzling out and enabled it to become the taproot of modern growth. The Enlightenment and Technological Progress How, then, did the Enlightenment affect the nature of invention and innovation in the eighteenth century? The Enlightenment was an intellectual process and it was primarily about persuasion. The assumption was that society was improvable, and that a complete program of how to bring this about was worked out and needed to be 6William Shipley’s credo is summed up in his “plan” for the establishment of the Society of Arts (1754): “Whereas the Riches, Honour, Strength and Prosperity of a Nation depend in a great Measure on Knowledge and Improvement of useful Arts, Manufactures, Etc... several [persons], being fully sensible that due Encouragements and Rewards are greatly conducive to excite a Spirit of Emulation and Industry have resolved to form [the Society of Arts] for such Productions, Inventions or Improvements as shall tend to the employing of the Poor and the Increase of Trade.” (Allan, 1979, p. 192). 7 Priestley, 1768, p. 7. Adam Smith, in the ‘Early Draft’ to his Wealth of Nations (1978, pp. 569-72) believed that the benefits of the ’speculations of the philosopher... may evidently descend to the meanest of people’ if they led to improvements in the mechanical arts.
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accepted. The process can be more readily understood if we distinguish four separate headings under which the Enlightenment made a difference to the growth of useful knowledge: agenda, capabilities, selection, and diffusion.8 Agenda. As already noted, the “Baconian Program” increasingly served as the key to the agenda of researchers. The idea was that knowledge was supposed to be “useful” — morally, socially, and increasingly, materially. Society was improvable through knowledge, and the purpose of the study of nature and experimentation was to help solve practical problems just as much and eventually more so than to satisfy human curiosity or to demonstrate the wisdom of the creator.9 Many, if not most, of the natural philosophers of the age of Enlightenment agreed with Bacon’s notions and acknow- ledged their intellectual debt to his ideas, including Diderot, Lavoisier, Davy, and the astronomer John Herschel (Sargent, 1999, pp. xxvvii-xxviii). Consequently, many eighteenth-century scholars better known for their contributions to science used their analytical rigor and formal training to attack practical problems of production even if the direct connection of their discoveries to science is not always apparent. Among them were the greatest minds of the scientific Enlighten- ment. Leonhard Euler was concerned with ship design, lenses, the buckling of beams, and (with his less famous son Johann) contributed a great deal to theoretical hydraulics. The great Lavoisier worked on assorted applied problems as a young man, including the chemistry of gypsum and the problems of street lighting. Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, William Cullen, Joseph Black, Benjamin Franklin, Joseph Priestley, Humphry Davy, Tobern Bergman, count Rumford, and Johann Tobias Mayer were among the many first-rate minds who unabashedly devoted some of their efforts to solving mundane problems of technology: how to design calculating machines, how to make better and cheaper steel, increase agricultural productivity and improve livestock, how to build better pumps and mills, how to determine longitude at sea, how to heat and light homes and cities safer and better, how to prevent smallpox, and similar questions.10 The idea of turning research into useful knowledge was larger than the discovery of underlying general laws. Description and organization mattered as much, precisely as Bacon had argued. Many of the investigations of the eighteenth century were in the style of the “three C’s”: counting, cataloguing, classifying. Knowledge could only be useful if it was organized (Yeo, 2003). Taxonomy, often dismissed as a form of knowledge, was quite central to the market for ideas in the eighteenth century. The great figures were the Swedish botanist Carl Linnaeus and his French rival Georges-Louis Buffon, but many contemporaries followed them in attempts to gather more information about living beings so that farming and husbandry could be improved. In Britain the
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8The following pages are based on Mokyr, 2007b. 9The “business of science,” John T. Desaguliers noted in the 1730s, was “to make Art and Nature subservient to the Necessities of Life in joining proper Causes to produce the most useful Effects” (1763, Vol. 1, p. iii). This was spoken by one of the leading Newtonians of the time, a man who made a career out of selling knowledge to others, a professional lecturer, a textbook writer, and a consultant to business. 10Of the many examples one could pick here, the career of René Réaumur (1683-1757) is most telling as the embodiment of the Enlightenment ideals. Although one of the most recognized scientists of his day (he was president of the French Académie Royale) his reputation today has been eclipsed by others. Yet in his day he worked on a variety of problems concerning the nature of iron and steel (he was first to suggest the chemical properties of steel), on problems of porcelain and glazing, he showed the feasibility of glass fibers and suggested that paper could be made from wood. He carried out a huge research program on entomology and pests, egg incubation, and worked on Meteorology and temperature measurement (hence the temperature scale still named after him).
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paradigmatic figures were Erasmus Darwin and Joseph Banks, the authors of voluminous books on plants and animals, and Arthur Young and John Sinclair, who wrote extensively on agriculture. These highly descriptive writings did not have immediate results: agricultural productivity increased only slowly in the period of the classical Industrial Revolution, and insofar that it did, it was probably not much due to agricultural writings.11 And yet, the demand side of the market for ideas was there, and the supply was on the way. The market was supported by the belief that more and better knowledge would eventually lead to human progress. How effective were these efforts? The scholarly debate alluded to above, between those who feel that modern science played a pivotal role in the Industrial Revolution and those who do not, is more than the hackneyed question whether a glass is half full or half empty, because the glass started from almost empty and slowly filled in the century and a half after 1750. Scientists and science (not quite the same thing) had a few spectacular successes in developing new production techniques, above all the chlorine bleaching technique, the lightning rod, and the mining safety lamp. It did broaden the epistemic base of some techniques that had been in use for centuries, explaining — in part — why the things that were known to work actually did so.12 The efforts made by Europe’s most eminent learned men to improve practical techniques demonstrate that by the second half of the eighteenth century most scientists felt an acute responsibility to help improve the material world, and made a sincere effort to learn which problems bothered people toiling in the workshops and the fields. These efforts were reinforced by commercial interests, which created a literal market in knowledge. An increasing number of British natural philosophers and learned persons found it remunerative to rent out their services to manufacturers as consultants.13 Capabilities. The age of Enlightenment was the period in which the interaction between prescriptive knowledge and propositional knowledge started in earnest. Progress in science, it has long been noticed, is often constrained by limited instruments and research techniques. The scientific revolution advanced in part because new tools such as the telescope, the barometer, and the air pump allowed new observations and 11Voltaire in his famed Philosophical Dictionary (1816, Vol. III, p. 91) caustically remarked that after 1750, many useful books written about agriculture were read by everyone but the farmers. 12At times, major breakthroughs remained barren for many years. Thus, the most spectacular insight in metallurgical knowledge, the celebrated 1786 paper by three of France’s leading scientists, Monge, Berthollet, and Vandermonde that established the chemical properties of steel, had no immediate technological spin-offs. It was “incomprehensible except to those who already knew how to make steel” (Harris, 2001, p. 220). Harris adds that there may have been real penalties for French steelmaking in its heavy reliance on scientists or technologists with scientific pretensions. This dismissive remark seems exaggerated. Without the knowledge that carbon content determined the characteristics of steel, it would have been rather hard to make progress in this industry — though it took many years from that paper to Henry Bessemer and Robert Mushet. The knowledge, however, had clearly diffused to Britain by the 1820s, and was cited in widely available sources (e.g. The Repertory of Arts, Manufactures and Agriculture London: J. Wyatt, 1821, p. 369; Edward James Wilson, The Artist’s and Mechanic’s Encyclopaedia, Vol. 2,, Newcastle upon Tyne: Mackenzie and Dent, 1830, p. 67). In France, the Committee for Public Safety instructed the three scientists to write a 34-page pamphlet depicting how to make steel and distributed fifteen thousand copies. See Horn, 2006, pp. 147-48. 13Among the best-known ones in the early eighteenth century were the Scottish chemist William Cullen and the itinerant lecturer and Newtonian John T. Desaguliers. During the Industrial Revolution, the number of these consulting engineers expanded and they organized into the Smeatonian society named after John Smeaton, Britain’s leading engineer. Among the consultants in high demand were John Whitehurst and Joseph Priestley, two members of the Lunar Society.
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made new experiments possible. Price (1984) refers to scientific advances made possible by better tools as “artificial revelation.” In the eighteenth century this process accelerated. As a result, the rate of scientific discovery was stimulated by technological advances and in turn could help widen the epistemic base of techniques. It is this positive feedback effect that in the end led to the phased transition during which the entire dynamic of useful knowledge changed to produce sustained technological progress. Examples are easy to find. The great advances made by Lavoisier and his pupils in debunking phlogiston chemistry were made possible by the equipment manufactured by his colleague Laplace, who was as skilled an instrument-maker as he was brilliant a mathematician. The invention of the first battery-like device that produced a steady flow of direct current at a constant voltage, namely Alessandro Volta’s pile of 1800, made it possible to separate elements in the newly proposed chemistry which in turn filled in the details of the landscape whose rough contours had been outlined by Lavoisier and his students.14 Improved instruments and research tools played important roles in a range of “Enlightenment projects” that might be seen as technological improvements with poetic license. One such improvement was the use of geodesic instruments for surveying.15 Time was measured with increasing accuracy, which was as necessary for precise laboratory experiments as it was for the solution to the stubborn problem of longitude at sea, one of the age of Enlightenment’s proudest successes. Experimental engineering also made methodological advances. John Smeaton was one of the first to realize that improvements in technological systems can be tested only by varying components one at a time holding all others constant (Cardwell, 1968, p. 120). In such systems, progress tends to be piecemeal and cumulative rather than revolutionary, yet Smeaton’s improvements to the water mill and steam engine increased efficiency substantially even if his inventions were not quite as spectacular as those of James Watt.
Another increased capability came from mathematics. The use of mathematics in scientific research was an ancient tradition, but advances in mathematics added new tools to the arsenal of engineers, and theoretical work in engineering advanced consequently and — with a considerable lag — expanded the supply of good ideas. Mathematics increasingly became a problem-solving technology and many great mathematicians lent their skill to computations that had useful applications in ballistics, engineering, astronomy, and navigation. Copernicus’s student, Rheticus, prepared complete tables for all six trigonometric functions, and Napier developed logarithmic tables. Computing tools such as Galileo’s “compass” and Pascal’s early calculating machine were designed, though the inability of mechanics to construct them at low prices limited their use. The input of formal mathematics into technical engineering problems in hydraulics and the design of better waterwheels was remarkable in the late eighteenth century. These attempts reflect both the potential and the difficulties of the learning process in applying the newly invented calculus to the dynamic problem of
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14As Humphry Davy, perhaps the most accomplished practitioner of the new electrochemistry, put it: Volta’s pile acted as an “alarm bell to experimenters in every part of Europe” (cited by Brock, 1992, p. 147). 15Jesse Ramsden designed a famous theodolite that was employed in the Ordnance Survey of Britain, which commenced in 1791. A comparable tool, the repeating circle, was designed by the great French instrument maker Jean-Charles Borda in 1775, and was used in the famed project in which the French tried to establish with precision the length of the meridian.
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hydraulics.16 Calculus, developed in the late seventeenth century, eventually found many applications in mechanical engineering as well as in construction.17 Calculus, indeed, may be regarded a “General Purpose Principle,” in the terminology of Lipsey, Bekar, and Carlaw, (2005): a multi-purpose tool that allowed for any function to be maximized and laws of dynamics written down and solved. Again, the French led their more pragmatic and less formal British colleagues. The three great French polytechniciens of the early nineteenth century, Gustave-Gaspard Coriolis, Jean-Victor Poncelet, and Louis Navier, placed mechanical and civil engineering on a formal base, and while the immediate impact of these advances on productivity is difficult to discern, it is hard to see how sustained progress in the longer run could have been made without it. The same holds for the study of electricity: eighteenth-century science grappled bravely with the topic, combining experimental work with theory. The mathematical work of Franz Aepinus (1759) provided the first theoretical epistemic base for the findings of experimentalists such as Musschenbroek, starting a long chain of investigation that would bear fruit more than a century later. Selection. Ideas, small and large, are selected from larger menus of ideas that are proposed to people (Mokyr, 2006a). The selection process is determined by persuasion, and persuasion in free selection environments follows a set of criteria based on the rhetorical conventions of the time, these rhetorical conventions themselves a result of a selection process. Society constructs certain rhetorical conventions by which logic, evidence, and authority are admissible in arguments about ideas, and these conventions set the rules of the game, or the underlying institutions, in the competition between ideas to be accepted. A naive view of this process would only select among competing alternatives by the criterion of the maximal likelihood that they were “true.” By that logic, astrology would have disappeared centuries ago. Once established, however, they tend to determine the prevailing ideology in society, including its religious beliefs as well as the scientific dominant doctrines.
What is left out here is coercion. Existing knowledge and ideas tend to develop into orthodoxy, and incumbents are defensive and jealous. Many entrenched elites found ingenious ways to perpetuate the status quo, so that intellectual innovation would only be admissible if it did not contradict the existing orthodoxy. Conservative establishments in science, religion, and political thinking argued that the predominant criterion for the acceptance of novel knowledge was that it be consistent with existing ideas. New ideas and techniques that were inconsistent with the intellectual or technological status quo, and could thus threaten the human capital of those who were in control of the existing knowledge, were to be suppressed, by force if necessary.18 16The French mathematician Antoine Parent calculated that the maximum useful effect of a waterwheel was only 4/27th the natural force of the stream and that the optimal speed of the waterwheel was 1/3 that of the stream. These calculations were widely accepted, although they were incorrect and did not square with empirical observations. They were subsequently revised and corrected. Experimental work remained central and at times had to set the theorists straight (Reynolds, 1983). 17A celebrated example is the development of the theory of beams, in Charles Coulomb’s celebrated 1773 paper “Statical Problems with Relevance to Architecture.” 18The explanations of how such intellectual conservatism can be a rational response can vary (Kuran, 1988). It was often felt that a free marketplace for ideas might lead to subversion that threatened political stability (that is, the power base of the status quo), or that they might cause economic disruption such as unemployment. In other cases, still not entirely absent in our own age, disrespect toward the wisdom of elders or the presumption of appropriating powers that belong to a higher being (“playing God”) are also resented. Symbolic tales like the sorcerer’s apprentice and Prometheus embody the notion that innovation could be dangerous and should be contained and controlled.
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Intellectual innovation could only occur in tolerant societies in which possibly outrageous ideas proposed by sometimes highly eccentric men would not incur violent responses against "heresy" and "apostasy." This was especially true in a world in which science, philosophy, and religion were inextricably connected. In the late middle ages, the intellectual innovations of the 12th and 13th centuries had rigidified into a Ptolemaic-Aristotelian canon that became increasingly intolerant of deviants. Cosmology and theology in the picture of the world that emerged were deeply intertwined and provided an intellectual foundation of the religious establishment. “The resulting system of the Universe was considered impregnable and final. To attack it was considered blasphemy” (Lipsey, Bekar and Carlaw, 2005, p. 237). Yet from 1500 on, this system came under increasing pressure and eventually collapsed. How and why it did so is discussed elsewhere (Mokyr, 2005; 2007b), but it is important to see the Enlightenment as part of this changing set of criteria. Knowledge and beliefs were regarded as contestable at every level, and tolerance was raised to a level of a principle. Free entry into the market for ideas and the absence of repression were a high priority on which all Enlightenment thinkers were united. The ideals of tolerance and persuasion by argument and evidence, in which ideas were selected freely by individuals on merits other than acceptability by the ruling orthodoxy, eventually emerged successful. It held, somewhat naively, that selection among competing theories or observations was to be determined by criteria unrelated to politics, with acceptance exclusively determined by the rhetoric of knowledge itself: logic, rigor, experimental evidence, and observation. The triumph of this model became closely associated with the concept of the Enlightenment. All science and knowledge were riven with politics and their separation remained an ideal that in practice was never achieved, but degree is everything, and the politics of science changed considerably. What was determined in the age of Enlightenment was the principle of how scientific disputes were to be resolved when new information or insights emerged. In that regard, Lavoisier and Adam Smith were subject to the same rules. Consistency with earlier theories and respect for the knowledge of previous generations was to have little impact on selection, at least in theory.19 The main insight regarding the nature of new useful knowledge that Francis Bacon — himself no scientist — left to his Enlightenment admirers was the legitimacy of experimental research in progress. In that regard, perhaps, his philosophy in part formalized what was already carried out by many natural philosophers and alchemists in practice, but his thinking clearly helped place experimental science at center stage of scientific progress. Whenever the orthodoxy was contradicted by experiment, the orthodoxy was challenged, and Gillespie (1960, p. 79) has stated that experimental science has become practically a synonym for ‘modern science’. The importance of experimental work to the Industrial Revolution was enormous: the careers of James Watt, John Smeaton, James Keir, John Roebuck, Humphry Davy, Joseph Priestley, Count Rumford, Michael Faraday and countless other inventors cannot be imagined without experimental work guiding them. Especially when the epistemic base of a technique is quite narrow so that the outcome of a procedure cannot be predicted, there
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19John Taylor, a teacher at one of Britain’s dissenting academies, Warrington Academy, told his pupils in 1757 that “if at any time hereafter any principle or sentiment by me taught or advanced, or by you admitted and embraced, shall upon impartial and faithful examination appear to you to be dubious or false, you either suspect or totally reject that principle or sentiment” (cited by Reid, 2006, pp. 8-9).
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is no real substitute for experimental work to guide the selection process of useful knowledge. The other element in selection is the concept of “open science” to which I will return below. The Scientific Revolution saw the emergence of a set of norms and customs in which discoveries and advances in natural philosophy were placed in the public domain as soon as possible, with the author demanding credit for priority. One consequence of this procedure is the concept of peer review, whether before or after publication. For non-experts, selection was made more efficient because one could make a reasonable presumption that new knowledge had been vetted by other specialists. That such presumptions are often mistaken does not reduce the effect; without it, there is always no way such selection can be made. Some periodicals, especially the proceedings of the Royal Society and other official academies and, much later, high-prestige periodicals such as Nicholson’s Journal and François Rozier’s Observations sur la Physique, sur l’Histoire Naturelle, et sur les Arts fulfilled a similar function. Diffusion. As Dasgupta and David (1994) have noted, knowledge requires an institutional set-up unlike any other market because the market for ideas in many ways resembles an open-source technology. Open science, as many scholars have stressed, was the key to the rapid changes in the market for ideas because its very purpose was to disseminate new ideas and offer them to the marketplace. The incentives in such a market work quite differently from those in other markets, and are most comparable to modern open-source technology networks (Lerner and Tirole, 2004). In such networks, all new knowledge is placed in the public realm and judged by peers. Success is mostly a result of a signaling contest, in which reputations are maximized. Such reputations are then correlated with a variety of benefits, but also appear in the preferences of the actors directly. In seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Europe, such reputations were critical both for appointments at universities and patronage (David, 2004), and contributed materially to the emergence of open science. The Enlightenment picked up on this trend. It was, in large part, about communication. From the point of view of economic history, what is most interesting here is the reduction of access costs. Knowledge is a non-rivalrous good, and in theory, the source can share it costlessly. No such argument can be made for the recipient, who incurs a variety of search, transfer, and verification costs. These costs depended on both technological and cultural factors. Inventions such as paper, printing, and the telegraph, as well as improvements in transportation and postal services were an important factor. There can be no question, however, that institutions played a major role here, and that the emergence of open science and a culture of sharing knowledge as well as a growing aversion to the secrecy associated with useful knowledge in earlier times, so typical of the age of Enlightenment, were critical in reducing access costs (Eamon, 1994). If knowledge were to grow, it needed specialization, a “division of knowledge.”20 Yet such a specialization depended crucially on low access costs.
20Smith ([1978] 1757, p. 570) argued outright that “speculation in the progress of society...like every trade is subdivided into many different branches ... and the quantity of science is considerably increased by it.” The idea caught on. Joseph Priestley wrote in 1768 that “If, by this means, one art or science should grow too large for an easy comprehension in a moderate space of time, a commodious subdivision will be made. Thus all knowledge will be subdivided and extended, and knowledge, as Lord Bacon observes, being power, the human powers will be increased ... men will make their situation in this world abundantly more easy and comfortable” (Priestley, 1768, p. 7).
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Access costs were also important because they governed, so to speak, both the vertical and horizontal movements of useful knowledge. By vertical movements I mean the signals sent between those who controlled propositional knowledge, the savants, and those who were concerned with prescriptive knowledge, fabricants. As I emphasized elsewhere (Mokyr, 2002), the connection between those two social spheres is critical to the question of which segments of propositional knowledge will end up being “mapped” into the set of available techniques, in other words, what kind of inventions is one to expect? This, indeed, is among the hardest problems in economic history. Horizontal movement of useful knowledge provides would-be inventors and implementers with best-practice scientific knowledge underlying the technique in question (which may not be very good), and it sends would-be scientists and experimentalists signals about the needs of those in the workshops and the fields. Indeed, it is astonishing that in many cases societies seem to have had technological opportunities that they could have exploited given the knowledge they had, but for one reason or another the mapping does not seem to have taken place. Why, for instance, did the Romans never invent eyeglasses despite their knowledge of glass or optics, or succeed in casting iron or use navigational instruments at sea? Part of the answer must be the point I made above: the communications (or passerelles as Hilaire- Perez, 2000, has called them) between those who make things and have a “feel” for what is needed, and those with the mathematical or scientific knowledge to realize how the problem is to be solved needs to be tight and effective for this horizontal signalling.21 But there were other reasons why declining access costs played such a central role in the economic transformation of Europe. Much invention takes the form of analogues to and combinations of existing techniques, or combined knowledge from diverse fields in what we might call technical hybrids or recombinations.22 It was thus critical that knowledge of techniques in use in other industries and regions be made accessible. Furthermore, such knowledge would help prevent inventors from entering blind alleys, both in terms of re-inventing the wheel and from trying things that would not work (though the latter, of course, could be quite ambiguous).
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Access to knowledge can be usefully analyzed by distinguishing between codified and tacit knowledge. The former depended crucially on the written word, especially on print. The eighteenth century experienced a veritable explosion of books that made useful knowledge accessible. The discovery that information could be made more accessible by alphabetization was exploited in full in the eighteenth century. The document most widely associated with the Enlightenment, Diderot and d’Alembert’s Encyclopédie, contained numerous articles on technical matters, lavishly illustrated by
21Stewart (2007, p. 13) notes that Enlightenment thinkers considered the distinctions between scholars and craftsmen downright harmful “to the philosophical enterprise” though they were regarded equally harmful to material progress in general. Some were optimistic: Humphry Davy wrote in 1802 that “in consequence of the multiplication of the means of instruction, the man of science and the manufacturer are daily becoming more assimilated to each other” (Davy, 1840, vol. 2, p. 321). Count Rumford, however, noted impatiently in 1799 that “there are no two classes of men in society that are more distinct, or that are more separated from each other by a more marked line, than philosophers and those who are engaged in arts and manufactures” and that this prevented “all connection and intercourse between them.” Thompson, 1876, pp. 743-745. 22This phenomenon was already realized on the eve of the Industrial Revolution: Joseph Moxon wrote in the 1670s that “The Trades themselves might, by a Philosopher, be Improv’d ... I find that one Trade may borrow from many Eminent Helps in Work of another Trade” (Moxon, 1703, preface).
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highly skilled artists who, in most cases, were experts in their fields.23 Encyclopedias and indexes to “compendia” and “dictionaries” were the search engines of the eighteenth century. In order to be of practical use, knowledge had to be organized so that it could be selected from. Alphabetization was one way to do this, the organization of science into categories another (Yeo, 2003). Some encyclopedias and dictionaries were designed to be efficient search engines and to reduce access costs.24 The number of scientific periodicals in the eighteenth century soared. In the early decades the number of learned periodicals (all areas) in all of Europe was still fairly modest: an average of 21 per year in the first decade of the eighteenth century, 34 in 1721/30, and 77 in 1741/50. In the 1790s, this number had soared to 531 (computed from Kronick, 1991, see Mokyr, 2005). Tacit knowledge, passed in person, went through a similar flourishing. Stewart, 1992, has described in great detail how science became “public,” sold to the public in coffee houses, country inns, and a variety of societies and academies in which public lectures and meetings were held. In 1700 there were 2000 coffee houses in London alone, many of which were the locations of lectures. Over the course of the century, both formal and informal meeting places increased exponentially, the most famous being the Birmingham Lunar Society and the London Chapter coffee house. The Royal Institution, founded by Count Rumford and Joseph Banks in 1799, provided public lectures on scientific and technological topics. Its stated purpose in its charter summarizes what the Industrial Enlightenment was about: it was established for "diffusing the knowledge, and facilitating the general introduction, of useful mechanical inventions and improvements; and for teaching, by courses of philosophical lectures and experiments, the application of science to the common purposes of life."25 Intellectual Property Rights and the Enlightenment Enlightenment thought was reasonably unanimous about its belief that progress through expanded and accessible useful knowledge was possible and desirable, Jean- Jacques Rousseau being perhaps the most noticeable exception. When it came to Intellectual Property Rights, however, the new ideology found itself painfully torn between a number of conflicting views. One was the visceral opposition to monopolies and restrictions of any kind on free entry. This instinct was reinforced by the Baconian notion that useful knowledge should be shared and that its accumulation was a fundamentally cooperative endeavor. In such an ideal world, a patent system which limits usage is not desirable. At the same time, philosophes had to confront the notion that if a society wished to promote technological change, it needed to create the economic incentives for inventive activities to take place. Moreover, the belief in the
23Pannabecker (1996, 1998) points out that the plates in the Encyclopédie were designed by the highly skilled Louis-Jacques Goussier who eventually became a machine designer at the Conservatoire des arts et métiers in Paris. They were meant to popularize the rational systematization of the mechanical arts to facilitate technological progress. 24Croker et al., 1764-66 serves as an interesting example. The title page of their book reads “in which the whole circle of human learning is explained and the difficulties attending the acquisition of every art, whether liberal or mechanical, are removed in the most easy and familiar manner.” The topics covered ranged from heraldry and rhetoric to hydraulics and pneumatics. Many of the articles were quite advanced and required considerable prior knowledge if the reader were to benefit from them. 25The lectures given by Humphry Davy were so popular that the carriages that brought his audience to hear him so clogged up Albermarle Street in London that it was turned into the first one-way street of the City.
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sanctity of private property was profound, and considered a natural law, a fundamental human right, an idea that found its way into a declaration made by the French National Assembly in 1790 and the United States Constitution a few years earlier. The latter, perhaps, more than anything else, has helped establish IPRs as a paradigmatic Enlightenment institution, but such an inference would be rash. Opponents of the patent system identified it as a rent-seeking device, often used to block new entry, conveniently ignoring the fact that those who resisted patents were sometimes motivated by protecting their own incumbency from unwelcome entrants. Among those opponents, guilds were uppermost (MacLeod, 1988, pp. 83, 113). It was also noted in the late seventeenth century that patentees often were not the best qualified persons to exploit the inventions.26 A different critique, but equally telling, was made by J.T. Desaguliers, who pointed out (1763, Vol. 2, p. viii) that a patent was often interpreted by investors as an official imprimatur of the quality of an invention (much like modern venture capitalists), and that there were “several persons who have money, ready to supply boasting Engineers with it in the hope of great Returns, and especially if the project has the Sanction of an Act of Parliament to support it, and then the Bubble becomes compleat and ends in Ruin.” The problem remained how society should reward those who gave their time and money to develop knowledge that was of great benefit to the rest of society. Such rewards, it was understood, needed to be established if society was to enjoy the fruits of sustained technological progress. Of those incentives, the patent system was one option but by no means the only one. Many economists still think of it as the cornerstone of such an incentive system (Khan, 2004) but the notion has come under criticism. The debate is far from new. Goethe may have been somewhat naive when he wrote that the British patent system's great merit was that it turned invention into a "real possession, and thereby avoids all annoying disputes concerning the honor due" (cited in Klemm, 1964, p. 173). In his Lectures on Jurisprudence (1762-66 [1978), pp. 83, 472], Adam Smith admitted that the patent system was the one monopoly (or “priviledge” as he called it) he could live with, because it left the decision on the merit of an invention to the market rather than to officials. Smith thought, somewhat unrealistically, that if an “invention was good and such as is profitable to mankind, [the inventor] will probably make a fortune by it.” Not all inventors sought such rewards, and certainly not many actually attained them. Many inventors in the Industrial Revolution placed their inventions at the public’s disposal, and others for one reason or another, failed to secure a patent or subsequently lost it.27 Yet the politicians had come to realize that rewarding inventors who made significant contributions to the nation’s technological capabilities was good public policy. Both Samuel Crompton, the inventor of the mule, and Edmund Cartwright, the inventor of the power-loom, were rewarded by Parliament with considerable sums, though they captured but a minute fraction of the social surplus that their inventions
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26Andrew Yarranton, a tin-plater, found his business harmed by a patentee incapable of working it properly (MacLeod, 1988, p. 184). 27Scientists who made inventions of considerable importance, such as Count Rumford, Benjamin Franklin, Joseph Priestley, or Humphry Davy, usually wanted credit, not profit. Some entrepreneurs, too, refused to take out patents out of principle. The great engineers, too, largely stayed away from the patent system. Abraham Darby II declined to take out a patent on his coke-smelting process allegedly saying that “he would not deprive the public from such an acquisition” (cited by McLeod, 1988,p. 185), although his father, the founder of the dynasty, did take out a patent on his sand-casting process (1708).
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eventually created. A petition for the estate of Henry Cort was denied by Parliament, but the fact that other ironmasters entered a subscription for the benefit of Cort’s widow demonstrates that contemporaries sensed significant spillovers here. The pioneers of paper-making machines, Henry and Sealy Fourdrinier, too, were awarded a grant of £20,000 by a Parliamentary committee (after many manufacturers testified that the continuous paper machines had been of huge benefit to their respective branches), though this amount was later reduced to £7,000 and paid as late as 1840, when Henry was already in his seventies. The scientist William Sturgeon, one of the pioneers of electrical technology in the 1830s, fell on hard times toward the end of his life, and was awarded a one-off payment of £200 plus a small pension by Lord John Russell’s government. In all these cases, and many others, there was an explicit recognition that these people had added to the well-being of the realm; in other words, they had produced positive externalities. But they also reflect a recognition that invention was costly and risky, and that if society wanted to generate a continuous stream of technical improvements, it had to make the activity that generated innovation financially attractive. Britain was not the only Western nation to take this view. France and the Netherlands had patent systems in which innovations could yield considerable benefits to their propagators. In Britain, however, the state only recognized and enforced the inventor’s right (Hilaire-Perez, 2000). It did not normally take it upon itself to evaluate the invention’s contribution to society. The type of encouragement given to inventors in Britain differed thus from the French system during the ancien régime, where govern- ment agents were put in charge of evaluating the contribution of certain inventions to the realm. The difference between the two systems can be overstated: at times the British authorities recognized the national interest and were willing to act to pursue it aggressively. An example was the Board of Longitude, established in 1714 by Parliament, which promised a large sum to the person who successfully cracked the age- old problem of measuring longitude at sea. It seems that the main effect of the patent system on innovation was to goad potential inventors into believing that they, too, could make as much money as the Lombe brothers or James Watt. In point of fact, precious few ever did, but the expectation may have been enough for many. Britain’s patent system was not exactly inviting: it charged a patentee £100 for the right to patent, not counting the costs of traveling to and staying in London (Khan and Sokoloff, 1998). Moreover, many patents were infringed upon and judges were often hostile to patentees, considering them monopolists. The exact impact of the patent system and other positive incentives on the technological creativity that eventually helped produce a more prosperous nation is hard to establish. Recently some economists have gone so far as to dismiss it altogether. Boldrin and Levine have argued that intellectual property rights have been unimportant in bringing about economic growth, and have specifically pointed to the Industrial Revolution as a period that provides “a mine of examples of patents hindering economic progress while seldom enriching their owners and of great riches and economic successes achieved without patents” (Boldrin and Levine, 2005, chapter 4, p. 7). Such an extreme position neglects the important qualification that what the patent system was important ex ante in giving would-be inventors was hope for success, in a fashion not dissimilar to why people purchase lottery tickets. If no one ever won the lottery, people
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would stop buying tickets; but the number of winners need not be very large to keep hope alive. Yet it exemplifies the complexity of the institution. The patent system also was a means for the diffusion of useful knowledge: once a patentee filed, he or she had to divulge the existence of the invention and in principle forewent the protection of secrecy. After Liardet vs. Johnson (1778), the patentee was required to explain the invention in such a manner than anyone familiar with the technique could understand and reproduce it. While access to the filed patent remained cumbersome, it was easier than industrial espionage or reverse engineering. The problems with IPRs underline the difficulty in separating exactly those elements we think of as “institutional” and those that properly belong to the category of “technological creativity.” Such categories are creations of our minds, which help us sort out complex historical relations, but they do not have a historical “reality” of their own. Yet if we are to understand the Industrial Revolution and the germination and birth of the British economy, some kind of analytical framework that classifies different phenomena is necessary. The Emergence of Modern Economic Growth For many decades, the Enlightenment had little palpable impact on production. What is astonishing, in retrospect, is that the belief in the value of useful knowledge survived so long in the face of a lack of results. The world turned out to be more messy and complex than the early and hopeful proponents of the Baconian Program realized, as H.F. Cohen (2004, p. 123) has suggested. The natural philosophers on whom so many placed their hopes did not know enough and lacked the tools to solve most of the pressing problems quickly, and many of the early inventions, especially in textiles, were driven by mechanical dexterity, intuition, experience-driven insights, and similar abilities. Indeed, while the results of the Industrial Enlightenment in the eighteenth century were few and far between, those of the agricultural and medical Enlightenments were even less impressive. Farming practices, with some exceptions, were largely unaffected by the huge literature that Enlightenment writers interested in agriculture, known as agronomes, produced.28 Things were no better in medicine, where high hopes that increased knowledge would cure the worst ills afflicting mankind were sorely disappointed. Again, there were some successes, but they remained local and limited triumphs until the epistemic base of medical techniques was expanded so that infectious disease was better understood.29 It is remarkable that belief in the mission remained indefatigable in the face of continuous frustration and disappointment (although the Royal Society itself lost its fascination with technology after 1700). And there was plenty of frustration and disappointment. A case in point is William Cullen, a Scottish physician and chemist. His work “exemplifies all the virtues that eighteenth-century chemists believed would flow from the marriage of philosophy and practice” (Donovan, 1975, p. 84). Ironically,
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28An exception was the success that animal breeders such as Robert Bakewell had in producing improved varieties of sheep and cattle, such as the New Leicester sheep and the Yorkshire shorthorn and the introduction of improved plough designs. 29Among those were the discovery by British naval officers that fresh fruits and vegetables could prevent scurvy, the use of cinchona bark (quinine) to fight off the symptoms of malaria, the prescription of foxglove (now known as digitalis) as a treatment for edemas and atrial fibrillation (first recommended by Dr. William Withering, a member of the Lunar Society, in 1785), the consumption of cod liver to prevent rickets, and above all the miraculous vaccination against smallpox discovered by Jenner in 1796.
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however, this marriage remained barren for many decades. Cullen’s prediction that chemical theory would yield the principles that would direct innovations in the practical arts remained, in the words of the leading expert on eighteenth-century chemistry, “more in the nature of a promissory note than a cashed-in achievement” (Golinski, 1992, p. 29). Manufacturers needed to know why colors faded, why certain fabrics took dyes more readily than others, and so on, but as late as 1790, best-practice chemistry was incapable of helping them much (Keyser, 1990, p. 222). Before the Lavoisier revolution in chemistry, it just could not be done, no matter how suitable the social cli- mate: the minimum epistemic base simply did not exist. In many other areas, despite the best of efforts and intentions, the new research agenda yielded few tangible results. Another example is the exploration of electricity. The eighteenth-century natural philosophers were fascinated by this strange force, and believed that once tamed, it held great promise. While advances in electricity such as the Leyden jar (invented in 1746), the discovery of different levels of conductivity, and the finding that electricity could be transmitted over considerable distances all stirred many an imagination, and some entertaining uses were found for the mysterious phenomenon, practical applications had to await the breakthroughs of Oersted, Faraday, and Ampère in the first half of the nineteenth century. An exception was Franklin’s lightning rod (1749), one of the first useful pragmatic applications of experimental science. It is important to realize how much effort was spent in this age on unsuccessful, or what may seem to us completely useless, research in chemistry, medicine, botany, electricity, and many other areas. Rather than indicating an inefficient allocation of resources, this shows of course that new knowledge creation is inherently wasteful. Yet the belief that somehow the systematic study of nature could yield insights that would eventually enrich and improve industry and agriculture never faded, no matter how remote the chances were. Such was the profound influence of the Enlightenment. Although the Enlightenment is commonly considered to have ended in 1789, its effects on the economy were, as already indicated, most pronounced in the nineteenth century. The triumph of Enlightenment thought came in the growing influence of liberal political economy, which gradually dismantled the regulatory state in the first half of the eighteenth century, and between 1780 and 1830 repealed many of the limitations on the free market and reduced rent-seeking. But more than anything else, the momentum of technological progress was preserved rather than dissipated. While economic historians have not found much productivity growth during the classical Industrial Revolution (Antras and Voth, 2003), after 1830 productivity starts to increase and by 1850 its effects on real wages and the standard of living become apparent. The second stage of the Industrial Revolution adapted ideas and techniques to be applied in new and more industries, improved and refined earlier inventions, extended and deepened their deployment, and eventually these efforts showed up in the productivity statistics. Among the remarkable later advances we may list the perfection of mechanical weaving after 1820; the invention of Roberts’s self-acting mule in spinning (1825); the extension and adaptation of the techniques first used in cotton and worsted to carded wool and linen; the improvement in the iron industry through Neilson’s hot blast (1829) and related inventions; the continuous improvement in crucible steelmaking through coordinated crucibles (as practiced for example by Krupp in Essen); the pre-Bessemer improvements in steel thanks to the work of Scottish steelmakers such as David Mushet (father of Robert Mushet, celebrated in one of
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Samuel Smiles’s Industrial Biographies), and the addition of manganese to crucible steel known as Heath’s process (1839); the continuing improvement in steam power, raising the efficiency and capabilities of the low pressure stationary engines while perfecting the high pressure engines of Trevithick, Woolf, and Stephenson, and adapting them to transportation; the introduction of ever-more efficient water mills, including the invention of the turbine by Benoît Fourneyron in 1837; the advances in chemicals before the advent of organic chemistry (such as the breakthroughs in candle-making and soap manufacturing thanks to the work of Eugène-Michel Chevreul on fatty acids); the introduction and perfection of gas-lighting and its subsequent dissemination; the breakthroughs in high-precision engineering and the development of better machine- tools by Maudslay, Whitworth, Nasmyth, Rennie, the Brunels, the Stephensons, and the other great engineers of the “second generation”; the growing interest in electrical phenomena leading to electroplating; and the work by Hans Oersted and Joseph Henry establishing the connection between electricity and magnetism, leading to the telegraph in the late 1830s. In other industries such as cement, glass, paper, and food processing, there were major improvements. Many of those depended in ever-growing degrees on wider epistemic bases: the knowledge base was growing and those who needed it, whether they were inventors or engineers, had access to that knowledge. While the years between 1830 and 1870 were the age of the railroad and the telegraph and witnessed the triumphs of British technology at the Crystal Palace exhibition in 1851, the full triumph of technology was only secured after 1870 with the arrival of cheap steel, electrical power, chemicals, and other advances associated with the second Industrial Revolution. Yet historians, celebrating the second Industrial Revolution as the central event of economic history and the true beginning of modern technological society (e.g. Smil, 2006), need to confront the importance of the precedence of the first Industrial Revolution and the Enlightenment that made it possible.
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Brock, William H. 1992. The Norton History of Chemistry. New York: W. W. Norton. Burke, Peter. 2000. A Social History of Knowledge. Cambridge: Polity Press. Cardwell, Donald S. L. 1994. The Fontana History of Technology. London: Fontana Press. Cohen, H. Floris 2004. “Inside Newcomen’s Fire Engine: the Scientific Revolution and
the Rise of the Modern World.” History of Technology 25 , pp. 111-132. Croker, Thomas. 1764-66. The Complete Dictionary of Arts and Sciences. 3 vols.
London: printed for the authors, and sold by J. Wilson & J. Fell. Dasgupta, Partha and Paul A. David. 1994. “Toward a New Economics of Science.”
Research Policy, Vol. 23, pp. 487-521. David, Paul A. 2004. “Patronage, Reputation, and Common Agency Contracting in the
Scientific Revolution.” unpub. ms., Stanford University, Aug. Davy, Humphry. 1840. “A Discourse, Introductory to a Course of Lectures on
Chemistry.” In The Collected Works of Sir Humphry Davy edited by John Davy, London: Smith, Elder & Co., 1840.
Desaguliers, Jean Theophile. 1763. A Course of Experimental Philosophy, third edition, London: Printed for A. Millar (2 vols.)
