Ever since I found myself unwittingly heading a microfinance institution I have had money on my mind. Not so much how to make more of it, but what it means. It’s such a critical component of so many human interactions, so caught up in so many aspects of our psyche and so baffling in its complexity. It can make and break bonds in human systems, foster marriages, alliances and enterprise, or bring them down. Or it can vanish in slow trickles, dissipating into a vast ocean, leaving behind a pile of random stuff as a reminder that it passed through.
But what is money? Money the way it was first conceived several thousands of years ago is easy to understand. It was a mechanism for simplifying exchange, making it easy for two people who did not have a fair trade of goods (I have something you want but you have nothing I want to give me in return) or had a mismatched timing of goods (my wheat has harvested now but you won’t have your strawberries until the winter) to transact by way of some third product that was not easily destroyed and had widespread utility. This kind of ‘commodity’ money – like salt for instance - had intrinsic value, it was something everyone needed. As it morphed to metal for the convenience of portability, it still mirrored its melt value or its utility as a standalone product. It did not matter if you ‘counterfeited’ it because it was worth simply its utility and the effort of mining it. But metal is still heavy and inconvenient to port so then there came notes, pieces of paper that represented some amount of metal, typically gold, that was held somewhere safe. Not too different, but with a faith in the issuing party that you could exchange the piece of paper for metal – a material of real value and utility.