Zen and the Art of Dissatisfaction – Part 13

Who Do We Owe?

This post delves into the often overlooked complexities of our financial systems and the deep-rooted mechanisms of debt that have shaped our world. In exploring the history of money, state power, and the intricate relationship between banks and citizens, we see how dissatisfaction has long been embedded in the foundations of economic systems. Just as Zen practice challenges the conventional pursuit of constant pleasure and accumulation, our financial history reveals a pattern of never-ending striving, often at the expense of broader social equity. The financial system, much like the pursuit of material satisfaction, is a cycle of continual debt, obligation, and inequality. All of this often equals suffering, or at least dissatisfaction. Understanding this cycle is key to understanding the dissatisfaction that runs through modern society—how it originates from systems that promise wealth and prosperity, yet often deliver nothing more than perpetual indebtedness.

Originally published in Substack https://substack.com/home/post/p-163455665

The Roots of Debt and Power

During the Middle Ages, rulers realised they could manipulate their finances by giving more power to bankers. Anthropologist David Graeber (2011) writes that the history of modern financial instruments and paper money traces back to municipal bond issuance. The Venetian government began this practice in the 12th century when it needed money for military purposes. They collected loans from taxpaying citizens, offering a 5% annual interest rate in return. These bonds were made transferable, creating a market for government debt. Since these bonds had no set maturity date, their market prices fluctuated wildly, as did the probability of repayment.

Similar practices spread quickly across Europe. The state ensured tax compliance by requiring citizens to lend money with interest. But what exactly is this interest? This concept originates from Roman economics, where interest (lat. interesse) was considered compensation for the lender’s loss if repayment was delayed. In practice, the Venetian state agreed to pay this Roman ”interest” — a penalty for late repayment — to citizens who lent money to the state.

Such a system undoubtedly raised questions about the legal and moral relationship between citizens and the state. However, it spread quickly, as it made financing wars and conquests easier for states. By 1650, most Dutch households owned government debt. The true paradox of this system appeared when such bonds were monetised, and citizens started using these promises of repayment as currency for trade.

These government bonds sparked an economic revolution, transforming independent townspeople and villagers into wage labourers, forced to work for those with access to higher forms of credit. Gold bars imported from the Americas were rarely used for daily transactions. Instead, they travelled from Spain’s Seville to Genoese bankers’ vaults, then onward to China, where they were exchanged for silk and other luxury goods.

The Birth of Paper Money: Shifting Trust and Power

Government bonds were, in principle, already paper money, but it wasn’t until the establishment of the Bank of England in 1694 that true paper money emerged. The bank issued notes that were not government debt obligations but were tied directly to the king’s war debts. This money marked a shift in the nature of currency, now determined by speculative forces — interest rates and profits derived from military success and the exploitation of colonial resources.

This development led to a market-based economy, still characterised by a complex relationship between militarism, banking, and exploitation. The value of money shifted from direct human trust and the exchange of precious metals to government bonds, promising profits. This practice of issuing debt extended from government bonds to shares in corporations, suggesting that money could be endlessly created through interest-bearing loans.

The US dollar today is still a form of debt issued by the Federal Reserve, a coalition of banks. This arrangement mirrors the initial loan system introduced by the Bank of England, where the central bank loans money to the US government by purchasing government bonds, which are then turned into money through further lending.

Supporters of market economies claim that such systems have existed for 5,000 years. Yet, when examining the history of monetary economies, we see that the earliest market economies, such as 17th-century Holland and 18th-century England, experienced disastrous speculative crashes, like the tulip mania and the South Sea bubble.

Ultimately, the money we use is an extension of public debt. We engage in trade based on government promises, which are essentially loans from future generations. State debt, as politicians have noted since its inception, is borrowed from future generations. On one hand, this arrangement increases political power in the hands of the state; on the other, it suggests the government owes something to its citizens. The problem lies in the fact that state debt originates from the deprivation of freedom, war, and violence. It is not owed equally to all people but primarily to capital owners. The word ”capitalist” originally referred to someone who owned government bonds.

Debt and Global Ruin?

Enlightenment thinkers feared that state debt could lead to global ruin. The introduction of impersonal debt carried the ever-present risk of bankruptcy. While individual bankruptcy meant losing property, imprisonment, torture, hunger, and death, no one knew what state bankruptcy might entail.

For centuries, capitalism operated in a state of perpetual anxiety, with thinkers like Karl Marx, Max Weber, Joseph Schumpeter, and Ludwig von Mises confident that the system could not last beyond two generations. Graeber describes how, in 1870s Chicago, many wealthy industrialists built homes near military bases, convinced a revolution was imminent.