Donovan, A. L. 1975. Philosophical Chemistry in the Scottish Enlightenment. Edinburgh: at the University Press. Eamon, William. 1994. Science and the Secrets of Nature. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. Ekelund, Robert B. Jr., and Tollison, Robert D., 1997. Politicized Economies:
Monarchy, Monopoly, and Mercantilism. College Station: Texas A&M University Press.
Gillespie, Charles Coulston. 1960. The Edge of Objectivity: an Essay in the History of Scientific Ideas. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Golinski, Jan. 1992. Science as Public Culture: Chemistry and Enlightenment in Britain, 1760–1820. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Hall, A. Rupert. 1974. "What Did the Industrial Revolution in Britain Owe to Science?" In Neil McKendrick, ed., Historical Perspectives: Studies in English Thought and Society. London: Europa Publications.
Harris, John R. 2001. Industrial Espionage and Technology Transfer. Aldershot, Eng.: Ashgate. Hilaire-Pérez, Liliane. L’invention technique au siècle des lumières. Paris: Albin Michel. 2000. Horn, Jeff. 2006. The Path not Taken: French Industrialization in the Age of
Revolution. Cambridge, MA, MIT Press. Jacob, Margaret C. and Larry Stewart. 2004. Practical Matter: Newton’s Science in the
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Khan, B. Zorina. 2004. The Democratization of Invention: Patents and Copyrights in American Economic Development, 1790-1920. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
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Source and Beyond.” NBER Working paper 10956 (Dec.). Lipsey, Richard G. Carlaw, Kenneth I. and Bekar, Clifford T. 2005. Economic
Transformations: General Purpose Technologies and Long-term Economic Growth. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
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hunters_gatherers_economist_19Dec07
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Hemis.fr
Hunter-gatherers
Noble or savage? Dec 19th 2007 From The Economist print edition
The era of the hunter-gatherer was not the social and environmental Eden that some suggest
HUMAN beings have spent most of their time on the planet as hunter-gatherers. From at least 85,000 years ago to the birth of agriculture around 73,000 years later, they combined hunted meat with gathered veg. Some people, such as those on North Sentinel Island in the Andaman Sea, still do. The Sentinelese are the only hunter-gatherers who still resist contact with the outside world. Fine-looking specimens—strong, slim, fit, black and stark naked except for a small plant-fibre belt round the waist—they are the very model of the noble savage. Genetics suggests that indigenous Andaman islanders have been isolated since the very first expansion out of Africa more than 60,000 years ago.
About 12,000 years ago people embarked on an experiment called agriculture and some say that they, and their planet, have never recovered. Farming brought a population explosion, protein and vitamin deficiency, new diseases and deforestation. Human height actually shrank by nearly six inches after the first adoption of crops in the Near East. So was agriculture “the worst mistake in the history of the human race”, as Jared Diamond, evolutionary biologist and professor of geography at the University of California, Los Angeles, once called it?
Take a snapshot of the old world 15,000 years ago. Except for bits of Siberia, it was full of a new and clever kind of people who had originated in Africa and had colonised first their own continent, then Asia, Australia and Europe, and were on the brink of populating the Americas. They had spear throwers, boats, needles, adzes, nets. They painted pictures, decorated their bodies and believed in spirits. They traded foods, shells, raw materials and ideas. They sang songs, told stories and prepared herbal medicines.
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They were “hunter-gatherers”. On the whole the men hunted and the women gathered: a sexual division of labour is still universal among non-farming people and was probably not shared by their Homo erectus predecessors. This enabled them to eat both meat and veg, a clever trick because it combines quality with reliability.
Why change? In the late 1970s Mark Cohen, an archaeologist, first suggested that agriculture was born of desperation, rather than inspiration. Evidence from the Fertile Crescent seems to support him. Rising human population density, combined perhaps with a cooling, drying climate, left the Natufian hunter-gatherers of the region short of acorns, gazelles and wild grass seeds. Somebody started trying to preserve and enhance a field of chickpeas or wheat-grass and soon planting, weeding, reaping and threshing were born.
Quite independently, people took the same step in at least six other parts of the world over the next few thousand years: the Yangzi valley, the central valley of New Guinea, Mexico, the Andes, West Africa and the Amazon basin. And it seems that Eden came to an end. Not only had hunter-gatherers enjoyed plenty of protein, not much fat and ample vitamins in their diet, but it also seems they did not have to work very hard. The Hadza of Tanzania “work” about 14 hours a week, the !Kung of Botswana not much more.
The first farmers were less healthy than the hunter-gatherers had been in their heyday. Aside from their shorter stature, they had more skeletal wear and tear from the hard work, their teeth rotted more, they were short of protein and vitamins and they caught diseases from domesticated animals: measles from cattle, flu from ducks, plague from rats and worms from using their own excrement as fertiliser.
They also got a bad attack of inequality for the first time. Hunter-gatherers' dependence on sharing each other's hunting and gathering luck makes them remarkably egalitarian. A successful farmer, however, can afford to buy the labour of others, and that makes him more successful still, until eventually—especially in an irrigated river valley, where he controls the water—he can become an emperor imposing his despotic whim upon subjects. Friedrich Engels was probably right to identify agriculture with a loss of political innocence.
Agriculture also stands accused of exacerbating sexual inequality. In many peasant farming communities, men make women do much of the hard work. Among hunter-gathering folk, men usually bring fewer calories than women, and have a tiresome tendency to prefer catching big and infrequent prey so they can show off, rather than small and frequent catches that do not rot before they are eaten. But the men do at least contribute.
Recently, though, anthropologists have subtly revised the view that the invention of agriculture was a fall from grace. They have found the serpent in hunter-gatherer Eden, the savage in the noble savage. Maybe it was not an 80,000-year camping holiday after all.
In 2006 two Indian fishermen, in a drunken sleep aboard their little boat, drifted over the reef and fetched up
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Homo sapiens wrought havoc
on many ecosystems as Homo erectus
had not
MEPL
on the shore of North Sentinel Island. They were promptly killed by the inhabitants. Their bodies are still there: the helicopter that went to collect them was driven away by a hail of arrows and spears. The Sentinelese do not welcome trespassers. Only very occasionally have they been lured down to the beach of their tiny island home by gifts of coconuts and only once or twice have they taken these gifts without sending a shower of arrows in return.
Several archaeologists and anthropologists now argue that violence was much more pervasive in hunter-gatherer society than in more recent eras. From the !Kung in the Kalahari to the Inuit in the Arctic and the aborigines in Australia, two-thirds of modern hunter-gatherers are in a state of almost constant tribal warfare, and nearly 90% go to war at least once a year. War is a big word for dawn raids, skirmishes and lots of posturing, but death rates are high—usually around 25-30% of adult males die from homicide. The warfare death rate of 0.5% of the population per year that Lawrence Keeley of the University of Illinois calculates as typical of hunter-gatherer societies would equate to 2 billion people dying during the 20th century.
At first, anthropologists were inclined to think this a modern pathology. But it is increasingly looking as if it is the natural state. Richard Wrangham of Harvard University says that chimpanzees and human beings are the only animals in which males engage in co-operative and systematic homicidal raids. The death rate is similar in the two species. Steven LeBlanc, also of Harvard, says Rousseauian wishful thinking has led academics to overlook evidence of constant violence.
I know it's a drag Godric, but it's progress
Not so many women as men die in warfare, it is true. But that is because they are often the object of the fighting. To be abducted as a sexual prize was almost certainly a common female fate in hunter-gatherer society. Forget the Garden of Eden; think Mad Max.
Constant warfare was necessary to keep population density down to one person per square mile. Farmers can live at 100 times that density. Hunter-gatherers may have been so lithe and healthy because the weak were dead. The invention of agriculture and the advent of settled society merely swapped high mortality for high morbidity, allowing people some relief from chronic warfare so they could at least grind out an existence, rather than being ground out of existence altogether.
Notice a close parallel with the industrial revolution. When rural peasants swapped their hovels for the textile mills of Lancashire, did it feel like an improvement? The Dickensian view is that factories replaced a rural idyll with urban misery, poverty, pollution and illness. Factories were indeed miserable and the urban poor were overworked and underfed. But they had flocked to take the jobs in factories often to get away from the cold, muddy, starving rural hell of their birth.
Eighteenth-century rural England was a place where people starved each spring as the winter stores ran out, where in bad years and poor districts long hours of agricultural labour—if it could be got—barely paid enough to keep body and soul together, and a place where the “putting-out” system of textile manufacture at home drove workers harder for lower pay than even the factories would. (Ask Zambians today why they take ill-paid jobs in Chinese-managed mines, or Vietnamese why they sew shirts in multinational-owned factories.) The industrial revolution caused a population explosion because it enabled more babies to survive—malnourished, perhaps, but at least alive.
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Soon collecting wild grass seeds
evolved into planting and
reaping crops, which meant
fewer proteins and vitamins but
ample calories
Bridgeman Art Library
Returning to hunter-gatherers, Mr LeBlanc argues (in his book “Constant Battles”) that all was not well in ecological terms, either. Homo sapiens wrought havoc on many ecosystems as Homo erectus had not. There is no longer much doubt that people were the cause of the extinction of the megafauna in North America 11,000 years ago and Australia 30,000 years before that. The mammoths and giant kangaroos never stood a chance against co-ordinated ambush with stone-tipped spears and relentless pursuit by endurance runners.
This was also true in Eurasia. The earliest of the great cave painters, working at Chauvet in southern France, 32,000 years ago, was obsessed with rhinoceroses. A later artist, working at Lascaux 15,000 years later, depicted mostly bison, bulls and horses—rhinoceroses must have been driven close to extinction by then. At first, modern human beings around the Mediterranean relied almost entirely on large mammals for meat. They ate small game only if it was slow moving—tortoises and limpets were popular. Then, gradually and inexorably, starting in the Middle East, they switched their attention to smaller animals, and especially to warm-blooded, fast-breeding species, such as rabbits, hares, partridges and smaller gazelles. The archaeological record tells this same story at sites in Israel, Turkey and Italy.
Another fine environmental mess we've got ourselves into
The reason for this shift, say Mary Stiner and Steven Kuhn of the University of Arizona, was that human population densities were growing too high for the slower-reproducing prey such as tortoises, horses and rhinos. Only the fast-breeding rabbits, hares and partridges, and for a while gazelles, could cope with such hunting pressure. This trend accelerated about 15,000 years ago as large game and tortoises disappeared from the Mediterranean diet altogether—driven to the brink of extinction by human predation.
In times of prey scarcity, Homo erectus, like other predators, had simply suffered local extinction; these new people could innovate their way out of trouble—they could shift their niche. In response to demographic pressure, they developed better weapons which enabled them to catch smaller, faster prey, which in turn enabled them to survive at high densities, though at the expense of extinguishing many larger and slower-breeding prey. Under this theory, the atlatl or spear-throwing stick was invented 18,000 years ago as a response to a Malthusian crisis, not just because it seemed like a good idea.
What's more, the famously “affluent society” of hunter-gatherers, with plenty of time to gossip by the fire between hunts and gathers, turns out to be a bit of a myth, or at least an artefact of modern life. The measurements of time spent getting food by the !Kung omitted food-processing time and travel time, partly because the anthropologists gave their subjects lifts in their vehicles and lent them metal knives to process food.
Agriculture was presumably just another response to demographic pressure. A new threat of starvation—probably during the millennium-long dry, cold “snap” known as the Younger Dryas about 13,000 years ago—prompted some hunter-gatherers in the Levant to turn much more vegetarian. Soon collecting wild grass seeds evolved into planting and reaping crops, which reduced people's intake of proteins and vitamins, but brought ample calories, survival and fertility.
The fact that something similar happened six more times in human history over the next few thousand years—in Asia, New Guinea, at least three places in the Americas and one in Africa—supports the notion of invention as a response to demographic pressure. In each case the early farmers, though they might be
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short, sick and subjugated, could at least survive and breed, enabling them eventually to overwhelm the remaining hunter-gatherers of their respective continents.
It is irrelevant to ask whether we would have been better off to stay as hunter-gatherers. Being a niche-shifting species, we could not help moving on. Willingly or not, humanity had embarked 50,000 years ago on the road called “progress” with constant change in habits driven by invention mothered by necessity. Even 40,000 years ago, technology and lifestyle were in a state of continuous change, especially in western Eurasia. By 34,000 years ago people were making bone points for spears, and by 26,000 years ago they were making needles. Harpoons and other fishing tackle appear at 18,000 years ago, as do bone spear throwers, or atlatls. String was almost certainly in use then—how do you catch rabbits except in nets and snares?
Nor was this virtuosity confined to practicalities. A horse, carved from mammoth-ivory and worn smooth by being used as a pendant, dates from 32,000 years ago in Germany. By the time of Sungir, an open-air settlement from 28,000 years ago at a spot near the city of Vladimir, north-east of Moscow, people were being buried with thousands of laboriously carved ivory beads and even little wheel-shaped bone ornaments.
Incessant innovation is a characteristic of human beings. Agriculture, the domestication of animals and plants, must be seen in the context of this progressive change. It was just another step: hunter-gatherers may have been using fire to encourage the growth of root plants in southern Africa 80,000 years ago. At 15,000 years ago people first domesticated another species—the wolf (though it was probably the wolves that took the initiative). After 12,000 years ago came crops. The internet and the mobile phone were in some vague sense almost predestined 50,000 years ago to appear eventually.
There is a modern moral in this story. We have been creating ecological crises for ourselves and our habitats for tens of thousands of years. We have been solving them, too. Pessimists will point out that each solution only brings us face to face with the next crisis, optimists that no crisis has proved insoluble yet. Just as we rebounded from the extinction of the megafauna and became even more numerous by eating first rabbits then grass seeds, so in the early 20th century we faced starvation for lack of fertiliser when the population was a billion people, but can now look forward with confidence to feeding 10 billion on less land using synthetic nitrogen, genetically high-yield crops and tractors. When we eventually reverse the build-up in carbon dioxide, there will be another issue waiting for us.
grantham2
grantham1
gerschenkron
Friedman_Morals and Markets Ch3
1
Morals and Markets: An Evolutionary Account of the Modern World
by
Daniel Friedman December 2007
(published October 2008 by Palgrave Macmillan)
Jacket copy:
The modern world is the marriage of morals and markets. Marital frictions can bring
financial meltdowns, environmental disasters, criminal gangs, terrorism and war. Yet
sometimes the marriage works well and spreads health and wealth across the globe.
The book draws on recent academic research in evolutionary game theory and behavioral
economics, and tells familiar stories like the rise of Google as well as forgotten tales like
the Ponzi scheme that swallowed Albania. The characters range from amoebas and
William Blake to Boris Yeltsin and Zorro. Readers gain a fresh perspective on the
modern world and new hope for the future.
Table of Contents Prologue.
Anatomy of a scandal. A marital spat. Where we are going. …And beyond.
Chapter 1. The Savanna Code: What Good are Morals?
A slimy social dilemma. Nepotism to the rescue. Reciprocity in blood and
backscratch. African crucible. Moral capacities. The moral system. Us and Them. African
exodus.
Chapter 2. Bazaar and Empire: How Did We Become Civilized and Start Shopping?
Settling down. Giving gifts. Building empires. Imperial morals. Bazaar logic.
Market magic. Mercantile empires.
2
Chapter 3. The Great Transformation: Why is the Modern World So Rich?
1000 AD. Imperial economics. Imperial politics. The European advantage.
Europe’s markets. Inside the chrysalis. The moral transformation. Rich caterpillars: Spain
and China. The butterfly.
Chapter 4. Utopias of Cooperation: The Rise and Fall of Communism.
Markets are unfair. Disruptive new markets for land. …And for labor. …And for
anti-market politics. The evolution of Marxism-Leninism. Communism reaches Russia.
The rise of the Soviet empire. Decline and fall.
Chapter 5. Russia’s Transition to Kleptocracy: When Markets Need Morals.
The Soviet swamp. The perils of perestroika. Shocks. Oligarchs and kleptocrats.
Moral fiber for markets. Russia recently.
Chapter 6. Japan’s Bubbles and Zombies: When Morals Choke Markets.
Looking back. Economic sunrise. Bubble and crash. Zombie finance. A second
sunrise?
Chapter 7. Towers of Trust: The rise (and occasional crash) of financial markets.
A tale of two bubbles: Tirana 1997, London 1720. Promises, promises: the moral
finance of eranos. The dark side of daneizein. A princely paradox. Banks branch out.
Promises for sale. Financial market magic. The sorcerer’s apprentice. Lessons learned
and unsolved mysteries.
Chapter 8. From Hudson's Bay to eBay: Why Do Some People Like Going to Work?
Dilemmas and holdups. Markets meet morals: organizations and motivation. The
corporate takeover. The union label. A delicate balance. Times change. Good old
networks. The new networks. Life in the NetZone. Nets at work. Networks and
corporations: conflict and cooperation.
Chapter 9. Markets for Crime and Markets for Punishment.
3
The nature of crime and vice. Crime fighting morals. The Corsican connection.
Rule of law. Jeremy Bentham and rational crime fighting. Do markets suppress crime?
Markets for vices. Crime fighting industries. Morals help markets run amok.
Chapter 10. Mullahs’ Revenge: Gangs, Cults, and Anti-Terrorists.
The Mafia. Youth gangs. Deviant morals, deviant markets. Religion. A terrorist
cult. Who is a terrorist? What is a cult? Classic anti-terror tactics. Terror and anti-terror
tactics co-evolve. New anti-terror tactics.
Chapter 11. Cooling the Earth: Environmental Markets and Morals.
Anatomy of a tragedy. Moral management. Markets corrode morals. The great
green crusade. Industry strikes back. Coda for cod. Theories of the long run. Marrying
markets to morals. Greenhouse gas markets.
Chapter 12: Future Morals and Markets: Can This Marriage Be Saved?
Origins of honor. When moral codes collide. Noxious nostalgia. Is religion the
problem? What sort of morals should we want? What sort of markets? What’s wrong
with inequality? Can global markets prevent war? Building better markets. Building a
better marriage.
Appendix: Technical Details.
Social and biological evolution. Coevolution and dynamics. Social dilemmas and
coordination problems. Coping with social dilemmas: kinship and reciprocity. Schematic
overview of the moral system. The unpleasant arithmetic behind hierarchy. Markets’
inner workings. The Duke and Serf game. Asset Price and Fundamental Value. Notes on
networks.
Endnotes
Bibliography
4
[Index]
Chapter 3. The Great Transformation: Why is the Modern World So Rich?
About 200 years ago a new system took root in Western Europe. That system then spread
across the globe, bringing down the last of the great empires and setting humanity on a
new course. Markets are the core of the new system, but it reaches far beyond the
economic sphere and pervades all aspects of our social life, including governance,
technology, education, and even religion.
As in all evolutionary transitions, the new system used preexisting components. It
combined them in a new way, gained critical mass at an edge of the existing order, and
then swept the world, creating new niches and destroying old ones.
What was the new combination? Economic historian Karl Polanyi (1886-1964)
put it this way: “Instead of economy being embedded in social relations, social relations
are embedded in the economic system.” He added that the “great transformation” to the
self-regulating market system “resembles more the metamorphosis of the caterpillar than
any alteration that can be expressed in terms of continuous growth and development.”
Economist Axel Leijonhufvud describes the transformation by comparing the life
of a hypothetical modern Frenchman, M. Baudot, to the surprisingly well documented
life of an actual French tenth century serf named Bodo. “Bodo had short life expectancy,
was unfree and uneducated, and lived a life of unceasing hard physical labor,” writes
Leijonhufvud. Almost all of Bodo’s consumption was produced by his own household
and a handful of others he knew personally while, by contrast, a vast and ever-changing
network of producers sustains M. Baudot. It includes people halfway around the world,
“whom he has never met, and of whose existence he is hardly aware. On the other hand,
he may or may not know his immediate neighbors, nor is he economically dependent on
them in any significant way.”
This chapter studies the metamorphosis. We begin with the caterpillar.
1000 AD
5
A thousand years ago, things were looking good for Basil II, Emperor of Constantinople.
He had consolidated control of the empire’s core, now modern-day Turkey and Greece.
He had also recaptured much of the Empire’s southern and eastern lands, now Lebanon,
Syria and northern Iraq, for the first time since Muslim armies swept through centuries
before. In AD 1000, Armenia had rejoined the empire as a tributary. Basil’s treasury was
getting stronger by the day, and his alliance with the Rus gave him confidence that he
could finally take on his most dangerous enemy, Samuil, King of the Bulgars.
Basil had navigated treacherous currents. Born to Emperor Romanos II and his
beautiful young Armenian wife Theophano, young Basil saw his father die of poison and
his mother keep power by marrying a top general. But, conspiring with her new lover
John, his mother poisoned Basil’s unpopular stepfather a few years later. The Church
Patriarch allowed John to be crowned Emperor, but only after he agreed to exile
Theophano. In her rage, she denounced John, and when Basil stood with him, she
screamed that her son was conceived illegitimately. A few years later, in 976 AD, John
died of – you guessed it – poison, and 18 year old Basil inherited the crown.
Basil moved cautiously at first. He honed his military skills, and learned
administration (a weak point of his predecessors) from the wily eunuch Lekapenos. In
988 he made a deal with Prince Vladimir of Kiev, leader of the Rus barbarians. The
Prince married Basil’s young sister Anna, and in exchange he and his subjects converted
to Christianity. Vladimir also sent six thousand shock troops, giving Basil the muscle he
needed to capture and kill the powerful landholders who presumably had poisoned his
predecessor. With internal threats finally neutralized, Basil was able to fill the depleted
treasury while reducing farmers’ taxes.
Basil eventually did beat the Bulgars. At the time of his death in 1026, his
Byzantine (or Eastern Roman) Empire was stronger than since the days of Justinian, five
centuries earlier.
But Basil never was able to revive the western part of the Roman Empire, and his
successors frittered away his gains. His exploits had no lasting effect. Nor did those of his
contemporaries, the great Muslim rulers Al-Mansur of Cordoba (Spain), Mahmud of
Ghazni (Pakistan and Afghanistan), Tenkaminen of Ghana, and Al-Hakim of North
6
Africa. Indeed, since the dawn of the age of empires six thousand years earlier, nothing
fundamental had changed.
Imperial economics
According to The Wall Street Journal’s millennium edition, Basil and his peers were the
richest men of their era. Like their predecessors, each owed his wealth to some
combination of plunder, taxing peasants and miners, and control of long distance trade.
In those days, plunder and long distance trade were close substitutes. Basil might
have been able to increase his wealth and power by sacking Cairo, Al-Hakim’s capital,
but that was a risky proposition. Basil would have to cover the up-front costs of
assembling and moving a large enough army. He’d have to worry about how the soldiers,
many of them farm boys from Thrace and Armenia, would perform on the road, and
about what might happen meanwhile back in Byzantium. All things considered, Basil
found it more prudent instead to send Al-Hakim furs and slaves (coming into his empire
from the Rus) and silk (from Song China via Afghanistan), and to encourage Al-Hakim
to send gold and ivory (from Ghana) in return.
Such long distance trade is more like gift exchange than like a market transaction.
Often using polite diplomatic language (or, sometimes, rude ultimatums), the rulers
bargained and made long term deals, and delegated the details and the logistics to favored
subjects. The terms of trade often had more to do with military capabilities than with
impersonal forces of supply and demand.
A few traders enjoyed a degree of independence, especially those in a network
that spanned the Muslim Mediterranean a thousand years ago. The region included about
a dozen major trade centers between Cairo and Cordoba, each with a large bazaar and
specialized traders, warehouses and swarms of retailers. The Maghribi network shipped
goods from a center with lower prices to centers with higher prices, say wheat and pepper
from Cairo and wool and wine from Cordoba.
Economic historian Avner Greif points out that long distance traders faced a
severe social dilemma. Agents at remote centers could siphon off a lot of money and not
face questioning for many months, and then could plausibly tell their master that bandits
(or local officials) had taken the goods, or that prices were low because the goods had
7
deteriorated or because other cargoes had arrived earlier. The veil of risk and delay made
it difficult to prove that the agent had cheated.
Greif argues that the Maghribi network thrived due to a unique moral system.
Most of the traders descended from Jewish émigrés from Baghdad, and their minority
status and ethnic ties made the network very difficult for outsiders to enter. With many
network members in each trade center, there were ample opportunities for cross-
monitoring and gossip, as in hunter-gatherer bands. High levels of literacy and the
exchange of personal and commercial letters extended monitors’ reach. Any would-be
cheater risked the loss of reputation, and that would be a professional and personal
disaster. Network members could cheat a disgraced trader with impunity, or just shun
him, and at the same time his marriage prospects (or those of his children) would suffer.
Cheaters therefore were very few and, once identified, they usually returned their ill-
gotten gains quickly. The network thus enjoyed a high degree of honesty, and that
enabled profitable long distance trade.
In AD 1000, the vast majority of the planet’s quarter of a billion people hardly
noticed the long distance trade. Most were peasants, paying taxes to local authorities.
Market exchange was quite limited; perhaps a few times each year, a peasant might take a
spare duck or pig or extra grain to the local market and come back with farm tools or
furniture constructed locally, or perhaps a little pepper from far away.
People in those days worked and lived in a thicket of social obligations. European
peasants, for example, owed local authorities and neighbors various sorts of unpaid
weekly and annual labor called weekwork, boonwork, corvée, and banalities. In return
the peasant could grow certain crops on particular strips of land, share the communal
grain fields and get limited access to the lord’s pastures, flour mills and ovens. He and his
family seldom had much choice in how to spend their time, but they did receive a small
degree of social security. Polanyi summarizes as follows: Though the institution of the market was fairly common since the later Stone Age, its role was no more
than incidental to economic life. …man’s economy, as a rule, is submerged in his social relationships. He does not act so as to safeguard his individual interest in the possession of material goods; he acts so
as to safeguard his social standing, his social claims, his social assets. He values material goods only
insofar as they serve this end. (p. 43, 46.)
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Taxation and plunder in those days also were closely related, and bound up in the
social web. To understand the connections, it may be helpful to consider a simple and
stylized two person game. Player 1, the Serf let us say, chooses during the growing
season how much to plant and how much effort to invest in raising the crop. At harvest
time, Player 2, the landlord or Duke, chooses how much of the crop to grab for himself,
leaving the rest to Player 1.
The solution to this game depends on whether the two players think that the game is
one-shot or, alternatively, that they will play it every year into the indefinite future. In the
one-shot case, Player 2 may be thought of as a “roving bandit,” and the equilibrium is
very unfortunate. It then is rational for Player 2 to take virtually everything, and Player 1,
anticipating this, will invest virtually nothing in raising the crop. Both players receive a
minimal payoff. The lesson is that when plunder is expected, everyone suffers, even the
bandit. The situation breeds extreme poverty and a low population.
Things turn out better when Player 2 is a “stationary bandit.” In this case, it is in his
interest to encourage Player 1 to invest more next year. The more patient is Player 2, the
more he is willing to let Player 1 keep. A game theoretic analysis shows that the result is
larger crops and higher payoffs for both players. This solution to the game would be
implemented via social customs and obligations, sometimes reinforced by emotional ties
of loyalty and trust.
That is, when the local authority is confident that he will remain in control into the
indefinite future, he will tax serfs at a lower rate, and the serfs will increase the harvest,
benefiting everyone. This may help explain why, after he killed the evil landlords, Basil
was able to reduce farm taxes and strengthen his treasury at the same time.
Imperial politics
Although details varied, the basic plan for civilized life was the same everywhere,
millennium after millennium. Peasants formed the base of the political pyramid. The
local authorities took some of their crop as taxes, and some of their boys to serve as
soldiers. (Slaves often anchored the base, doing the worst tasks in farming, mining or
rowing.) The pyramid narrowed quickly as you moved higher. Junior officers and artisans
and merchants occupied the middle tier. Above them stood small elite groups such as
9
generals, nobles, high officials, and religious leaders. One man—the emperor, we’ll say,
though his title might be caliph or king or khan—sat at the apex and held the reins of
power.
The emperor always faced threats, both internal and external. Always some
ambitious nephew or duke or neighboring emperor was ready to grab the pyramid’s top
spot whenever he thought his soldiers could beat the incumbent’s. Therefore the
emperor’s first priority was military might. Young Basil learned horsemanship, sword
fighting and military tactics before anything else.
But how do you build a loyal and strong military? You need a coalition of elite
groups. Basil, for example, received the blessings of the Patriarch, the highest official in
the Eastern Christian Church, and (despite complaints about its increased taxes) the
Church enjoyed support and protection throughout Basil’s empire. Unlike his
predecessors, Basil adopted the children of fallen officers, and spent years with the troops
in the field, earning their personal loyalty.
Personal ties help, but they are not enough to sustain a medium or large empire—
the elite groups are just too numerous and diverse to bind together into a single ingroup.
To maintain control, every imperial dynasty needed steady streams of revenue. Take the
silk trade, for example. Mahmud of Ghazni would allow traders to buy bolts of fine cloth
in Western China and (after paying him a hefty tax) sell them at Basil’s eastern border.
But Basil wouldn’t let just anyone buy. Silk was a royal monopoly, a crucial source of
revenue and power. He’d allow only favored merchants to buy the silk and to sell it to the
Maghribi traders and other customers in the west. The merchants would return a large
chunk of the revenue to Basil’s treasury, and offer him political support. If they didn’t,
Basil could exile or execute them and find someone more pliable.
It wasn’t just Basil, and it wasn’t just silk. Monopoly profits from key
commodities were the economic lifeblood of traditional empires. Merchants could not
obtain the goods (say sesame oil or salt) without royal permission. That came at a price—
high taxes or license fees—but in return the merchant didn’t have to worry about new
rivals entering and cutting price, and usually he got some protection from roving bandits.
These royal cartels were economically very inefficient, but they provided steady income
that glued the top of the pyramid together.
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Of course, there were variants on the basic plan. Occasionally a woman occupied
the top position—most notably, Hatshepsut in Egypt (reigned 1479-1458 BC) and
Elizabeth I in England (1588-1603). Once in a while, two or three people shared the top
spot. For example, a triumvirate took over Rome after the assassination of Julius Caesar,
but that only lasted a few years until Augustus pushed the other two aside and became the
first Roman Emperor.
The pyramid flattened in the hinterland and in border regions occupied by self-
sufficient farmers and herdsmen. The lifestyle there could be more egalitarian and
natural, and this has always had an appeal. Indeed, my own generation felt the tug, and
many of us went “back to the land” in remote rural areas. We tried as much as possible to
produce our own food, shelter and clothing, to trade goods and favors with our neighbors,
and to avoid long-distance trade.
Such a life is quite satisfying in many ways, but it is seldom a practical option.
To carve out a family homestead takes a pretty good tool set and access to fertile
unpopulated land. Such opportunities are rare and fleeting. When conditions are good
enough for the homesteaders to prosper, the population expands rapidly and hierarchy
returns within a generation or two. This was the story of the western frontier in nineteenth
century North America, and also the story of the northeastern European plains in
medieval times, after the wheeled plow and draft animals made it practical to farm the
heavy soil. Where the land is less fertile, say in remote mountain regions, one might find
yeoman farmers for many generations, but the lifestyle never spreads back into the more
densely populated areas.
Thus, until a few centuries ago, markets always played a subordinate role. Among
hunter-gatherers or herdsmen or self-sufficient farmers, personalized gift exchange is
much more important than market exchange. In the great empires, the ruler and his
minions monopolized access to the most important commodities. They extracted for
themselves as much income as possible, and seldom left much for ordinary people. So
markets were static and uncompetitive, just one component of the traditional political
order.
The European advantage
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How did Western Europe find a new way forward? As late as 1400, it still lagged behind
the great empires of China, India and the Islamic world. For example, the most promising
new technologies of that time—the water wheel, eyeglasses (which greatly increased
craftsmen’s productive years), clockwork, printing, and gunpowder—all were invented
elsewhere, mostly in China.
Europeans had the lead in only one significant technology. Leveraging expertise
in casting iron church bells, they made bigger and better cannons than anyone else. In
1450, the Ottomans hired Transylvanian Christians to build cannons to help break the
previously invulnerable defenses of Constantinople. They did their job, and the Ottomans
overran Basil’s city three years later, the final fall of the Roman Empire.
Western Europe’s real advantage was more subtle: in the 1400s it was more open
to the new technologies than anywhere else, and the technologies spread more rapidly.
New economic practices also spread more quickly in Europe. For example, about then the
new “putting out” system allowed farm families to earn cash by weaving and sewing at
home in seasons when they weren’t busy planting and harvesting crops. Equally
important, new governance practices started to take root, especially free cities. Europe
still lagged but somehow it was able to move faster.
Why? Two reasons. First, the dark ages had lifted, and once again Western
Europe was in contact with the outside world. In most respects the Crusades (1096-1272)
were disastrous—despite the high cost in blood and treasure, Jerusalem had become less
accessible, and many Christian countries, especially Byzantium, were weakened—but
they helped reopen connections to the Mediterranean and beyond. By 1400, and ever
after, goods and new ideas poured into Europe from the world’s most advanced
civilizations.
Second, Europe was so fragmented politically that nobody was able to stop
disruptive new practices. Suppose, for example, that you were an ambitious young
apprentice dyer in Bruges in 1500, and that you just discovered a new and cheaper way of
dyeing cloth. Widespread adoption of your idea would threaten the livelihoods of
established dyers and their suppliers so, in a traditional empire, the dyers would work
through their patrons in the ruling elite to suppress your idea. But in Bruges, you’d have
many options. Your master could profit by adopting your method, and if the local dyers’
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guild cracked down, then you (or perhaps another apprentice who picked up your idea)
could go to Amsterdam or some other city where the dyers’ guild wasn’t so strong, or
where the guilds wanted to grow. Weavers and tailors in your new town would then have
an advantage due to their access to cheaper, higher quality dye.
Europe’s markets
Even deep in the Dark Ages, following the collapse of the Western Roman Empire, there
still were lots of local spot markets open at least once a month. By 1100 AD several
Italian port cities (especially Genoa and Venice but also Pisa and Amalfi) had developed
personalized trade networks, somewhat like the Maghribis’, that reached into the western
backwaters as well as eastward across the Mediterranean.
The biggest gains, though, come from impersonal trade between disparate
regions. As the centuries went by, the toughest roving bandits of the north, the Vikings
and Normans, became more stationary, and a growing population spun a web of new
roads. At the same time, more pilgrims and merchants braved the Brenner and
Montgenèvre passes and the other old Roman roads through the Alps. Regional trade
fairs, like those of St Ives in England, expanded, and some began to go international.
The Champagne fairs are the prime example. Henry the Liberal (1122?-1181),
recently returned from the Second Crusade, took over as Count of the northern French
region of Champagne in 1152 AD. His lands lay at a major crossroad, and Henry realized
that the local annual fair could attract cloth makers from the Rhine delta as well as Italian
dyers and exporters. Henry quickly made the roads safe from bandits, gave autonomy and
protection to the fair organizers, and kept taxes low. Within a few years, and for more
than a century after, the merchants swarmed in from France and the Low Countries and
Italy, and also from Germany and Spain and beyond. Eventually there were nine separate
fairs each year, each lasting six weeks or so, rotating among Troyes, Provins and a few
other towns of Brie and southwest Champagne.
Markets thicken when many buyers and sellers show up at the same time from
many different places, and thick markets catalyze change. The wholesale markets in
Champagne reliably funneled income to those Dutch villagers who wove cloth from wool
and linen. Their relative prosperity attracted more people to the trade, and eventually
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sixty northern European towns were dominated by cloth makers who sold their output
exclusively through the fairs. They could pay their suppliers well, so more people spent
more time raising sheep and growing flax. Likewise, more young people were drawn into
the dyeing and tailoring trades, and into industries that made equipment or otherwise
catered to the cloth producers and merchants.
For the first time since the zenith of the Roman Empire, a large number of
Europeans made their living by producing goods to sell in the marketplace, and bought
their necessities. The old regime of rigid social obligations and local self-sufficiency
began to melt.
The most interesting part of the story may be the evolution of market formats and
practices. Imagine that you are a medieval merchant looking for fine wool cloth for your
Italian customers. Your first two problems are finding a seller, and agreeing on price.
These are easily solved when you go to Troyes in July: you look over the merchandise in
the huge warehouses, find what you want, check the fair’s registry for prices for similar
goods sold in the last couple of days, and, over a flagon of ale at your inn, you make a
deal with two cloth sellers. Thick markets do the trick.
But you still have two other big problems. You have to make sure that you get the
goods you bargained for—full measure with no moth eggs or inferior stuff mixed in—
and that you can transport them safely back to Italy. Likewise, the sellers have to make
sure they get paid on time and in full so they can pay their suppliers. Since you don’t
personally know the sellers and might not transact with them again, everyone needs
assurance against cheating. The other problem is financial. You will deliver the goods to
your customers in Italy two or three months after they were produced in northern towns,
and in the meantime someone will have to provide credit. Markets have to deal with these
credit and assurance problems, or they will shrivel as surely as if roving bandits took over
the roads.
According to Greif, Europe’s first widespread solution was the community
responsibility system. Here’s how it worked. Suppose you were cheated by a merchant
from Bremen. Then, the next time you saw any Bremenite, you would get the backing of
your fellow townsmen and seize his goods. The Bremenite and his friends would pressure
the cheater to compensate you. This system hooks into our ancient moral instincts about
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group identity. It also gives everyone a direct incentive to monitor and discipline their
fellow townsmen: if anyone misbehaves, then everyone from the town is endangered.
But, of course, the system doesn’t work perfectly. Sometimes false accusations
are hard to detect, and there can be honest differences of opinion. The matter then can
escalate into feuds, disrupting trade and conceivably leading to open warfare. Also, the
system didn’t scale up very well as trade increased during the 1200s. When your town
has too many merchants to know personally, and when satellite towns spring up, the lines
of responsibility begin to blur.
A better system grew from the fairs at Champagne and elsewhere. Lex
mercatoria, the "law merchant," was administered by a respected, experienced merchant,
who listened to both sides in a trade dispute and decided who owed what to whom. His
decisions stuck, because defiant merchants were shunned by everyone and thus lost their
livelihood. Even today, in dozens of industries—diamonds, independent films, printing,
rice, and tea to name a few—disputes are resolved in such merchant tribunals, and
decisions are enforced by the threat of expulsion from the trade association.
Some recent economic historians say that the medieval law merchant was not
really autonomous, and was actually subject to local control and local idiosyncrasies. Be
that as it may, in Champagne he had the backing of Count Henry the Liberal and his
successors. Several generations of merchants prospered as the law merchant enforced
credit agreements and quality assurances.
In 1273 Philip III, King of France, invaded Champagne and brought it into the
royal demesne. Over the next several decades, taxes rose, merchant privileges were
curtailed and facilities deteriorated. The Champagne fairs withered. But dozens of other
places throughout Western Europe filled in. Nurtured by the law merchant and other new
practices, her markets just kept growing. By 1400, Europe had some of the world’s most
supple and sophisticated markets.
Inside the chrysalis
Every historian has a favorite way to explain the great transformation. For a long time the
most popular way was to focus on the Industrial Revolution, and tell a heroic tale of
brave explorers and brilliant scientists and inventors who discovered a host of new
15
technologies: better sailing ships and looms, then steam engines, trains, sewing machines,
the telegraph, open hearth and Bessemer steel production, and so on up to cars and
airplanes. In this explanation, the new technologies naturally opened new markets and
transformed the economy.
Why did all these heroes happen to turn up in Western Europe (or, towards the
end, also in North America) and not elsewhere? Racist explanations won’t wash—other
peoples did better in other eras—and simple good luck seems unlikely for such a long
string of discoveries. The great sociologist Max Weber (1864-1920) pointed to a moral
and cultural advantage, the “Protestant work ethic.” Towards the end of the twentieth
century, politically correct pundits spotlighted the accomplishments of other cultures and
tried (rather unconvincingly) to minimize the uniqueness and importance of the great
transformation. Recent historians such as Landes and Clark have updated Weber, and
argued that Western morals were the root cause.
I will tell the story a different way, centered on markets. The engine driving the
great transformation was a dual positive feedback system. One feedback loop runs
through markets and technology: advances in one spur advances in the other. The other
loop runs through markets and the moral code, broadly construed to include legal and
political institutions. Once the engine first turned over, around 1400, its internal
dynamics made it run faster. Nobody stopped it for 400 years, and by 1800 it was
unstoppable. It transformed a caterpillar society into the bountiful butterfly we call the
modern world.
Enough metaphors. Let’s take a closer look at how markets interact with
technology, and begin in Sagres, at the southern tip of Portugal, in 1420. There Prince
Henry the Navigator (1394-1460) built a unique enterprise. Its mission: to explore the
Atlantic, especially the coast of Africa. Henry recruited the best mapmakers, navigational
instrument makers and boat builders he could find, including Jews and Muslims from
North Africa and Christians from Italy and Scandinavia.
