One theme explored by Michael Sandel in his recent Reith Lectures is the link between morality and markets. But – given current concerns about the rampant excesses of various money-makers, city traders and financial speculators – one might be forgiven for thinking that no such link exists. Capitalists have created an advanced market system that over-rides moral concerns in the interest of profit – end of story. Yet if we look closer we can see that even markets need morals.

One argument developed by the American economist William J Booth, and more recently developed by UK social scientists Russell Keat and Andrew Sayer, is that economies are intrinsically moral, in so far as they are reliant on norms, values and ethical presumptions for their effective exercise. How might we demonstrate this?

Markets are socially embedded
[image of Leadenhall Market, London © 2008 Jupiterimages Corporation]

Firstly, (as I discussed in my posting on Karl Polanyi) economies can be judged moral because they are socially embedded within non-economic institutions (for example the state, but also institutions of family, religious, voluntary, charitable or communitarian origin) that help set norms and ethical frameworks for acceptable economic conduct. Despite coming under ideological attack from market-liberals, these institutions remain important for checking capitalist tendencies for unfettered accumulation of profit.

Secondly, because people are socially embedded, moral beings (and not just ‘rational’ economic actors), moral presumptions and conventions external to economic rationality are always heavily implicated in everyday patterns of economic exchange. These moral presumptions and conventions would include such motivations as love and care for others, respect, fairness and justice). So people must continually strike a balance between ethical and economic imperatives when transacting. In practice this means that most of us wouldn’t choose to sell our own mother!

Thirdly, economic institutions themselves operate according to intrinsic moral norms and conventions (even if this often appears hard to spot); for example in capitalism there are ethical standards that affect the application of property rights, reward systems, distributions of rights and responsibilities, as well as norms and values shaping the way we treat other people in economic situations (the exercise of ‘professionalism’, ‘business ethics’ and so on) – and these are not merely contractual in origin but involve ethical judgment. For economies to function there has to be moral framework for economic action.

What should properly concern us is not the absence of morality but the particular quality of morality...

However this is not to say that because the economy is ‘moral’ that it is intrinsically ‘good’. The persistence of greed, fraud, corruption and other economic crimes and misdemeanours indicate that this is not the case. But, equally to assume that economies are devoid of ethical substance is to misunderstand their character. To paraphrase Russell Keat what we should recognise is that "all economies are moral but some are nicer than others." What should properly concern us is not the absence of morality but the particular quality of morality inherent to different kinds of economic system. Providing we accept that any kind of economy is shaped by the norms of the community of which it is a part, then the political issue becomes not whether an economy is moral per se, but whether or not the particular moral principles of an economic system are compatible with (say) our own understanding of equality and our requirements for social justice.

Why is this important? By recognizing the moral basis to economic life we retain the theoretical ammunition we need to conceive of alternative economic futures – for if economies always have some kind of moral principles (derived from being socially embedded), this means they are amenable to transformation from within the social contexts that created them. This helps counter the market-liberal myth that certain ‘self-governing’ economic processes (e.g. ‘free hand of the market’) lay beyond social determination, but also checks ‘market fatalism’ – the belief we are powerless to transform capitalist economic institutions and practices.

Find out more

• Interested in listening to Sandel's Reith Lecture on markets? Get the 'Markets & Morals' podcast
• More from Open2 on the Reith Lectures 2009
• What do you think? Join the the Reith Lectures debate

About the author

Mark Banks is Reader in Sociology at the Open University. His research interests include the cultural and creative industries, popular culture, cities and urban space.

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 ‘Where any view of money exists’, wrote William Blake, ‘art cannot be carried on’, giving lie to this claim is Danish artist Lars Kraemmer who founded the Bank of International Artmoney (BIAM) in 1997. Situated in the Copenhagen suburb of Frederiksberg, the ‘Bank’ is both gallery and clearing house for the production and circulation of ‘artmoney’, an alternative currency now traded by around 1000 artists, buyers and businesses around the globe.

Struck by the recognition that everyone is trying to ‘make money’, but no-one literally does, Kraemmer saw the production of artmoney as a practical means of stimulating trade amongst struggling artists who couldn’t otherwise afford to pay their rent or buy art materials – a modern revival of traditional bartering.  But also critical of the cold and objective nature of conventional transactions, Kraemmer devised artmoney as a means to a more humanised and ‘expressive’ type of monetary exchange. Not only was each artmoney to be designed as a unique work of art, but was intended to bring people together in affective, rather than impersonal, forms of trade.