Debt and interest are significant factors in our world today. Graeber recounts how the International Monetary Fund (IMF) was created when OPEC countries poured vast amounts of oil wealth into Western banks during the 1970s oil crisis. These banks could not find new investment opportunities, so they started persuading global South dictators and politicians to take loans. These loans began with low interest rates but soared to 20% during the tight monetary policies of the 1980s. This aggressive lending process led to a debt crisis in the global South in the 1980s and 1990s. To refinance these loans, the IMF required nations to cut food subsidies, abandon free healthcare and education, and so on.

The tragedy of such loans is that the global South has often repaid them multiple times. The initial loan often ended up in the pockets of dictators, and as interest accumulated, the debt never truly had an endpoint. The IMF created a way to generate money out of nothing, without a concrete limit. But what moral right did they have to act in this manner? What moral obligation do these countries have to repay something they have already paid?

Since the late 19th century, American economic thought has shaped global political and economic development. In the 1800s, anti-capitalist views in the United States, such as producerism, argued that labour, not capital, created true wealth. President Abraham Lincoln, a prominent producerist, stated that capital was merely the fruit of labour. However, from the 1890s, a new ideology emerged, promoted by industrial magnates, bankers, and political allies, arguing that it was capital, not labour, that created wealth.

This cultural campaign, championed by steel magnate Andrew Carnegie, argued that concentrated capital under wise leadership could reduce commodity prices so much that future workers would live as well as past kings. Carnegie believed that high wages for the poor were not beneficial for the ”race.”

It is crucial to remember that the Marxist term ”worker” never referred to factory workers. In fact, during Marx’s time, more working-class individuals were employed as maids, servants, shoeshiners, waste collectors, cooks, nurses, taxi drivers, teachers, prostitutes, janitors, and traders than in mines or factories.

The idea of wage labour, working under supervision in factories performing tasks set by a boss, originates from colonial plantation slavery and the hierarchical command structure of trading companies’ fleets.

Shaping of Modern Economies

By the early 20th century, this ideology of capital producing wealth became entrenched in Western thinking. Several events in the United States changed the relationship to work, family, leisure, and especially consumption. Advertisements for consumer products began to take their modern form in the 1920s, and with the Great Depression of the 1930s, the idea of a shorter workweek was no longer discussed.

In 1914, Henry Ford, the founder of the Ford Motor Company, reduced his factory’s workday from nine to eight hours, doubled workers’ wages, and promised to share profits with employees. The main reason for this was the shortage of good workers, as few were willing to work on Ford’s assembly line. The promise of better wages and potential company profits resolved this issue, providing a quick economic gain for Ford’s company.

Ford believed that, although the company would lose money initially, it would recover because workers would now have more money to spend on Ford products. Ford turned his employees into loyal consumers. However, this extra pay was tied to social expectations. Ford’s sociological department would visit workers’ homes unannounced to assess cleanliness, safety, and alcohol use. Any deviations would result in a deduction from their bonus.

Ford’s shareholders took him to court, claiming his duty was to maximise profits for shareholders, even if done legally. The court ruled that while Ford’s humanitarian sentiments were admirable, his company existed to make profits for its shareholders.

In the US, the debate about a shorter workweek continued until World War II, after which post-war economic growth led citizens to forget the issue, as shorter working hours would have meant lower wages, which in turn would have led to less money for consuming the products promoted by the media.

The United States has been an exceptional example of how the middle class has been built and, in recent decades, undermined. Despite consistent GDP growth since the 1960s, wages have stagnated since the early 1970s, even while workers were the best educated in the world. Globalisation and technological change have reshaped business practices.

Large companies like Amazon still employ thousands, but this is a fraction of what would have been needed before automation. AI algorithms optimise business operations, replacing human labour with machines. Today, the rule is that the working class continues to grow poorer while GDP rises.

Afterword
As we reflect on the origins of debt and finance, it becomes evident that the complex relationships between states, banks, and citizens have had far-reaching consequences for the modern world. From the early municipal bonds issued by Venetian rulers to the creation of the US dollar and the global financial system of today, the trajectory of money is intricately linked to power, conflict, and inequality. What was once a simple exchange of goods and services has evolved into a global network of debt and credit, often with severe repercussions for ordinary people. The lessons of history remind us that economic systems, while essential for progress, often come at the cost of social justice and equality. As we move forward, it is crucial to question the morality of the systems that govern our financial world and to explore alternatives that prioritise the well-being of all individuals, rather than just the few who control the flow of capital.


References

Graeber, D. (2011). Debt: The First 5,000 Years. Brooklyn, NY: Melville House.

Graeber, D. (2018). Bullshit Jobs: A Theory. New York: Simon & Schuster.

Harvey, D. (2005). A Brief History of Neoliberalism. Oxford University Press.

Klein, N. (2007). The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism. Penguin.