Year by year, Henry’s men advanced the state of the art. They drew the first
reliable charts of the Atlantic coastline, constructed robust but accurate cross-staffs and
mathematical tables for measuring latitude, and perfected the caravel, a ship that could
tack sharply against the wind and carry a substantial cargo, yet still navigate shallows and
16
survive storms. His men quickly rediscovered and settled the Madeira Islands and, in
1427, they found the Azores. The great breakthrough came in 1434, when his men first
passed Cape Bojador, long thought to be the end of the world. The new sea routes gave
direct access to the riches of Africa beyond the Sahara desert, and gold, ivory and slaves
started to pour into Portugal.
Commercial success encouraged the Portuguese to continue improving their
seafaring technology. In 1498, Vasco de Gama became the first sailor ever to round the
Cape of Good Hope and reach India. Portugal dominated overseas trade from 1450 to
1550, operating about 90 percent of the 770 ships that then sailed the high seas. But her
pioneering role began to slip after 1497, when Spain and Rome forced her to crack down
on heretics. Over the next several decades, Jews and Muslims had to be baptized or leave,
and the Inquisition eventually forced out even the less orthodox Christian scholars.
Portugal was just a prelude. After Columbus and de Gama, all sorts of new
opportunities and new ideas from the Orient and the Americas streamed into European
port cities and trickled into inland towns. For reasons to be discussed shortly, the towns
were primed for the new ideas. New markets opened for the resulting products: machine-
spun threads and machine-woven cloth, better water-wheels to power better mills, and
always better ships and carts. The new products and cheaper transportation accelerated
trade in goods, and that boosted new markets for labor and finance. It’s a standard story
but still true: technological innovations spur markets.
The other part of the loop has received less attention: markets spur innovation and
new technologies. The cascade of new inventions was not due to the lucky appearance of
dozens of brilliant individuals; every generation and every locale has its share. (It is true
that from about 1500 onwards, more Europeans were educated and exposed to latest
developments, and this no doubt helped.) In my view, the main reason was the
unprecedented rewards that markets in Europe bestowed on innovators.
Innovation is normally suppressed in traditional empires, but increasingly in
Europe it found wealthy supporters. Powerful interests might oppose the innovation, but
somewhere someone stood to benefit. For example, canal owners in the early 1800s
might not want to see railroads develop, but owners of ironworks would. Using the
emerging financial markets, ironworks owners and other investors would provide
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resources to build the railroads, and those with a stake in canals (barge builders, toll
collectors, etc) could do little to slow it down.
Indeed, innovation was sometimes subsidized. Wealthy individuals and
governments sponsored contests with huge prizes for inventions that would improve their
market opportunities. Dava Sobel’s recent book Longitude, for example, describes the
contest to produce a device that would measure east-west position, a key to navigation on
the high seas.
More importantly, as markets grew the incentives increased for new innovation.
Maturing markets for land, labor and capital made it far easier and quicker to roll out a
new technology. And the wider goods markets meant more revenue and profit for the first
companies to do so. Innovation became a major source of wealth in the more advanced
countries, eventually surpassing plunder and the control of long distance trade.
Nowadays it is obvious that the market drives innovation, and private companies
as well as governments spend huge sums on research and development. Baumol’s recent
book The Free Market Innovation Machine focuses on the last 50 years in the US. As I
see it, however, the push from markets goes all the way back to Europe hundreds of years
ago.
The moral transformation
The great transformation is not just of the economy and technology, but also of law,
politics and personal morals. Let’s take a closer look at the loop from markets to politics
and law.
In traditional empires, towns and cities grew best near the imperial capital, but in
medieval Europe, free towns sprang up in spaces between the fiefdoms. Usually
dominated by merchant and craft guilds, the towns provided vital tax revenue to the local
feudal lords. The local lord therefore found it in his interest to protect the guilds’ local
monopolies, to defend the town against bandits and invaders, and to grant townsmen
privileges, such as exemption from corvée. The medieval German proverb stadtluft macht
frei translates roughly as: freedom is in the city air.
Changes in military technology from the 1400s increased the towns’ leverage.
Cannon and gunpowder favored offense over defense, and professional soldiers for hire
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were increasingly effective against local knights and conscripted serfs. Military success
more than ever required cash.
Impatient (or stupid) lords tried to squeeze neighboring towns harder but, as in
Champagne around 1300, this was self-defeating. The local businesses simply moved
elsewhere and soon the lord’s take declined. More enlightened and patient lords kept
taxes moderate and offered better privileges than rivals, and that allowed their local
towns to grow and prosper. Greater wealth, and greater military success, increasingly
went to regions and nations with laws and politics more favorable to merchants and other
townsmen.
Britain and the Low Countries led the way. From the 1500s onward, political
power there flowed towards elected representatives of the people (at least of wealthy
people). At the same time, these countries developed new and efficient commercial law
and commercial courts. Private property enjoyed unprecedented protection, and efficient
commercial techniques (such as double entry bookkeeping) took root. Commerce and
wealth accelerated in these countries, and other countries scrambled to catch up.
There is a paradox here: surrendering royal power to the courts became the best
way to maintain royal wealth and power. The simplistic Duke-Serf game described
earlier helps clarify an underlying strategic issue. When an impartial, independent court
can compel the Duke to obey, the Serf can take the tax rate as given. Such protection
from arbitrary seizures gives him greater incentive to increase the crop size, benefiting
both Serf and Duke. Indeed, both are better off than in the case where the Duke is a
stationary bandit, even a rather patient one. The conclusion holds with even more force
for relations between the local lord and townsmen whose businesses can go elsewhere.
Thus markets grew faster in cities and countries with more market-friendly laws
and politics, and those places became more wealthy and powerful. To avoid oblivion,
other places had to follow, or leapfrog. This ratchet pulled Europe’s political and legal
systems away from feudalism towards modernity, expanding markets all the while.
Personal moral codes also changed. Historians have noted that the countries
leading the industrial revolution were predominantly Protestant, and that Catholic
countries like Spain and Italy tended to lag. Weber suggested that the reason might be the
“Protestant work ethic.” His point was that Calvinist doctrine encouraged wealth
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accumulation, saving and investment, and that investment (in new factories, for example)
is essential to economic growth and development. By contrast, traditional Catholic
teachings like “it is easier for camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich
man to enter heaven” discourage savings and investment in things like new factories. In
Catholic southern Europe, most wealthy people gave higher priority to enhancing their
social standing by conspicuous consumption—building larger castles, for example—and
conspicuous donations to the Church and to charities.
Landes points out that the Protestant predilection for savings and investment was
part of a whole suite of personal traits—rationality, skepticism of authority, orderliness,
diligence, productivity—that helped people succeed in a dynamic market economy. So
too were the emerging middle class habits of passing moral judgments on neighbors and
exerting peer pressure. These traits were more common in Protestant Western Europe
than in traditional cultures, and they surely helped boost the economic transformation.
So Weber’s thesis is true as far as it goes, but it misses half of the loop. The
“Protestant” virtues became more prevalent precisely because they worked—they gave
people a real advantage when new opportunities opened in commerce and industry. These
virtues were not the lucky cause of the industrial revolution, as claimed by some of
Weber’s followers, but rather an effect, a part of the run-away dynamic. The logic is the
same as with the moral transition associated with the spread of river valley civilizations,
from unified egalitarian moral codes to fragmented hierarchical codes.
Moral traits conducive to the new market system were bound to appear
somewhere. If the Protestant reformation had not already been handy, then very similar
traits would have evolved directly from Catholicism or some other religious or
philosophical tradition—a later chapter will note that this happened in Japan, for
example. Once present, the new morals would spread, boosting and boosted by the new
market system.
Rich caterpillars: Spain and China
The process can also be understood by looking at places it was slow to reach. Two very
rich countries, Spain and China, escaped the transformation until late in the 20th century.
Why?
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Muslims, Christians and Jews shared the Iberian Peninsula for eight centuries. Its
major cities, especially Cordoba, Seville and Granada, were the western hub of the
civilized world, wealthy in goods and ideas. But everything changed in 1492, when
Christian rulers united the Peninsula (except for the western strip, Portugal, already held
by allies), and got the inside track to the New World. Spain then had no more border
problems and soon enjoyed the richest stream of plunder the world has ever seen. In an
average year in the 1500s, Spain’s galleons brought home two to four tons of gold,
mostly from her New World colonies, and the annual silver haul averaged over 200 tons
towards the end of the century.
Spain’s rulers then could pretty much do whatever they wanted. So what did they
want? As you might expect, they built up their capital, Madrid, and erected huge and
luxurious palaces. They also funneled vast sums of money to religious fanatics. The
Inquisition smothered dissent and new ideas within Spain’s borders and beyond, and
well-funded missionaries spread a particularly intolerant version of their faith. Spanish
rulers spent even more on military adventures, building a huge armada and hiring vast
armies. They enjoyed some success but never quite were able to conquer England or the
Netherlands.
By virtue of its geography and wealth, Spain (with Portugal in tow) was able to
isolate itself from the market-driven changes sweeping the rest of western Europe in the
1600s and 1700s. Landes and other historians point up Spain’s hidalgo mentality, scorn
for people who had to work for a living—sort of a Protestant ethic in reverse. Spain
started to fall behind. In the 1800s their richest colonies broke away and in 1898 the US
snapped up the remaining few. (The US still holds Puerto Rico and Guam, having spun
off Cuba right away and the Philippines after the Second World War.) In the twentieth
century, a Fascist dictatorship delayed Spain’s modernization until the late 1970s, but
since then she has made up for lost time.
By 1000 AD, China clearly had the world’s most advanced civilization and more
than a quarter of the world’s population. Peasants irrigated fields in the vast floodplain of
the Yangtze, Hwang He (Yellow) and other east-west rivers. Her infrastructure already
included the Great Wall on her northern border and, much more important, the thousand
mile Grand Canal, connecting the five largest rivers as it ran from Beijing and Kaifeng
21
south to Hangzhou. Inland waterways were far cheaper than other transportation modes
of the day, so China’s national network of watery highways was an unrivalled asset.
Most of the previous 1500 years China had enjoyed unified rule, but the
exceptions were especially fruitful. The Three Warring States period (403 – 221 BC) saw
great advances in iron technology, the beginnings of China’s civil service, classic
treatises on warfare like Sun Tzu’s, and the flowering of the Hundred Schools of
Thought, including Confucianism and Taoism. The period of Five Dynasties and Ten
Kingdoms (907-960) saw the first military application of gunpowder and a new creativity
in art and literature.
The Song dynasty ruled from Kaifeng in 1000 AD. They kept order until the Jin
dynasty ousted them from the north in 1127, and from Hangzhou they ruled the south for
another century and a half. Then the Mongols took over the entire country, as well as
much of Muslim world; for them, most of Europe wasn’t worth the trouble.
By 1400, the Ming dynasty had ousted the Mongols. The story of Zheng He
(1371-1433, often written Cheng-ho) reveals much about that era. Born to an aristocratic
Muslim family in the China’s remote southwestern corner, Zheng was captured at age 11
as the Ming consolidated control. He was castrated and taken to the new Ming court in
Beijing.
Somehow, a decade or so later, Zheng impressed the third Ming emperor, the
great Yongle. Perhaps it was Zheng’s stories of his father and grandfather’s hajj to exotic
Mecca, or maybe the emperor wanted tribute from India. For whatever reason, Yongle
ordered the construction of huge treasure ships, dwarfing Prince Henry’s caravels and
anything the world had ever seen. He put Zheng in charge of a series of naval
expeditions, the first with 317 ships carrying 28,000 armed troops. Between 1405 and
1433, the fleet planted colonies of Muslim Chinese in present day Malaysia, quashed the
local pirates, and visited ports in India, Arabia, and the east coast of Africa. Zheng gave
out gifts of silk and porcelain, occasionally intervened militarily (as in Ceylon), and
brought back wonders like giraffes and zebras.
Back in Beijing, a powerful faction saw the voyages as a threat. Its leaders
convinced Yongle’s successor that the Middle Kingdom had no need for the trinkets from
lesser civilizations, nor for their subversive ideas on religion and politics. The new
22
emperor cracked down. On his orders, the great treasure ships were decommissioned and
allowed to rot. Zheng’s charts and logs were destroyed and the shipyards were torn down,
along with the world’s greatest ironworks that had helped supply them. Even the
shipbuilders were exiled to remote provinces. China never again had a great navy.
The episode is symptomatic. China had a long lead over Portugal in seafaring,
but, due to internal politics, it threw it away. Centuries earlier, China’s powerful and
unified government suppressed its advanced gunpowder and cannon technologies, mainly
because it was more interested in defending fortifications than in attacking them. It
maintained tight monopolies on its key commodities such as silk and porcelain.
Unauthorized people who tried to produce these items, or even get an education, were
severely punished. China had a rich society, but it was closed to outside stimuli.
Sometime in the 1700s, Europe began to surpass China economically and
militarily. Europeans humiliated China in the opium wars of the mid-1800s and
afterwards grabbed what they wanted. China finally began to modernize, but it was a
slow process until the Japanese invaded in 1937. The communists led the resistance and,
not long after the end of WW II, they took over the entire Chinese mainland. They
modernized education and health care, but imposed their own political and economic
monopolies. Beginning in 1978, China began to liberalize the economy and it has grown
since then at an unprecedented rate. The Communist Party recently opened its ranks to
businesspeople but so far has not allowed open political competition.
The butterfly
In 1000 AD, Western Europe was an unpromising backwater, a patchwork of petty
Christian fiefdoms (including a pitiable collection that called itself the Holy Roman
Empire) and pagan territories. By 1400, an outsider trying to predict future world powers
would have to take Western Europe seriously, although in the end he probably would
have bet on more established players like the Ottomans in Turkey and Greece, or the
Mings in Beijing, or possibly the emerging Sayyid dynasty in Delhi.
By 1800 that contest was over. Western Europe had become the leading edge of
the great transformation, and traditional pyramid societies in the rest of the world began
23
to crumble. Still, somehow, it seems a bit mysterious. Why Western Europe 1400-1800,
and not some other time or place?
A short answer is that, for those four centuries, Europe enjoyed two conditions
that rarely coexist: access to long distance trade, and fragmented political control.
Throughout most of history, only people living in a capital city are exposed to long
distance trade in goods and ideas. Living in Kaifeng a thousand years ago, for example,
you could meet barge operators from South China, and they might have talked with
traders or scholars from India and other exotic places. But the Song rulers would never
give you the opportunity to try anything that might undermine their rule. On the other
hand, if you lived in a remote province where their control was weak, then you probably
wouldn’t have access to latest ideas or to markets, or to resources to do new things.
Hence, in China as in all traditional empires, innovation languished at both center and
periphery.
Western Europe’s political weakness was a crucial asset. The long external
coastline, the internal mountain barriers (especially the Alps, Carpathians and Pyrenees),
and the lack of rich resources (not much gold or spice) discouraged the rise of stable
empires. The feudal system created fragmented loyalties to kin, to overlord, and to the
Church, and weak and erratic control of Europe’s 2000 free towns and cities.
At the same time, the coastline and extensions of Roman roads encouraged long
distance trade. By 1400, Europeans had access to the best ideas in the world, and had the
opportunity to try them out. If an idea didn’t work in one town, the others didn’t suffer. If
it did work out, it could spread. In fact, competition among the fragmented authorities
virtually guaranteed that an idea would spread if it boosted local wealth.
Normally, what happens is that some fragment gets an advantage and consolidates
power. Then it can suppress threats, and things slow back down to normal. Greece had a
golden age when its many city-states vied with each other, but that faded when the
Macedonians, Philip and then Alexander and his successors, centralized power. Likewise,
innovation slowed considerably in Rome after Julius and then Augustus wrested power
from the fractious Senate.
Something similar almost happened in Europe around 1600. Spain had engulfed
Portugal and several other regions, and squelched dissent and innovation. But Europe
24
didn’t lose its momentum because people and ideas went elsewhere. Sparked partly by
refugees from Iberia, a golden age bloomed in the Low Countries. Britain also blossomed
and took the lead in industrial technology. The government tried to hoard industrial
secrets, but somehow they always leaked out. Ideas spread to France, Germany and the
rest of the continent, and cross fertilized.
Later, around 1800, revolutionary ideas spread in the wake of Napoleon’s
conquests. He tried to impose a unified empire, but it didn’t last long enough to slow
things down. Europe remained fragmented and open, and the market transformation
swept over the entire continent. The butterfly took flight.
25
Chapter 3 Notes.
Previous evolutionary transitions are discussed in, among other articles, Eors Szathmary
and John Maynard Smith, “The Major Evolutionary Transitions,” Nature 374, 16 March
1995, pp. 227-232. See also the last paragraph of Appendix 2 on transition dynamics.
Karl Polanyi, The Great Transformation, Boston: Beacon Press, 1944; quotes from pages
42 and 57. Polanyi’s thesis is that market system was an aberration of the 19th century
that was breaking down in the 20th century with the Great Depression and two World
Wars. Many economic historians now accept his view that ancient civilizations did not
have a self-regulating market system, but evidence is spotty and controversies remain. Of
course, his view of the market system’s 20th century demise was at best premature.
“The Individual, the Market, and the Division of Labor in Society,” by Axel
Leijonhufvud, Capitalism and Society, Vol. 2 : Iss. 2, Article 3 (2007).
Available at: http://www.bepress.com/cas/vol2/iss2/art3
For more on Basil’s life and times, see Basil II and the Governance of Empire by
Catherine Holmes, Oxford University Press, 2005.
Theophano’s story is from the classic Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by Edward
Gibbons.
The millennium edition of the Wall Street Journal (1/11/99 p R6) profiles Basil and his
contemporaries and the sources of their wealth.
“Contract Enforceability and Economic Institutions in Early Trade: The Maghribi
Traders’ Coalition,” by Avner Greif, American Economic Review 83:3, pp. 525-547 (June
1993)
26
“Dictatorship, Democracy, and Development,” by Mancur Olson, The American Political
Science Review, Vol. 87, No. 3. (Sep., 1993), pp. 567-576, coins the terms roving bandit
and stationary bandit.
The Duke-Serf game is formalized and solved in Appendix 8.
On the political pyramid of ancient civilizations, see any textbook. For example, A
Concise Economic History of the World, 4th Edition, by Rondo Cameron and Larry Neal,
NY: Oxford University Press, 2003, chapters 2 and 4. That textbook also contains
population estimates used in this chapter.
While revising this chapter, I encountered “A Conceptual Framework for Interpreting
Recorded Human History,” by Douglas North, John Wallis and Barry Weingast, George
Mason University Mercatus Center Working Paper 75. Its perspective overlaps my own,
but its focus is more on political changes than on market evolution.
“Monopoly profits … economically very inefficient.” Since Adam Smith, the point has
been central to economic analysis. Actually, royal cartels are far less efficient even than a
standard textbook monopoly, for three reasons. First, production (or trade) typically
involves high cost producers. Second, over time the barriers to entry raise costs. Third,
the cartels often include double marginalization. For example, the Afghan silk traders
would charge a monopoly markup and then the Byzantine traders would put a monopoly
markup on top of that, raising the final price above that of a profit maximizing unified
monopolist. Double marginalization is still discussed in some microeconomic texts, for
example Baye, Managerial Economics and Business Strategy, 5th Ed (McGraw-Hill,
2006) p. 420.
William H McNeill, The Age of Gunpowder Empires 1450-1800, American Historical
Association, 1989 mentions Europe’s early lead on cannon technology and the fall of
Constantinople.
27
“Contra Ricardo: On the macroeconomics of pre-industrial economies,” by George Grantham, European Review of Economic History (1999), 3: 199-232 also argues that the economic collapse of Western Europe in the Dark ages and its rise in medieval times are due largely to changes in access to markets and trade.
European contact with more advanced civilizations was spurred by the Mongols opening
of the Silk Road in the 1200s as well as by the Crusades. See Genghis Khan and the
Making of the Modern World, by Jack Weatherford, NY: Crown, 2004.
The role of political fragmentation and competition is also featured in The European
Miracle by Eric Jones, NY: Cambridge University Press, 1981.
The Champagne fairs are mentioned in most standard economic histories, e.g. Cameron-
Neal op cit, p. 65. A popular account of Troyes and its summer fair can be found in Life
in a Medieval City by Joseph and Frances Gies, Harper, 1981. The spirit of a smaller fair
at Shrewsbury is nicely captured in St. Peter's Fair: The Fourth Chronicle of Brother
Cadfael by Ellis Peters (Mysterious Press, 1992).
“History Lessons: The Birth of Impersonal Exchange: The Community Responsibility
System and Impartial Justice,” by Avner Greif, Journal of Economic Perspectives 20:2,
pp. 221-236 (Spring 2006).
“Coordination, Commitment and Enforcement: The Case of the Merchant Guild,” by
Avner Greif, Paul Milgrom and Barry Weingast, Journal of Political Economy 102:4, pp.
745-776 (1994). This influential article (or its overinterpretation) has been criticized in a
number of later articles, including
“Social Capital and Collusion: The Case of the Merchant Guilds,” by Roberta Dessi and
Sheilagh Ogilvie, CESifo working paper 1037 (September 2003), and
28
Sachs, Stephen E., "From St. Ives to Cyberspace: The Modern Distortion of the Medieval
'Law Merchant'." American University International Law Review, Vol. 21, No. 5, pp.
685-812, 2006.
Lisa Bernstein, “Private Commercial Law,” in New Palgrave Dictionary of Law and
Economics, Palgrave-MacMillan,1998.
Arguably the last and best book in the “heroic tale” tradition is The Discoverers by
Daniel Boorstin, NY: Random House, 1983. I’ve drawn on it for the story of Prince
Henry the Navigator.
Max Weber, The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, London: Allen and
Unwin, 1930 (German original, 1904). Weber is not as one-sided as some of his
followers. He notes (p. 186) that the Protestant ethic “was in turn influenced in its
development and character by the totality of social conditions, especially economic
ones.”
Richard H Tawney, Religion and the Rise of Capitalism, Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc:
1926.
Gregory Clark, A Farewell to Alms: A Brief Economic History of the World, Princeton
University Press, 2007.
David S Landes, The wealth and poverty of nations, NY: WW Norton, 1998.
Landes criticizes politically correct revisionist accounts such as
The East in the West by Jack Goody, NY: Cambridge University Press, 1996.
Our account also draws on
Nathan Rosenberg and L. E. Birdsell, Jr., How the West Grew Rich: The Economic
Transformation of the Industrial World, Basic Books NY 1986, and
29
Angus Maddison, The World Economy: A Millennial Perspective (Paris: OECD, 2001);
p. 63 contains the ship count estimates.
Longitude: The True Story of a Lone Genius Who Solved the Greatest Scientific Problem
of his Time, by Dava Sobel, Walker & Company (September 2005)
The Free Market Innovation Machine by William Baumol, Princeton University Press,
2002.
I found the Spanish gold and silver estimates on UC Davis professor Richard Cowen’s
page http://www-geology.ucdavis.edu/~cowen/~GEL115/.
“The Rise of Europe: Atlantic Trade, Institutional Change, and Economic Growth,”
by Daron Acemoglu, Simon Johnson, and James Robinson, American Economic Review
Vol. 95, No. 3, June 2005, pp. 546-579. This article shows how “Atlantic trade and
colonial activity enriched and strengthened commercial interests, including new groups
without ties to the monarchy.” This led to legal and political reform, and strengthened
property rights, a primary driver of growth and modernization.
Robert Shimer, “Daron Acemoglu, 2005 John Bates Clark Medalist,” puts this and other
papers in perspective. Major themes include: that spreading the franchise makes
redistribution irreversible, whereas coups by old elite and revolutions raise fears of
expropriation so deter investment and growth.
Another positive feedback story:
Human Capital Formation, Life Expectancy, and the Process of Development
Matteo Cervellati and Uwe Sunde, The American Economic Review
Vol. 95, No. 5, December 2005, 1655-1672.
Louise Levathes, When China Ruled the Seas, reprinted by Oxford Univ. Pr, 1996,
30
“Markets in China and Europe on the Eve of the Industrial Revolution,” by Carol Shiue
and Wolfgang Keller, American Economic Review 97:4 (Sept 2007) 1189-1216.
Summarizes trade institutions in China (and continental Europe) in 1700s and analyzes
location/price data, concluding that there was rough parity on efficiency of grain markets
at that time.
David S. Landes, “Why Europe and the West? Why not China?” Journal of Economic
Perspectives 20:2 (Spring 2006) pp. 3-22.
The Rise and Decline of Nations: Economic Growth, Stagflation, and Social Rigidities by
Mancur Olson, Yale University Press (September 1984) explains how the process works:
vested interests find it worthwhile to unite to protect their interests. The benefits of
innovation greatly exceed the costs to the vested interests, but the benefits are too diffuse
and too uncertain to create sufficiently powerful countervailing coalitions. Once the
vested interests become sufficiently organized, the nation or empire loses its momentum
and slowly declines.
The end of the Polynesian golden age is an exception. The golden age was spurred by the
discovery of truly virgin islands between Hawaii and New Zealand, and highlighted by
accumulated skills in navigation and raft/outrigger construction and colonization. It
ended not with unified control, but with exhaustion of resources, e.g. on Easter Island,
and collapse of trade. See Collapse: How Societies Choose to Succeed or Fail, by Jared
Diamond, Viking, 2005, Chapter 2.
Friedman_Morals and Markets 0Ch06 Japan
Morals and Markets: An Evolutionary Account of the Modern World
by
Daniel Friedman December 2007
(published October 2008 by Palgrave Macmillan)
Jacket copy: The modern world is the marriage of morals and markets. Marital frictions can bring financial meltdowns, environmental disasters, criminal gangs, terrorism and war. Yet sometimes the marriage works well and spreads health and wealth across the globe. The book draws on recent academic research in evolutionary game theory and behavioral economics, and tells familiar stories like the rise of Google as well as forgotten tales like the Ponzi scheme that swallowed Albania. The characters range from amoebas and William Blake to Boris Yeltsin and Zorro. Readers gain a fresh perspective on the modern world and new hope for the future.
Table of Contents Prologue. Anatomy of a scandal. A marital spat. Where we are going. …And beyond. Chapter 1. The Savanna Code: What Good are Morals?
A slimy social dilemma. Nepotism to the rescue. Reciprocity in blood and backscratch. African crucible. Moral capacities. The moral system. Us and Them. African exodus.
Chapter 2. Bazaar and Empire: How Did We Become Civilized and Start Shopping? Settling down. Giving gifts. Building empires. Imperial morals. Bazaar logic. Market magic. Mercantile empires. Chapter 3. The Great Transformation: Why is the Modern World So Rich? 1000 AD. Imperial economics. Imperial politics. The European advantage. Europe’s markets. Inside the chrysalis. The moral transformation. Rich caterpillars: Spain and China. The butterfly. Chapter 4. Utopias of Cooperation: The Rise and Fall of Communism. Markets are unfair. Disruptive new markets for land. …And for labor. …And for anti- market politics. The evolution of Marxism-Leninism. Communism reaches Russia. The rise of the Soviet empire. Decline and fall. Chapter 5. Russia’s Transition to Kleptocracy: When Markets Need Morals.
The Soviet swamp. The perils of perestroika. Shocks. Oligarchs and kleptocrats. Moral fiber for markets. Russia recently. Chapter 6. Japan’s Bubbles and Zombies: When Morals Choke Markets. Looking back. Economic sunrise. Bubble and crash. Zombie finance. A second sunrise? Chapter 7. Towers of Trust: The rise (and occasional crash) of financial markets. A tale of two bubbles: Tirana 1997, London 1720. Promises, promises: the moral finance of eranos. The dark side of daneizein. A princely paradox. Banks branch out. Promises for sale. Financial market magic. The sorcerer’s apprentice. Lessons learned and unsolved mysteries. Chapter 8. From Hudson's Bay to eBay: Why Do Some People Like Going to Work? Dilemmas and holdups. Markets meet morals: organizations and motivation. The corporate takeover. The union label. A delicate balance. Times change. Good old networks. The new networks. Life in the NetZone. Nets at work. Networks and corporations: conflict and cooperation. Chapter 9. Markets for Crime and Markets for Punishment. The nature of crime and vice. Crime fighting morals. The Corsican connection. Rule of law. Jeremy Bentham and rational crime fighting. Do markets suppress crime? Markets for vices. Crime fighting industries. Morals help markets run amok. Chapter 10. Mullahs’ Revenge: Gangs, Cults, and Anti-Terrorists. The Mafia. Youth gangs. Deviant morals, deviant markets. Religion. A terrorist cult. Who is a terrorist? What is a cult? Classic anti-terror tactics. Terror and anti-terror tactics co-evolve. New anti-terror tactics. Chapter 11. Cooling the Earth: Environmental Markets and Morals. Anatomy of a tragedy. Moral management. Markets corrode morals. The great green crusade. Industry strikes back. Coda for cod. Theories of the long run. Marrying markets to morals. Greenhouse gas markets. Chapter 12: Future Morals and Markets: Can This Marriage Be Saved? Origins of honor. When moral codes collide. Noxious nostalgia. Is religion the problem? What sort of morals should we want? What sort of markets? What’s wrong with inequality? Can global markets prevent war? Building better markets. Building a better marriage. Appendix: Technical Details. Social and biological evolution. Coevolution and dynamics. Social dilemmas and coordination problems. Coping with social dilemmas: kinship and reciprocity. Schematic overview of the moral system. The unpleasant arithmetic behind hierarchy. Markets’ inner workings. The Duke and Serf game. Asset Price and Fundamental Value. Notes on networks. Endnotes Bibliography
[Index] Chapter 6. Japan’s Bubbles and Zombies By Daniel Friedman © August 2007 World War II left Japan a rubble. Atomic bombs had leveled two cities, firestorms had charred huge tracts of Tokyo, Osaka, and other urban areas, and the economy was on its knees. Yet when the U.S. occupation ended in 1952, Japan began one of the most amazing spurts of wealth creation the world has ever seen. By the late 1980s it had the second largest economy on earth and one of the fastest growing. Pundits, including Lester Thurow, dean of MIT's prestigious Sloan School of Management, argued that Japan would leave us far behind unless we copied its policies. Even more remarkably, Japan seemed to have overcome the conflict between morals and markets, by stressing social harmony (wa) and tradition. Firms enjoyed friendly ties with regulators, as management did with labor, while bosses made decisions by consensus with their underlings. Karl Marx would scarcely have believed it. Japan's economy seemed different, and better, than everyone else's. But Japan's growth collapsed in 1990, and its financial system stopped functioning. For 15 years the economy stagnated and endured deflation reminiscent of the Great Depression. Stocks lost more than two-thirds of their peak value. Why? This chapter argues that the problem was too much wa. The moral ties that had helped it for so long immobilized Japan’s economy when it needed to change direction. Economic Sunrise The argument reaches deep into Japan’s history and geography. An island nation at the edge of the Middle Kingdom, Japan kept its independence for over 2,000 years by a remarkable mix of adaptability and cultural unity. Japan again and again copied from China, taking not just ideograms and the Confucian social structure, but techniques of metallurgy, military technology, city planning, architecture, and much more. At the same time, Japan’s internal networks spanned the islands, maintaining a single culture and a single ethnicity. Her cultural unity and up-to-date military capacities protected her from invasion century after century. Around 1600, as Europe was leading the world into the market system, feudal Japan barricaded itself for two and a half centuries. Why? The first Tokugawa shogun had just triumphed after decades of bloody wars and didn't want outsiders -- especially Christians -- whispering sedition to his vassals. Japan was also imitating China, which disdained contact with foreigners. But it was also calling on its historic ingroup ties, cutting a chasm around itself in response to alien influences. Intriguingly, scholars see the beginnings of a homegrown Japanese market economy in this period, and indeed from 1600 to 1853 Tokyo grew from a marshside village to a metropolis of over one million, the largest city on earth. The national seclusion ended in 1853 when Commodore Matthew Perry sailed his "black ships" into Tokyo Bay. This display of military muscle and his not-so-subtle message -- trade or else --
soon created a consensus among top leaders for drastic change. It culminated in 1868 with the Meiji Restoration, essentially a takeover by technocrats. Japan then modernized rapidly and in a novel fashion. The government guided development, selecting promising industries and funneling resources to them. It acted as a super-lender, spurring faster, better-targeted growth. Meanwhile, businesspeople cooperated with their neighbors to look like better modernizers than rival groups in different industries or locales. Business in-groups spanned the island, and military and religious leaders also joined the mutual support system. In late 19th-century Japan, production became concentrated in conglomerates, the great zaibatsu like Mitsui and Mitsubishi. Each zaibatsu was an enormous family of companies, all linked together. Typically, a bank stood at the center and satellite firms in manufacturing, mining, and other fields revolved around it. The bank loaned funds at low rates to its members, and members sold products at similarly low rates to other members. Meanwhile, Japanese delegations ransacked Europe for new ideas and brought them home, much as their ancestors had from China. In 1905 Japan's modernized armed forces startled the world by defeating a European power, Russia, giving the nation a tremendous boost in morale and military prestige. But the next generation overreached. The military dominated the government and pushed the old samurai warrior ethic, bushido, to fanatic extremes. This moral code, like those in fascist Europe, glorified the destiny of the nation and reflex obedience to its leaders. Those leaders gave Japan a colonial empire in Korea and China, but their aggressiveness pulled them into World War II. When in-groups are tight, moral standards toward out-group members often fall, and during this struggle Japanese savagery and kamikaze attacks stunned foreigners. Defeat and U.S. occupation opened Japan to new influences. In July 1950, business guru William Edwards Deming toured the country. "I told them that Japanese industry could develop in a short time," Deming recalled later, and his shrewd ideas about quality control, flexible work teams and delegating decisions to the shop floor took root there, while falling into disuse in his native U.S. In the 1950s the young Toyota engineer Taiichi Ohno, inspired by his experiences in American supermarkets, conceived kanban, or just-in-time inventory control. Such techniques fit well with prewar Japanese corporate traditions of lifetime employment and close links to suppliers and customers, including joint ownership or owning large blocks of each other’s shares of stock. Revamped zaibatsu, now called keiretsu, emerged and competed for handouts from the government. The new system had favorable tailwinds. For instance, Japan's stress on wa and solidarity remained intact, as did its cultural and ethnic unity. Hence, the Japanese as a nation came to compete economically rather than militarily with foreigners. Moreover, the U.S.-led postwar world order featured a reopening of global trade, so Japan had great opportunities to sell abroad, and export- oriented manufacturing soon dominated its economy.
Although the war had devastated factories and equipment, Japan had an exceptionally deep and talented labor pool in the decades following 1950. Compared to the U.S., its workers were young and poor, but educated, disciplined and keenly motivated. Its people saved a remarkably large share of earnings, and deposited them in banks and other institutions that loaned the funds to corporations, in close consultation with government officials. Within two decades, Japan had built (or rebuilt) world-class manufacturing facilities. Politically, Japan became a vast backscratching system, with bureaucrats, business managers, and politicians all helping each other. A lone political party, the Liberal Democratic Party (LDP), has dominated Japan for 60 years. The LDP favors consensus decisions that maintain wa within its coalition of corporate interests and traditionalists such as farmers and small shopkeepers. For most of its time in power, the LDP has rotated the top position, prime minister, among factional leaders in the party. Real power lies with career bureaucrats in key executive departments such as the Ministry of Finance (MOF) and the Ministry of Trade and Industry (MITI). It is a cozy deal for all. Thanks to generous campaign contributions from industry, politicians seldom face annoying challengers, bureaucrats subsidize farmers and encourage savings and low-cost financing for key industries, and top bureaucrats often retire to lucrative positions in industry, a practice called "descent from heaven." Mutual support is the linchpin everywhere. Workers are expected to actively aid others on their team (and generally do), and the team is expected to take initiative in improving performance. The moral code also calls for management to consult extensively with workers, and for everyone to build consensus before changing anything important. In-group morality softens market competition within and across firms in the keiretsu (and to some extent, within the country) to make them tougher competitors in foreign markets. When something went wrong it was taken care of quietly, usually within the keiretsu family. Nobody wanted to lose face. For example, Maruzen, an oil refinery company, expanded too fast and became unable to meet its financial obligations in the 1960s. The lead bank in its keiretsu, Sanwa, in cooperation with government officials of MITI and a host of supporting banks, gently encouraged the family owner-managers to retire, brought in a professional leadership team, reduced the workforce (mostly through attrition, not layoffs), infused capital, and restored profitability. Maruzen never formally declared bankruptcy. Likewise, in the 1980s, the car manufacturer Mazda got into financial trouble. Its lead bank, Sumitomo, working with MOF officials, eased out the founder's grandson Kohei Matsuda, and Sumitomo’s own top manager, Tsutomu Murai, took over. He cut costs, partnered with Ford, and got the company back to profitability. By 1970 manufacturers like Matsushita and Toyota were setting the world standard for quality and efficiency. The new flexible manufacturing system had unprecedented agility, and Japan grew adept at meeting rapid but small shifts in demand for product variety, as is common with cars and consumer electronics. (By contrast, the traditional American system of mass production and top- down hierarchical control works better when demand is either very steady or when drastic changes require massive layoffs and quick redeployment.) Supported by their partners in the keiretsu, by government ministries, and by cheap long-term loans, Japanese manufacturers could plan deeper into the future. They could build market share without worrying about next-quarter profitability, and could give each other price breaks until they had driven out foreign rivals in export markets.
Meanwhile, a snarl of very adhesive red tape discouraged foreign firms from entering Japan. Its economy delivered breathtaking growth and appeared destined to rule the world. Except all was not as it seemed. Bubble and Crash In retrospect everyone can see that Japan entered a bubble in the late 1980s. Land and stock prices, which had risen steadily since the 1950s, shot upward. The Nikkei stock index first hit 8000 about 1980 and 10,000 about 1986, but rocketed to just under 39,000 by the end of 1989. Even with very rosy views of profitability, stock prices were exorbitant. The textile sector sold for 103 times earnings, for instance, and fishery and forestry firms for 319 times earnings. The stock prices implied that Japanese companies were worth more than all those in the U.S. and most of Europe combined. Land prices in Japan also ballooned, and by 1990 they reached about 100 times the U.S. level. The ground beneath the Emperor’s palace in central Tokyo famously had a higher market value than all of California, or Canada. When Nippon Telegraph and Telephone (NTT) opened an office building in downtown Tokyo with rents at $3,000 per square meter (quickly sold out), citizens dubbed it "The Tower of Bubble." Japan's policy makers had grown incautious. They deregulated banks in the 1980s, letting them invest in stock and real estate schemes directly and via loans to customers investing aggressively in similar schemes. Funds were going out to people who had less chance of paying them back. Deregulation also loosened keiretsu ties, so banks no longer reliably vetoed risky ventures by other firms in their family. Yet government agencies were slow to take up the regulatory slack. Forty years of prosperity and government protection gave Japanese investors a false sense of security. Moreover, as in the U.S. Savings and Loan industry a few years earlier, deposit guarantees created what economists call a "moral hazard." Remove the danger from risky or unethical behavior and it increases. Why not sit down at the blackjack table if someone else will cover your losses? Furthermore, the Bank of Japan (BOJ), the monetary authority, kept interest rates artificially low too long in the mid- to late 1980s. Loans were easy as well as cheap. A borrower could use inflated stock or land as collateral for a new loan, and use the funds to buy more stock or land. But habitable land is scarce in Japan, and domestic stock is also in limited supply. Increasing demand chased limited asset supply, and Japan's land prices and stock prices spiraled upward. Why not buy foreign assets instead? Japanese international investors for decades have shown a remarkable knack for buying blue-chip properties -- like Pebble Beach golf course, the Lincoln Center, and famous paintings -- at all-time high prices and selling years later near historic lows. With such experiences, foreign investment didn't seem so attractive. As a result, the two Japanese bubbles -- land and stocks -- continued swelling for several years. The air supply eventually runs out in all bubbles, and it happened in Japan in 1990. The public had fully invested and began to worry about the oil price spike due to Iraq's invasion of Kuwait. Then
the Bank of Japan let interest rates rise to more realistic levels. Money cost more. Borrowing got harder. Stock prices paused. Then the self-feeding dynamics halted and went into fast reverse. After peaking at 38,912.87 in late December 1989, the Nikkei lost about half its value in a year. Later it lost half of the remaining value and by August 2007 had climbed back only to 16,000. Land prices dropped more gradually but continued to fall for 15 years. Transaction volume plummeted -- the buyers had vanished -- and people found it very difficult to sell their property. As stock and land prices fell, bank assets shrank, so the banks stopped lending to finance new purchases. Many of the more aggressive speculators were unable to pay back their loans. Three company presidents faced this problem in 1998. One, Masaaki Kobayashi, had been highly successful, and his two friends grew wealthy as his suppliers. Kobayashi loved spending money, buying racehorses and flashy cars, and when the economy went into first gear, he kept spending, though his two friends begged him to halt. The Internet brought further woe as customers abandoned him for online retailers. Finally he realized he was badly in debt and turned to his two pals. Both felt they owed him, and not just as a friend, but a patron. So they embezzled from their own firms and passed him cash on the sly, $650,000 from one and $225,000 from the other. It didn't help, and Kobayashi's quicksand soon became theirs. Unable to face disgrace, on February 25 they all committed suicide. But why didn't they just declare bankruptcy a year earlier? Bankruptcy law is crucial to modern society. When borrowers can't pay back their debts, the law spells out which lenders get what. Bankruptcy laws should induce debtors to swiftly abandon unprofitable business, to sell the assets and distribute the proceeds to lenders. Good bankruptcy laws cleanse the system, quickly redirecting resources so as to minimize the overall loss. Confidence in bankruptcy procedures encourages lenders, and thus benefits borrowers. It is essential to financial markets in good times and bad. Zombie Finance The next chapter explains what is supposed to happen when bubbles burst: The overspent firms go bankrupt and their assets are sold off. The government makes sure that healthy companies have the chance to recover from their links to bankrupt firms. Asset prices once again reflect fundamental value, and the tie to reality returns. The financial system is back in business and the economy recovers. That's not what happened in Japan. Encouraged and even pressured by government regulators, Japan’s banks gave first priority to loans to most firms facing bankruptcy, to keep them afloat. Such walking dead or “zombie” firms cut the profitability of their sounder competitors, who had to match their subsidized prices. They were also money sinks, absorbing loans that could energize more promising enterprises. The invisible hand of loan selectivity that guides healthy economies was pushing the wrong way. The zombie effect depressed investment, new job opportunities, and economic vigor throughout Japan, especially in construction, retail and real estate.
One classic zombie was Sogo. Founded as a kimono store in 1830, by 1962 it was a second-tier department store chain with three branches. In that year Hiroh Mizushima took over. He had been an ambitious executive at the Industrial Bank of Japan (IBJ, a semiofficial spigot of bureaucratic largesse about to be privatized), but he bailed out at age 50 when he realized he probably wouldn't reach the top spot. Known within the firm as the "Emperor" or "God," Mizushima ran Sogo like a real estate speculator. He'd buy up property near busy train stations, install a department store or mall, and rent out the extra space. When the land rose in price, he'd sell it off or borrow against its now- greater value, and buy more land near the next train station. His method worked well from the beginning -- and looked brilliant during the land bubble. But then the bubble burst. Mizushima had never run Sogo's department stores efficiently and they made little profit. During the 1990s they racked up increasingly large losses. Mizushima, by then an autocrat in his 80s, was unwilling to switch tactics. With his goal of being Japan's largest retailer almost in sight, he continued to open new stores even as the value of his holdings sank alarmingly. So he needed huge bank loans. In a proper market economy, Sogo would have declared bankruptcy by 1991 or 1992, and Mizushima, along with thousands of employees, would have lost his job. The government might have retrained some employees, and helped basically sound suppliers make the transition. Instead, it kept the zombie upright and walking. Mizushima called on his old friends from IBJ. Soon IBJ became the lead bank, and its prestige and close ties to government ministries encouraged other banks to pitch in. It seemed reasonable: join in and help make powerful men happy, gain reflected prestige, and contribute to wa. Everyone was doing it. The fact that Sogo's property was unsaleable and that cash flows were negative seemed beneath the notice of the lenders. (Echoing Louis XIV, Mizushima liked to say, "Collateral? It is me.") Eventually, Sogo ran up more than $17 billion in debt to 73 banks. In 2000 the government introduced new accounting rules, which showed that Sogo had a negative net worth that began at $5 billion. (The total was certainly worse, but Sogo didn't have to disclose it.) Mizushima and his pals worked out a typically quiet, backroom deal. The banks would cancel about $6 billion of debt and the government ministers and elected officials would earn the gratitude of Sogo's employees, suppliers, lenders and customers. Would all 73 lenders go along? Normally, they probably would have. When the herd began moving, no one wanted to get caught walking against it -- especially when the well-being of everyone in the Sogo empire seemed at stake. But this time it was different. A few months earlier, the government had sold off a failed lender called Shinsei Bank to an American group, which had insisted on guarantees of bad loans. So the bank was able to pass its hit, about $1 billion, back to the government, which had to disclose the deal. Insiders were embarrassed -- one of IBJ's key officials committed suicide -- and the public was outraged. The deal unraveled and Sogo declared bankruptcy in July 2000.
Mizushima publicly stepped down, but kept power behind the scenes. Despite his age and government connections, he has had legal problems. In March 2005 he was convicted of hiding personal assets he'd skimmed from Sogo. Recently he lost a lawsuit from IBJ and must repay some $100 million in loans he'd personally guaranteed (he argued that his personal guarantee was a meaningless formality). Other lawsuits are pending. We know so much about Sogo because it was a fluke. Mizushima ran into bad luck with the timing of the crisis and especially the presence of the American-controlled lender, outside the system of wa. Thousands of other zombies remain in operation, their losses unknown. But where did the banks get the money to give to firms like Sogo? Most banks fear dud loans, since they can be fatal. Indeed, Japan's banking industry had a net operating loss every year from 1993 through 2003. The banks' international credit ratings, once the envy of the world, crashed to Third World levels. The natural result should be that some banks themselves declare bankruptcy, their assets are sold, and the banking sector recovers. Instead, in the 1990s Japanese bureaucrats and politicians propped them up. The bureaucrats encouraged an accounting scam known as “evergreen” lending: when a borrower can’t repay, instead of classifying the loan as nonperforming, the bank lends the borrower more money to make payments on the old loan. Politicians kept weak banks alive by dipping into the public treasury. They funneled taxpayer money to bank subsidiaries called jusen, which specialized in real estate lending. Voter outrage at the huge giveaways to these firms (or their parent banks) in the late 1990s then persuaded the politicians to use more covert handouts, such as subsidizing mega-mergers among Japanese banks. By 2001 the total debt of Japanese banks was over one trillion dollars. Due to the disproportionate role banks play in the Japanese financial sector, the impact is huge. Subsidies, direct or hidden, have also shored up the two other major financial market subsectors: insurance and government-run financial institutions such as the Postal Savings bank. The result is a zombie financial sector, no longer able to do its job, and an economy on Ambien. Why do government regulators and the public tolerate this mess? Why don't they demand that banks and other financial firms restructure, and start lending for activities that have a real future? Bankruptcy in Japan is not a simple risk of doing business, but a moral transgression, "regarded as close to a crime," according to Seiichi Yoshikawa, a Tokyo attorney. The bankruptcies Japan needed for 15 years would have shamed important people in government and industry, and increased unemployment for a while. Some of the disgraced, like the three company presidents, might take their own lives. Friends don't do that to friends. They lock arms with them, even if they wind up in freefall too. So in-group thinking spreads success in good times and trouble in bad. Wa has two sides. The personal traits that help you succeed in markets are quite different from those that help you socially. For instance, good stock investors make money by quickly spotting chances to buy at a low price or to sell at a high one. They don't buy shares in firms as favors to the CEO. Economies too must know how to impersonally jettison losing efforts like Sogo, as through bankruptcy, and
reward promising ones. Where moral feelings -- like gratitude, loyalty, and wa -- get tangled in the process, they can knock it awry. A second sunrise? Eventually good sense will prevail and get Japan's economy back on track. By 2007 it appears that this might finally be happening. Japan’s working-age population is shrinking and her corporations have outsourced many manufacturing jobs, boosting profitability. High profile foreigners, like Carlos Ghosn at Nissan Motor and Harold Stringer at Sony, bring a more competitive attitude to top management. Junichiro Koizumi pushed economic reform very hard during his 2001-2006; tenure as Prime Minister, cutting the pool of nonperforming bankloans by more than half and privatizing Postal Savings. Banks are starting to repay the taxpayer bailouts. For the last several years, China has lead an Asian economic expansion that boosts demand for Japanese goods and services. Prices of Japanese consumer goods and assets are on the rise again. Consolidation has reduced the zombie count in some industries like oil refining, paper and cement. But sustained recovery is not yet assured. Nonperforming loans still are proportionately about as big a problem as in the U.S. savings and loan debacle in the late 1980s. More worrisome is a large but unknown fraction of supposedly good loans. They are performing now because, like some recent US mortgages, they require only easy payments at first, but eventually they call for an unrealistically large “balloon” payment. And, of course, some industries like construction are still lost in zombieland. What are Japan's longer term prospects? The country has always responded adaptively to external forces, from the unification of China in 589 A.D. to the door-knocking of Perry, and more recently to defeat in World War II and the oil price shocks of the 1970s. Now Japan is responding to an internal threat. Indeed, the in-group coherence that helped it so often in the past has become the root problem. Japan still has the world's second largest economy, so the resources are there. But it also has some less favorable factors: a graying workforce, cultural barriers to immigration that deprive the country of foreign talent, and a tradition of discouraging women in the professions. Some analysts expect the pace of reform to accelerate, so that Japan will look more like the U.S. Her urban youth culture is vibrant, and perhaps Japan will find new ways to combine morals and markets, and once again become a world leader. Or perhaps Japan will look more like Britain after World War II, enduring a full generation of genteel decline.
Chapter 6 Notes. Representative quotes from The Zero-Sum Solution by Lester Thurow, Simon and Schuster, 1985: “competition forces America to do things America may not want to do. Most of our competitors use public investment banking and government funding of industrial research as two of their competitive weapons. The Japanese robot-leasing firm cited above illustrates the problem. What is the American answer to the cooperative labor-management-government efforts that seem to be succeeding abroad? The United States does not have to have the same answers as its foreign competitors, but it has to have a competitive response.” (p 284) Compare America’s competitiveness policy of propping up Harley-Davidson using high tariffs with the Japanese policy of subsidizing research on the fifth-generation computer. Which economy is more likely to succeed? To ask the question is to answer it.” (p.298) Twenty years later Thurow’s safe bet is turned on its head. Harley-Davidson, now a $15 billion company, dominates its industry, with almost a 50% market share in the US, and a rapidly growing share in Europe and even in Japan (now over 25%). Japan’s huge subsidy of fifth generation computing seems to have missed the technological boat and her computer industries are less impressive than 20 years ago. Ezra Vogel of Harvard Business School published an earlier alarm call, Japan as Number One (Harvard University Press, 1979).
Landes, op. cit., has lively chapters on the Tokugawa era and the Meiji restoration.
A standard reference on both periods is The Making of Modern Japan by Marius B. Jansen (Belknap Press, 2002).
"Business Groups and the Big Push: Meiji Japan's Mass Privatization and Subsequent Growth," by RANDALL MORCK and MASAO NAKAMURA, NBER Working Paper No. W13171 takes a more detailed look at the origins and impact of the zaibatsu. This chapter draws on three general references for the bubble and zombie material: 1. Hoshi, Takeo and Anil Kashyap, “Japan’s Financial Crisis and Economic Stagnation,” Journal of Economic Perspectives 18:1 (Winter 2004) pp.3-26. E.g., page 12 cites other studies that conclude that net operating profits for Japanese banking industry have been negative since 1993. 2. Hoshi, Takeo and Anil Kashyap. Corporate Financing and Governance in Japan. MIT Press, 2001. The Mazda and Maruzen examples are from Chapter 5. The jusen material is from p. 270-1. International bank ratings are shown on p. 274. Bank megamergers are described on p. 296. 3. Cargill, Thomas, Michael Hutchison and Takatoshi Ito. The Political Economy of Japanese Monetary Policy. MIT Press, 1997.
Pages 99-108 note that liberalization in the 1980s removed portfolio constraints on banks, allowing more aggressive loans and investments; that traditional bank loan demand slowed after the 1970s oil shock decreased business investment rates; and that the main bank system weakened and its monitoring function was not taken over by regulators, who were in deregulation mode. The official estimate of dud loans in 1995 was 46 trillion yen (10% of GDP), but informed private observers said that the realistic numbers might be twice that high. Pages 130-144 note that jusen (bank subsidiaries originally for consumer lending, but mainly in real estate lending in late 1980s) were bailed out using taxpayer funds in 1996. But bailouts still remained a muddle and created outrage among voters, now thought to be a political third rail.
Joe Peek and Eric Rosengren, “Unnatural Selection: Perverse Incentives and the Misallocation of Credit in Japan,” American Economic Review, September 2005, pp. 1144-1166. documents “evergreen lending,” government pressure to misclassify bad loans as good, etc.
The story of the 3 suicides comes from Mary Jordan and Kevin Sullivan, “Death of 3 Salesmen – Partners in Suicide,” Washington Post, October 7, 1998, page A1. http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/inatl/longterm/brokenlives/broken4a.htm The Sogo saga is pieced together from The Economist articles “Unforgiven” (6/29/00), “Japan’s bankruptcy deparment” (6/13/00), “The slow death of Japan, Inc” (10/12/00), “New tricks,” (10/26/00), and “Fiddling while Marunouchi burns” “(1/25/01), together with the Asia Times editorial “Japan: That revealing Sogo saga” (7/14/00), the Mainichi Shimbun story “Captain of sinking store guilty of hiding assets” (3/29/05), and David McIntyre, “Learning to Let Go,” Time, Vol. 156, No. 4, July 31, 2000. http://www.time.com/time/asia/magazine/2000/0731/japan.seiyo.html
Friedman_Great Transformation
1
Morals and Markets: An Evolutionary Account of the Modern World
by
Daniel Friedman December 2007
(published October 2008 by Palgrave Macmillan)
Jacket copy:
The modern world is the marriage of morals and markets. Marital frictions can bring
financial meltdowns, environmental disasters, criminal gangs, terrorism and war. Yet
sometimes the marriage works well and spreads health and wealth across the globe.
The book draws on recent academic research in evolutionary game theory and behavioral
economics, and tells familiar stories like the rise of Google as well as forgotten tales like
the Ponzi scheme that swallowed Albania. The characters range from amoebas and
William Blake to Boris Yeltsin and Zorro. Readers gain a fresh perspective on the
modern world and new hope for the future.
Table of Contents Prologue.
Anatomy of a scandal. A marital spat. Where we are going. …And beyond.
Chapter 1. The Savanna Code: What Good are Morals?
A slimy social dilemma. Nepotism to the rescue. Reciprocity in blood and
backscratch. African crucible. Moral capacities. The moral system. Us and Them. African
exodus.
Chapter 2. Bazaar and Empire: How Did We Become Civilized and Start Shopping?
Settling down. Giving gifts. Building empires. Imperial morals. Bazaar logic.
Market magic. Mercantile empires.
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Chapter 3. The Great Transformation: Why is the Modern World So Rich?
1000 AD. Imperial economics. Imperial politics. The European advantage.
Europe’s markets. Inside the chrysalis. The moral transformation. Rich caterpillars: Spain
and China. The butterfly.
Chapter 4. Utopias of Cooperation: The Rise and Fall of Communism.
Markets are unfair. Disruptive new markets for land. …And for labor. …And for
anti-market politics. The evolution of Marxism-Leninism. Communism reaches Russia.
The rise of the Soviet empire. Decline and fall.
Chapter 5. Russia’s Transition to Kleptocracy: When Markets Need Morals.
The Soviet swamp. The perils of perestroika. Shocks. Oligarchs and kleptocrats.
Moral fiber for markets. Russia recently.
Chapter 6. Japan’s Bubbles and Zombies: When Morals Choke Markets.
Looking back. Economic sunrise. Bubble and crash. Zombie finance. A second
sunrise?
Chapter 7. Towers of Trust: The rise (and occasional crash) of financial markets.
A tale of two bubbles: Tirana 1997, London 1720. Promises, promises: the moral
finance of eranos. The dark side of daneizein. A princely paradox. Banks branch out.
Promises for sale. Financial market magic. The sorcerer’s apprentice. Lessons learned
and unsolved mysteries.
Chapter 8. From Hudson's Bay to eBay: Why Do Some People Like Going to Work?
Dilemmas and holdups. Markets meet morals: organizations and motivation. The
corporate takeover. The union label. A delicate balance. Times change. Good old
networks. The new networks. Life in the NetZone. Nets at work. Networks and
corporations: conflict and cooperation.
Chapter 9. Markets for Crime and Markets for Punishment.
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The nature of crime and vice. Crime fighting morals. The Corsican connection.
Rule of law. Jeremy Bentham and rational crime fighting. Do markets suppress crime?
Markets for vices. Crime fighting industries. Morals help markets run amok.
Chapter 10. Mullahs’ Revenge: Gangs, Cults, and Anti-Terrorists.
The Mafia. Youth gangs. Deviant morals, deviant markets. Religion. A terrorist
cult. Who is a terrorist? What is a cult? Classic anti-terror tactics. Terror and anti-terror
tactics co-evolve. New anti-terror tactics.
Chapter 11. Cooling the Earth: Environmental Markets and Morals.
Anatomy of a tragedy. Moral management. Markets corrode morals. The great
green crusade. Industry strikes back. Coda for cod. Theories of the long run. Marrying
markets to morals. Greenhouse gas markets.
Chapter 12: Future Morals and Markets: Can This Marriage Be Saved?
Origins of honor. When moral codes collide. Noxious nostalgia. Is religion the
problem? What sort of morals should we want? What sort of markets? What’s wrong
with inequality? Can global markets prevent war? Building better markets. Building a
better marriage.
Appendix: Technical Details.
Social and biological evolution. Coevolution and dynamics. Social dilemmas and
coordination problems. Coping with social dilemmas: kinship and reciprocity. Schematic
overview of the moral system. The unpleasant arithmetic behind hierarchy. Markets’
inner workings. The Duke and Serf game. Asset Price and Fundamental Value. Notes on
networks.
Endnotes
Bibliography
4
[Index]
Chapter 3. The Great Transformation: Why is the Modern World So Rich?
About 200 years ago a new system took root in Western Europe. That system then spread
across the globe, bringing down the last of the great empires and setting humanity on a
new course. Markets are the core of the new system, but it reaches far beyond the
economic sphere and pervades all aspects of our social life, including governance,
technology, education, and even religion.
As in all evolutionary transitions, the new system used preexisting components. It
combined them in a new way, gained critical mass at an edge of the existing order, and
then swept the world, creating new niches and destroying old ones.
What was the new combination? Economic historian Karl Polanyi (1886-1964)
put it this way: “Instead of economy being embedded in social relations, social relations
are embedded in the economic system.” He added that the “great transformation” to the
self-regulating market system “resembles more the metamorphosis of the caterpillar than
any alteration that can be expressed in terms of continuous growth and development.”
Economist Axel Leijonhufvud describes the transformation by comparing the life
of a hypothetical modern Frenchman, M. Baudot, to the surprisingly well documented
life of an actual French tenth century serf named Bodo. “Bodo had short life expectancy,
was unfree and uneducated, and lived a life of unceasing hard physical labor,” writes
Leijonhufvud. Almost all of Bodo’s consumption was produced by his own household
and a handful of others he knew personally while, by contrast, a vast and ever-changing
network of producers sustains M. Baudot. It includes people halfway around the world,
“whom he has never met, and of whose existence he is hardly aware. On the other hand,
he may or may not know his immediate neighbors, nor is he economically dependent on
them in any significant way.”
This chapter studies the metamorphosis. We begin with the caterpillar.
1000 AD
A thousand years ago, things were looking good for Basil II, Emperor of Constantinople.
He had consolidated control of the empire’s core, now modern-day Turkey and Greece.
5
He had also recaptured much of the Empire’s southern and eastern lands, now Lebanon,
Syria and northern Iraq, for the first time since Muslim armies swept through centuries
before. In AD 1000, Armenia had rejoined the empire as a tributary. Basil’s treasury was
getting stronger by the day, and his alliance with the Rus gave him confidence that he
could finally take on his most dangerous enemy, Samuil, King of the Bulgars.
Basil had navigated treacherous currents. Born to Emperor Romanos II and his
beautiful young Armenian wife Theophano, young Basil saw his father die of poison and
his mother keep power by marrying a top general. But, conspiring with her new lover
John, his mother poisoned Basil’s unpopular stepfather a few years later. The Church
Patriarch allowed John to be crowned Emperor, but only after he agreed to exile
Theophano. In her rage, she denounced John, and when Basil stood with him, she
screamed that her son was conceived illegitimately. A few years later, in 976 AD, John
died of – you guessed it – poison, and 18 year old Basil inherited the crown.
Basil moved cautiously at first. He honed his military skills, and learned
administration (a weak point of his predecessors) from the wily eunuch Lekapenos. In
988 he made a deal with Prince Vladimir of Kiev, leader of the Rus barbarians. The
Prince married Basil’s young sister Anna, and in exchange he and his subjects converted
to Christianity. Vladimir also sent six thousand shock troops, giving Basil the muscle he
needed to capture and kill the powerful landholders who presumably had poisoned his
predecessor. With internal threats finally neutralized, Basil was able to fill the depleted
treasury while reducing farmers’ taxes.
Basil eventually did beat the Bulgars. At the time of his death in 1026, his
Byzantine (or Eastern Roman) Empire was stronger than since the days of Justinian, five
centuries earlier.
But Basil never was able to revive the western part of the Roman Empire, and his
successors frittered away his gains. His exploits had no lasting effect. Nor did those of his
contemporaries, the great Muslim rulers Al-Mansur of Cordoba (Spain), Mahmud of
Ghazni (Pakistan and Afghanistan), Tenkaminen of Ghana, and Al-Hakim of North
Africa. Indeed, since the dawn of the age of empires six thousand years earlier, nothing
fundamental had changed.
6
Imperial economics
According to The Wall Street Journal’s millennium edition, Basil and his peers were the
richest men of their era. Like their predecessors, each owed his wealth to some
combination of plunder, taxing peasants and miners, and control of long distance trade.
In those days, plunder and long distance trade were close substitutes. Basil might
have been able to increase his wealth and power by sacking Cairo, Al-Hakim’s capital,
but that was a risky proposition. Basil would have to cover the up-front costs of
assembling and moving a large enough army. He’d have to worry about how the soldiers,
many of them farm boys from Thrace and Armenia, would perform on the road, and
about what might happen meanwhile back in Byzantium. All things considered, Basil
found it more prudent instead to send Al-Hakim furs and slaves (coming into his empire
from the Rus) and silk (from Song China via Afghanistan), and to encourage Al-Hakim
to send gold and ivory (from Ghana) in return.
Such long distance trade is more like gift exchange than like a market transaction.
Often using polite diplomatic language (or, sometimes, rude ultimatums), the rulers
bargained and made long term deals, and delegated the details and the logistics to favored
subjects. The terms of trade often had more to do with military capabilities than with
impersonal forces of supply and demand.
A few traders enjoyed a degree of independence, especially those in a network
that spanned the Muslim Mediterranean a thousand years ago. The region included about
a dozen major trade centers between Cairo and Cordoba, each with a large bazaar and
specialized traders, warehouses and swarms of retailers. The Maghribi network shipped
goods from a center with lower prices to centers with higher prices, say wheat and pepper
from Cairo and wool and wine from Cordoba.
Economic historian Avner Greif points out that long distance traders faced a
severe social dilemma. Agents at remote centers could siphon off a lot of money and not
face questioning for many months, and then could plausibly tell their master that bandits
(or local officials) had taken the goods, or that prices were low because the goods had
deteriorated or because other cargoes had arrived earlier. The veil of risk and delay made
it difficult to prove that the agent had cheated.
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Greif argues that the Maghribi network thrived due to a unique moral system.
Most of the traders descended from Jewish émigrés from Baghdad, and their minority
status and ethnic ties made the network very difficult for outsiders to enter. With many
network members in each trade center, there were ample opportunities for cross-
monitoring and gossip, as in hunter-gatherer bands. High levels of literacy and the
exchange of personal and commercial letters extended monitors’ reach. Any would-be
cheater risked the loss of reputation, and that would be a professional and personal
disaster. Network members could cheat a disgraced trader with impunity, or just shun
him, and at the same time his marriage prospects (or those of his children) would suffer.
Cheaters therefore were very few and, once identified, they usually returned their ill-
gotten gains quickly. The network thus enjoyed a high degree of honesty, and that
enabled profitable long distance trade.
In AD 1000, the vast majority of the planet’s quarter of a billion people hardly
noticed the long distance trade. Most were peasants, paying taxes to local authorities.
Market exchange was quite limited; perhaps a few times each year, a peasant might take a
spare duck or pig or extra grain to the local market and come back with farm tools or
furniture constructed locally, or perhaps a little pepper from far away.
People in those days worked and lived in a thicket of social obligations. European
peasants, for example, owed local authorities and neighbors various sorts of unpaid
weekly and annual labor called weekwork, boonwork, corvée, and banalities. In return
the peasant could grow certain crops on particular strips of land, share the communal
grain fields and get limited access to the lord’s pastures, flour mills and ovens. He and his
family seldom had much choice in how to spend their time, but they did receive a small
degree of social security. Polanyi summarizes as follows: Though the institution of the market was fairly common since the later Stone Age, its role was no more
than incidental to economic life. …man’s economy, as a rule, is submerged in his social relationships. He does not act so as to safeguard his individual interest in the possession of material goods; he acts so
as to safeguard his social standing, his social claims, his social assets. He values material goods only
insofar as they serve this end. (p. 43, 46.)
Taxation and plunder in those days also were closely related, and bound up in the
social web. To understand the connections, it may be helpful to consider a simple and
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stylized two person game. Player 1, the Serf let us say, chooses during the growing
season how much to plant and how much effort to invest in raising the crop. At harvest
time, Player 2, the landlord or Duke, chooses how much of the crop to grab for himself,
leaving the rest to Player 1.
The solution to this game depends on whether the two players think that the game is
one-shot or, alternatively, that they will play it every year into the indefinite future. In the
one-shot case, Player 2 may be thought of as a “roving bandit,” and the equilibrium is
very unfortunate. It then is rational for Player 2 to take virtually everything, and Player 1,
anticipating this, will invest virtually nothing in raising the crop. Both players receive a
minimal payoff. The lesson is that when plunder is expected, everyone suffers, even the
bandit. The situation breeds extreme poverty and a low population.
Things turn out better when Player 2 is a “stationary bandit.” In this case, it is in his
interest to encourage Player 1 to invest more next year. The more patient is Player 2, the
more he is willing to let Player 1 keep. A game theoretic analysis shows that the result is
larger crops and higher payoffs for both players. This solution to the game would be
implemented via social customs and obligations, sometimes reinforced by emotional ties
of loyalty and trust.
That is, when the local authority is confident that he will remain in control into the
indefinite future, he will tax serfs at a lower rate, and the serfs will increase the harvest,
benefiting everyone. This may help explain why, after he killed the evil landlords, Basil
was able to reduce farm taxes and strengthen his treasury at the same time.
Imperial politics
Although details varied, the basic plan for civilized life was the same everywhere,
millennium after millennium. Peasants formed the base of the political pyramid. The
local authorities took some of their crop as taxes, and some of their boys to serve as
soldiers. (Slaves often anchored the base, doing the worst tasks in farming, mining or
rowing.) The pyramid narrowed quickly as you moved higher. Junior officers and artisans
and merchants occupied the middle tier. Above them stood small elite groups such as
generals, nobles, high officials, and religious leaders. One man—the emperor, we’ll say,
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though his title might be caliph or king or khan—sat at the apex and held the reins of
power.
The emperor always faced threats, both internal and external. Always some
ambitious nephew or duke or neighboring emperor was ready to grab the pyramid’s top
spot whenever he thought his soldiers could beat the incumbent’s. Therefore the
emperor’s first priority was military might. Young Basil learned horsemanship, sword
fighting and military tactics before anything else.
But how do you build a loyal and strong military? You need a coalition of elite
groups. Basil, for example, received the blessings of the Patriarch, the highest official in
the Eastern Christian Church, and (despite complaints about its increased taxes) the
Church enjoyed support and protection throughout Basil’s empire. Unlike his
predecessors, Basil adopted the children of fallen officers, and spent years with the troops
in the field, earning their personal loyalty.
Personal ties help, but they are not enough to sustain a medium or large empire—
the elite groups are just too numerous and diverse to bind together into a single ingroup.
To maintain control, every imperial dynasty needed steady streams of revenue. Take the
silk trade, for example. Mahmud of Ghazni would allow traders to buy bolts of fine cloth
in Western China and (after paying him a hefty tax) sell them at Basil’s eastern border.
But Basil wouldn’t let just anyone buy. Silk was a royal monopoly, a crucial source of
revenue and power. He’d allow only favored merchants to buy the silk and to sell it to the
Maghribi traders and other customers in the west. The merchants would return a large
chunk of the revenue to Basil’s treasury, and offer him political support. If they didn’t,
Basil could exile or execute them and find someone more pliable.
It wasn’t just Basil, and it wasn’t just silk. Monopoly profits from key
commodities were the economic lifeblood of traditional empires. Merchants could not
obtain the goods (say sesame oil or salt) without royal permission. That came at a price—
high taxes or license fees—but in return the merchant didn’t have to worry about new
rivals entering and cutting price, and usually he got some protection from roving bandits.
These royal cartels were economically very inefficient, but they provided steady income
that glued the top of the pyramid together.
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Of course, there were variants on the basic plan. Occasionally a woman occupied
the top position—most notably, Hatshepsut in Egypt (reigned 1479-1458 BC) and
Elizabeth I in England (1588-1603). Once in a while, two or three people shared the top
spot. For example, a triumvirate took over Rome after the assassination of Julius Caesar,
but that only lasted a few years until Augustus pushed the other two aside and became the
first Roman Emperor.
The pyramid flattened in the hinterland and in border regions occupied by self-
sufficient farmers and herdsmen. The lifestyle there could be more egalitarian and
natural, and this has always had an appeal. Indeed, my own generation felt the tug, and
many of us went “back to the land” in remote rural areas. We tried as much as possible to
produce our own food, shelter and clothing, to trade goods and favors with our neighbors,
and to avoid long-distance trade.
Such a life is quite satisfying in many ways, but it is seldom a practical option.
To carve out a family homestead takes a pretty good tool set and access to fertile
unpopulated land. Such opportunities are rare and fleeting. When conditions are good
enough for the homesteaders to prosper, the population expands rapidly and hierarchy
returns within a generation or two. This was the story of the western frontier in nineteenth
century North America, and also the story of the northeastern European plains in
medieval times, after the wheeled plow and draft animals made it practical to farm the
heavy soil. Where the land is less fertile, say in remote mountain regions, one might find
yeoman farmers for many generations, but the lifestyle never spreads back into the more
densely populated areas.
Thus, until a few centuries ago, markets always played a subordinate role. Among
hunter-gatherers or herdsmen or self-sufficient farmers, personalized gift exchange is
much more important than market exchange. In the great empires, the ruler and his
minions monopolized access to the most important commodities. They extracted for
themselves as much income as possible, and seldom left much for ordinary people. So
markets were static and uncompetitive, just one component of the traditional political
order.
The European advantage
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How did Western Europe find a new way forward? As late as 1400, it still lagged behind
the great empires of China, India and the Islamic world. For example, the most promising
new technologies of that time—the water wheel, eyeglasses (which greatly increased
craftsmen’s productive years), clockwork, printing, and gunpowder—all were invented
elsewhere, mostly in China.
Europeans had the lead in only one significant technology. Leveraging expertise
in casting iron church bells, they made bigger and better cannons than anyone else. In
1450, the Ottomans hired Transylvanian Christians to build cannons to help break the
previously invulnerable defenses of Constantinople. They did their job, and the Ottomans
overran Basil’s city three years later, the final fall of the Roman Empire.
Western Europe’s real advantage was more subtle: in the 1400s it was more open
to the new technologies than anywhere else, and the technologies spread more rapidly.
New economic practices also spread more quickly in Europe. For example, about then the
new “putting out” system allowed farm families to earn cash by weaving and sewing at
home in seasons when they weren’t busy planting and harvesting crops. Equally
important, new governance practices started to take root, especially free cities. Europe
still lagged but somehow it was able to move faster.
Why? Two reasons. First, the dark ages had lifted, and once again Western
Europe was in contact with the outside world. In most respects the Crusades (1096-1272)
were disastrous—despite the high cost in blood and treasure, Jerusalem had become less
accessible, and many Christian countries, especially Byzantium, were weakened—but
they helped reopen connections to the Mediterranean and beyond. By 1400, and ever
after, goods and new ideas poured into Europe from the world’s most advanced
civilizations.
Second, Europe was so fragmented politically that nobody was able to stop
disruptive new practices. Suppose, for example, that you were an ambitious young
apprentice dyer in Bruges in 1500, and that you just discovered a new and cheaper way of
dyeing cloth. Widespread adoption of your idea would threaten the livelihoods of
established dyers and their suppliers so, in a traditional empire, the dyers would work
through their patrons in the ruling elite to suppress your idea. But in Bruges, you’d have
many options. Your master could profit by adopting your method, and if the local dyers’
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guild cracked down, then you (or perhaps another apprentice who picked up your idea)
could go to Amsterdam or some other city where the dyers’ guild wasn’t so strong, or
where the guilds wanted to grow. Weavers and tailors in your new town would then have
an advantage due to their access to cheaper, higher quality dye.
Europe’s markets
Even deep in the Dark Ages, following the collapse of the Western Roman Empire, there
still were lots of local spot markets open at least once a month. By 1100 AD several
Italian port cities (especially Genoa and Venice but also Pisa and Amalfi) had developed
personalized trade networks, somewhat like the Maghribis’, that reached into the western
backwaters as well as eastward across the Mediterranean.
The biggest gains, though, come from impersonal trade between disparate
regions. As the centuries went by, the toughest roving bandits of the north, the Vikings
and Normans, became more stationary, and a growing population spun a web of new
roads. At the same time, more pilgrims and merchants braved the Brenner and
Montgenèvre passes and the other old Roman roads through the Alps. Regional trade
fairs, like those of St Ives in England, expanded, and some began to go international.
The Champagne fairs are the prime example. Henry the Liberal (1122?-1181),
recently returned from the Second Crusade, took over as Count of the northern French
region of Champagne in 1152 AD. His lands lay at a major crossroad, and Henry realized
that the local annual fair could attract cloth makers from the Rhine delta as well as Italian
dyers and exporters. Henry quickly made the roads safe from bandits, gave autonomy and
protection to the fair organizers, and kept taxes low. Within a few years, and for more
than a century after, the merchants swarmed in from France and the Low Countries and
Italy, and also from Germany and Spain and beyond. Eventually there were nine separate
fairs each year, each lasting six weeks or so, rotating among Troyes, Provins and a few
other towns of Brie and southwest Champagne.
Markets thicken when many buyers and sellers show up at the same time from
many different places, and thick markets catalyze change. The wholesale markets in
Champagne reliably funneled income to those Dutch villagers who wove cloth from wool
and linen. Their relative prosperity attracted more people to the trade, and eventually
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sixty northern European towns were dominated by cloth makers who sold their output
exclusively through the fairs. They could pay their suppliers well, so more people spent
more time raising sheep and growing flax. Likewise, more young people were drawn into
the dyeing and tailoring trades, and into industries that made equipment or otherwise
catered to the cloth producers and merchants.
For the first time since the zenith of the Roman Empire, a large number of
Europeans made their living by producing goods to sell in the marketplace, and bought
their necessities. The old regime of rigid social obligations and local self-sufficiency
began to melt.
The most interesting part of the story may be the evolution of market formats and
practices. Imagine that you are a medieval merchant looking for fine wool cloth for your
Italian customers. Your first two problems are finding a seller, and agreeing on price.
These are easily solved when you go to Troyes in July: you look over the merchandise in
the huge warehouses, find what you want, check the fair’s registry for prices for similar
goods sold in the last couple of days, and, over a flagon of ale at your inn, you make a
deal with two cloth sellers. Thick markets do the trick.
But you still have two other big problems. You have to make sure that you get the
goods you bargained for—full measure with no moth eggs or inferior stuff mixed in—
and that you can transport them safely back to Italy. Likewise, the sellers have to make
sure they get paid on time and in full so they can pay their suppliers. Since you don’t
personally know the sellers and might not transact with them again, everyone needs
assurance against cheating. The other problem is financial. You will deliver the goods to
your customers in Italy two or three months after they were produced in northern towns,
and in the meantime someone will have to provide credit. Markets have to deal with these
credit and assurance problems, or they will shrivel as surely as if roving bandits took over
the roads.
According to Greif, Europe’s first widespread solution was the community
responsibility system. Here’s how it worked. Suppose you were cheated by a merchant
from Bremen. Then, the next time you saw any Bremenite, you would get the backing of
your fellow townsmen and seize his goods. The Bremenite and his friends would pressure
the cheater to compensate you. This system hooks into our ancient moral instincts about
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group identity. It also gives everyone a direct incentive to monitor and discipline their
fellow townsmen: if anyone misbehaves, then everyone from the town is endangered.
But, of course, the system doesn’t work perfectly. Sometimes false accusations
are hard to detect, and there can be honest differences of opinion. The matter then can
escalate into feuds, disrupting trade and conceivably leading to open warfare. Also, the
system didn’t scale up very well as trade increased during the 1200s. When your town
has too many merchants to know personally, and when satellite towns spring up, the lines
of responsibility begin to blur.
A better system grew from the fairs at Champagne and elsewhere. Lex
mercatoria, the "law merchant," was administered by a respected, experienced merchant,
who listened to both sides in a trade dispute and decided who owed what to whom. His
decisions stuck, because defiant merchants were shunned by everyone and thus lost their
livelihood. Even today, in dozens of industries—diamonds, independent films, printing,
rice, and tea to name a few—disputes are resolved in such merchant tribunals, and
decisions are enforced by the threat of expulsion from the trade association.
Some recent economic historians say that the medieval law merchant was not
really autonomous, and was actually subject to local control and local idiosyncrasies. Be
that as it may, in Champagne he had the backing of Count Henry the Liberal and his
successors. Several generations of merchants prospered as the law merchant enforced
credit agreements and quality assurances.
In 1273 Philip III, King of France, invaded Champagne and brought it into the
royal demesne. Over the next several decades, taxes rose, merchant privileges were
curtailed and facilities deteriorated. The Champagne fairs withered. But dozens of other
places throughout Western Europe filled in. Nurtured by the law merchant and other new
practices, her markets just kept growing. By 1400, Europe had some of the world’s most
supple and sophisticated markets.
Inside the chrysalis
Every historian has a favorite way to explain the great transformation. For a long time the
most popular way was to focus on the Industrial Revolution, and tell a heroic tale of
brave explorers and brilliant scientists and inventors who discovered a host of new
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technologies: better sailing ships and looms, then steam engines, trains, sewing machines,
the telegraph, open hearth and Bessemer steel production, and so on up to cars and
airplanes. In this explanation, the new technologies naturally opened new markets and
transformed the economy.
Why did all these heroes happen to turn up in Western Europe (or, towards the
end, also in North America) and not elsewhere? Racist explanations won’t wash—other
peoples did better in other eras—and simple good luck seems unlikely for such a long
string of discoveries. The great sociologist Max Weber (1864-1920) pointed to a moral
and cultural advantage, the “Protestant work ethic.” Towards the end of the twentieth
century, politically correct pundits spotlighted the accomplishments of other cultures and
tried (rather unconvincingly) to minimize the uniqueness and importance of the great
transformation. Recent historians such as Landes and Clark have updated Weber, and
argued that Western morals were the root cause.
I will tell the story a different way, centered on markets. The engine driving the
great transformation was a dual positive feedback system. One feedback loop runs
through markets and technology: advances in one spur advances in the other. The other
loop runs through markets and the moral code, broadly construed to include legal and
political institutions. Once the engine first turned over, around 1400, its internal
dynamics made it run faster. Nobody stopped it for 400 years, and by 1800 it was
unstoppable. It transformed a caterpillar society into the bountiful butterfly we call the
modern world.
Enough metaphors. Let’s take a closer look at how markets interact with
technology, and begin in Sagres, at the southern tip of Portugal, in 1420. There Prince
Henry the Navigator (1394-1460) built a unique enterprise. Its mission: to explore the
Atlantic, especially the coast of Africa. Henry recruited the best mapmakers, navigational
instrument makers and boat builders he could find, including Jews and Muslims from
North Africa and Christians from Italy and Scandinavia.
Year by year, Henry’s men advanced the state of the art. They drew the first
reliable charts of the Atlantic coastline, constructed robust but accurate cross-staffs and
mathematical tables for measuring latitude, and perfected the caravel, a ship that could
tack sharply against the wind and carry a substantial cargo, yet still navigate shallows and
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survive storms. His men quickly rediscovered and settled the Madeira Islands and, in
1427, they found the Azores. The great breakthrough came in 1434, when his men first
passed Cape Bojador, long thought to be the end of the world. The new sea routes gave
direct access to the riches of Africa beyond the Sahara desert, and gold, ivory and slaves
started to pour into Portugal.
Commercial success encouraged the Portuguese to continue improving their
seafaring technology. In 1498, Vasco de Gama became the first sailor ever to round the
Cape of Good Hope and reach India. Portugal dominated overseas trade from 1450 to
1550, operating about 90 percent of the 770 ships that then sailed the high seas. But her
pioneering role began to slip after 1497, when Spain and Rome forced her to crack down
on heretics. Over the next several decades, Jews and Muslims had to be baptized or leave,
and the Inquisition eventually forced out even the less orthodox Christian scholars.