Mazzucato, M. (2018). The Value of Everything: Making and Taking in the Global Economy. Allen Lane.

Standing, G. (2011). The Precariat: The New Dangerous Class. Bloomsbury Academic.

Zen and the Art of Dissatisfaction – Part 12

From Nutmeg Wars to Domination

This post explores the dark undercurrents of the market economy, tracing its violent colonial roots and questioning the common myths of its origins. Drawing from history, anthropology, and the work of David Graeber, it challenges mainstream economic narratives and highlights the human cost behind capitalism’s foundations—from the spice trade in the Banda Islands to the coercive systems of debt in early modern Europe.

Originally published in Substack https://substack.com/home/post/p-162823221

In 1599, a Dutch expedition contacted the chiefs of the Banda Islands, famed for their nutmeg, to negotiate an agreement. The appeal and value of nutmeg were heightened by the fact that it grew nowhere else. The Dutch forbade the islanders from selling spices to representatives of other countries. However, the Banda islanders resisted the Dutch demand for a monopoly over the spice trade. In response, the Dutch East India Company—VOC (Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie)—decided to conquer the islands by force. The company launched several military campaigns against the islanders, aided by Japanese mercenaries and samurai.

The conquest, which began in 1609, culminated in a massacre: VOC forces killed 2,800 Bandanese and enslaved 1,700. Weakened by hunger and ongoing conflict, the islanders felt powerless to resist and began negotiating surrender in 1621. The VOC official Jan Pieterszoon Coen (1587–1629) deported the remaining 1,000 islanders to what is now Jakarta. With the resistance crushed, the Dutch secured a monopoly over the spice trade, which they held until the 19th century. During the Napoleonic Wars, the British temporarily seized control of the islands and transferred nutmeg plants to Sri Lanka and Singapore.

In the 2020s, a statue of Jan Pieterszoon Coen erected in 1893 in the Dutch city of Hoorn has faced similar criticism to the statues of Robert E. Lee in the United States and Cecil Rhodes in Cape Town, South Africa. Defenders of the statue view it as a sacred symbol of secular Dutch identity.

Even though the business-as-usual attitude accelerating today’s ecological crisis may not entail the displacement of indigenous peoples by samurai and their replacement with slaves, the market economy undeniably has a dirty side.

Settler histories and forced migration

In 2010, I visited Amsterdam with my friend who was born in South Africa. He suggested we visit the VOC’s 17th-century headquarters, the Oost-Indisch Huis. The building is strikingly unassuming. Located at Oude Hoogstraat 24, a small passageway leads to a modest courtyard. At the back stands a three-storey building with a single small door, two windows on the left and one on the right. Staring into this minimal yet somehow claustrophobically ominous space, it’s difficult to comprehend the VOC’s profound impact on the world—comparable only to that of its British counterpart, the East India Company (EIC).

These joint-stock companies, founded in the early 1600s and backed by private armies and nearly limitless power, helped establish a system in which investors could profit from enterprise success by purchasing shares. Standing in that courtyard, my friend recounted how his Dutch ancestors had little choice in the mid-1600s but to board ships bound for what is now South Africa. He spoke of an uncle who spent his entire life in the Karoo desert herding sheep, never eating anything that didn’t come from a sheep. South African history is filled with such solitary shepherds.

Indeed, the VOC was so concerned about these isolated sheep farmers and the continuation of white European populations in the African wilderness that they abducted young girls from Amsterdam orphanages and shipped them to Africa to become wives for the shepherds.

Anthropologist David Graeber (2011) explores the common belief that markets and money evolved from a barter system—a view popularised by Scottish moral philosopher Adam Smith in his 1776 work An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations. Smith argued against the idea that money was a state invention. Following the liberal philosophical tradition of John Locke, who believed that governments existed to protect private property and functioned best when limited to that role, Smith extended the theory by claiming that property, money, and markets predated political institutions. According to Smith, these were the foundations of civilisation, and governments should confine themselves to guaranteeing the value of currency.

Graeber, however, challenges this assumption. He asks whether there has ever been a point in human history when people lived in a pure barter economy, as Smith claimed. His research finds no such evidence. Barter economies only existed in contexts where people were already familiar with cash.

Graeber introduces the term ”human economies” to describe anthropological cases in which value was measured according to personal honour and social standing. These systems are well-documented in ancient Greece, medieval Ireland, and among Indigenous cultures in Africa and the Americas. For most of human history, people didn’t need money or other exchange mediums to get what they needed. Help was offered without expectation of compensation. In human economies, value was attached only to human life, honour, and dignity.