Portugal was just a prelude. After Columbus and de Gama, all sorts of new
opportunities and new ideas from the Orient and the Americas streamed into European
port cities and trickled into inland towns. For reasons to be discussed shortly, the towns
were primed for the new ideas. New markets opened for the resulting products: machine-
spun threads and machine-woven cloth, better water-wheels to power better mills, and
always better ships and carts. The new products and cheaper transportation accelerated
trade in goods, and that boosted new markets for labor and finance. It’s a standard story
but still true: technological innovations spur markets.
The other part of the loop has received less attention: markets spur innovation and
new technologies. The cascade of new inventions was not due to the lucky appearance of
dozens of brilliant individuals; every generation and every locale has its share. (It is true
that from about 1500 onwards, more Europeans were educated and exposed to latest
developments, and this no doubt helped.) In my view, the main reason was the
unprecedented rewards that markets in Europe bestowed on innovators.
Innovation is normally suppressed in traditional empires, but increasingly in
Europe it found wealthy supporters. Powerful interests might oppose the innovation, but
somewhere someone stood to benefit. For example, canal owners in the early 1800s
might not want to see railroads develop, but owners of ironworks would. Using the
emerging financial markets, ironworks owners and other investors would provide
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resources to build the railroads, and those with a stake in canals (barge builders, toll
collectors, etc) could do little to slow it down.
Indeed, innovation was sometimes subsidized. Wealthy individuals and
governments sponsored contests with huge prizes for inventions that would improve their
market opportunities. Dava Sobel’s recent book Longitude, for example, describes the
contest to produce a device that would measure east-west position, a key to navigation on
the high seas.
More importantly, as markets grew the incentives increased for new innovation.
Maturing markets for land, labor and capital made it far easier and quicker to roll out a
new technology. And the wider goods markets meant more revenue and profit for the first
companies to do so. Innovation became a major source of wealth in the more advanced
countries, eventually surpassing plunder and the control of long distance trade.
Nowadays it is obvious that the market drives innovation, and private companies
as well as governments spend huge sums on research and development. Baumol’s recent
book The Free Market Innovation Machine focuses on the last 50 years in the US. As I
see it, however, the push from markets goes all the way back to Europe hundreds of years
ago.
The moral transformation
The great transformation is not just of the economy and technology, but also of law,
politics and personal morals. Let’s take a closer look at the loop from markets to politics
and law.
In traditional empires, towns and cities grew best near the imperial capital, but in
medieval Europe, free towns sprang up in spaces between the fiefdoms. Usually
dominated by merchant and craft guilds, the towns provided vital tax revenue to the local
feudal lords. The local lord therefore found it in his interest to protect the guilds’ local
monopolies, to defend the town against bandits and invaders, and to grant townsmen
privileges, such as exemption from corvée. The medieval German proverb stadtluft macht
frei translates roughly as: freedom is in the city air.
Changes in military technology from the 1400s increased the towns’ leverage.
Cannon and gunpowder favored offense over defense, and professional soldiers for hire
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were increasingly effective against local knights and conscripted serfs. Military success
more than ever required cash.
Impatient (or stupid) lords tried to squeeze neighboring towns harder but, as in
Champagne around 1300, this was self-defeating. The local businesses simply moved
elsewhere and soon the lord’s take declined. More enlightened and patient lords kept
taxes moderate and offered better privileges than rivals, and that allowed their local
towns to grow and prosper. Greater wealth, and greater military success, increasingly
went to regions and nations with laws and politics more favorable to merchants and other
townsmen.
Britain and the Low Countries led the way. From the 1500s onward, political
power there flowed towards elected representatives of the people (at least of wealthy
people). At the same time, these countries developed new and efficient commercial law
and commercial courts. Private property enjoyed unprecedented protection, and efficient
commercial techniques (such as double entry bookkeeping) took root. Commerce and
wealth accelerated in these countries, and other countries scrambled to catch up.
There is a paradox here: surrendering royal power to the courts became the best
way to maintain royal wealth and power. The simplistic Duke-Serf game described
earlier helps clarify an underlying strategic issue. When an impartial, independent court
can compel the Duke to obey, the Serf can take the tax rate as given. Such protection
from arbitrary seizures gives him greater incentive to increase the crop size, benefiting
both Serf and Duke. Indeed, both are better off than in the case where the Duke is a
stationary bandit, even a rather patient one. The conclusion holds with even more force
for relations between the local lord and townsmen whose businesses can go elsewhere.
Thus markets grew faster in cities and countries with more market-friendly laws
and politics, and those places became more wealthy and powerful. To avoid oblivion,
other places had to follow, or leapfrog. This ratchet pulled Europe’s political and legal
systems away from feudalism towards modernity, expanding markets all the while.
Personal moral codes also changed. Historians have noted that the countries
leading the industrial revolution were predominantly Protestant, and that Catholic
countries like Spain and Italy tended to lag. Weber suggested that the reason might be the
“Protestant work ethic.” His point was that Calvinist doctrine encouraged wealth
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accumulation, saving and investment, and that investment (in new factories, for example)
is essential to economic growth and development. By contrast, traditional Catholic
teachings like “it is easier for camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich
man to enter heaven” discourage savings and investment in things like new factories. In
Catholic southern Europe, most wealthy people gave higher priority to enhancing their
social standing by conspicuous consumption—building larger castles, for example—and
conspicuous donations to the Church and to charities.
Landes points out that the Protestant predilection for savings and investment was
part of a whole suite of personal traits—rationality, skepticism of authority, orderliness,
diligence, productivity—that helped people succeed in a dynamic market economy. So
too were the emerging middle class habits of passing moral judgments on neighbors and
exerting peer pressure. These traits were more common in Protestant Western Europe
than in traditional cultures, and they surely helped boost the economic transformation.
So Weber’s thesis is true as far as it goes, but it misses half of the loop. The
“Protestant” virtues became more prevalent precisely because they worked—they gave
people a real advantage when new opportunities opened in commerce and industry. These
virtues were not the lucky cause of the industrial revolution, as claimed by some of
Weber’s followers, but rather an effect, a part of the run-away dynamic. The logic is the
same as with the moral transition associated with the spread of river valley civilizations,
from unified egalitarian moral codes to fragmented hierarchical codes.
Moral traits conducive to the new market system were bound to appear
somewhere. If the Protestant reformation had not already been handy, then very similar
traits would have evolved directly from Catholicism or some other religious or
philosophical tradition—a later chapter will note that this happened in Japan, for
example. Once present, the new morals would spread, boosting and boosted by the new
market system.
Rich caterpillars: Spain and China
The process can also be understood by looking at places it was slow to reach. Two very
rich countries, Spain and China, escaped the transformation until late in the 20th century.
Why?
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Muslims, Christians and Jews shared the Iberian Peninsula for eight centuries. Its
major cities, especially Cordoba, Seville and Granada, were the western hub of the
civilized world, wealthy in goods and ideas. But everything changed in 1492, when
Christian rulers united the Peninsula (except for the western strip, Portugal, already held
by allies), and got the inside track to the New World. Spain then had no more border
problems and soon enjoyed the richest stream of plunder the world has ever seen. In an
average year in the 1500s, Spain’s galleons brought home two to four tons of gold,
mostly from her New World colonies, and the annual silver haul averaged over 200 tons
towards the end of the century.
Spain’s rulers then could pretty much do whatever they wanted. So what did they
want? As you might expect, they built up their capital, Madrid, and erected huge and
luxurious palaces. They also funneled vast sums of money to religious fanatics. The
Inquisition smothered dissent and new ideas within Spain’s borders and beyond, and
well-funded missionaries spread a particularly intolerant version of their faith. Spanish
rulers spent even more on military adventures, building a huge armada and hiring vast
armies. They enjoyed some success but never quite were able to conquer England or the
Netherlands.
By virtue of its geography and wealth, Spain (with Portugal in tow) was able to
isolate itself from the market-driven changes sweeping the rest of western Europe in the
1600s and 1700s. Landes and other historians point up Spain’s hidalgo mentality, scorn
for people who had to work for a living—sort of a Protestant ethic in reverse. Spain
started to fall behind. In the 1800s their richest colonies broke away and in 1898 the US
snapped up the remaining few. (The US still holds Puerto Rico and Guam, having spun
off Cuba right away and the Philippines after the Second World War.) In the twentieth
century, a Fascist dictatorship delayed Spain’s modernization until the late 1970s, but
since then she has made up for lost time.
By 1000 AD, China clearly had the world’s most advanced civilization and more
than a quarter of the world’s population. Peasants irrigated fields in the vast floodplain of
the Yangtze, Hwang He (Yellow) and other east-west rivers. Her infrastructure already
included the Great Wall on her northern border and, much more important, the thousand
mile Grand Canal, connecting the five largest rivers as it ran from Beijing and Kaifeng
21
south to Hangzhou. Inland waterways were far cheaper than other transportation modes
of the day, so China’s national network of watery highways was an unrivalled asset.
Most of the previous 1500 years China had enjoyed unified rule, but the
exceptions were especially fruitful. The Three Warring States period (403 – 221 BC) saw
great advances in iron technology, the beginnings of China’s civil service, classic
treatises on warfare like Sun Tzu’s, and the flowering of the Hundred Schools of
Thought, including Confucianism and Taoism. The period of Five Dynasties and Ten
Kingdoms (907-960) saw the first military application of gunpowder and a new creativity
in art and literature.
The Song dynasty ruled from Kaifeng in 1000 AD. They kept order until the Jin
dynasty ousted them from the north in 1127, and from Hangzhou they ruled the south for
another century and a half. Then the Mongols took over the entire country, as well as
much of Muslim world; for them, most of Europe wasn’t worth the trouble.
By 1400, the Ming dynasty had ousted the Mongols. The story of Zheng He
(1371-1433, often written Cheng-ho) reveals much about that era. Born to an aristocratic
Muslim family in the China’s remote southwestern corner, Zheng was captured at age 11
as the Ming consolidated control. He was castrated and taken to the new Ming court in
Beijing.
Somehow, a decade or so later, Zheng impressed the third Ming emperor, the
great Yongle. Perhaps it was Zheng’s stories of his father and grandfather’s hajj to exotic
Mecca, or maybe the emperor wanted tribute from India. For whatever reason, Yongle
ordered the construction of huge treasure ships, dwarfing Prince Henry’s caravels and
anything the world had ever seen. He put Zheng in charge of a series of naval
expeditions, the first with 317 ships carrying 28,000 armed troops. Between 1405 and
1433, the fleet planted colonies of Muslim Chinese in present day Malaysia, quashed the
local pirates, and visited ports in India, Arabia, and the east coast of Africa. Zheng gave
out gifts of silk and porcelain, occasionally intervened militarily (as in Ceylon), and
brought back wonders like giraffes and zebras.
Back in Beijing, a powerful faction saw the voyages as a threat. Its leaders
convinced Yongle’s successor that the Middle Kingdom had no need for the trinkets from
lesser civilizations, nor for their subversive ideas on religion and politics. The new
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emperor cracked down. On his orders, the great treasure ships were decommissioned and
allowed to rot. Zheng’s charts and logs were destroyed and the shipyards were torn down,
along with the world’s greatest ironworks that had helped supply them. Even the
shipbuilders were exiled to remote provinces. China never again had a great navy.
The episode is symptomatic. China had a long lead over Portugal in seafaring,
but, due to internal politics, it threw it away. Centuries earlier, China’s powerful and
unified government suppressed its advanced gunpowder and cannon technologies, mainly
because it was more interested in defending fortifications than in attacking them. It
maintained tight monopolies on its key commodities such as silk and porcelain.
Unauthorized people who tried to produce these items, or even get an education, were
severely punished. China had a rich society, but it was closed to outside stimuli.
Sometime in the 1700s, Europe began to surpass China economically and
militarily. Europeans humiliated China in the opium wars of the mid-1800s and
afterwards grabbed what they wanted. China finally began to modernize, but it was a
slow process until the Japanese invaded in 1937. The communists led the resistance and,
not long after the end of WW II, they took over the entire Chinese mainland. They
modernized education and health care, but imposed their own political and economic
monopolies. Beginning in 1978, China began to liberalize the economy and it has grown
since then at an unprecedented rate. The Communist Party recently opened its ranks to
businesspeople but so far has not allowed open political competition.
The butterfly
In 1000 AD, Western Europe was an unpromising backwater, a patchwork of petty
Christian fiefdoms (including a pitiable collection that called itself the Holy Roman
Empire) and pagan territories. By 1400, an outsider trying to predict future world powers
would have to take Western Europe seriously, although in the end he probably would
have bet on more established players like the Ottomans in Turkey and Greece, or the
Mings in Beijing, or possibly the emerging Sayyid dynasty in Delhi.
By 1800 that contest was over. Western Europe had become the leading edge of
the great transformation, and traditional pyramid societies in the rest of the world began
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to crumble. Still, somehow, it seems a bit mysterious. Why Western Europe 1400-1800,
and not some other time or place?
A short answer is that, for those four centuries, Europe enjoyed two conditions
that rarely coexist: access to long distance trade, and fragmented political control.
Throughout most of history, only people living in a capital city are exposed to long
distance trade in goods and ideas. Living in Kaifeng a thousand years ago, for example,
you could meet barge operators from South China, and they might have talked with
traders or scholars from India and other exotic places. But the Song rulers would never
give you the opportunity to try anything that might undermine their rule. On the other
hand, if you lived in a remote province where their control was weak, then you probably
wouldn’t have access to latest ideas or to markets, or to resources to do new things.
Hence, in China as in all traditional empires, innovation languished at both center and
periphery.
Western Europe’s political weakness was a crucial asset. The long external
coastline, the internal mountain barriers (especially the Alps, Carpathians and Pyrenees),
and the lack of rich resources (not much gold or spice) discouraged the rise of stable
empires. The feudal system created fragmented loyalties to kin, to overlord, and to the
Church, and weak and erratic control of Europe’s 2000 free towns and cities.
At the same time, the coastline and extensions of Roman roads encouraged long
distance trade. By 1400, Europeans had access to the best ideas in the world, and had the
opportunity to try them out. If an idea didn’t work in one town, the others didn’t suffer. If
it did work out, it could spread. In fact, competition among the fragmented authorities
virtually guaranteed that an idea would spread if it boosted local wealth.
Normally, what happens is that some fragment gets an advantage and consolidates
power. Then it can suppress threats, and things slow back down to normal. Greece had a
golden age when its many city-states vied with each other, but that faded when the
Macedonians, Philip and then Alexander and his successors, centralized power. Likewise,
innovation slowed considerably in Rome after Julius and then Augustus wrested power
from the fractious Senate.
Something similar almost happened in Europe around 1600. Spain had engulfed
Portugal and several other regions, and squelched dissent and innovation. But Europe
24
didn’t lose its momentum because people and ideas went elsewhere. Sparked partly by
refugees from Iberia, a golden age bloomed in the Low Countries. Britain also blossomed
and took the lead in industrial technology. The government tried to hoard industrial
secrets, but somehow they always leaked out. Ideas spread to France, Germany and the
rest of the continent, and cross fertilized.
Later, around 1800, revolutionary ideas spread in the wake of Napoleon’s
conquests. He tried to impose a unified empire, but it didn’t last long enough to slow
things down. Europe remained fragmented and open, and the market transformation
swept over the entire continent. The butterfly took flight.
Eight Days
Henry Paulson, Ben Bernanke, and Timothy Geithner were willing to countenance government intervention when markets failed.
Their actions outraged both Republicans and Democrats. Illustration by Mark Ulriksen.
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 12
Let’s don’t be alarmist.
he most important week in American financial history since the Great Depression began at 8 A.M.
on a Friday in the middle of September last year. I have pieced together this account of it from
scores of interviews with participants and observers. Many of the principals agreed to be interviewed,
including Henry Paulson, who was Secretary of the Treasury; Ben Bernanke, the chairman of the
Federal Reserve System; and Timothy Geithner, who was president of the New York Federal Reserve.
As time has passed, memories inevitably have been colored by hindsight and efforts to shade the truth,
to affix blame and claim credit, but, as one Treasury official told me, referring to himself and his
colleagues, “For better or worse, we’re the ones responsible. The more accurately the story is told, the
better our policies will be received.”
As Bernanke hurried to the Department of the Treasury for his weekly breakfast with Secretary
Paulson, crisis loomed. Lehman Brothers Holdings, Inc., a global financial-services firm that started out
as a drygoods store in 1850, faced imminent bankruptcy. Its collapse could be catastrophic, and a
solution had to be found that weekend, before markets opened on Monday. Paulson, a former chairman
of the powerful investment bank Goldman Sachs, is tall, excitable, garrulous, and supremely
self-confident. Reared as a Christian Scientist in the affluent Chicago suburb of Barrington Hills, he was
an Eagle Scout in high school and a football player at Dartmouth before graduating from Harvard
Business School. Paulson doesn’t use e-mail and tends to ask rapid-fire questions, in a distinctive,
rasping voice. He once told a colleague, “I didn’t get the charm gene.”
Nor, evidently, did Bernanke, a soft-spoken former professor of economics at Stanford and
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Princeton. When White House officials first interviewed Bernanke for the post of Fed chairman, he was
so quiet they worried that he lacked, as one put it, “assertiveness.” He grew up in a small town in South
Carolina, played alto saxophone in the marching band, and wrote an unpublished novel. He graduated
from Harvard summa cum laude, and earned a Ph.D. in economics at M.I.T. He is an expert in the
economic history of the Great Depression.
Both men were appointed by President George W. Bush, but, unlike the Administration’s
free-market absolutists, they, along with Geithner, considered themselves pragmatists—proponents of
government action when markets fail. The two camps had long coexisted among Republicans,
sometimes uneasily, but during the Bush Administration, with its anti-regulation rhetoric and cuts in
marginal tax rates, free-market proponents seemed to be in their element. Bernanke’s predecessor at
the Fed, Alan Greenspan, kept interest rates exceptionally low. Regulators at the Securities and
Exchange Commission tolerated high leverage at investment banks, and the Fed and the Federal Deposit
Insurance Corporation tolerated lax real-estate lending standards. Housing prices shot up. In October,
2007, the Dow Jones Industrial Average reached a peak of 14,093. Unheeded by Bernanke, Paulson, or
just about anyone in a position of authority, an asset bubble had grown to perilous and historic
proportions.
That year, the bubble had begun to deflate. Defaults among subprime-mortgage borrowers rose, and
then the elaborate infrastructure of mortgage-backed securities started to erode. In an attempt to
contain the damage, Paulson and Bernanke presided over what many considered the greatest
government intrusion into markets and finance since the nineteen-thirties.
In March, 2008, the government ushered the failing investment bank Bear Stearns into a merger
with JPMorgan Chase, a deal that was made possible by $29 billion of government financing for Bear
Stearns’ troubled assets. In early September, the Treasury rescued the government-backed private
mortgage agencies Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac, pledging up to $200 billion in capital. Such
interventions put taxpayer money at risk and made a mockery of the notion of “moral hazard,” a
guiding principle of economics which posits that unless actors bear the consequences of their actions
they will act recklessly.
Public criticism of Paulson and Bernanke was scathing. The bailouts had brought into rare alignment
the Republican right wing, averse to any tampering with the free market, and the Democratic left,
outraged by the government rescue of Wall Street’s overpaid élite. Senator Jim Bunning, Republican of
Kentucky, called for the two men to resign, and argued that the bailouts were “a calamity for our free
market system.” He stated, “Simply put, it is socialism,” and told a Bloomberg journalist that Paulson
was “acting like the minister of finance in China.” Nouriel Roubini, an economics professor at New
York University’s Stern School of Business, who had warned about the housing bubble back in 2004,
declared that “socialism is indeed alive and well in America,” but with a twist: “This is socialism for the
rich, the well connected, and Wall Street.”
he previous afternoon, September 11th, Timothy Geithner, at the New York Fed, had told Paulson
and Bernanke that Lehman was unlikely to be able to open for business on Monday. Since its
origins, in cotton trading, Lehman had underwritten countless stock and bond offerings, had become a
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force in mergers and acquisitions, and was perhaps best known for its bond index, the equivalent of the
Dow Jones Industrial Average for stocks. In 2005 and 2006, it was the largest underwriter of subprime-
mortgage-backed securities.
As recently as 2007, Lehman had reported record profits, thanks largely to its leverage of thirty to
one, meaning that for every dollar of tangible capital it had thirty dollars of debt. Most of its assets were
funded by borrowed money, and now, given the steep decline in mortgage-backed securities, no one
believed that the assets were worth their nominal value of $640 billion; Lehman’s share price was down
ninety-four per cent from the previous year. A run on its assets was already under way, its liquidity was
vanishing, and its stock price had fallen by forty-two per cent just the previous day; it couldn’t survive
the weekend. Global markets and the financial system were far more fragile than they had been in
March, when Bear Stearns faltered, and Geithner, warning that the consequences of a Lehman
bankruptcy would be quite bad, argued that an alternative had to be found. Otherwise, he said, the
damage almost certainly would not be contained.
Bernanke, coming from a different perspective, had arrived at much the same position. As a scholar
of the Depression, he had argued that the collapse of banks and other financial institutions at the time
had made the Depression much worse by constricting credit. He had become a proponent of
intervening to provide liquidity and encourage lending. He argued that the risks of insufficient
action—lack of action had led Japan into a prolonged slump in the nineteen-nineties—were far greater
than those of overdoing it.
Paulson had headed Goldman’s investment-banking operations, including mergers and acquisitions.
As its chief executive, he had first opposed, then embraced, the firm’s decision, in 1999, to go public,
showing both flexibility and decisiveness.
But as Paulson and Bernanke sat down on September 12th the morning news included reports in
which anonymous Treasury officials appeared to say that Paulson was ruling out the possibility of any
government financial assistance to Lehman.
Paulson acknowledged to Bernanke that he had authorized the comments. He was under intense
political pressure from the White House and Capitol Hill to curb the furor over the rescue of Fannie
Mae and Freddie Mac the previous weekend, as well as continuing resentment over Bear Stearns. More
important, every private business he had spoken with about acquiring Lehman was insisting on some
kind of government funding. Nevertheless, Paulson assured Bernanke, he was committed to finding a
buyer.
All summer, Paulson had been pressing Lehman’s chairman and chief executive, Richard S. Fuld,
Jr., to find a buyer or a major investor for the firm. Fuld, at sixty-two, was intensely aggressive. He
joined Lehman Brothers in 1969, as a trader, and had subsequently driven Lehman’s ambitious
expansion. But Fuld had been slow to grasp the severity of the firm’s plight, and Paulson was frustrated
that Fuld kept insisting on what Paulson deemed unrealistic terms, including too high a price. (Fuld’s
lawyer did not reply to requests for comment for this account.) As a result, Paulson had taken it upon
himself to find a buyer, and he had come up with two serious candidates: Bank of America and
Barclays, one of the largest banks in the U.K.
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Bernanke, too, had talked to Kenneth Lewis, the chairman and C.E.O. of Bank of America. Lewis,
a native of Walnut Grove, Mississippi, and a graduate of Georgia State, had joined a small regional bank,
North Carolina National, in 1969, as a credit analyst, and had worked his way up the ranks as the bank
transformed itself into NationsBank Corporation, by swallowing a succession of other banks and thrifts,
and then, in 1998, into Bank of America, whose headquarters were moved from San Francisco to
Charlotte. Lewis became the bank’s C.E.O. in 2001. He had never fit in with his Wall Street or West
Coast counterparts, and once remarked, “I’ve had all of the fun I can stand in investment banking at the
moment.” Unlike commercial banks, which take deposits and make loans, investment banks raise
capital for an array of financial services, from underwriting stock and bond offerings, to managing
corporate takeovers, to trading, acting both for clients and for themselves. Bank of America was a
commercial bank, and Lehman was an investment bank, but Lewis was interested in it anyway
—provided that the government was willing to lend against Lehman’s bad assets.
Paulson had urged Lewis and Fuld to talk. Bank of America auditors were now trying to determine
how much government assistance the bank would need. Meanwhile, Barclays’ president, Bob
Diamond, an American, saw Lehman as an opportunity to increase Barclays’ U.S. investment-banking
operations. Paulson, in their first conversation, had been typically direct: “Bob, there’s no government
money.”
“I hear you,” Diamond replied. “We’ll try.” He took Paulson’s comments as sincere but not
necessarily definitive. Barclays would see what it could offer for Lehman; if there was a gap, maybe the
government would step in after all.
In the case of Bear Stearns, the Fed had relied on emergency powers, bestowed by the Federal
Reserve Act, that allow it to lend in “unusual and exigent circumstances,” when the loans are “secured
to the satisfaction” of the Fed. JPMorgan had guaranteed Bear’s obligations until the deal closed.
Over breakfast, Bernanke and Paulson discussed a plan, first proposed by Paulson the day before,
to engineer a similar “private sector” solution, whereby Bank of America or Barclays would indeed
receive financing for Lehman’s troubled assets—but not from the government. Instead, other banks
would be asked to join a consortium, in order to spread the risk. In other words, Wall Street’s strongest
competitors would be asked to put their differences aside and act together for the common good. There
was precedent for this in the rescue of Long-Term Capital Management, in 1998, when William
McDonough, the president of the New York Fed, summoned bankers to address that crisis. Surely the
bankers would recognize that the failure of Lehman imperilled them all.
hristopher Flowers, the billionaire founder of the private-equity firm J. C. Flowers & Company and
a self-described “lowlife grave dancer” with an eye for failing banks, found himself, Zelig-like, in
the midst of the week’s dealmaking. Slender, bespectacled, and rumpled, Flowers was a math whiz who
liked chess, and those skills made him a formidable opponent in the intricate moves of financial
takeovers—in some cases as an adviser to firms doing deals, in others as an actual investor.
Flowers knew Paulson well, having spent twenty years at Goldman Sachs, and had worked with
Bank of America officials in the merger with NationsBank. He talked regularly to Maurice (Hank)
Greenberg, the former chief executive of the giant insurance conglomerate A.I.G., and did business with
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others in the insurance industry, especially executives at Germany’s Allianz.
Earlier in the week, a Bank of America official told Flowers that the firm was considering buying
Lehman and said that it wanted him as a partner in the deal. Flowers and a Bank of America team had
spent the previous twenty-four hours at a midtown law office going over Lehman’s books. Its finances
turned out to be far worse than Flowers had expected. The exposure to risky residential mortgages was
widely known, but not the firm’s $32-billion portfolio of commercial-real-estate assets, much of it of
dubious quality.
Then an A.I.G. executive asked him to join a meeting at A.I.G.’s headquarters, in lower Manhattan.
“What’s the problem?” Flowers asked. A.I.G., it turned out, was facing a liquidity crisis, the result of
disastrous bets made by its Financial Products division, based in London. A.I.G. Financial Products had
become one of the largest issuers of credit-default swaps, a product similar to insurance: the buyer pays
the company in return for a promise of reimbursement in the event of default on a bond or other debt
security. If the likelihood of default increased, A.I.G. had to post collateral with its swaps buyers, or
counterparties, to guarantee eventual payment. A.I.G. had been a pioneer in credit-default swaps,
barely ten years earlier, and since then had amassed hundreds of billions of dollars in exposure.
The risk to A.I.G. from the huge portfolio had seemed minimal, since the likelihood of default in any
given transaction was low. As a result, A.I.G. hadn’t hedged its own exposure to its swap portfolio, and
was earning enormous profits on the business. But during the summer of 2008, as increasing numbers
of borrowers became unable to pay their mortgages, default rates rose. The U.S. ratings agencies began
a wholesale downgrade of mortgage-backed securities, triggering demands that A.I.G. provide
ever-larger amounts of collateral to buyers of its swaps. It wasn’t clear how A.I.G. could come up with
the cash.
When Flowers and a group from his firm arrived, dozens of investment bankers, private-equity
investors, and A.I.G. officials were meeting in various conference rooms. Flowers and his team were
given their own conference room, where they and some A.I.G. finance officers examined a spreadsheet,
tracking the parent company’s cash flow and liquidity. The cash-flow projections showed A.I.G. to be in
dire need of capital. It was facing a $6-billion cash shortfall by the following Wednesday, a figure that
would rise to $25 billion the next week, and $39 billion the week after that.
Flowers looked up from the figures. “Bankruptcy,” he said.
“Wait a minute,” one of the A.I.G. finance officers replied. “Let’s don’t be alarmist.”
“All I know is if you don’t pay six billion next week you’re going to have some very unhappy
people,” Flowers replied.
Robert Willumstad, A.I.G.’s chief executive, walked in as the group was eating sandwiches.
Willumstad, a reserved old-school banker and twenty-year Citigroup executive who lost a succession
struggle, had always wanted to run a large public company. He got his chance in June, when the board
of A.I.G.—at its peak the world’s largest insurance company—ousted the company’s chief. Willumstad,
who had been the board chairman, had formulated an ambitious restructuring and turnaround plan and
was just beginning to implement it. But the deterioration in the Financial Products division and the
mounting collateral demands were sources of growing concern. Willumstad had hired JPMorgan to
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advise A.I.G. and help it raise capital.
That morning, Willumstad had called Geithner at the New York Fed, concerned that the ratings
agencies were going to downgrade A.I.G., perhaps as soon as Monday. Depending on the severity of
the downgrade, it would prompt more collateral calls, of anywhere from $13 billion to $18 billion.
A.I.G.’s cash crisis was potentially catastrophic. Willumstad told Geithner that he needed to raise $20
billion. A.I.G., an insurance company, was even farther from the Fed’s mandate than Lehman. Geithner
stressed that A.I.G. needed to find a private-sector solution, but he agreed to send some Fed officials
over to assess the situation.
Flowers and Willumstad also called Jamie Dimon, the C.E.O. of JPMorgan. Dimon was even more
forceful. As one participant recalls, “His message was: Stop pussyfooting around. Get real, get serious.
This is urgent.”
“Call Warren Buffett,” Flowers told Willumstad, and gave him the number of Buffett’s private
phone. “Don’t even wait one second.”
Buffett answered, and Willumstad described the liquidity crisis. Buffett asked some questions and
said that he needed more time. Later, he called back to say that he might be interested in some of
A.I.G.’s businesses if they were for sale, but he didn’t want to get involved with the parent company.
Always reluctant to invest in companies whose operations he didn’t thoroughly understand, Buffett said
that A.I.G. was too complicated. (Buffett did not respond to requests for comment for this account.)
hat afternoon, Fed staff members called a number of Wall Street C.E.O.s and asked them to attend
an emergency meeting. Among the C.E.O.s were Jamie Dimon; Vikram Pandit, of Citigroup;
Brady Dougan, of Credit Suisse Group; John Thain, of Merrill Lynch; John Mack, of Morgan Stanley;
and Lloyd Blankfein, Paulson’s successor at Goldman Sachs. As one veteran of the Long-Term Capital
Management rescue remarked, “That kind of call is never good news.”
At 6 P.M., a line of black town cars and S.U.V.s made their way along Maiden Lane, in lower
Manhattan, and entered the garage of the New York Federal Reserve Bank, a seventeen-story Italian
Renaissance-style fortress. (Underground, in the bank’s vault, is the largest stockpile of monetary gold
in the world.) The New York Fed implements the monetary policy set by the Federal Reserve Board, in
Washington, and oversees the banks in the nation’s financial capital. Timothy Geithner had become
president of the New York Fed, after a long career in the Treasury Department, on the recommendation
of two former Treasury Secretaries, Lawrence Summers and Robert Rubin. Although he had degrees in
Asian Studies and government from Dartmouth, and a graduate degree in East Asian Studies and
international economics from the Johns Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies, Geithner
lacked a Ph.D. and an M.B.A.; he also lacked experience on Wall Street and in banking. He was
forty-seven but looked much younger, and some felt that he lacked the gravitas to be a Fed president.
But he seemed to have no trouble holding his own in discussions with Summers and Bernanke,
sometimes punctuating his remarks with profanity, and thereby injecting some blunt common sense into
the debates.
A number of the C.E.O.s brought their chief financial officers to the meeting. Several European
banks, including Deutsche Bank, Royal Bank of Scotland, and BNP Paribas, sent their ranking officers
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who were in New York. The meeting took place in a conference room off the building’s lobby. Paulson
was there, too, and he and Geithner sat at a large rectangular table, surrounded by other government
officials.
The chairman of the Securities and Exchange Commission, Christopher Cox, was also present. Cox,
a former Republican congressman who had represented Orange County, California, for seventeen
years, was on hand as a regulator, since Lehman and other investment banks are subject to S.E.C.
oversight.
Geithner thanked the bankers for coming on short notice, then turned the meeting over to Paulson,
who said that, despite the rescues of Bear Stearns and Fannie and Freddie, there would be no
government money for Lehman. Fortunately, there were two potential saviors. Paulson didn’t name
them, but everyone present assumed that they were Barclays and Bank of America, both conspicuously
absent from the meeting. Still, there was likely to be a pool of Lehman assets that some buyers would
not take. It would be up to the C.E.O.s in the room to finance that pool.
Paulson now acknowledges, as some in the room suspected, that the government was more
amenable to funding a rescue than it let on. “We said, ‘No public money,’ ” he told me. “We said this
publicly. We repeated it when these guys came in. But to ourselves we said, ‘If there’s a chance to put
in public money and avert a disaster, we’re open to it.’ ”
Speaking for the Federal Reserve, Geithner noted that Lehman’s trouble had been highly visible, and
that investors had had weeks, if not months, to prepare for its demise. Even so, he said, a Lehman
failure could be “catastrophic,” and it would likely be impossible to contain the damage entirely.
Cox told the C.E.O.s he realized that they were usually competitors. However, he said, their
collective well-being turned on a well-functioning market, and the purpose of the meeting was to restore
that market.
Lehman wasn’t the only vulnerable investment bank. Even if it found a buyer, who would be next to
face a run, and possible ruin?
Paulson reminded the C.E.O.s that Lehman was unlikely to open for business on Monday morning,
so they had just forty-eight hours to resolve the crisis.
Geithner divided the C.E.O.s into three working groups: the first, led by Goldman Sachs and Credit
Suisse, was asked to value Lehman’s troubled assets and assess the amount that the firms would have to
finance. The second, which included Merrill Lynch, Citigroup, and Morgan Stanley, was told to
consider various structures under which Lehman could be sold and its bad assets recapitalized. The
third was told to prepare for a Lehman bankruptcy.
The meeting ended at about nine-thirty, and the working groups agreed to reconvene the next
morning.
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 13
Have you been watching A.I.G.?
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t 8 A.M., the Wall Street C.E.O.s, dressed in slacks and sports shirts, reassembled in the Fed
conference room, some carrying coffee and crumb cake. Paulson and Geithner said that Barclays
was the most likely buyer for Lehman but that negotiations with Bank of America were continuing. In
either case, there had to be a “private solution” for the toxic assets.
The chief executives were unsure how expensive that solution might be. And why should Wall
Street firms finance a transaction to benefit a competitor like Barclays?
Dimon spoke up. “Look, we’re all in a fix. This is something we have to do in the best interests of
the global financial system.”
Geithner again broke the group into teams, saying that they would reconvene in several hours. When
they did, the bankers reported that they were thinking about establishing a revolving line of credit to
support other banks that might find themselves in Lehman’s predicament. But Geithner had asked them
to focus on Lehman. “You guys have got to try harder!” he insisted. Throughout the day, when
members of the various groups passed in the Fed corridors, they asked one another, “Are you trying
harder?”
John Thain, of Merrill Lynch, worried, like the others, that a resolution of the Lehman crisis would
just shift the crisis to the next most vulnerable bank, which might well be Merrill. Thain, who is
fifty-four, grew up in Antioch, Illinois, and first came to prominence at Goldman Sachs, where he
advanced rapidly. He is trim and square-jawed, with thick hair and brown eyes and a resemblance to
Clark Kent. He studied engineering at M.I.T. and received an M.B.A. from Harvard. He had been a
co-head of Goldman’s complex mortgage operations before being named chief operating officer by
Paulson. He left to become chief executive of the troubled New York Stock Exchange, successfully
took it public, and gained a reputation as a turnaround expert.
Merrill was also in trouble when it approached Thain, in 2007. It had just fired Stanley O’Neal,
who, as chief executive, had made Merrill one of the largest underwriters of mortgage-backed
securities, a strategy that proved disastrous when the housing bubble burst. Merrill’s board offered
Thain a $15-million signing bonus. He had assumed the position in December, just as the subprime
crisis was eroding the firm’s balance sheet.
Thain immediately shook up Merrill’s hidebound culture by recruiting two of his former colleagues
from Goldman, with lavish guarantees: Thomas Montag, as the head of global sales and trading (with a
reported pay package of $39.4 million), and Peter Kraus, as the head of global strategy (with a $29.4-
million contract). Each man also received millions in Merrill stock to replace his Goldman holdings.
Thain hired the Los Angeles decorator Michael Smith to renovate his office and adjoining conference
rooms, at a cost of more than a million dollars.
It wasn’t Thain’s pay or his spending, though, that annoyed Merrill’s rank and file. It was his—and
his former Goldman colleagues’—superior manner. “He made a point of making it clear that the Merrill
people were inferior to the Goldman people,” a former Merrill executive says. “He was disappointed in
the quality of the infrastructure and the people at Merrill. Of course, he had good reason to be. They
were in the process of losing tens of billions of dollars.” (Thain disputes this characterization.)
The highest-ranking Merrill official to survive the transition was Gregory Fleming, who some at
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Merrill had thought would succeed O’Neal. Wanting to maintain some continuity, Thain kept him on as
president.
Earlier that morning, Fleming had called Thain at home, in Westchester County. For weeks, Fleming
had wanted to prepare various contingency schemes for Merrill. The best hope for a possible rescuer
was Bank of America, which had twice tried to get Merrill into merger talks but had been rebuffed.
Now that Bank of America was negotiating to buy Lehman, Fleming was even more insistent. “It’s time
to call Ken Lewis,” he said.
In Thain’s view, Merrill just needed time for the market to stabilize in order to generate more
earnings. He thought that Fleming sounded hysterical, and suspected that Fleming’s sudden eagerness to
sell the company reflected, at least in part, resentment at having been passed over in favor of an
outsider. Fleming, for his part, suspected that Thain was resisting his suggestion in order to protect his
job as chief executive.
ater that day, Lehman officials met with the team led by Goldman and Credit Suisse, which was
trying to quantify the “hole” in Lehman’s balance sheet—the amount by which liabilities exceeded
assets. The Lehman people discussed the problems on the balance sheet, the quality of their assets, and
the specifics of the liquidity crisis, including a $5-billion collateral call that week from JPMorgan Chase,
Lehman’s clearing bank.
Afterward, the Goldman and Credit Suisse team told the C.E.O.s that the “hole” appeared to
amount to tens of billions of dollars. Lehman’s commercial-real-estate assets, in particular, were being
carried on the firm’s books at a far higher value than was realistic. As one participant put it, “The air
kind of went out of the room.” Thain was particularly unnerved. JPMorgan was Merrill’s clearing bank,
too.
In the building’s lobby after the meeting, Thain discussed the developments with Peter Kraus, one of
the Goldman bankers he had hired, and Peter Kelly, Merrill’s general counsel for operating businesses.
“I think they’re really going to let Lehman go under,” he said. Reconsidering his earlier rebuff of
Fleming, Thain stepped outside the building and called Ken Lewis at home in North Carolina, and told
him, “I think we should discuss some strategic options.”
ewis immediately flew to New York, and a few hours later answered the door when Thain arrived
at Bank of America’s corporate apartment, in the Time Warner Center. The two men were alone.
“We’re interested in having Bank of America buy a 9.9-per-cent stake and put at our disposal a
multibillion-dollar credit facility,” Thain said.
“I’m not interested in a 9.9-per-cent stake,” Lewis said.
“Well, I didn’t come here to sell the company,” Thain replied.
“That’s what I’m interested in,” Lewis said.
Lewis pointed out that Bank of America, despite its size, wasn’t much of a force on Wall Street. In
Merrill, the company would get a global presence in investment banking, the best brand name in wealth
management, and Merrill’s vaunted army of retail brokers. Thain, among others on Wall Street, felt that
Lewis and other Bank of America executives in the South had a chip on their shoulders, imagining that
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they were never accorded the deference shown a JPMorgan Chase or a Citigroup.
Thain suggested that they assemble teams to pursue both options—the 9.9-per-cent stake and the
takeover.
Lewis replied that maybe they shouldn’t tell anyone else about a potential deal.
“I’ve got to tell Hank Paulson,” Thain said. He was worried that he would be blamed for deflecting
Bank of America’s interest away from Lehman.
“We’re not going to pursue Lehman Brothers,” Lewis said. “But go ahead, you can tell Paulson.”
When Thain got to the Fed, he found Paulson and told him that he’d met with Lewis.
“Good,” Paulson said.
In the conference room, the discussion grew tense as some pointed out that it wouldn’t help to save
Lehman if the crisis just spread to the next bank. As JPMorgan’s Jamie Dimon and Morgan Stanley’s
John Mack put it, a “fire wall” was needed to stop the fire’s spread, and that fire wall would have to be
Merrill Lynch. As the gathering broke up, Mack pulled Thain aside and proposed that they meet that
evening. At about the same time, Gary Cohn, Goldman’s president, told Peter Kraus that Goldman
might be interested in buying a stake in Merrill. Kraus and Kelly agreed to go to Goldman’s
headquarters early the next day.
aulson and Geithner had spoken on the phone that morning with a Barclays team, including the
firm’s president, Bob Diamond, at Barclays’ New York headquarters. Barclays’ C.E.O., John
Varley, was on the line in London. As Paulson and Geithner listened at the New York Fed, their staff
members gathered around.
The previous day, Paulson had talked with his British counterpart, Alistair Darling, the Chancellor of
the Exchequer, to make sure that British authorities were comfortable with Barclays’ involvement in a
potential Lehman rescue. Darling had pointed out that authority over a Barclays deal rested with
Britain’s Financial Services Authority and the Bank of England, and that British regulators would be
asking tough questions about risks for the British taxpayer. Paulson turned to two of his Treasury aides,
who were in his office during the conversation. “He doesn’t want to import the American disease,”
Paulson said.
Now Diamond spoke for the British. Barclays was prepared to make an offer for Lehman, he said,
with several conditions. The plan provided an elegant solution to Lehman’s troubled assets: they would
remain in a Lehman entity, which would be dubbed Newco and owned by Lehman’s shareholders.
Barclays would buy everything else. The proposal would leave a shortfall that Barclays estimated at $15
or $16 billion, for which funding would have to be found.
Barclays knew that on Monday morning someone would have to guarantee Lehman’s debts until the
deal closed, as JPMorgan had done for Bear Stearns. If someone did so, and investors had confidence
in the guarantee, business would continue as usual. Otherwise, customers would flee. Although the
sums at stake would be large, the risk was relatively low. British regulations required a shareholder vote
to approve such a guarantee. Since Barclays would need to secure a guarantee for Lehman’s operations
for as long as a month before a deal could be closed, the Barclays people called Warren Buffett. Buffett
was amenable, up to a point. “I could take a look at providing maybe five billion of protection,” he said,
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but he wouldn’t commit to more.
After the call, the Barclays bankers and advisers decided that it was pointless to pursue the matter.
If the bank had to announce a piecemeal guarantee, in which Barclays honored three billion, Buffett
five billion, and so on, investors wouldn’t be reassured. No private entity would assume an unlimited
exposure, no matter how slight the risk. Only a government could do that. Perhaps the Treasury or the
Fed could simply say that it was backing Lehman’s obligations until the deal closed, or until the
shareholders approved. The Barclays bankers were convinced that such a guarantee wouldn’t cost U.S.
taxpayers anything.
s chance would have it, while the New York Fed was addressing its severest financial challenge
since the Depression, the tenth-floor offices of the president were being cleared of asbestos and
renovated. Geithner and his staff were working out of temporary quarters on the thirteenth floor that
looked, as one visitor described them, like “a Toledo Ramada Inn.” That morning, they met with the
ubiquitous Christopher Flowers and senior officials from Bank of America, who were there to discuss
the Lehman takeover. They had stayed up all night scrutinizing Lehman’s books, and the picture had
got worse. One Bank of America official told Paulson and Geithner, “We can’t do this without you.” He
suggested that the government back about $60 billion of Lehman’s troubled assets.
When Flowers was leaving, he turned to Paulson. “By the way,” he said. “Have you been watching
A.I.G.?”
“Why, what’s wrong at A.I.G.?” Paulson asked. Geithner had mentioned that there were some
liquidity issues, but Paulson had heard that the New York State insurance commissioner was stepping
in, and that a private-sector solution was taking shape.
“Well, you should take a look at this,” Flowers said, and pulled out the spreadsheet he’d got from
A.I.G. the day before.
They went back into the office, and Paulson examined the numbers. Flowers pointed out the
looming multibillion-dollar “shortfall.”
“Oh, my God!” Paulson said.
He and Geithner asked their staff people to do some fast research on A.I.G., which, as a giant
insurance company, wasn’t regulated by either the Federal Reserve and the F.D.I.C. or the S.E.C.
Although its insurance operations were covered by state insurance regulators, it turned out that A.I.G.
did have some federal supervision. Since it owned a small savings-and-loan, its operations were
reported to the Office of Thrift Supervision, which regulates S. & L.s. But, when Fed officials called the
O.T.S., officials there seemed bewildered by the questions about A.I.G.’s liquidity. A.I.G. Financial
Products, the center of the problems, was not regulated by the O.T.S., or by any American entity.
Although the O.T.S. had warned A.I.G.’s board about inadequate risk oversight, no one in the
government appears to have understood the potential scope of the problem. The Fed officials needed to
talk to Robert Willumstad. “We’d better get them in here this afternoon,” Paulson said.
When Willumstad and other A.I.G. officials arrived, Willumstad confirmed A.I.G.’s liquidity crisis.
But he said that he was meeting with various private-equity firms. Despite the growing cash demands,
A.I.G. still had enormous assets, including one of the world’s largest investment portfolios. But many of
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these assets were in A.I.G.’s insurance businesses, which were required by the states to maintain assets
sufficient to meet insurance claims. The New York insurance commissioner was at A.I.G.’s offices, and
New York’s governor was getting involved. The A.I.G. officials were optimistic about finding a way to
free up some of those assets so that A.I.G. could meet the cash demands while it pursued other ways to
raise capital.
Later that evening, Willumstad called the New York Fed. He knew that a Lehman bankruptcy was
likely, and that it would significantly increase the pressure on A.I.G., with additional collateral calls and
a probable decline in the value of its investment portfolio. Willumstad estimated that A.I.G. needed $40
billion, twice the amount he had mentioned earlier. To raise that kind of money, he needed government
support. Geithner said that none would be forthcoming.
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 14
I don’t know how this happened.
hen, at 8 A.M., John Thain returned to Ken Lewis’s apartment to pursue the rescue of Merrill
Lynch by Bank of America, he sensed that Lewis had grown more eager to make a deal. As
Lewis offered Thain coffee, he seemed entranced by the possibility of instantly becoming America’s
largest retail broker. Thain was growing anxious. The previous night’s meeting with John Mack and
other Morgan Stanley executives had made it clear that Morgan Stanley couldn’t move fast enough. He
hadn’t yet heard anything about the Goldman meeting then under way. Bank of America might be the
only option. Lewis was emphatic about one thing. “We’re only interested in buying a hundred per
cent,” he said.
“Then it can’t be a lowball price,” Thain replied.
Lewis assured him that he wasn’t trying to get Merrill on the cheap.
After about half an hour, Thain left for the Fed. When he arrived, Kelly and Kraus told him that
Goldman had proposed buying a 9.9-per-cent stake in Merrill and providing a $10-billion line of
credit—just what Thain had been looking for originally. Goldman wanted to start examining Merrill’s
books as soon as possible. “Let’s get this going,” Thain said.
Kelly called Greg Fleming, who was in midtown negotiating with Bank of America, and asked him
to send a team of Merrill bankers to the firm’s headquarters, downtown, to help Goldman with its due
diligence. Fleming balked. “That’s not happening,” he said. He’d got Bank of America to agree to $29 a
share, a remarkably high price under the circumstances. “If they hear about a Goldman Sachs deal,
they’ll be spooked.” Fleming refused to release any of his team. Shortly afterward, Thain called
Fleming. The tone of their exchange was icy. “Get people down here,” Thain ordered.
Fleming grudgingly agreed to send a couple of people, but there was less than twenty-four hours
remaining before the markets opened, and Goldman, a traditional Merrill rival, was liable to walk away
once its bankers got a good look at Merrill’s balance sheet. A Bank of America deal could collapse as
well. To some of those involved, $29 a share was beginning to seem wildly optimistic.
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aulson had been at his desk since seven, trying to organize the day’s schedule and meeting with
Treasury teams. At about eight, he took a call from John Varley, the Barclays chairman, in London.
Hector Sants, the chief executive of Britain’s Financial Services Authority, felt that he had made it
clear to Barclays that the F.S.A. would not approve a deal that put Barclays at risk, and Barclays had
readily agreed. Although Barclays was well capitalized, and the F.S.A. thought it would weather the
crisis, Sants did not believe that it was strong enough to absorb all the risk. He worried that doing so
might trigger a crisis in confidence in Barclays that could become self-fulfilling. Barclays is one of
Britain’s largest retail banks, with millions of depositors. Sants expected something similar to the kind of
backing that JPMorgan Chase had received in the Bear Stearns deal. It didn’t matter to Sants whether it
came from the bankers meeting in New York or from the Fed, and he urged Callum McCarthy, the
chairman of the F.S.A., to make this clear to Geithner.
McCarthy tried to convey the British concerns to Geithner in a call on Sunday morning, mentioning
the issues about Barclays’ capital position. He also told Geithner that the F.S.A. lacked the authority to
waive the shareholder vote required for Barclays to guarantee Lehman’s operations. But perhaps
McCarthy, in his understated British manner, was too elliptical. “Callum, you have to decide,” Geithner
said. “Are you going to approve this or not? You’re not saying no, you’re not saying yes.” He felt they
were talking in circles.
One of the British participants said, “We could never get clarity” from the Americans.
When Geithner briefed Paulson and Christopher Cox on the exchange, Geithner was visibly angry.
Why were the British raising this obstacle so late in the process? Geithner said that he had asked
McCarthy three times if he was going to block the deal and never got a straight answer.
Cox called McCarthy and said, “Tell me what your view is.” The normally affable McCarthy
seemed cool and detached. “My responsibility is that you understand the things that have to be done,”
he said. “I don’t see them happening.”
Cox reported to Geithner and Paulson, “He won’t budge.”
Paulson placed another call to Alistair Darling, who had been in regular contact with Prime Minister
Gordon Brown and McCarthy.
“Your F.S.A. is creating a lot of difficulties,” Paulson said.
“You have to understand we have a responsibility to the British taxpayer,” Darling replied.
The various calls between the Americans and the British that morning remain a point of contention.
From the American point of view, there was never a solid proposal that they could respond to. The
British (and some on the American side) maintain that the issue of a shareholder vote is a red herring.
The British also felt that they were never presented with a deal that they could respond to. “It was not
the high point of Anglo-American relations,” one person familiar with the conversations says.
Lehman’s C.E.O., Dick Fuld, had had months to find a buyer and hadn’t done so. Now that Bank of
America had set its sights on Merrill Lynch and Barclays was procedurally hung up, the only way to
save Lehman would be for the government to essentially take an ownership stake—a step that would
amount to nationalization and one for which the government says it did not have authority.
As the Treasury official described the situation, “The model had always been Bear Stearns. It was
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obvious you needed JPMorgan to make that happen. Now we didn’t have a JPMorgan. So could we just
recapitalize Lehman and keep it going? Do you leave Dick Fuld in place? How would that look? The
run was already in progress. There was no reason to think our money would restore confidence in
Lehman. As Geithner said, you can’t lend into a run. So there were really two issues: legal and
practical. Paulson insists that we didn’t have the legal authority, and I won’t question that. But, even if
we did have the authority, it wasn’t practical. All the Fed money in the world wasn’t going to stop a run
on Lehman.”
Referring to a Lehman failure, the Treasury official said, “We knew it would be awful.” At the same
time, after months of turmoil, anyone still owning Lehman stock or commercial paper had to be
considered a speculator. Perhaps investors would stop assuming that the government would bail out
every wayward financial institution and adjust their risk-taking accordingly. “Everybody in some part of
their brain thought it was a good thing for Lehman Brothers to go under,” the Treasury official said.
“Was this ten per cent of the brain? I don’t know. . . . But the thought was there somewhere.”
At noon, Steven Shafran, a senior adviser at the Treasury, text-messaged his colleagues, “We lost
the patient.”
hen the chief executives of the banks met again that day at the New York Fed, they expected
Geithner and Paulson to tell them exactly how much they would be expected to contribute to a
Lehman rescue. Instead, Paulson, Geithner, and Cox all looked grim as they filed into the room, trailed
by various Treasury and Fed staff members. “The Barclays deal has fallen through,” Paulson said. “You
should expect a Lehman bankruptcy.”
Hastily summoned late that afternoon to the New York Fed, Harvey Miller, Lehman’s head
bankruptcy lawyer, joined a group of Lehman executives and officials from the Treasury, the Fed, and
the S.E.C. Tom Baxter, the general counsel for the New York Fed, began by reiterating that the
Barclays deal had fallen apart. There was no rescue for Lehman.
“What’s the next step?” Miller asked.
The next step was bankruptcy. “You have to file by midnight,” Baxter said.
Miller and his lawyers hadn’t even started drafting papers. The day before, when he heard from Fed
officials, he hadn’t sensed any urgency.
“You don’t realize what you’re saying,” Miller argued. “It’s going to have a disabling effect on the
markets and destroy confidence in the credit markets. If Lehman goes down, it will be Armageddon.”
All the government officials filed out, to discuss the timing of the bankruptcy, leaving the Lehman
officials and lawyers to speculate about their fate. When they returned, Baxter told him that they had
not changed their view. Lehman Brothers should file by midnight.
“Why?” Miller persisted. “There’s no way that can happen. There’s been no preparation.” Raising
his voice, he added, “We just want to understand.”
An outside lawyer for the Fed told Miller that he wasn’t being constructive by continuing to argue,
and Baxter agreed. “The decision has been made and it won’t be revisited,” Baxter said.
Fed officials didn’t feel that they had time to discuss the weekend’s events in detail with Miller.
Their goals were to make sure that Lehman officials and their lawyers understood that there would be
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no reprieve and that the company had to file for bankruptcy before the markets opened on Monday
morning. “The alternative would have been chaos,” Baxter said. “Everyone would have known that the
weekend’s rescue efforts had failed. You’d have had a mad dash for assets worldwide.”
As Miller, the bankruptcy lawyers, and the Lehman officials returned to Lehman’s headquarters, in
midtown, a bearded man was pacing the sidewalk waving a placard that read “Down with Wall Street.”
Word had spread that in the event of bankruptcy the building would be locked down and its contents
seized. Employees were streaming out, carrying suitcases, pulling rolling bags, carting off their personal
belongings.
When the group reached the boardroom, on the thirty-first floor, the directors were already meeting.
After a lawyer briefed the board on the government’s verdict, Dick Fuld, the C.E.O., shook his head. “I
don’t know how this happened,” he said. Another director asked plaintively, “They bailed out
Bear—why not us?” Fuld’s secretary came in and handed him a note. “Hold on,” he said. “Something
unusual is going on. Chris Cox wants to address the board.”
The S.E.C. chairman, along with Baxter and S.E.C., Fed, and Treasury staff people, was put
through to the speaker at the center of the table. Paulson had put pressure on Cox to call the Lehman
board and encourage Lehman to file for bankruptcy immediately. Cox felt that it was inappropriate for
the government to interfere in the board’s decision. Instead, he stressed that the Lehman board had a
“grave responsibility,” a fiduciary duty to shareholders. He told them that the Treasury and the Fed
believed that market conditions were such that what they did would heavily affect the market, and the
timing was critical.
“Are you directing us to put Lehman in bankruptcy?” one director asked. Cox said no. Then there
was a pause as he conferred away from the phone. When he returned, a minute or two later, Cox said,
“No, the ultimate decision is yours. We can’t interfere in corporate governance.”
Baxter added, “But our preference was made very clear today at the Fed.”
After an hour of discussion, the board voted unanimously to file for bankruptcy.
Fuld said, “I guess this is goodbye.”
I.G.’s efforts to raise capital or free assets from the regulated insurance companies stalled as the
company kept increasing the estimate of the amount of capital it needed. Understandably, no
one wanted to contribute $20 billion, only to discover that it had vanished as A.I.G.’s cash needs
continued to soar. But, after more than two days of nearly round-the-clock due diligence, Flowers and
his colleagues were ready to make a proposal to rescue A.I.G. Flowers had enlisted top officials from
Allianz, the giant German insurance company, who had flown to New York the day before. At 3 P.M.,
they met with Willumstad in the conference room outside his office.
Flowers proposed that his firm and Allianz buy A.I.G. for $2 a share. (A.I.G. shares had closed on
Friday at twelve.) They would acquire the assets of the subsidiaries, but would need to be insulated
from the liabilities of the parent. Flowers and Allianz would contribute five billion each in new capital.
Flowers’s offer was conditioned on receiving Fed support.
And there was another condition: Willumstad and A.I.G.’s top management would be replaced
immediately by Allianz executives.
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Willumstad thought the proposal was laughable. He thanked Flowers for his efforts and asked him to
leave.
hat afternoon, Merrill Lynch worked out the details of the company’s sale to Bank of America. It
involved no cash but a share exchange that did indeed value Merrill at $29 a share. The Merrill
Lynch board, meeting by phone, approved the deal. John Thain called Ken Lewis with the news. “It
was unanimous,” he said. “You have a deal.”
Around 7:30 P.M., Thain and his entourage walked from Merrill, on Fifth Avenue, to the offices of
Bank of America’s legal firm, Wachtell, Lipton, Rosen & Katz, on Fifty-second Street, where Lewis
and other Bank of America executives were waiting. Bank of America’s board had also unanimously
approved the deal. The Merrill bankers got a taste of the different culture they would soon be joining.
“It was South versus North, traditional banking–blue collar versus the trailblazers, the masters of the
universe,” one Merrill participant recalls. “I began to get a hint of the resentment toward Wall Street.
This acquisition was tinged with resentment that went beyond the numbers. It was as if the tortoise had
eaten the hare, and they were not very good at hiding it.”
Flowers had just arrived from A.I.G. to deliver a fairness opinion on the $29 price for Bank of
America shareholders. Given that it was a stock deal—Merrill shareholders would receive no
cash—Bank of America also had some protection. If general market conditions deteriorated, and Bank
of America’s stock declined, the price of the Merrill deal would drop accordingly. Flowers concluded
that $29 a share was a plausible price. (For this advice, which has subsequently been criticized, Flowers
and an affiliated firm were paid $20 million by Bank of America.)
According to a complaint later filed by the S.E.C., the agreement also included a document, not
made public at the time, that authorized bonuses to be paid to Merrill employees for 2008. Even though
Merrill’s results weren’t yet known for the full year (ultimately, the firm lost more than $27 billion), the
document allowed for bonuses that “do not exceed $5.8 billion in aggregate value.” Bank of America
now says that the document was not disclosed for “competitive reasons.”
While lawyers continued working out the details, Thain and Lewis went to a small conference room
to await news that they could sign the merger documents. A bottle of chilled champagne and two
glasses had been placed in the room to toast the completion of the deal. Thain felt that he had done the
best he could for Merrill’s shareholders. As the time passed, Lewis grew impatient, and called several
times to ask where the papers were. Finally, just before 1 A.M., they arrived. The two men signed, and
then poured the champagne. Neither one said anything about Thain’s future with Bank of America. “I
look forward to a great partnership with Merrill Lynch,” Lewis said, raising his glass. He grimaced. The
champagne was warm.
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 15
The beginnings of a run.
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ruce R. Bent, Sr., the chairman of the Reserve Management Company, which ran the country’s
oldest money-market fund, had just arrived in Rome, where he was planning to celebrate his
fiftieth wedding anniversary, when his son, Bruce Bent II, the firm’s vice-chairman, called him from
New York. In his absence from the office, Bent relied on his son, whose shoulder-length hair and beard
made him look more like the philosophy major and drummer he once was than like an executive of a
renowned money-market fund. The subject they discussed was the Lehman bankruptcy. The Bents’
money-market fund owned hundreds of millions of dollars of Lehman debt securities.
The elder Bent, along with the firm’s late co-founder, Henry Brown, had invented the money-
market fund, in 1970, and the company’s Primary Fund had begun operating in 1971. At that time,
yields on bank deposits were capped at about five per cent, but short-term U.S. Treasury bonds, which
could be acquired only in ten-thousand-dollar increments, were yielding eight per cent. Now, thanks to
Bent and Brown, even small investors could participate in the higher yields of Treasury bonds by
pooling assets. The investments were ultra-safe, and since they had short-term maturities there was little
risk from changing interest rates.
In addition to U.S. Treasuries, some money-market funds began buying commercial paper—
short-term debt that companies use to fund their operating expenses. By September of 2008, money-
market funds had become a $3.5-trillion market, and many large corporations had come to rely on them
to meet their day-to-day cash needs, such as making payroll. Unlike bank deposits, the funds weren’t
covered by federal deposit insurance, but they were perceived as equally safe. And why not? In forty
years, the net asset value of funds available to the public had never fallen below a dollar a share—a
hypothetical possibility known as “breaking the buck.” Many funds carried check-writing privileges,
helped to finance the federal debt, and provided large corporations with an important source of liquidity.
For years, the elder Bent had insisted that money-market funds should confine themselves to
Treasury bills and bank certificates of deposit, but in 2006, as other firms made huge profits, the
Primary Fund began buying highly rated commercial paper as well. From November, 2007, through the
summer of 2008, it increased its purchases of Lehman securities. Thanks in part to the higher yields
from such assets, the Primary Fund’s one-year return was four per cent—well above the comparable
rate for Treasuries, and high even by money-market-fund standards. Both Moody’s and Standard &
Poor’s gave triple-A ratings to the Primary Fund. Individual and large institutional investors flocked to
the firm, and its assets rose to nearly $63 billion. About 1.2 per cent of those were in Lehman
commercial paper and other securities—enough, theoretically, to break the buck if the assets lost their
value.
Even as Lehman’s situation deteriorated, the elder Bent had remained confident that the assets were
secure. Two days before leaving for his vacation, he had declared on CNBC that, because of Lehman’s
importance to the world financial structure, “the Federal Reserve window that they opened after they
closed down Bear Stearns should be available to Lehman for the same type of situation.”
It was now publicly known that the Primary Fund was exposed to Lehman’s failure. Time Warner,
which had $820 million in the fund, requested redemptions that morning. The Bents contacted the New
York Fed at 7:50 A.M., according to S.E.C. documents, to express concern about Lehman’s effect on
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the money-market industry and on the Primary Fund.
But the gravity of the crisis apparently had yet to sink in, judging from the transcript of the Reserve
Management board meeting at 8 A.M., which was released by the S.E.C. Bent II suggested that his
father preside: “You got more sleep than I did last night.”
“Last night, I was sleeping on the plane from New York to Rome,” his father said. “I said to my
wife, ‘This is supposed to be a memorable trip.’ And she responded, ‘Well, it certainly will be, right?’ ”
Bent II reported that, as of that morning, the Primary Fund was facing $5.2 billion in redemption
requests. In assessing the value of the Lehman holdings, the elder Bent initially argued that they
continue to carry the Lehman debt at par, or a hundred per cent of face value, even though, according
to the S.E.C., the market data the Bents had seen suggested that there was no real market for Lehman
debt and that bids ranged from forty-five to fifty cents. At a second meeting, the board settled on eighty
cents on the dollar, enabling the fund to calculate a net asset value of 99.75 cents, which could be
rounded to maintain the one-dollar net asset value. At the same time, the board decided not to try to sell
the securities under current market conditions.
At a third board meeting, at 1 P.M., Bent II reported that redemption requests had reached $16.5
billion. According to the minutes, he described “what appeared to be a run on the Primary Fund.” But
he didn’t mention that State Street, the fund’s custodian bank, had called to report that the huge number
of redemptions had caused the Primary Fund’s account to be overdrawn, and the bank was suspending
overdraft privileges, according to the S.E.C. Anyone seeking to withdraw funds could not immediately
get his money. The credit markets were barely functioning, and the fund couldn’t raise cash to meet
redemption requests by selling its normally liquid assets. As the chief investment officer put it, according
to the transcript of the board meetings, this was “the kiss of death.” He also said, “Paulson and
Bernanke totally fucked this up. . . . I don’t think they thought this God-damned thing through, to figure
out what the ripple effects would be.”
Bent II said that the company would try to secure additional financing or inject capital from the
holding company, Reserve Management. The board voted to pursue that strategy, and sales
representatives launched an effort to stem the withdrawals and reassure shareholders. One told a client,
according to S.E.C. documents, “We have a backstop and are going to ensure that the fund does not
break the buck.”
Yet by the end of the day redemption requests totalled more than $20 billion. A little less than half
that had been funded, with Reserve Management personnel blaming the delays on the market and limits
placed by State Street. As the chief investment officer summed up the situation in a call to other
Reserve officials, “It’s just fucking horrific. . . . I’m thinking, We’re going to get through this, we’re
going to get through this, we’re going to get through this. But, you know, I haven’t seen the market like
this in thirty years. This is, like, Depression.”
Nevertheless, after the market closed Reserve Management reported that it would be able to
maintain a net asset value of one dollar.
hatever officials at the Reserve Management Company thought of Paulson, when he returned to
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Washington he was greeted with overwhelming praise for having let Lehman fail. Calls to his office, he
says, some from members of Congress, were running ten to one in favor of the decision. “The
government had to draw a line somewhere,” the Wall Street Journal wrote in an editorial. “Treasury
Secretary Hank Paulson’s refusal to blink won’t get any second guessing from us.”
After reporting to President Bush, Paulson met with reporters in the White House briefing room.
“As you know, we’re working through a difficult period in our financial markets right now as we work
off some of the past excesses,” he said. “But the American people can remain confident in the
soundness and the resilience of our financial system.”
Still, even as Paulson was speaking, the Dow Jones Industrial Average was dropping. By the end of
the day, it was down five hundred and four points, or 4.4 per cent—the biggest one-day percentage
drop since the first day of trading after September 11, 2001. Traders, aware of A.I.G.’s mounting
collateral calls and the ongoing meetings at the New York Fed, were unloading positions. A.I.G. shares
dropped sixty-one per cent.
The last remaining independent investment banks on Wall Street were hit hard, too. Morgan Stanley
shares dropped fourteen per cent, and Goldman’s twelve per cent.
t 11 A.M., for the fourth consecutive day, investment bankers filed into the New York Fed. “I don’t
think I can take another day of this,” a Goldman banker told Lloyd Blankfein as they got out of
the Goldman car.
“You’re getting out of a Mercedes to go to the New York Federal Reserve,” Blankfein responded.
“You’re not getting out of a Higgins boat on Omaha Beach.”
The subject of today’s meeting was A.I.G., where cash was vanishing at an alarming rate. “There
will be no public support” for A.I.G., Geithner announced. He asked the bankers to explore an industry
solution. Earlier, he had called Robert Willumstad and said that he wanted him to appoint JPMorgan
Chase, already working for A.I.G., and Goldman Sachs to organize a syndicate of banks to reach a
solution.
By now, all of A.I.G.’s possible rescuers had vanished. A person who spoke with potential buyers
says, “They went from keenly interested to not wanting to touch it at any price.” By 5 P.M., the
syndicate efforts had collapsed. Geithner had a Fed team working on A.I.G., and at midnight he
convened the team, some of whose members were participating by phone from Washington. “Can we
let it go?” he asked.
A.I.G. Financial Products, the primary source of the company’s current troubles, had a $500-billion
credit-swaps portfolio that fell outside the regulatory purview of the Fed, the Treasury, and the S.E.C.
The company’s failure to honor those contracts and make the payments would render numerous banks
and other financial institutions unstable as they wrote down the value of suddenly uninsured and
unhedged positions. This could precipitate a crisis of depositor confidence and a global bank run with
“potentially catastrophic unforeseen consequences,” as A.I.G. officials later put it in a presentation to
the Fed. A.I.G. did business in more than a hundred and thirty countries, and had a hundred and sixteen
thousand employees and seventy-four million customers, including thirty million in the U.S.
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As the discussion continued, a consensus emerged that A.I.G. was indeed too big, or at least too
deeply enmeshed in the global financial system, to fail. At 2 A.M., Geithner urged everyone to get some
sleep.
TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 16
Do you have $85 billion?
hat morning, Willumstad called Geithner again. He said that he was planning to draw down the last
of A.I.G.’s credit lines that morning. Traders and investors would recognize such a step as
desperation, making bankruptcy all but inevitable.
“Don’t do that,” Geithner said.
“Why not?” Willumstad asked. “Unless you can tell me there’s a solution in place, I have an
obligation to shareholders.”
“Don’t do it. I’ll get back to you.” Geithner hung up.
An hour passed. Hearing nothing, Willumstad gave the order to draw down the credit lines. Then, at
eleven-thirty, Geithner called and told him that an emergency meeting was under way at the Fed in
Washington about a potential solution. Willumstad hastily rescinded the order.
It was becoming clear to Geithner and Bernanke that government action was the only recourse.
Every financial institution was struggling to value assets at a time when there were fewer buyers for
them at any price. Financial institutions were growing reluctant to lend to one another, even overnight.
That day, the Fed put $70 billion into credit markets, but with little evident effect. European central
bankers were also grappling with the rapid deterioration of credit markets and were deeply concerned
about the impact of an A.I.G. failure on European financial institutions and markets. Several European
central bankers had spoken with Bernanke, urging the Fed to do whatever it could to prevent an A.I.G.
failure.
Several Fed staff members, including the vice-chairman, Donald Kohn, and the governors Kevin
Warsh, Randall Kroszner, and Elizabeth Duke, assembled in Bernanke’s office. Geithner and Paulson,
participating by phone, reported on A.I.G.’s imminent failure and the systemic risks that that would
entail. There were no buyers, no lenders.
Letting A.I.G. collapse could be disastrous. “A.I.G. was even larger than Lehman, with a substantial
presence in derivatives and debt markets, as well as in insurance markets,” Bernanke later recalled.
“Given the extent of the exposures of major banks around the world to A.I.G., and in light of the
extreme fragility of the system, there was a significant risk that A.I.G.’s failure could have sparked a
global banking panic. If that had happened, it was not at all clear that we would have been able to stop
the bleeding, given the resources and authorities we had available at that time.”
Geithner and Paulson proposed extending an $85-billion loan that would be collateralized by all of
A.I.G.’s assets. A.I.G. did have several large, profitable businesses, including its main insurance arm,
which gave the Fed a legal basis for making the loan. The government would also demand a nearly
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eighty-per-cent equity stake in A.I.G. and would have the right to veto any dividend payments.
“There was great reluctance,” one participant recalls. “People were uncomfortable. We’d just
crossed another boundary. A.I.G. wasn’t a bank or a broker dealer but an insurance company. Could
we have let it go? No one had any idea what would happen if we let a company this size fail. There was
no precedent. We were aware that lots of banks and investment banks were counterparties and might
be at risk, but we didn’t do this to save Goldman, or SocGen, or Deutsche Bank. It was far more
complex. We were worried about the households with 401(k) plans, life-insurance policies, and
pensions.”
The discussion lasted thirty minutes. There was no real basis for knowing whether A.I.G.’s healthy
businesses were sufficient collateral. Still, Bernanke said recently, “Lehman was insolvent and didn’t
have the collateral to secure the amount of Federal Reserve lending that would have been necessary to
prevent its collapse. In contrast, A.I.G. Financial Products was just one division of a big, global
insurance company.” But some Treasury and Fed participants recognized that giving A.I.G. an
$85-billion loan so soon after Lehman’s collapse would appear wildly inconsistent. “Opposite decisions
were made for apparently similar reasons,” the Treasury official says. “It was hard to justify. But A.I.G.
was another order of magnitude. It was a quantum shift. It was so beyond anything we’d ever
envisioned.”
hat afternoon, President Bush, accompanied by Josh Bolten and Joel Kaplan, his chief of staff and
deputy chief of staff, and by Keith Hennessey, the director of the National Economic Council, sat
down with Paulson and Bernanke in the Roosevelt Room of the White House. “So what is going on in
our financial system, and what are we going to do?” Bush asked.
Paulson regularly delivered updates to the White House, but from the outset of his tenure as
Treasury Secretary he had been making policy to an extraordinary degree. Bush saw himself as a
wartime President, and he was deeply involved in defense issues. The economy was secondary. One
person who worked with Bush for many years said, “My sense is, this came up in the final months of
an eight-year term. He was so ground down by Katrina, the war in Iraq. He was just out of gas.” A
government official added, “Hank Paulson and the Treasury were unilaterally making economic policy
for the Administration. There was no influence from the White House.”
“A.I.G. is about to fail,” Paulson told Bush, warning that a potential collapse was likely to be
catastrophic, especially with markets still highly unstable after the Lehman failure. Bernanke explained
A.I.G.’s credit-default swaps and the likely consequences that A.I.G.’s failure would have on major U.S.
and European banks. He also described the limits on the Fed’s powers to deal with an institution like
A.I.G.
“How have we come to the point where we can’t let an institution fail without affecting the whole
economy?” Bush wondered aloud.
Bernanke reiterated that what had begun as a subprime-mortgage problem in the U.S. was emerging
as a global crisis, which made it even harder for the Fed to combat the problems on its own.
When Bernanke and Paulson finished, Bush said, “Sometimes you have to make the tough
decisions. If you think this has to be done, you have my blessing.” But, as he rose to leave, he said,
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“Someday you guys are going to need to tell me how we ended up with a system like this. I know this is
not the time to test them and put them through failure, but we’re not doing something right if we’re
stuck with these miserable choices.”
espite efforts to calm shareholders in the Primary Fund, Bruce Bent II reported to the board that
morning that redemption requests as of 9 A.M. stood at $24.6 billion. He also told the board that
Reserve Management had not arranged any credit facility or injected any capital to maintain the
one-dollar net asset value. And State Street had refused to extend additional overdraft privileges to the
fund. The parent company, Reserve, did not have adequate capital to buy the Lehman assets at par. The
Bents were unable to inject any of their own personal funds, contrary to representations they had made
the previous day.
At 3:45 P.M., Bent II told the board that he had called the New York Fed for assistance in meeting
shareholder redemptions but had been turned down, and that total redemption requests were now
approximately $40 billion. With no buyers for the fund’s Lehman securities, the board had no choice
but to vote to reduce their value to zero. For the first time in forty years, the buck was officially broken.
The company issued a terse press release:
The value of the debt securities issued by Lehman Brothers Holdings, Inc. (face value $785 million), and held by the Primary Fund has been
valued at zero effective as of 4:00 P.M. New York time today. As a result, the NAV of the Primary Fund, effective as of 4:00 P.M., is $0.97 a share.
Of the many possible consequences of a Lehman failure, no one seems to have thought about the
collapse of a money-market fund; it was a development that was “unanticipated,” a Fed official said.
(The S.E.C. eventually charged the Bents and the Reserve Management Company with civil fraud
for allegedly making false and misleading statements about the fund’s financial state. The Bents
countered that they didn’t profit themselves and were simply trying to “save the fund” and protect
investors. They moved to dismiss the suit, which is pending.)
ate in the afternoon, Willumstad and other A.I.G. executives and their lawyers and advisers
gathered in a conference room outside Willumstad’s office to examine the terms of the proposed
loan that had just arrived from the Fed. After reading them, Richard Beattie, a partner at the law firm
Simpson Thacher & Bartlett, representing A.I.G.’s board, turned to Willumstad. “You’re now working
for the federal government,” he said. “They own you now.”
The terms gave the government a 79.9-per-cent stake and saddled A.I.G. with an onerous interest
rate of 11.5 per cent.
Willumstad’s assistant interrupted to say that the Secretary of the Treasury and the president of the
New York Fed were on the line. Willumstad and Beattie stepped outside to take the call.
“This is the only offer,” Geithner said. “There is no negotiation.”
Paulson jumped in: “There is one more condition. Bob, you’re going to be replaced.”
After Willumstad hung up, he returned to the conference room. “Dick was wrong,” he said. “I’m
not working for the federal government.”
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t 6 P.M., most of the House and Senate leadership, summoned on short notice, gathered in Senate
Majority Leader Harry Reid’s conference room for a briefing by Paulson and Bernanke. Paulson
announced that the Fed had decided to loan A.I.G. $85 billion and essentially seize control of the
company under the Fed’s emergency powers. Bernanke pointed out that A.I.G. stock was one of the
ten most widely held in 401(k) retirement accounts.
Reid put his face in his hands. “I hope you understand this does not constitute formal approval by
Congress to take action,” he said.
“Do you have eighty-five billion?” Representative Barney Frank asked.
“I have eight hundred billion,” Bernanke said, referring to the Fed’s balance sheet.
Senator Christopher Dodd twice asked how the Fed had the authority to lend to, and take control
of, an insurance company. Bernanke argued that the Fed had emergency powers to aid any company as
long as there was a “systemic risk,” and gave a brief tutorial on a little-known section of the Fed’s
authorizing statute.
Bernanke said that even this step might not be enough. Legislation authorizing additional aid
probably would be needed as well.
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 17
We need to get ahead of this.
sian and European stock markets had dropped sharply, and trading was halted in Russia. News
that the Primary Fund had broken the buck had called into question the safety and viability of the
global money-market industry. The rescue of A.I.G. gave the U.S. government not only 79.9 per cent of
A.I.G.’s equity but also priority over A.I.G.’s bondholders, who wouldn’t be paid until the government
was reimbursed. A number of money-market funds owned securities issued by A.I.G.
Already, money-market redemption requests were surging; on Tuesday alone, they had been $33.8
billion, compared with a total of $4.9 billion for the entire previous week. Large money-market funds,
including Fidelity, Vanguard, and Dreyfus, rushed to issue statements reassuring investors that their
holdings were safe and would retain their one-dollar-per-share value, but that didn’t seem to stem the
tide. Even more worrisome, funds that had no exposure to troubled securities were confronting huge
redemptions. Putnam announced that it would close and liquidate the $12.3-billion Institutional Prime
Money Market Fund, even though the fund owned no Lehman or A.I.G. securities and maintained its
one-dollar share value. (Shareholders didn’t lose any money.)
In the face of mounting redemptions, money-market funds raced to sell whatever they could find
buyers for, but there were no buyers for all but the safest, shortest-term securities. Early that morning,
Paulson had a disturbing phone conversation with Jeffrey Immelt, the chief executive of General
Electric. Immelt reported that the capital markets were “very bad,” and Paulson said he understood that
the commercial-paper markets were under stress. “That’s bad for GE,” Immelt replied. Like most large
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corporations, GE uses the commercial-paper market to fund its day-to-day operations, including those
of GE Capital, its huge finance arm. GE was worried about its ability to roll over its short-term debt, and
the previous day had paid 3.5 per cent, much higher than normal, for an overnight loan. (The
lower-rated Ford Motor Credit reportedly had to pay 7.5 per cent.) For companies like GE, the
uncertainty was as debilitating as the high rates.
The Treasury official described the situation: “Lehman Brothers begat the Reserve collapse, which
begat the money-market run, so the money-market funds wouldn’t buy commercial paper. The
commercial-paper market was on the brink of destruction. At this point, the banking system stops
functioning. You’re pulling four trillion out of the private sector”—money-market funds—“and giving it
to the government in the form of T-bills. That was commercial paper funding GE, Citigroup, FedEx, all
the commercial-paper issuers. This was systemic risk. Suddenly, you have a global bank holiday.”
Horrific as GE’s situation threatened to become, Paulson had more immediate problems. Overnight,
the cost of buying default protection against Morgan Stanley and Goldman Sachs had soared. Short
sellers began targeting Morgan Stanley’s stock, which infuriated John Mack, who called on the S.E.C.
to restrict such speculation. There was the danger of a collapse in confidence in both Goldman and
Morgan Stanley, as had happened with Lehman.
After Lehman’s bankruptcy, regulators froze the assets of Lehman Brothers in Europe, which
included many hedge funds. “I got panicked phone calls from hedge funds,” the Treasury official says.
“They couldn’t get their securities. That was not supposed to be the deal. So people started running on
Morgan Stanley and Goldman Sachs. The fire line broke down.”
Paulson obtained from a Treasury lawyer a waiver of conflict-of-interest restrictions on
conversations about government assistance for Goldman. The lawyer ruled that “the magnitude of the
government’s interest” outweighed any ethics concerns. Over the next few days, the Times has
reported, Paulson’s calendar indicates that he spoke to Lloyd Blankfein, Goldman’s C.E.O., more than
twenty times and to Morgan Stanley’s John Mack a dozen times.
aulson’s office, which overlooked the White House, was jammed with Treasury officials for an
emergency meeting at 8 A.M. Bernanke, Kevin Warsh, and other Fed staff members were on the
phone, as was Geithner, along with his staff, in New York. Paulson had been up most of the night
watching overseas markets.
“We’re at the precipice,” Paulson told the group. “Nothing is breaking our way. We can’t solve the
problems of today; we need to think of tomorrow. We need to get ahead of this. It’s deepening, moving
too quickly. This is the financial equivalent of war, and we’re going to need wartime powers.” Bernanke
and Geithner agreed. Paulson divided the group into teams. “The government needs money, and it
needs authority,” Paulson said. “If you had a blank sheet of paper, tell me what you need.”