Human economies and the value of honour

Written records in Ireland begin around 600 AD, by which time the once-thriving slave trade had already ceased. While the rest of Europe used Roman-inspired coinage, Ireland—lacking significant mineral wealth—did not. Its 150 kings could only trade for foreign luxury goods using cattle and people, which thus became the de facto currency. By the Middle Ages, the slave trade had ended, much like elsewhere in Europe. The collapse of slavery was a major consequence of the fall of the Roman Empire.

Medieval Irish lived on scattered farmsteads, growing wheat and raising livestock. There were no real towns, except those that formed around monasteries. Money served purely social purposes: for gifts, payments to artisans, doctors, poets, judges, entertainers, and for feudal obligations. Tellingly, lawmakers of the time didn’t even know how to price goods. Everyday objects were never exchanged for money. Food was shared within families or sent to lords who hosted feasts for friends, rivals, and vassals.

In such societies, honour and social status were everything. Though physical items had no monetary value, a person’s honour carried a precisely defined price. The most esteemed figures—kings, bishops, and master poets—had an ”honour price” equivalent to seven slave girls. Although slavery had ended, it remained a conceptual unit of value. Seven slave girls equalled 21 dairy cows and 21 ounces of silver.

Throughout history, human value—whether defined by honour or tangible worth—often served as the original measure of price, even when nothing else required valuation. One root of cash-based economies lies in the conduct of large-scale wars. For example, in Sumerian Mesopotamia, silver reserves were stored in temples merely as collateral in case debts had to be settled. The entire Sumerian economy was based on credit. Though silver backed these arrangements, it typically sat untouched inside temple vaults.

In such systems, not even kings could obtain anything they simply desired. But temple-held silver could be stolen—and the first coins likely arose this way. For instance, Alexander the Great’s (356–323 BC) vast conquests necessitated paying his soldiers, and what better means than minting coins from looted silver? This pattern is evident wherever money first emerged. Crucially, such systems required slavery. War captives—slaves—played a vital role in defining human value and, by extension, the value of all things. They also laboured in the extraction of key minerals like silver.

Military-coinage-slavery complex
Graeber (2011) refers to this dynamic as the military-coinage-slavery complex. Similar developments appeared around 2,500 years ago across the Western world, the Middle East, India, and China. Money remains deeply entangled with power and freedom. As Graeber notes, anyone working for money understands that true freedom is largely an illusion. Much of the violence has been pushed out of sight—but we can no longer even imagine a world based on social credit arrangements without surveillance systems, weapons, tasers, or security cameras.

Cash fundamentally altered the nature of economic systems. Initially, it was used primarily for transactions with strangers and for paying taxes. In Europe, up until the end of the Middle Ages, systems based on mutual aid and credit were more common than cash purchases.

The origins of the market economy lie in the collapse of trust between traditional communities, replaced by the impersonal force of markets. Human-based credit economies were transformed into interest-bearing debt systems. Moral networks gave way to debt structures upheld by vengeful and violent states. For instance, a 17th-century urban resident could not count on the legal system, even when technically in the right. Under Elizabeth I (1558–1603), the punishment for vagrancy—meaning unemployment—began with having one’s ears nailed to a post. Repeat offenders faced death. The same logic applied to debt: creditors could pursue repayment as though it were a crime.

Graeber gives the example of Margaret Sharples, who in 1660 was prosecuted in London for stealing fabric—used to make an underskirt—from Richard Bennett’s shop. She had negotiated the acquisition with Bennett’s servant, promising to pay later. Bennett confirmed she agreed to a price and even paid a deposit, offering valuables as collateral. Yet Bennett returned the deposit and initiated legal proceedings. Sharples was ultimately hanged.

This marks a profound shift in moral obligations and how societies managed debt. Previously, debt was a normal part of social life. But with state systems in place, creditors gained the right to recover their loans with interest—and to sue. Graeber writes:

“The criminalization of debt, then, was the criminalization of the very basis of human society. It cannot be overemphasized that in a small community, everyone normally was both lender and borrower. One can only imagine the tensions and temptations that must have existed in communities … when it became clear that with sufficiently clever scheming, manipulation, and perhaps a bit of strategic bribery, they could arrange to have almost anyone they hated imprisoned or even hanged.” (Graeber 2011, p. 381)

Conclusion
This historical and anthropological lens reveals the market economy not as a neutral or natural evolution, but as a system forged through conquest, coercion, and structural violence. From spice monopolies enforced with massacres to the criminalisation of everyday debt, market capitalism has long relied on hierarchies of power, enforced by law, military, and myth. As we face ecological and moral crises today, understanding this history is crucial to reimagining alternatives rooted in trust, community, and human dignity.


References:
Graeber, D. (2011). Debt: The first 5,000 years. New York: Melville House.
Smith, A. (1776). An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations. London, UK: W. Strahan and T. Cadell.