That day, as investors rushed to the safety of short-term U.S. Treasury bonds, yields on three-month
Treasury notes dipped below zero. “We watched the market for T-bills very closely,” Donald Kohn, the
Fed’s vice-chairman, recalls. “You knew there was complete panic, and it was spreading.”
At the White House, calls were pouring in from throughout the financial world. “Even strangers
were cold-calling me,” Keith Hennessey recalls. “They were all saying, ‘We see the beginnings of a
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run—a run on the financial system.’ The money funds were experiencing a run. People were literally
pulling their money out and putting it in a mattress. Treasury rates went negative! People were locking
in a loss just to protect their money.”
Geithner said, “It’s hard to describe how bad it was and how bad it felt.” He got a call from a “titan
of the financial system,” who said he was worried but he was doing fine. His voice was quavering. After
hanging up, Geithner immediately called the man back. “Don’t call anyone else,” Geithner said. “If
anyone hears your voice, you’ll scare the shit out of them.”
he day’s turmoil was reflected in the U.S. markets. The Dow Jones average dropped four hundred
and forty-nine points; it had fallen seven per cent in just three days of trading and was twenty-three
per cent below its level the previous year, which made it a bear market. Morgan Stanley shares fell
twenty-four per cent and Goldman Sachs dropped nearly fourteen per cent; CNBC began running
Morgan Stanley and Goldman stock quotes at the top of the screen, in what some called a “death
watch.” Washington Mutual dropped thirteen per cent, and Wachovia fell twenty-one per cent.
“It was chaotic,” Blankfein recalls of the rumors about Goldman’s survival. “There were people
taking deep breaths, including me from time to time.” He worried that a collapse in confidence, even if
unjustified, would become a self-fulfilling prophecy.
At Morgan Stanley, it was worse. “The hedge funds panicked,” a Morgan Stanley executive recalls,
and by Wednesday things had reached a fever pitch. “Everyone said the investment-banking model was
dead.” Longtime friends and clients of John Mack called him to say that they were sorry but they had
to withdraw their Morgan Stanley funds. “Do what you have to do,” he told them.
That afternoon, Mack issued a memo to his employees: “It’s very clear to me—we’re in the midst
of a market controlled by fear and rumors, and short sellers are driving our stock down.” Geithner and
Paulson told Mack that he had to follow the lead of Merrill Lynch and find a partner. Since the collapse
of Bear Stearns, in March, Geithner had periodically suggested that the remaining investment banks
become bank holding companies, gaining access to the Fed’s discount window and other credit facilities
in return for accepting regulation by the Fed. Morgan Stanley and Goldman Sachs had talked about it to
their boards, but nothing had happened. A faster way to the same end would be for the investment
banks to merge with a commercial bank. Although the big commercial banks, with their large depositor
bases, were still viewed as reliable sources of liquidity, Mack considered their balance sheets to be more
precarious than his own. And, indeed, Wachovia had to be saved in a matter of weeks, and Citigroup
eventually had to be rescued.
Still, Mack did speak to Vikram Pandit, of Citigroup, about a possible merger, but they jointly
concluded that it made no sense. Geithner suggested that Goldman’s Blankfein call Pandit. Blankfein
made the call, thinking that he was supposed to rescue Citi. He was dumbfounded when he discovered
that Pandit wasn’t expecting to hear from him. For his part, Pandit was taken aback that Goldman
thought it might be able to buy Citi, since at the time Pandit felt that Citi was much stronger.
That afternoon, Mack, speaking to Blankfein, bemoaned the effect of short sellers, whose actions
were unnerving investors. The previous weekend, at the Fed, Mack had complained about the impact of
short sellers on Lehman, and asked Blankfein if he would support an effort to get the S.E.C. to ban
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short selling. Blankfein had demurred. But now he said, “We’ve rethought the need for a temporary
ban.” They agreed to press the issue with Paulson and Geithner.
t six that evening, Bernanke met with his top aides—Donald Kohn; Kevin Warsh; Scott G.
Alvarez, the general counsel; and Michelle Smith, the spokesperson—with Paulson and Geithner
participating by speakerphone. “We cannot do this alone anymore,” he said. “We have to go to
Congress and get some authority.”
Paulson hadn’t yet taken any concrete steps to enlist legislators to authorize a government rescue.
Paulson reiterated his concern about getting congressional leaders to go along. “I spoke to Harry and
Nancy”—Harry Reid and Nancy Pelosi, the House Speaker—“and the political advisers,” he said. “If
the Treasury and the Fed say it’s an emergency and we need help, and help doesn’t come, it would
further destabilize the markets. You don’t go public until you’re reasonably certain you’ll get what
you’re asking for.”
Bernanke was growing agitated. “Hank! Listen to me,” he interrupted. “We are done!”
It was the first time Fed officials had heard him raise his voice.
“The Fed is already doing all that it can with the powers we have,” Bernanke continued. One
participant recalled, “Ben gave an impassioned, linear, rigorous argument explaining the limits of our
authority and the history of financial crises in the U.S. and abroad.” That history showed that efforts to
resolve such crises “are successful only when overwhelming force from all parts of government is
brought to bear,” the participant said. “It was an encyclopedic tour de force.”
It was as though Bernanke were the professor and Paulson the student. Bernanke’s comments
lasted about fifteen minutes, and Paulson was uncharacteristically silent until near the end.
“Got to go,” he said, and hung up.
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 18
You can sort it out later!
he Fed group reconvened at six-thirty that morning. They had decided the night before that
repetition would be helpful, so Bernanke started on the same lecture. Thirty seconds into it,
Paulson interrupted. “Ben, Ben, Ben . . . ” Bernanke stopped talking. “I’ve done some thinking,”
Paulson said. “You and I should go see the President and then go to Congress tonight and ask for more
authority.”
At 10:15 A.M., President Bush delivered a two-minute televised statement outside the Oval Office,
his first public pronouncement since the crisis began, which concluded:
Our financial markets continue to deal with serious challenges. As our recent actions demonstrate, my Administration is focussed on meeting these
challenges. The American people can be sure we will continue to act to strengthen and stabilize our financial markets and improve investor confidence.
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hen staffers again huddled in Paulson’s office, Paulson wanted to know what ideas they had
come up with. Asian and European markets were continuing to plunge, with banks and insurers
bearing the brunt of the losses. Britain announced a month-long ban on short selling in an effort to
prevent the kind of “bear raids” that some blamed for the fall in Lehman’s stock. Russia had suspended
trading for the previous two days. Morgan Stanley shares had plunged twenty-four per cent the previous
day.
Paulson had just heard that Bank of America was temporarily pulling back on credit lines to some
McDonald’s franchisees, slowing a McDonald’s expansion into upscale coffee drinks to compete with
Starbucks. (Bank of America disputes this account, but McDonald’s did issue a memo urging
franchisees to find other sources of credit, according to Bloomberg.)
Dan Jester, a Goldman vice-president whom Paulson had brought to the Treasury Department that
summer, reported that one approach would be for the government to inject capital directly into financial
institutions. The standard way to raise capital is to sell stock. There were now no private buyers. But, as
one participant put it, was the government going “to A.I.G. them”? If the government bought common
stock, it would have the power to vote, appoint management and the board of directors, and, if the stake
was big enough, control the company. Might this end up being “nationalization”? The politics looked
awful. Even so, Jester and most of his team argued that the approach was simple, efficient, and
effective, and would protect taxpayers.
Bernanke had long been saying that the government needed many tools to respond to the
unforeseeable, including the ability to buy “bad companies” as well as “bad assets.” But Paulson told
Bernanke he feared that direct investments would destabilize markets and drive out private investors.
Another option was to remove the bad assets from balance sheets. The Resolution Trust
Corporation, created by Congress in 1989, had used taxpayer money to buy and then auction off
distressed real estate from failing savings-and-loans. Though some people criticized the agency for
dumping assets on the market too quickly and selling at fire-sale prices, the approach established a floor
for real-estate prices. This approach not only had worked in the past but would avoid the charged issue
of government ownership.
Several people, however, noted that there were major differences between tangible real estate and
the esoteric mortgage-backed securities and other structured assets now on balance sheets. Houses and
land could be auctioned and find buyers, as they have been for centuries. But, without any functioning
market for mortgage-backed debt, how would you value it and what would the government pay? If the
amount was too small, bank balance sheets would be devastated by the sales and subsequent write-
downs, making the crisis worse. If too big, it was simply a transfer of wealth from taxpayers to banks
and other financial institutions. Neel Kashkari, an assistant Treasury secretary and an ex-Goldman
investment banker, who was the biggest proponent of removing bad assets from balance sheets, argued
that the mechanics could always be worked out once Congress had given the Treasury and the Fed the
authority to act.
Steven Shafran and others who had focussed on liquidity issues proposed allowing money-market
funds to borrow from the Fed, using their commercial paper and other assets as collateral. But Paulson
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thought that this was too technical for the average money-market-fund investor and wouldn’t be enough
to stop a run. “What would you do if you want to address all the issues?”
“We could always just guarantee the money-market funds,” Shafran said.
Paulson looked up. “Could we?”
“I think so,” Shafran said.
Paulson slammed his hand down on his desk. “Then that’s what we’re going to do.”
A few participants were aghast. The risks seemed enormous: it was a four-trillion-dollar guarantee!
Even the F.D.I.C. insured bank accounts only up to a hundred thousand dollars. Moreover, money-
market funds weren’t bank deposits but investment products with higher risks and therefore higher
returns. By eliminating that risk, another cornerstone of moral hazard was being removed.
But others argued that the risk of not doing anything, or of doing too little, was far worse. Paulson
embraced the boldness and simplicity of the notion. As someone said, it “passed the USA Today test.”
aulson and Bernanke returned to the Roosevelt Room, joined this time by Chris Cox, of the S.E.C.
Vice-President Dick Cheney was also there, along with Bush.
Paulson outlined the decision of the Treasury, backed by the Fed, to seek legislation authorizing the
purchase of billions of dollars in troubled mortgage-backed assets. “It would be wise to go to
Congress,” Bernanke said, arguing that capital should be approved by Congress and dispensed by the
appropriate authority, the Treasury, rather than by the Fed, an institution already doing all it could with
the powers it had.
“You’re the experts, and I’ll support you,” Bush said.
Paulson launched into a discussion of the political issues, and the need to win over conservative
Republicans as well as the Democratic leadership.
The President interrupted. “Hank, let me worry about the politics. You do what is right.”
As word spread that a more comprehensive approach to the crisis might be under way, stocks
soared in near-frenzied trading. The Dow closed up four hundred and ten points, with the biggest surge
in six years.
t 7 P.M., Bernanke, Paulson, and Cox met with congressional leaders in Speaker Pelosi’s
conference room, overlooking the Mall. After photographers and press representatives were asked
to leave, Paulson addressed the group. “We are in danger of a broad systemic collapse, and action
needs to be taken urgently to head it off,” he said. “We need the authority to spend several hundred
billion.”
Cox invoked his former colleagues’ memories of September 11th. “We did extraordinary things then
for the good of the country,” he said. “This is what has to happen again, even if it is just weeks before
an election.”
Bernanke pointed out that he was a historian and a student of the Great Depression. “The kind of
financial collapse that we’re now on the brink of is always followed by a deep, long recession,” he said.
“If we aren’t able to head this off, the next generation of economists will be writing not about the
thirties but about this.”
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Someone asked what the scenario looked like.
Bernanke was cautious. He didn’t want to be accused of exaggerating the danger. “You could see a
twenty-per-cent decline in the stock market, unemployment at nine to ten per cent, the failure of G.M.,
certainly, and other large corporate failures. It would be very bad.”
The tone of the two most powerful men in the financial world was as frightening as their words.
Questions shifted to Paulson.
What are you going to do with the money?
Paulson stressed the need to buy toxic assets, but resisted questions about how that would work.
Spencer Bachus, the ranking member of the House Committee on Financial Services, asked about
injecting capital directly into banks. Paulson said that he would consider it.
The legislators pressed on how much money would be needed. Paulson finally said, “Several
hundred billion means several hundred billion.”
“You’ve got to understand, Mr. Secretary,” Barney Frank said. “This cannot be seen as just a Wall
Street bailout.” He said that executive compensation and foreclosures needed to be addressed. “There’s
too much anger out there,” he added.
Paulson didn’t want to get sidetracked by issues that he considered extraneous to the immediate
crisis. He knew that if the government tried to cap pay then no one on Wall Street would participate—a
state of affairs that Frank later said he found “terribly depressing.”
“Without a functioning banking system, things will get much worse on Main Street,” Paulson
countered. He also stressed that congressional action had to be taken before the markets opened on
Monday, or more major institutions might collapse.
And what would happen if such legislation failed in Congress?
Paulson paused for a moment. “In that case, God help us all.”
Barney Frank and Chris Dodd indicated that Congress would coöperate, but with some conditions.
According to the Times, Majority Leader Reid added, “You have no idea what you’re asking me to do.
It takes me forty-eight hours to get the Republicans to flush the toilet.”
The meeting lasted ninety minutes. Reid, Pelosi, and Paulson agreed to speak at a press conference.
Someone suggested that a Republican also speak, but Richard Shelby, of Alabama, a conservative and
the ranking Republican on the Senate Banking Committee, interjected, “Y’all don’t want me to speak.”
The laughter helped lighten the mood. The group agreed to make only brief, general comments about
what was discussed at the meeting.
nce Paulson had decided on insuring money-market funds in their entirety, it fell to staff members
at the Treasury to figure out how to make it happen. They had less than twenty-four hours to
implement a program that ordinarily would have taken weeks of study. David Nason, another assistant
Treasury secretary, called leading money-market funds to gauge their reaction. Several members of the
executive committee of the Investment Company Institute, a national association of U.S. investment
companies, including Vanguard, Invesco, T. Rowe Price, and Fidelity, opposed a federal insurance
program. All they wanted was a Fed facility that would address their liquidity issues. They feared that
insuring money-market funds could be destabilizing. Nason told them, “You’re getting this whether you
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want it or not.”
“But it’s a liquidity issue,” John Brennan, the head of Vanguard, persisted.
“That’s not where the Secretary is,” Nason replied. “This is about confidence, investors feeling safe.
Each time we’ve hoped for a break, we didn’t get it. We’re using overwhelming force.” Most funds
eventually agreed to participate. They had little choice. Once Treasury announced such a plan, and
even one fund participated in the guarantee program, investors might abandon funds without the
guarantee.
Early Friday morning, the Treasury announced a temporary guarantee program for money-market
funds in order to protect “the integrity and stability of the global financial system.”
hris Cox convened an emergency meeting of the S.E.C. that evening to consider a ban on short
selling, which Blankfein and Mack felt was necessary to save Goldman and Morgan Stanley. Cox
was probably the most free-market-oriented of the group, and a ban on short selling went deeply
against the grain. The ability to sell short—to profit on a stock’s decline—has long been seen as critical
to market integrity, enhancing liquidity and the flow of information. In fact, before that day none of the
five commission members supported such a ban. During calls that day and the previous day, however,
government officials came out in favor of a ban. And in one such call, when Cox said that he was
worried about unintended consequences, Paulson grew impatient. “You can sort it out later!” he said.
“You have to save them now or they’ll be gone while you’re still thinking about it.”
At the meeting that night, the S.E.C. commissioners were informed that the Treasury and the Fed
supported urgent action. In light of this, and the fact that the U.K. had taken a similar step earlier that
day, the commission voted unanimously to temporarily ban short selling in seven hundred and
ninety-nine financial stocks.
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 19
Big enough to make a difference.
ust before the U.S. markets opened, Paulson issued a statement reporting on the previous night’s
meeting and launching a campaign for a “comprehensive approach” to resolve the crisis. He outlined
a “troubled-asset relief program”—TARP—which would remove “illiquid assets that are weighing down
our financial institutions and threatening our economy.”
News of an insurance program for money-market funds and a comprehensive approach to the root
causes of the crisis—no matter how ill defined—ignited a euphoric rally on Wall Street. The Dow Jones
average rose four hundred points.
At ten-forty-five, President Bush, flanked by Paulson, Bernanke, and Cox, addressed the country
from the Rose Garden. “This is a pivotal moment for America’s economy,” he began, and went on:
Our system of free enterprise rests on the conviction that the federal government should interfere in the marketplace only when necessary. Given
the precarious state of today’s financial markets—and their vital importance to the daily lives of the American people—government intervention is not
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only warranted; it is essential.
“There were plenty of people around the President who just wanted the free market to work,”
Paulson told me. “He freed me from all of that. He wanted there to be a free market left for all of us to
work with. People don’t want to hear this. They don’t like him. They want to see him as disengaged.
But he was very focussed on what was best for the country.”
organ Stanley and Goldman Sachs got a brief reprieve as speculators began to buy back shares
and cover the short positions, but the situation of the two firms remained desperate.
Soon Goldman’s Blankfein called Mack again. “What do you think of this bank-holding-company
idea?” Blankfein asked. Geithner was saying that they could complete the paperwork and become bank
holding companies that weekend. “I don’t know—what do you think?” Mack asked. Neither
acknowledged to the other that he was going to pursue it. But both knew that the survival of their firms
was at stake. “You’ve got to hang in there,” Blankfein told Mack. “We’re very supportive of you, but if
you go under there will be immediate pressure on us.”
n Friday afternoon, Paulson, in a teleconference with Geithner and other Fed and S.E.C. officials,
said that it was time for President Bush to call the Chinese government in an effort to reassure it
that, if it came to the aid of Morgan Stanley, it could count on U.S. government support. The Chinese
were understandably cool to the prospect, since the China Investment Corporation, an arm of the
government, had already made a $5.6-billion investment in Morgan Stanley in 2007, and had watched
the value of its stake plunge in the ensuing financial turmoil. Chinese attempts to invest in some
American companies (such as the oil producer Unocal) had caused a political uproar, and the idea of
the Chinese increasing their stake in Morgan Stanley worried some people. But Geithner wasn’t
especially concerned about which country invested in Morgan Stanley, as long as it complied with
applicable laws.
On Friday evening, Morgan Stanley’s chief financial officer got a call from the head of the firm’s
Tokyo office, reporting that Mitsubishi U.F.J., the large Japanese bank, was interested in negotiating a
stake. John Mack was wary, given what he perceived as the glacial pace of Japanese dealmaking.
Nonetheless, he said, “Send them over.”
The following morning, a Chinese delegation, led by Gao Xiqing, the vice-chairman of the C.I.C.,
arrived in New York to meet with Morgan Stanley executives.
Later, Paulson spoke to his Chinese counterpart, Wang Qishan, the vice-premier for economic
affairs. President Bush also spoke to President Hu Jintao. According to one person briefed on that
conversation, Bush reassured Hu that the U.S. was addressing the crisis and explained the policy steps it
was taking. (A spokesperson for Bush declined to comment.)
aulson’s legislative team, drafting the TARP legislation, consulted with Fed officials but stuck to
Paulson’s view that the bill had to focus on buying assets rather than on making direct capital
investments—buying “bad assets” rather than “bad companies.” The final draft was only a few pages
long.
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In Section 6, it stated:
The Secretary’s authority to purchase mortgage-related assets under this Act shall be limited to $700,000,000,000 outstanding at any one time.
At last, the bill had a price tag, designated by Paulson on impulse: the worldwide market for
mortgage-backed securities was about $1.4 trillion; seven hundred billion was half that. “It was big
enough to make a difference,” Paulson says.
EPILOGUE
ate on Sunday, September 21st, the Federal Reserve announced that Goldman Sachs and Morgan
Stanley had become bank holding companies, bringing to an end the tradition of independent
investment banks on Wall Street. Despite the arrival of the Chinese delegation, Morgan Stanley
ultimately sold twenty-one per cent of the company to the Japanese bank, Mitsubishi, for $9 billion.
“The Chinese left in a huff,” a Morgan Stanley executive recalls. (The Chinese government declined to
comment.) On Tuesday, Goldman Sachs announced that Warren Buffett was buying five billion dollars’
worth of preferred stock. On Wednesday, Goldman raised another five billion in a public offering of
common stock. The moves staved off what had seemed the imminent collapse of the firms.
Although Barclays did not buy all of Lehman Brothers, it bought what it really wanted—Lehman’s
North American investment-banking operations and its presence on Wall Street—for just $250 million.
It paid $1.5 billion for Lehman’s Manhattan headquarters and other real estate. Bob Diamond called the
deal a “once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” and just a few months later Barclays showed a gain of $3.5
billion on the transaction.
The initial bipartisan support for emergency legislative action turned to hostility once the
$700-billion number was attached to the bill. Senators and representatives from both parties reported
that calls from constituents were overwhelmingly against the proposal.
On September 29th, the House voted down the legislation. Global markets went into convulsions,
the Dow dropped seven hundred and seventy-eight points, and credit markets stayed frozen. Barney
Frank, comparing Congress to a wayward child, counselled a nearly distraught Paulson, “Sometimes
you have to let the kid run away from home. He gets hungry, he comes back.” Thanks to fierce
lobbying, the legislation, much modified and expanded to four hundred pages, passed, on October 3rd.
“Troubled assets” were redefined to include not just mortgage-related assets but “any other financial
instrument” deemed necessary to stabilize the financial system.
In the end, the Treasury didn’t buy the troubled assets. Instead, it chose to inject capital directly into
the banks, as Bernanke, Geithner, and some at Treasury had suggested all along. On October 13th,
Paulson summoned the heads of the country’s nine most systemically important banks (including the
newest bank holding companies, Morgan Stanley and Goldman Sachs) and explained the terms on
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which the government would extend to them and others a total of $250 billion in capital. (To avoid the
taint of “nationalization,” the government took preferred stock, which carried no voting rights.)
During the next year, the recession that, in Bernanke’s words, inevitably follows a financial panic
drove unemployment to 9.7 per cent. The economic crisis, the worst since the Depression, destroyed
household and retirement savings, pensions, insurance funds, and endowments. Eighty-nine banks have
failed this year. Bank of America and Citigroup together got $90 billion in TARP funds and $420 billion in
guarantees. Stabilizing A.I.G. cost taxpayers $180 billion. To combat the crisis, the size of the Fed’s
balance sheet—$850 billion before the Lehman collapse—grew to $2 trillion. General Motors and
Chrysler filed for bankruptcy protection, along with nearly a hundred and fifty other public
companies—an increase of more than a hundred per cent from the previous year. By March of 2009,
nearly nineteen hundred hedge funds had gone out of business.
Bernanke and Paulson both told me that the effects of Lehman’s collapse were worse than they
anticipated, and they had expected them to be bad. The question persists: Could Lehman’s collapse
have been avoided? Paulson and Bernanke have argued that it couldn’t. The Fed has statutory
emergency powers to lend to non-banks, but only against what it deems adequate collateral. Lehman,
unlike A.I.G., with its healthy insurance businesses, didn’t have such collateral. This argument seems to
have first surfaced on October 15th, in a speech by Bernanke and in a statement attributed to Paulson
by the wire service Market News International. “There’s no law that any of us could have used,”
Paulson reiterated to me.
But Lehman clearly had some solid collateral, even if not enough for a government takeover of a
collapsing firm. The very day Lehman failed, the assets from its broker-dealer operations were deemed
acceptable as collateral for a series of short-term multibillion-dollar loans from the Fed. In order to
insure an orderly winding down, the Fed loaned the broker-dealer unit $62.8 billion on Monday,
September 15th, $47.7 billion on Tuesday, and $48.9 billion on Wednesday. (When Barclays bought the
unit, it repaid the outstanding Fed loans.) In testimony this summer, Paulson said, “The Fed was able to
loan against Lehman collateral and did loan to help facilitate liquidation and bankruptcy.” (He did
stipulate that a Fed loan would not have saved Lehman Brothers.) It seems likely that such collateral
might also have been adequate to support a rescue on the Bear Stearns model.
Paulson and other regulators stress, however, that there was no buyer to play the role for Lehman
that JPMorgan Chase had played in the rescue of Bear Stearns. Had Paulson said from the outset that a
government-assisted deal was possible, a buyer might have emerged. Instead, he summoned Wall
Street’s chief executives to the Fed, where he said emphatically that there would be no government
assistance, as had already been indicated to the press. If this was simply a tough negotiating tactic,
Paulson may have overplayed his hand. He succeeded in getting the Wall Street firms to coöperate,
which would have provided welcome political cover from likely hostile reaction to another government
bailout, but he failed to secure a buyer. Still, he came close. An orderly sale of Lehman to Barclays,
with backing from Wall Street, the U.S., and perhaps the British government, might have been within
reach. If so, at the highest levels of the American and British governments there was a breathtaking
failure to communicate.
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Paulson, Geithner, and Bernanke worked tirelessly to save Lehman—within the limits that they
believed to be feasible. And those limits, in light of the public hostility toward bailouts of any kind, were
formidable. As the Treasury official told me, “With Lehman Brothers, you said the market has to police
itself. It was a disaster. With A.I.G., you say you have to protect the system, and that’s a disaster! It’s a
Hobson’s choice. You’re not going to win.” Even so, Geithner says, “If we had had the authority to
prevent a system threat, I would have been prepared to act despite the political costs.”
Today, it is widely accepted that the failure of Lehman was indeed a disaster. Its unintended and
unforeseen consequences—the run on money-market funds most of all—could arguably have been
avoided. Yet saving Lehman would not have addressed the broader problem: the capital shortage in the
global banking system. It took a crisis of Lehman’s proportions to motivate Congress to act, and, even
then, it voted down the TARP legislation the first time.
Lehman’s failure and the aftermath remain a source of widespread outrage and confusion. The
inconsistent treatment of Lehman and A.I.G., the unsatisfying public explanations, and the subsequent
about-face on the TARP bailout—direct injections of capital rather than buying toxic assets—fuelled
public skepticism and, inevitably, conspiracy theories. The one that has gained the most currency
focusses on the role of Goldman Sachs, since Paulson is a former chairman of the firm and Goldman
was the largest recipient of payments (a total of $12.9 billion) from A.I.G. after it was rescued. But
Goldman didn’t have a unique financial motive for the government to rescue A.I.G. According to
Goldman, the firm was fully hedged against an A.I.G. failure. A review of an internal document that
Goldman prepared on September 15th last year assessing its exposure to A.I.G. suggests that the firm
would have come out slightly ahead if A.I.G. had failed.
Had an A.I.G. collapse triggered a global run on all banks, however, it’s likely that Goldman’s
insurers couldn’t have made good on their contracts. But, in such a financial catastrophe, a few defaults
on A.I.G.-related swaps contracts hardly would have mattered, since by then all banks, and not just
Goldman, likely would have shut their doors.
The circumstances of Merrill’s sale to Bank of America also have remained controversial. There
was a public uproar over the revelation that Merrill paid $3.6 billion in bonuses before the deal closed.
The ex-Goldman bankers Montag and Kraus also got their guarantees, $39.4 million and $29.4 million
respectively, even though, in Kraus’s case, it was mere days from the time he began work at Merrill
until the deal was announced. On January 22nd, Ken Lewis met with John Thain and demanded his
resignation. Bank of America publicly blamed Thain for the bonus payments, maintaining that they
were his decision, not Lewis’s. (This despite the fact that the bonus payments were authorized by the
document attached to the merger agreement that Lewis signed.) That day, CNBC reported on Thain’s
$1.2-million office renovation. Feeling betrayed and unjustly accused, the suddenly unemployed Thain
was now a public symbol of Wall Street’s excess. (Thain subsequently reimbursed the cost of the
renovation. Neither he nor Fleming took a bonus for 2008.) Bank of America is now embroiled in
litigation over what it did or did not disclose to shareholders before they voted to approve the merger.
These controversies aside, one fact is inescapable: billions of taxpayer dollars were invested in the
very institutions that caused the crisis. Multimillion-dollar annual bonuses continued, even at A.I.G.
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Lehman’s Dick Fuld may have had to sell his sixteen-room Park Avenue apartment for $6 million below
the asking price—of $32 million—but lenders have commenced foreclosures on nearly three million
homes since last October.
Geithner told me, “It seems unjust. But look what happened to the global economy after Lehman
failed. Unemployment in the U.S. went to 9.5 per cent. It’s not Wall Street that suffers when you ‘teach
people a lesson.’ The tragedy of financial populism is that you do terrible things to innocent people.”
Barney Frank used the analogy of de-Baathification, pointing out that U.S. efforts to purge Iraq of
supporters of Saddam Hussein were a disaster. “You can’t go out and shoot the bankers,” he said. “You
can’t have an economy without a functioning credit system. People are angry. They’re furious. But you
have no option but to live with these people.”
ore broadly, the events of that week are likely to redefine the debate over the role of markets in a
democracy, and even the nature of capitalism. At least since the Reagan revolution of the early
nineteen-eighties, free-market ideology has been ascendant, with even Democratic Administrations
following its precepts of market discipline, limited regulation, and unfettered rewards. George W. Bush
was only its latest exponent, governing on a platform of economic growth and lower taxes. Yet it was
Bush, and his Republican appointees Paulson and Bernanke, who orchestrated the virtual
nationalization of the U.S. financial system. Although a vocal minority continues to argue that the
system should have been left to the forces of creative destruction, the overwhelming consensus is that
free-market principles failed to address a global financial panic. In an intellectual debate that has been
going on since the Depression, Lehman’s failure may mark a victory of John Maynard Keynes over
Adam Smith—the government interventionists over laissez-faire capitalists.
Congress seems incapable of confronting this reality, especially with many Republicans adhering to
pre-Lehman free-market doctrine. Senator Shelby said this summer on CNBC, “I don’t believe anything
is too big to fail. We should let the market discipline these banks and if we let them do it, that would
help.” The U.S. regulatory framework is a patchwork of agencies that largely date to the Depression
and have proved inadequate to restrain market excesses. It seems absurd that A.I.G. would report to a
savings-and-loan regulator, Lehman Brothers to the S.E.C., and Bank of America to the Fed. The
Obama Administration has started to address many of these issues by proposing new regulations,
including expanding the powers of the Federal Reserve to oversee different types of firms that could
pose a risk to financial stability, as Lehman did. But thus far Congress, absorbed in the health-care
debate, has shown scant interest in enacting any legislation. And, despite outrage over lavish bonuses
and much talk about curtailing excessive risk-taking on Wall Street, President Obama has made only a
modest proposal for greater shareholder oversight of executive compensation, leaving it to the French to
press for stronger curbs on excessive pay.
Meanwhile, the economy is still in a deep recession, with unemployment at nearly ten per cent. But
the simple fact is this: America did not plunge into the economic abyss it faced that Thursday night. The
bold stroke of guaranteeing the money-market funds stopped the panic and halted withdrawals from the
funds. The commercial-paper market slowly came back to life and, with it, the credit markets. Turning
Morgan Stanley and Goldman Sachs into bank holding companies with Fed supervision and support
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stopped the run on investment banks. The details and mechanics of the TARP legislation proved less
important than the sense that a comprehensive plan to address the crisis was under way. The reprieve
bought enough time for the reëmergence of reason over unbridled fear. �
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China
The West was sure the Chinese approach would not work. It just had to wait. It’s still waiting.
By PHILIP P. PAN Photographs by BRYAN DENTON NOV. 18, 2018
In the uncertain years after Mao’s death, long before China became an
industrial juggernaut, before the Communist Party went on a winning
streak that would reshape the world, a group of economics students
gathered at a mountain retreat outside Shanghai. There, in the
bamboo forests of Moganshan, the young scholars grappled with a
pressing question: How could China catch up with the West?
It was the autumn of 1984, and on the other side of the world, Ronald
Reagan was promising “morning again in America.” China,
meanwhile, was just recovering from decades of political and
economic turmoil. There had been progress in the countryside, but
more than three-quarters of the population still lived in extreme
poverty. The state decided where everyone worked, what every factory
made and how much everything cost.
The students and researchers attending the Academic Symposium of
Middle-Aged and Young Economists wanted to unleash market forces
but worried about crashing the economy — and alarming the party
bureaucrats and ideologues who controlled it.
Late one night, they reached a consensus: Factories should meet state
quotas but sell anything extra they made at any price they chose. It
was a clever, quietly radical proposal to undercut the planned
economy — and it intrigued a young party official in the room who had
no background in economics. “As they were discussing the problem, I
didn’t say anything at all,” recalled Xu Jing’an, now 76 and retired. “I
was thinking, how do we make this work?”
The Chinese economy has grown so fast for so long now that it is easy
to forget how unlikely its metamorphosis into a global powerhouse
was, how much of its ascent was improvised and born of desperation.
The proposal that Mr. Xu took from the mountain retreat, soon
adopted as government policy, was a pivotal early step in this
astounding transformation.
China now leads the world in the number of homeowners, internet
users, college graduates and, by some counts, billionaires. Extreme
poverty has fallen to less than 1 percent. An isolated, impoverished
backwater has evolved into the most significant rival to the United
States since the fall of the Soviet Union.
An epochal contest is underway. With President Xi Jinping pushing a
more assertive agenda overseas and tightening controls at home, the
Trump administration has launched a trade war and is gearing up for
what could be a new Cold War. Meanwhile, in Beijing the question
these days is less how to catch up with the West than how to pull
ahead — and how to do so in a new era of American hostility.
The pattern is familiar to historians, a rising power challenging an
established one, with a familiar complication: For decades, the United
States encouraged and aided China’s rise, working with its leaders and
its people to build the most important economic partnership in the
world, one that has lifted both nations.
During this time, eight American presidents assumed, or hoped, that
China would eventually bend to what were considered the established
rules of modernization: Prosperity would fuel popular demands for
political freedom and bring China into the fold of democratic nations.
Or the Chinese economy would falter under the weight of
authoritarian rule and bureaucratic rot.
But neither happened. Instead, China’s Communist leaders have
defied expectations again and again. They embraced capitalism even
as they continued to call themselves Marxists. They used repression to
maintain power but without stifling entrepreneurship or innovation.
Surrounded by foes and rivals, they avoided war, with one brief
exception, even as they fanned nationalist sentiment at home. And
they presided over 40 years of uninterrupted growth, often with
unorthodox policies the textbooks said would fail.
In late September, the People’s Republic of China marked a milestone,
surpassing the Soviet Union in longevity. Days later, it celebrated a
record 69 years of Communist rule. And China may be just hitting its
stride — a new superpower with an economy on track to become not
just the world’s largest but, quite soon, the largest by a wide margin.
The world thought it could change China, and in many ways it has. But
China’s success has been so spectacular that it has just as often
changed the world — and the American understanding of how the
world works.
There is no simple explanation for how China’s leaders pulled this off.
There was foresight and luck, skill and violent resolve, but perhaps
most important was the fear — a sense of crisis among Mao’s
successors that they never shook, and that intensified after the
Tiananmen Square massacre and the collapse of the Soviet Union.
Even as they put the disasters of Mao’s rule behind them, China’s
Communists studied and obsessed over the fate of their old ideological
allies in Moscow, determined to learn from their mistakes. They drew
two lessons: The party needed to embrace “reform” to survive — but
“reform” must never include democratization.
China has veered between these competing impulses ever since,
between opening up and clamping down, between experimenting with
change and resisting it, always pulling back before going too far in
either direction for fear of running aground.
Many people said that the party would fail, that this tension between
openness and repression would be too much for a nation as big as
China to sustain. But it may be precisely why China soared.
Whether it can continue to do so with the United States trying to stop
it is another question entirely.
Apparatchiks Into Capitalists
None of the participants at the Moganshan conference could have
predicted how China would take off, much less the roles they would
play in the boom ahead. They had come of age in an era of tumult,
almost entirely isolated from the rest of the world, with little to
prepare them for the challenge they faced. To succeed, the party had to
both reinvent its ideology and reprogram its best and brightest to
carry it out.
Mr. Xu, for example, had graduated with a degree in journalism on the
eve of Mao’s violent Cultural Revolution, during which millions of
people were purged, persecuted and killed. He spent those years at a
“cadre school” doing manual labor and teaching Marxism in an army
unit. After Mao’s death, he was assigned to a state research institute
tasked with fixing the economy. His first job was figuring out how to
give factories more power to make decisions, a subject he knew almost
nothing about. Yet he went on to a distinguished career as an
economic policymaker, helping launch China’s first stock market in
Shenzhen.
Among the other young participants in Moganshan were Zhou
Xiaochuan, who would later lead China’s central bank for 15 years;
Lou Jiwei, who ran China’s sovereign wealth fund and recently
stepped down as finance minister; and an agricultural policy specialist
named Wang Qishan, who rose higher than any of them.
Mr. Wang headed China’s first investment bank and helped steer the
nation through the Asian financial crisis. As Beijing’s mayor, he hosted
the 2008 Olympics. Then he oversaw the party’s recent high-stakes
crackdown on corruption. Now he is China’s vice president, second in
authority only to Xi Jinping, the party’s leader.
The careers of these men from Moganshan highlight an important
aspect of China’s success: It turned its apparatchiks into capitalists.
Bureaucrats who were once obstacles to growth became engines of
growth. Officials devoted to class warfare and price controls began
chasing investment and promoting private enterprise. Every day now,
the leader of a Chinese district, city or province makes a pitch like the
one Yan Chaojun made at a business forum in September.
“Sanya,” Mr. Yan said, referring to the southern resort town he leads,
“must be a good butler, nanny, driver and cleaning person for
businesses, and welcome investment from foreign companies.”
It was a remarkable act of reinvention, one that eluded the Soviets. In
both China and the Soviet Union, vast Stalinist bureaucracies had
smothered economic growth, with officials who wielded unchecked
power resisting change that threatened their privileges.
Mikhail Gorbachev, the last leader of the Soviet Union, tried to break
the hold of these bureaucrats on the economy by opening up the
political system. Decades later, Chinese officials still take classes on
why that was a mistake. The party even produced a documentary
series on the subject in 2006, distributing it on classified DVDs for
officials at all levels to watch.
Afraid to open up politically but unwilling to stand still, the party
found another way. It moved gradually and followed the pattern of the
compromise at Moganshan, which left the planned economy intact
while allowing a market economy to flourish and outgrow it.
Party leaders called this go-slow, experimental approach “crossing the
river by feeling the stones” — allowing farmers to grow and sell their
own crops, for example, while retaining state ownership of the land;
lifting investment restrictions in “special economic zones,” while
leaving them in place in the rest of the country; or introducing
privatization by selling only minority stakes in state firms at first.
“There was resistance,” Mr. Xu said. “Satisfying the reformers and the
opposition was an art.”
American economists were skeptical. Market forces needed to be
introduced quickly, they argued; otherwise, the bureaucracy would
mobilize to block necessary changes. After a visit to China in 1988, the
Nobel laureate Milton Friedman called the party’s strategy “an open
invitation to corruption and inefficiency.”
But China had a strange advantage in battling bureaucratic resistance.
The nation’s long economic boom followed one of the darkest chapters
of its history, the Cultural Revolution, which decimated the party
apparatus and left it in shambles. In effect, autocratic excess set the
stage for Mao’s eventual successor, Deng Xiaoping, to lead the party in
a radically more open direction.
That included sending generations of young party officials to the
United States and elsewhere to study how modern economies worked.
Sometimes they enrolled in universities, sometimes they found jobs,
and sometimes they went on brief “study tours.” When they returned,
the party promoted their careers and arranged for others to learn from
them.
At the same time, the party invested in education, expanding access to
schools and universities, and all but eliminating illiteracy. Many critics
focus on the weaknesses of the Chinese system — the emphasis on
tests and memorization, the political constraints, the discrimination
against rural students. But mainland China now produces more
graduates in science and engineering every year than the United
States, Japan, South Korea and Taiwan combined.
In cities like Shanghai, Chinese schoolchildren outperform peers
around the world. For many parents, though, even that is not enough.
Because of new wealth, a traditional emphasis on education as a path
to social mobility and the state’s hypercompetitive college entrance
exam, most students also enroll in after-school tutoring programs — a
market worth $125 billion, according to one study, or as much as half
the government’s annual military budget.
Another explanation for the party’s transformation lies in bureaucratic
mechanics. Analysts sometimes say that China embraced economic
reform while resisting political reform. But in reality, the party made
changes after Mao’s death that fell short of free elections or
independent courts yet were nevertheless significant.
The party introduced term limits and mandatory retirement ages, for
example, making it easier to flush out incompetent officials. And it
revamped the internal report cards it used to evaluate local leaders for
promotions and bonuses, focusing them almost exclusively on
concrete economic targets.
These seemingly minor adjustments had an outsize impact, injecting a
dose of accountability — and competition — into the political system,
said Yuen Yuen Ang, a political scientist at the University of Michigan.
“China created a unique hybrid,” she said, “an autocracy with
democratic characteristics.”
As the economy flourished, officials with a single-minded focus on
growth often ignored widespread pollution, violations of labor
standards, and tainted food and medical supplies. They were rewarded
with soaring tax revenues and opportunities to enrich their friends,
their relatives and themselves. A wave of officials abandoned the state
and went into business. Over time, the party elite amassed great
wealth, which cemented its support for the privatization of much of
the economy it once controlled.
The private sector now produces more than 60 percent of the nation’s
economic output, employs over 80 percent of workers in cities and
towns, and generates 90 percent of new jobs, a senior official said in a
speech last year. As often as not, the bureaucrats stay out of the way.
“I basically don’t see them even once a year,” said James Ni, chairman
and founder of Mlily, a mattress manufacturer in eastern China. “I’m
creating jobs, generating tax revenue. Why should they bother me?”
In recent years, President Xi has sought to assert the party’s authority
inside private firms. He has also bolstered state-owned enterprises
with subsidies while preserving barriers to foreign competition. And
he has endorsed demands that American companies surrender
technology in exchange for market access.
In doing so, he is betting that the Chinese state has changed so much
that it should play a leading role in the economy — that it can build
and run “national champions” capable of outcompeting the United
States for control of the high-tech industries of the future. But he has
also provoked a backlash in Washington.
‘Opening Up’
In December, the Communist Party will celebrate the 40th
anniversary of the “reform and opening up” policies that transformed
China. The triumphant propaganda has already begun, with Mr.
Xi putting himself front and center, as if taking a victory lap for the
nation.
He is the party’s most powerful leader since Deng and the son of a
senior official who served Deng, but even as he wraps himself in
Deng’s legacy, Mr. Xi has set himself apart in an important way: Deng
encouraged the party to seek help and expertise overseas, but Mr. Xi
preaches self-reliance and warns of the threats posed by “hostile
foreign forces.”
In other words, he appears to have less use for the “opening up” part
of Deng’s slogan.
Of the many risks that the party took in its pursuit of growth, perhaps
the biggest was letting in foreign investment, trade and ideas. It was
an exceptional gamble by a country once as isolated as North Korea is
today, and it paid off in an exceptional way: China tapped into a wave
of globalization sweeping the world and emerged as the world’s
factory. China’s embrace of the internet, within limits, helped make it
a leader in technology. And foreign advice helped China reshape its
banks, build a legal system and create modern corporations.
The party prefers a different narrative these days, presenting the
economic boom as “grown out of the soil of China” and primarily the
result of its leadership. But this obscures one of the great ironies of
China’s rise — that Beijing’s former enemies helped make it possible.
The United States and Japan, both routinely vilified by party
propagandists, became major trading partners and were important
sources of aid, investment and expertise. The real game changers,
though, were people like Tony Lin, a factory manager who made his
first trip to the mainland in 1988.
Mr. Lin was born and raised in Taiwan, the self-governing island
where those who lost the Chinese civil war fled after the Communist
Revolution. As a schoolboy, he was taught that mainland China was
the enemy.
But in the late 1980s, the sneaker factory he managed in central
Taiwan was having trouble finding workers, and its biggest customer,
Nike, suggested moving some production to China. Mr. Lin set aside
his fears and made the trip. What he found surprised him: a large and
willing work force, and officials so eager for capital and know-how that
they offered the use of a state factory free and a five-year break on
taxes.
Mr. Lin spent the next decade shuttling to and from southern China,
spending months at a time there and returning home only for short
breaks to see his wife and children. He built and ran five sneaker
factories, including Nike’s largest Chinese supplier.
“China’s policies were tremendous,” he recalled. “They were like a
sponge absorbing water, money, technology, everything.”
Mr. Lin was part of a torrent of investment from ethnic Chinese
enclaves in Hong Kong, Taiwan, Singapore and beyond that washed
over China — and gave it a leg up on other developing countries.
Without this diaspora, some economists argue, the mainland’s
transformation might have stalled at the level of a country like
Indonesia or Mexico.
The timing worked out for China, which opened up just as Taiwan was
outgrowing its place in the global manufacturing chain. China
benefited from Taiwan’s money, but also its managerial experience,
technology and relationships with customers around the world. In
effect, Taiwan jump-started capitalism in China and plugged it into the
global economy.
Before long, the government in Taiwan began to worry about relying
so much on its onetime enemy and tried to shift investment elsewhere.
But the mainland was too cheap, too close and, with a common
language and heritage, too familiar. Mr. Lin tried opening factories in
Thailand, Vietnam and Indonesia but always came back to China.
Now Taiwan finds itself increasingly dependent on a much more
powerful China, which is pushing ever harder for unification, and the
island’s future is uncertain.
There are echoes of Taiwan’s predicament around the world, where
many are having second thoughts about how they rushed to embrace
Beijing with trade and investment.
The remorse may be strongest in the United States, which brought
China into the World Trade Organization, became China’s largest
customer and now accuses it of large-scale theft of technology — what
one official called “the greatest transfer of wealth in history.”
Many in Washington predicted that trade would bring political
change. It did, but not in China. “Opening up” ended up strengthening
the party’s hold on power rather than weakening it. The shock of
China’s rise as an export colossus, however, was felt in factory towns
around the world.
In the United States, economists say at least two million jobs
disappeared as a result, many in districts that ended up voting for
President Trump.
Selective Repression
Over lunch at a luxurious private club on the 50th floor of an
apartment tower in central Beijing, one of China’s most successful real
estate tycoons explained why he had left his job at a government
research center after the crackdown on the student-led democracy
movement in Tiananmen Square.
“It was very easy,” said Feng Lun, the chairman of Vantone Holdings,
which manages a multibillion-dollar portfolio of properties around the
world. “One day, I woke up and everyone had run away. So I ran, too.”
Until the soldiers opened fire, he said, he had planned to spend his
entire career in the civil service. Instead, as the party was pushing out
those who had sympathized with the students, he joined the exodus of
officials who started over as entrepreneurs in the 1990s.
“At the time, if you held a meeting and told us to go into business, we
wouldn’t have gone,” he recalled. “So this incident, it unintentionally
planted seeds in the market economy.”
Such has been the seesaw pattern of the party’s success.
The pro-democracy movement in 1989 was the closest the party ever
came to political liberalization after Mao’s death, and the crackdown
that followed was the furthest it went in the other direction, toward
repression and control. After the massacre, the economy stalled and
retrenchment seemed certain. Yet three years later, Deng used a tour
of southern China to wrestle the party back to “reform and opening
up” once more.
Many who had left the government, like Mr. Feng, suddenly found
themselves leading the nation’s transformation from the outside, as its
first generation of private entrepreneurs.
Now Mr. Xi is steering the party toward repression again, tightening
its grip on society, concentrating power in his own hands and setting
himself up to rule for life by abolishing the presidential term limit.
Will the party loosen up again, as it did a few years after Tiananmen,
or is this a more permanent shift? If it is, what will it mean for the
Chinese economic miracle?
The fear is that Mr. Xi is attempting to rewrite the recipe behind
China’s rise, replacing selective repression with something more
severe.
The party has always been vigilant about crushing potential threats —
a fledgling opposition party, a popular spiritual movement, even
a dissident writer awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. But with some big
exceptions, it has also generally retreated from people’s personal lives
and given them enough freedom to keep the economy growing.
The internet is an example of how it has benefited by striking a
balance. The party let the nation go online with barely an inkling of
what that might mean, then reaped the economic benefits while
controlling the spread of information that could hurt it.
In 2011, it confronted a crisis. After a high-speed train crash in eastern
China, more than 30 million messages criticizing the party’s handling
of the fatal accident flooded social media — faster than censors could
screen them.
Panicked officials considered shutting down the most popular service,
Weibo, the Chinese equivalent of Twitter, but the authorities were
afraid of how the public would respond. In the end, they let Weibo stay
open but invested much more in tightening controls and ordered
companies to do the same.
The compromise worked. Now, many companies assign hundreds of
employees to censorship duties — and China has become a giant on
the global internet landscape.
“The cost of censorship is quite limited compared to the great value
created by the internet,” said Chen Tong, an industry pioneer. “We still
get the information we need for economic progress.”
A ‘New Era’
China is not the only country that has squared the demands of
authoritarian rule with the needs of free markets. But it has done so
for longer, at greater scale and with more convincing results than any
other.
The question now is whether it can sustain this model with the United
States as an adversary rather than a partner.
The trade war has only just begun. And it is not just a trade war.
American warships and planes are challenging Chinese claims to
disputed waters with increasing frequency even as China keeps
ratcheting up military spending. And Washington is maneuvering to
counter Beijing’s growing influence around the world, warning that a
Chinese spending spree on global infrastructure comes with strings
attached.
The two nations may yet reach some accommodation. But both left
and right in America have portrayed China as the champion of an
alternative global order, one that embraces autocratic values and
undermines fair competition. It is a rare consensus for the United
States, which is deeply divided about so much else, including how it
has wielded power abroad in recent decades — and how it should do so
now.
Mr. Xi, on the other hand, has shown no sign of abandoning what he
calls “the great rejuvenation of the Chinese nation.” Some in his corner
have been itching to take on the United States since the 2008 financial
crisis and see the Trump administration’s policies as proof of what
they have always suspected — that America is determined to keep
China down.
At the same time, there is also widespread anxiety over the new
acrimony, because the United States has long inspired admiration and
envy in China, and because of a gnawing sense that the party’s formula
for success may be faltering.
Prosperity has brought rising expectations in China; the public wants
more than just economic growth. It wants cleaner air, safer food and
medicine, better health care and schools, less corruption and greater
equality. The party is struggling to deliver, and tweaks to the report
cards it uses to measure the performance of officials hardly seem
enough.
“The basic problem is, who is growth for?” said Mr. Xu, the retired
official who wrote the Moganshan report. “We haven’t solved this
problem.”
Growth has begun to slow, which may be better for the economy in the
long term but could shake public confidence. The party is investing
ever more in censorship to control discussion of the challenges the
nation faces: widening inequality, dangerous debt levels, an aging
population.
Mr. Xi himself has acknowledged that the party must adapt, declaring
that the nation is entering a “new era” requiring new methods. But his
prescription has largely been a throwback to repression, including vast
internment camps targeting Muslim ethnic minorities. “Opening up”
has been replaced by an outward push, with huge loans that critics
describe as predatory and other efforts to gain influence — or interfere
— in the politics of other countries. At home, experimentation is out
while political orthodoxy and discipline are in.
In effect, Mr. Xi seems to believe that China has been so successful
that the party can return to a more conventional authoritarian posture
— and that to survive and surpass the United States it must.
Certainly, the momentum is still with the party. Over the past four
decades, economic growth in China has been 10 times faster than in
the United States, and it is still more than twice as fast. The party
appears to enjoy broad public support, and many around the world are
convinced that Mr. Trump’s America is in retreat while China’s
moment is just beginning.
Then again, China has a way of defying expectations.
Philip P. Pan is The Times’s Asia Editor and author of “Out of Mao’s Shadow: The Struggle for the Soul of a New China.” He has lived in and reported on China for nearly two decades.
Jonathan Ansfield and Keith Bradsher contributed reporting from Beijing. Claire Fu, Zoe Mou and Iris Zhao contributed research from Beijing, and Carolyn Zhang from Shanghai.
Design: Matt Ruby, Rumsey Taylor, Quoctrung Bui Editing: Tess Felder, Eric Nagourney, David Schmidt Photo Editing: David Furst, Craig Allen, Meghan Petersen, Mikko Takkunen Illustrations: Sergio Peçanha
Chang_Ladder
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Kicking Away the Ladder: Infant Industry Promotion in Historical Perspective 1 Ha-Joon Chang
To cite this Article Chang, Ha-Joon(2003) 'Kicking Away the Ladder: Infant Industry Promotion in Historical Perspective 1', Oxford Development Studies, 31: 1, 21 — 32 To link to this Article: DOI: 10.1080/1360081032000047168 URL: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/1360081032000047168
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Oxford Development Studies, Vol. 31, No. 1, 2003
Kicking Away the Ladder: Infant Industry Promotion
in Historical Perspective1
HA-JOON CHANG*
ABSTRACT This article introduces a new dimension in the debate on infant industry promotion by pointing out that, historically, the developed countries themselves did not develop on the basis of free trade policy and laissez-faire industrial policy that they currently recommend to, or even force upon, the developing countries. It first critically examines the “official history of capitalism”, which sees the last few centuries as a continuous, if sometimes disrupted, advance of the free trade system. Then it shows how virtually all of today’s developed countries, especially the UK and the USA, the supposed homes of free trade, used tariff protection and subsidies to develop their industries when they were in catching-up positions. It then criticizes the orthodox counter-argument that, while using protection in the early days of their economic development, today’s developed countries never used it as much as today’s developing countries have done. Finally, pointing out that the supposedly “good” policies of free trade and laissez-faire industrial policy have led to a collapse in growth in the developing countries during the last two decades, the article argues for a total rethink on trade policy and, more broadly, development strategy, for developing countries. Above all, it recommends that the global rules need to be rewritten in such a way that developing countries are allowed more actively to use tariffs and subsidies for infant industry promotion in accordance with their development strategy.
1. Introduction
There is currently great pressure on developing countries from the developed countries, and the international development policy establishment (IDPE) that they control, to adopt a set of “good policies” to foster their economic development. As is well known, these “good policies” basically consist of conservative macroeconomic policy, liberaliza- tion of international trade and investment, privatization and deregulation.2There have been heated debates on whether these recommended policies are appropriate for the developing countries. However, curiously, even many of those who are sceptical of their applicability to developing countries take it for granted that these were the policies that were used by the developed countries in order to achieve economic development.
This cannot be further from the truth. The historical fact is that when they were developing countries themselves the developed countries used virtually none of the policies that they are recommending to developing countries. Nowhere is this dis-
* Ha-Joon Chang, Faculty of Economics and Politics, University of Cambridge, Austin Robinson Building, Sidgwick Avenue, Cambridge CB3 9DD, UK.
ISSN 1360-0818 print/ISSN 1469-9966 online/03/010021-12 2003 International Development Centre, Oxford DOI: 10.1080/1360081032000047168
D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ U n i v e r s i t y o f C a l i f o r n i a , S a n t a C r u z ] A t : 0 6 : 5 3 1 9 J u n e 2 0 1 0
22 H.-J. Chang
crepancy between historical facts and today’s conventional wisdom bigger than in the area of industrial, trade and technology policies.
2. Official History of Capitalism
According to the “official history of capitalism” that informs today’s debate on global- ization and economic development, the world economy developed in the following way over the last few centuries (see, e.g. Bhagwati, 1985, 1998; Sachs & Warner, 1995).
From the 18th Century, Britain proved the superiority of free market and free trade policies by beating interventionist France, its main competitor at the time, and estab- lishing itself as the supreme world economic power. In particular, once it had aban- doned its deplorable agricultural protection (the Corn Laws) and other remnants of old mercantilist protectionist measures in 1846, it was able to play the role of the architect and hegemon of a new “liberal” world economic order. This liberal world order, perfected around 1870, was based on: laissez-faire industrial policies at home; low barriers to the international flows of goods, capital and labour; and macroeconomic stability, both nationally and internationally, guaranteed by the Gold Standard and the principle of balanced budgets. A period of unprecedented prosperity followed.
Unfortunately, according to this story, things started to go wrong with World War I. In response to the ensuing instability of the world economic and political system, countries started to erect trade barriers again. In 1930, the USA also abandoned free trade and raised tariffs with the infamous Smoot-Hawley tariff, which Jagdish Bhagwati called “the most visible and dramatic act of anti-trade folly” (Bhagwati, 1985, p. 22, fn. 10). The world free trade system finally ended in 1932, when Britain, hitherto the champion of free trade, succumbed to temptation and reintroduced tariffs. The resulting contraction and instability in the world economy and then finally World War II destroyed the last remnants of the first liberal world order.
After World War II, so the story goes, some significant progress was made in trade liberalization through the early GATT (General Agreement on Trade and Tariffs) talks. However, unfortunately, dirigiste approaches to economic management domi- nated the policy-making scene until the 1970s in the developed world, and until the early 1980s in the developing world (and the Communist world until its collapse in 1989).
Fortunately, it is said, interventionist policies have been largely abandoned across the world since the 1980s with the rise of neo-liberalism, which emphasize the virtues of small government, laissez-faire policies and international openness. Especially in the developing world, by the late 1970s economic growth had begun to falter in most countries outside East and Southeast Asia, which were already pursuing “good” policies (of free market and free trade). This growth failure, which often manifested itself in the economic crises of the early 1980s, exposed the limitations of old-style interventionism and protectionism. As a result, most developing countries have come to embrace “policy reform” in a neo-liberal direction.
When combined with the establishment of new global governance institutions represented by the WTO, these policy changes at the national level have created a new global economic system, comparable in its (at least potential) prosperity only to the earlier “golden age” of liberalism (1870–1914).3
As we shall see, this is a fundamentally misleading picture, but no less a powerful one for it; and it should be accepted that there are some senses in which the late 19th Century can indeed be described as an era of laissez-faire.
To begin with, there was a period in the late 19th Century, albeit a brief one, when
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Table 1. Average tariff rates on manufactured products for selected developed countries in their early stages of development (weighted average; in
percentages of value)a
1820b 1875b 1913 1925 1931 1950
Austriac R 15–20 18 16 24 18 Belgiumd 6–8 9–10 9 15 14 11 Denmark 25–35 15–20 14 10 n.a. 3 France R 12–15 20 21 30 18 Germanye 8–12 4–6 13 20 21 26 Italy n.a. 8–10 18 22 46 25 Japanf R 5 30 n.a. n.a. n.a. Netherlandsd 6–8 3–5 4 6 n.a. 11 Russia R 15–20 84 R R R Spain R 15–20 41 41 63 n.a. Sweden R 3–5 20 16 21 9 Switzerland 8–12 4–6 9 14 19 n.a. UK 45–55 0 0 5 n.a. 23 USA 35–45 40–50 44 37 48 14
Source: Bairoch (1993), p. 40, table 3.3. Notes: R–numerous and important restrictions on manufactured imports existed and therefore average tariff rates are not meaningful. n.a.–not available. a World Bank (1991, p. 97, Box table 5.2) provides a similar table, partly drawing on Bairoch’s own studies that form the basis of the above table. However, the World Bank figures, although in most cases very similar to Bairoch’s figures, are unweighted averages, which are obviously less preferable to the weighted average figures that Bairoch provides. b These are very approximate rates, and give range of average rates, not extremes. c Austria–Hungary before 1925. d In 1820, Belgium was united with the Netherlands. e The 1820 figure is for Prussia only. f Before 1911, Japan was obliged to keep low tariff rates (up to 5%) through a series of “unequal treaties” with the European countries and the USA. The World Bank table cited in note a gives Japan’s unweighted average tariff rate for all goods (not just manufactured goods) for the years 1925, 1930, 1950 as 13%, 19%, 4%.
liberal trade regimes prevailed in large parts of the world economy. Between 1860 and 1880, many European countries reduced tariff protection substantially (see Table 1). At the same time, most of the rest of the world was forced to practise free trade through colonialism and through (unequal) treaties in the cases of a few nominally “independent” countries (such as the Latin American countries, China, Thailand (then Siam), Iran (then Persia) and Turkey (then the Ottoman Empire), and even Japan until 1911). The obvious exception was the USA, which maintained very high tariff barriers even during this period. However, given that the USA was still a relatively small part of the world economy, it may not be totally unreasonable to say that this was as close to free trade as the world has ever got.
More importantly, the scope of state intervention before World War I was limited by modern standards. States at the time had limited budgetary policy capability because there was no income tax in most countries4 and the balanced budget doctrine domi- nated. They also had limited monetary policy capability because many countries did not have a central bank,5 and the Gold Standard restricted their policy freedom. They also had limited command over investment resources, as they owned or regulated few financial institutions and industrial enterprises. One paradoxical consequence of these
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limitations was that tariff protection was far more important as a policy tool in the 19th Century than it is in our time.
Despite these limitations, as we shall see, virtually all now-developed countries (NDCs) actively used interventionist industrial, trade and technology (ITT) policies aimed at promoting—not simply “protecting”, it should be emphasized—infant indus- tries during their catch-up periods.6
3. Catching-up and Infant Industry Promotion in the NDCs
3.1 Britain
Contrary to the popular myth that depicts it as a country that first developed on the basis of free market and free trade, Britain was an aggressive user, and in certain areas a pioneer, of activist policies intended to promote infant industries.
Such policies, although limited in scope, date back to the 14th Century (Edward III) and the 15th Century (Henry VII) in relation to woollen manufacturing, the leading industry of the time. England was then an exporter of raw wool to the Low Countries, and various British monarchs tried to change this by, among other things, protecting the domestic woollen manufacturers, taxing raw wool exports and poaching skilled workers from the Low Countries.7
Between the 1721 trade policy reform of Robert Walpole, Britain’s first Prime Minister, and the repeal of the Corn Laws in 1846, Britain implemented aggressive ITT policies. During this period, it actively used infant industry protection, export subsidies, import tariff rebates on inputs used for exporting and export quality control by the state—policies that are these days typically associated with Japan and other East Asian countries (see Brisco, 1907, on Walpole’s trade policy). As we see from Table 1, Britain had very high tariffs on manufacturing products even as late as the 1820s, some two generations after the start of its industrial revolution, and when it was significantly ahead of its competitor nations in technological terms.
Britain moved significantly, although not completely, to free trade with the repeal of the Corn Laws in 1846. The repeal of the Corn Laws is now commonly regarded as the ultimate victory of the classical liberal economic doctrine over wrong-headed mercantil- ism (see, e.g. Bhagwati, 1985), but many historians see it as an act of “free trade imperialism” intended to “halt the move to industrialisation on the Continent by enlarging the market for agricultural produce and primary materials” (Kindleberger, 1978, p. 196). Indeed, this is exactly how many key leaders of the campaign to repeal the Corn Laws, such as the politician Richard Cobden and John Bowring of the Board of Trade, saw their campaign.8
In short, contrary to popular belief, Britain’s technological lead that enabled this shift to a free trade regime had been achieved “behind high and long-lasting tariff barriers”, as the eminent economic historian Paul Bairoch put it (Bairoch, 1993, p. 46). It is for this reason that Friedrich List, the 19th Century German economist who is (mistakenly—see below) known as the father of modern “infant industry” theory, argued that the British preaching for free trade is equivalent to someone who has already climbed to the top “kicking away the ladder” with which he/she climbed. He is worth quoting at length on this point.
It is a very common clever device that when anyone has attained the summit of greatness, he kicks away the ladder by which he has climbed up, in order to deprive others of the means of climbing up after him. In this lies the secret of the cosmopolitical doctrine of Adam Smith, and of the cosmopolitical tenden-
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cies of his great contemporary William Pitt, and of all his successors in the British Government administrations.
Any nation which by means of protective duties and restrictions on navigation has raised her manufacturing power and her navigation to such a degree of development that no other nation can sustain free competition with her, can do nothing wiser than to throw away these ladders of her greatness, to preach to other nations the benefits of free trade, and to declare in penitent tones that she has hitherto wandered in the paths of error, and has now for the first time succeeded in discovering the truth [italics added].
(List, 1885, pp. 295–296)
3.2 USA
If Britain was the first country successfully to launch a large-scale infant industry promotion strategy, its most ardent user was the USA—Paul Bairoch once called it “the mother country and bastion of modern protectionism” (Bairoch, 1993, p. 30).
Indeed, the first systematic arguments for infant industry were developed by US thinkers like Alexander Hamilton, the first Treasury Secretary of the USA, and the now-forgotten economist Daniel Raymond (Corden, 1974, chapter 8; Freeman, 1989). In fact, Friedrich List, the supposed intellectual father of infant industry protection argument, first learned about the argument during his exile in the USA during the 1820s (Henderson, 1983; Reinert, 1998). Many US intellectuals and politicians during the country’s catch-up period clearly understood that the free trade theory advocated by the British classical economists was unsuited to their country. Indeed, it was against the advice of great economists like Adam Smith and Jean Baptiste Say that the Americans were protecting their industries.9
Between 1816 and the end of World War II, the USA had one of the highest average tariff rates on manufacturing imports in the world (see Table 1). Given that the country enjoyed an exceptionally high degree of “natural” protection due to high transportation costs at least until the 1870s, US industries were the most protected in the world until 1945. Even the Smoot-Hawley tariff of 1930, which Bhagwati portrays as a radical departure from a historic free trade stance, only marginally (if at all) increased the degree of protectionism in the US economy. As we can see from Table 1, the average tariff rate for manufactured goods that resulted from this bill was 48%, and it still falls within the range of the average rates that had prevailed in the USA since the Civil War, albeit in the upper region of this range. It is only in relation to the brief “liberal” interlude of 1913–29 that the 1930 tariff bill can be interpreted as increasing protectionism, and even then not by very much (from 37% in 1925 to 48% in 1931, see Table 1).
In this context, it is also important to note that the American Civil War was fought on the issue of tariffs as much as, if not more than, on the issue of slavery. Of the two major issues that divided the North and the South, the South had actually more to fear on the tariff front than on the slavery front. Abraham Lincoln was a well-known protectionist who had cut his political teeth under the charismatic politician Henry Clay in the Whig Party, which advocated the “American System” based on infrastructural development and protectionism—thus named in recognition that free trade was in the “British” interest (Luthin, 1944, pp. 610–611; Frayssé, 1994, pp. 99–100). Moreover, Lincoln thought the blacks were racially inferior and slave emancipation was an idealistic proposal with no prospect of immediate implementation (Garraty & Carnes, 2000, pp. 391–392; Foner, 1998, p. 92)—he is said to have emancipated the slaves in
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1862 as a strategic move to win the war rather than out of some moral conviction (Garraty & Carnes, 2000, p. 405).10
It was only after World War II, with its industrial supremacy unchallenged, that the USA liberalized its trade (although not as unequivocally as Britain did in the mid-19th Century) and started championing the cause of free trade—once again proving List right in his “ladder-kicking” metaphor. The following quote from Ulysses Grant, the Civil War hero and the President of the USA during 1868–76, clearly shows how the Americans had no illusions about ladder-kicking on the British side and their side.
For centuries England has relied on protection, has carried it to extremes and has obtained satisfactory results from it. There is no doubt that it is to this system that it owes its present strength. After two centuries, England has found it convenient to adopt free trade because it thinks that protection can no longer offer it anything. Very well then, Gentlemen, my knowledge of our country leads me to believe that within 200 years, when America has gotten out of protection all that it can offer, it too will adopt free trade.
(Ulysses S. Grant, the President of the USA, 1868–76, cited in Frank, 1967, p. 164)11
3.3 Other Countries
The UK and USA may be the more dramatic examples, but similar pictures emerge in relation to other NDCs (for further details, see Chang, 2002, chapter 2). Almost all used some form of infant industry promotion strategy when they were in catching-up positions.
Interestingly, it was the UK and the USA, the supposed homes of free trade policy, and not countries like Germany or Japan—countries which are usually associated with state activism—that used tariff protection most aggressively. Tariff protection was relatively low in Germany (see Table 1), and Japan’s tariff was bound below 5% until 1911 due to a series of unequal treaties that it was forced to sign upon opening in 1853. Of course, tariff figures do not give a full picture of industrial promotion efforts. During the late 19th and the early 20th Centuries, while maintaining a relatively low average tariff rate, Germany accorded strong tariff protection to strategic industries such as iron and steel. Similarly, Sweden provided targeted protection for the steel and the engineer- ing industries, while maintaining generally low tariffs. Germany, Sweden and Japan actively used non-tariff measures to promote their industries, such as establishment of state-owned “model factories”, state financing of risky ventures, support for R&D and the development of institutions to promote public–private co-operation.
The exceptions to this historical pattern are Switzerland and the Netherlands. However, these were countries that were already on the frontier of technological development by the 18th Century and therefore did not need much protection. Also, note that the Netherlands had deployed an impressive range of interventionist measures up until the 17th Century in order to build up its maritime and commercial supremacy (Boxer, 1965). Moreover, Switzerland did not have a patent law until 1907, flying directly against the emphasis that today’s orthodoxy puts on the protection of intellec- tual property rights (see below). More interestingly, the Netherlands abolished its 1817 patent law in 1869 on the grounds that patents were politically created monopolies inconsistent with its free market principles—a position that seems to elude most of today’s free market economists—and did not introduce a patent law again until 1912 (Schiff, 1971).
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Finally, while tariff protection was, in many countries, a key component of this strategy, it was by no means the only, and not necessarily the most important, component. There were many other tools, such as export subsidies, tariff rebates on inputs used for exports, conferring of monopoly rights, cartel arrangements, directed credits, investment planning, manpower planning, R&D support and the promotion of institutions for public–private co-operation. These policies are thought to have been invented by Japan and other East Asian countries after World War II or at least by Germany in the late 19th Century, but many of them have a longer pedigree.
Finally, despite sharing the same underlying principle, there was a considerable degree of diversity among the NDCs in terms of their policy mix, suggesting that there is no “one-size-fits-all” model for industrial development.
4. Comparison with Today’s Developing Countries
The few neo-liberal economists who are aware of the records of protectionism in the NDCs try to avoid the obvious conclusion—that it can be very useful for economic development—by arguing that, while some (minimal) tariff protection may be necess- ary, most developing countries have tariff rates that are much higher than those used by most NDCs in the past.
For example, Little et al. (1970, pp. 163–164) argue that “[a]part from Russia, the United States, Spain, and Portugal, it does not appear that tariff levels in the first quarter of the twentieth century, when they were certainly higher for most countries than in the nineteenth century, usually afforded degrees of protection that were much higher than the sort of degrees of promotion for industry which we have seen, in the previous chapter, to be possibly justifiable for developing countries today [which they argue to be at most 20% even for the poorest countries and virtually zero for the more advanced developing countries]”. Similarly, World Bank (1991, p. 97, Box 5.2) argues that “[a]lthough industrial countries did benefit from higher natural protection before transport costs declined, the average tariff for twelve industrial countries12 ranged from 11 to 32 percent from 1820 to 1980 … In contrast, the average tariff on manufactures in developing countries is 34 percent”.
This argument sounds reasonable, but is actually highly misleading in an important sense: the productivity gap between today’s developed countries and developing coun- tries is much greater than the gap between the more developed NDCs and the less developed NDCs in earlier times.
Throughout the 19th Century, the ratio of per capita income in purchasing power parity (PPP) terms between the poorest NDCs (say, Japan and Finland) and the richest NDCs (say, the Netherlands and the UK) was about two or four to one. Today, the gap in per capita income in PPP terms between the most developed countries (e.g. Switzerland, Japan, the USA) and the least developed ones (e.g. Ethiopia, Malawi, Tanzania) is in the region of 50 or 60 to one. Middle-level developing countries like Nicaragua (US$2060), India (US$2230) and Zimbabwe (US$2690) have to contend with productivity gaps in the region of 10 or 15 to one. Even for quite advanced developing countries like Brazil (US$6840) or Columbia (US$5580), the productivity gap with the top industrial countries is about five to one.
Currently developing countries will thus have to impose much higher rates of tariff than those used by the NDCs in earlier times if they are to provide the same degree of actual protection to their industries as that accorded to the NDC industries in the past.13
For example, when the USA accorded over 40% average tariff protection to its
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industries in the late 19th Century, its per capita income in PPP terms was already about three-quarters that of Britain. This was when the “natural protection” accorded by distance, especially important for the USA, was considerably higher than today. Compared with this, the 71% trade-weighted average tariff rate that India had just before the WTO agreement, despite the fact that its per capita income in PPP terms was only about 1/15 that of the USA, makes the country look like a champion of free trade. Following the WTO agreement, India cut its trade-weighted average tariff to 32%, bringing it down to the level below which the US average tariff rate never sank between the end of the Civil War and World War II.
To take a less extreme example, in 1875 Denmark had an average tariff rate of around 15–20%, when its income was slightly less than 60% that of Britain. Following the WTO agreement, Brazil cut its trade-weighted average tariff from 41 to 27%, a level that is not far above the Danish level, but its income in PPP terms is barely 20% that of the USA.
Thus, given the productivity gap, even the relatively high levels of protection that prevailed in the developing countries until the 1980s, do not seem excessive by historical standards. When it comes to the substantially lower levels that have come to prevail after two decades of extensive trade liberalization in these countries, it may even be argued that today’s developing countries are less protectionist than the NDCs in earlier times.
5. Lessons for the Present
The historical picture is clear. When they were trying to catch up with the frontier economies, the NDCs used interventionist industrial, trade and technology policies in order to promote their infant industries. The forms of these policies and the emphases among them may have been different across countries, but there is no denying that they actively used such policies. In relative terms (that is, taking into account the productiv- ity gap with the more advanced countries), many of them actually protected their industries a lot more heavily than the currently developing countries.
If this is the case, the currently recommended package of “good policies”, emphasiz- ing the benefits of free trade and other laissez-faire ITT policies, seems at odds with historical experience, and the NDCs seem to be indeed “kicking away the ladder” that they used in order to climb up to where they are.
The only possible way for the developed countries to counter this accusation of “ladder-kicking” can be to argue that the activist ITT policies that they had pursued used to be beneficial for economic development but are not so any more, because “times have changed”. Apart from the paucity of convincing reasons why this may be the case, the poor growth record of the developing countries over the last two decades makes this line of defence untenable. It depends on the data we use, but roughly speaking, per capita income in developing countries grew at 3% per annum between 1960 and 1980, but at only about 1.5% between 1980 and 2000. Even this 1.5% is reduced to 1% if we take out India and China, which have not pursued liberal ITT policies recommended by the developed countries.
Neo-liberal economists are therefore faced with a paradox here. The developing countries grew much faster when they used “bad” policies during 1960–80 than when they used “good” (at least “better”) policies during the following two decades. The obvious solution to this paradox is to accept that the supposedly “good” policies are actually not good for the developing countries but that the “bad” policies are good for
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them. This gets further confirmation from the fact that these “bad” policies are also the ones that the NDCs had pursued when they were developing countries them- selves.
Given these arguments, we can only conclude that the NDCs are in effect “kicking away the ladder” by which they have climbed to the top. This “ladder-kicking” may be done genuinely out of (misinformed) goodwill. Some NDC policy-makers and scholars who make the recommendations may sincerely believe that their countries had devel- oped through free trade and other laissez-faire policies and want the developing countries to benefit from the same policies. However, this makes it no less harmful for the developing countries. Indeed, it may be even more dangerous than “ladder-kicking” based on naked national interests, as self-righteousness can be more unshakeable than self-interest.
Whatever the intention behind the “ladder-kicking”, the fact remains that these allegedly “good” policies have not been able to generate the promised growth dynamism in the developing countries during the last two decades or so. Indeed, in many developing countries growth has simply collapsed.
So what is to be done? While spelling out a detailed agenda for action is beyond the scope of this article, the following points may be made.
The historical facts about the developmental experiences of the developed countries must be more widely publicized. This is not just a matter of “getting history right”, but also of allowing the developing countries to make informed choices. I do not wish to give the impression that every developing country should adopt an active infant industry promotion strategy like 18th Century Britain, 19th Century USA, or 20th Century Korea. Some of them may indeed benefit from following the Swiss or Hong Kong models. However, this strategic choice should be made in the full knowledge that historically the vast majority of the successful countries used the opposite strategy in order to become rich.
In addition, the policy-related conditionalities attached to financial assistance from the IMF and the World Bank or from the donor governments should be radically changed. These conditionalities should be based on the recognition that many of the policies that are considered “bad” are in fact not so, and that there can be no universal “best practice” policy that everyone should use. Second, the WTO rules and other multilateral trade agreements should be rewritten in such a way that a more active use of infant industry promotion tools (e.g. tariffs, subsidies) is allowed.
Allowing the developing countries to adopt the policies (and institutions) that are more suitable to their stages of development and to other conditions they face will enable them to grow faster, as indeed they did during the 1960s and 1970s. This will benefit not only the developing countries but also the developed countries in the long run, as it will increase the trade and investment opportunities available to the developed countries in the developing countries. That the developed countries are not able to see this is the tragedy of our time.
Notes
1. This article is based on the first two chapters of my new book, Kicking Away the Ladder— Development Strategy in Historical Perspective (Chang, 2002). Further details, including bibliographical sources, can be found in the book.
2. More recently, there has been an emphasis on “good institutions” as well. This has come about because of the recognition on the part of the IDPE that what they see as “good
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policies” have failed to produce good economic results in most developing countries because of the absence of supporting institutions, such as strong private property rights, a politically independent central bank and political democracy. As a result of this new thinking, increas- ingly the international financial institutions (e.g. the IMF, the World Bank) and many donor governments are attaching “governance-related conditionalities” to their loans and grants. This issue is explored further in chapter 3 of Chang (2002).
3. Renato Ruggiero, the first Director-General of the WTO, argues that thanks to this new world order we now have “the potential for eradicating global poverty in the early part of the next [21st] century—a utopian notion even a few decades ago, but a real possibility today” (Ruggiero, 1998, p. 131).
4. Britain was the first country to introduce a permanent income tax, which happened in 1842. Denmark introduced income tax in 1903. In the USA, the income tax law of 1894 was overturned as “unconstitutional” by the Supreme Court. The Sixteenth Amendment allow- ing federal income tax was adopted only in 1913. In Belgium, income tax was introduced only in 1919. In Portugal, income tax was first introduced in 1922, but was abolished in 1928 and reinstated only in 1933. In Sweden, despite its later fame for the willingness to impose high rates of income tax, income tax was first introduced only in 1932. See Chang (2002, p. 101) for further details.
5. The Swedish Riksbank was nominally the first official central bank in the world (established in1688), but until the mid-19th Century, it could not function as a proper central bank because it did not have a monopoly over note issue, which it acquired only in 1904. The first “real” central bank was the Bank of England, which was established in 1694 but became a full central bank in 1844. By the end of the 19th Century, the central banks of France (1848), Belgium (1851), Spain (1874) and Portugal (1891) gained note issue monopoly, but it was only in the 20th Century that the central banks of Germany (1905), Switzerland (1907) and Italy (1926) gained it. The Swiss National Bank was formed only in 1907 by merging the four note-issue banks. The US Federal Reserve System came into being only in 1913. Until 1915, however, only 30% of the banks (with 50% of all banking assets) were in the system, and even as late as 1929, 65% of the banks were still outside the system, although by this time they accounted for only 20% of total banking assets. See Chang (2002, pp. 95–96) for further details.
6. Moreover, when they reached the frontier, the NDCs used a range of policies in order to help themselves “pull away” from their existing and potential competitors. They used measures to control transfer of technology to its potential competitors (e.g. controls on skilled worker migration or machinery export) and forced the less developed countries to open up their markets by unequal treaties and colonization. However, the catch-up economies that were not (formal or informal) colonies did not simply sit down and accept these restrictive measures. They mobilized all kinds of different “legal” and “illegal” means to overcome the obstacles created by these restrictions, such as industrial espionage, “illegal” poaching of workers and smuggling of contraband machinery. See Chang (2002, pp. 51–58) for further details.
7. In a now almost forgotten book, A Plan of the English Commerce (1728), the famous 18th Century merchant, politician and author of the novel Robinson Crusoe, Daniel Defoe, describes how the Tudor monarchs, especially Henry VII (1485–1509) and Elizabeth I (1558–1603), transformed England from a country relying heavily on raw wool export to the Low Countries into the most formidable woollen manufacturing nation in the world through deliberate state intervention.
8. Cobden argued: “The factory system would, in all probability, not have taken place in America and Germany. It most certainly could not have flourished, as it has done, both in these states, and in France, Belgium, and Switzerland, through the fostering bounties which the high-priced food of the British artisan has offered to the cheaper fed manufacturer of those countries” (The Political Writings of Richard Cobden, 1868, William Ridgeway, London, Vol. 1, p. 150, as cited in Reinert, 1998, p. 292).
9. In his Wealth of Nations, Adam Smith wrote: “Were the Americans, either by combination or by any other sort of violence, to stop the importation of European manufactures, and, by thus giving a monopoly to such of their own countrymen as could manufacture the like goods, divert any considerable part of their capital into this employment, they would retard instead of accelerating the further increase in the value of their annual produce, and would obstruct instead of promoting the progress of their country towards real wealth and great- ness” (Smith, 1937 [1776], pp. 347–348).
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10. In response to a newspaper editorial urging immediate slave emancipation, Lincoln wrote: “If I could save the Union without freeing any slave, I would do it; and if I could save it by freeing all the slaves, I would do it; and if I could do it by freeing some and leaving others alone, I would also do that” (Garraty & Carnes, 2000, p. 405).
11. I am grateful to Duncan Green for drawing my attention to this quote. 12. They are Austria, Belgium, Denmark, France, Germany, Italy, the Netherlands, Spain,
Sweden, Switzerland, the UK and the USA. 13. Of course, this is not to say that all industries should get the same degree of protection,
determined by the national productivity gap with the advanced countries. To begin with, some industries will have smaller productivity gaps with their advanced country competitors than others. Also, even with similar productivity gaps, different industries are likely to have different capabilities to close the gaps, depending on their human and organizational capabilities. Moreover, for political and other reasons, governments may have differential abilities to “discipline” firms that fail to raise productivity despite protection. In the end, the desirable pattern of protection will be one where different industries receive different degrees of protection, depending on their respective productivity gaps, learning capabilities and political situations.
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