Artmoney can be produced by anyone registered with BIAM and, like conventional currencies, has some standard rules of design. Artmoney must measure 12x18 cm (in order that it resembles a banknote) and only durable materials may be used. Each piece of artmoney must show a serial number, the year of production, the url for BIAM and the name, signature and nationality of the artist. The only other proviso is that artmoney must be an original work of art. Like conventional currency, artmoney has a market price. Each piece of artmoney is purchased for 200 Danish Kroner (about £20 or 26 Euro) and increases in value by 5 Euro per year for 7 years, with the increase in value being redeemable only when purchasing art from artmoney artists. When spending artmoney in other places, each piece retains its original value, regardless of the year of production – inflation being accounted for by periodic revaluations (when launched ten years ago each piece was worth 100 Kroner).

Once produced, artmoney can then be used like standard currencies. It can be used in exchange for goods and services (Kraemmer claims to have bought his stereo, computer and fridge with artmoney and used it to finance a trip around America).  Currently around 50 registered businesses (including cafés and bars, galleries, various retailers, even a psychotherapist) also accept artmoney as part payment for goods and services, at a rate determined by the individual business. There is also a host and guest programme where artmoney can be used to pay for travel accommodation.

But why would conventional businesses accept non-legal tender? According to Kraemmer, traders may be motivated by the opportunity to own a piece of original art,  touched by a desire for more meaningful exchange relations or simply amused by the quirkiness of the concept. As the BIAM website idealistically claims, using artmoney to pay for goods and services ‘will help bring people together in an intimate private situation’, offering ‘the chance for new friendships among strangers from all over the world’. And while it might be some time before we see Asda and B&Q accepting artmoney, the number of firms buying into this sentiment is steadily rising. 

the purpose of artmoney is to make art accessible and money meaningful

But is artmoney art? There is no denying the beauty and craft of artmoney (and that exhibitions of artmoney have proved popular with the critics and attracted collectors) – but since anyone can produce it (providing they stick to the given rules) there is plenty of artmoney in circulation in which even the most generous of critics would struggle to identify any artistic merit. For BIAM, such concerns are beside the point – the purpose of artmoney is to make art accessible and money meaningful. Bringing art into the hitherto mundane world of exchange helps overcome the modern separation of ‘art’ and ‘everyday life’ and also restores a sense of creativity, uniqueness and humanity in the exchange relationship. Stimulated into conversation by simple acts of ‘natural’ exchange, people become part of something communitarian and internationalist in focus – in this respect individual artistic ability is less important than using art to enhance sociability and communication.

Currently, however, it seems artmoney is in fiscal crisis. The project suffers from a surfeit in the ‘money supply’ but a shortage of ‘aggregate demand’ - indeed the project is in some danger of folding. Funds are also required since BIAM is currently embroiled in legal disputes with Danish authorities over the legitimacy of its use of the term ‘Bank’; a problem which highlights that the (now jail-threatened) Kraemmer has achieved at least one of his aims – to expose the politicised character of finance by challenging the state monopoly on the production of money.

So while in this time of credit crunch and impending recession, the idea of playing the currency markets might not appeal, people could speculate on a little artmoney. They would be helping artists and may well get themselves a mini-masterpiece - and if not they could always try and spend it on something else.

For further information see www.artmoney.org.

About the author

Mark Banks is Reader in Sociology at the Open University. His research interests include the cultural and creative industries, popular culture, cities and urban space.

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So why do people go to festivals? That was one of the questions I had in mind when I was planning my research on festival audiences. Rather than just the muddy field variety, however, I decided to look at a range of festivals and my choices included a plush opera festival, a town-based folk festival and an indie-pop festival on the edge of a city.

Interviews with a selection of the punters from each festival revealed some interesting insights. First, I wanted to find out how people had acquired a taste for a particular type of music – a musical ‘habitus’ in French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu’s terminology – so I asked people about their life landscapes, to build up background about them. Bourdieu’s ‘cultural capital’ theories suggest, for example, that early family life and school experiences could have helped to sow the seeds of musical taste.

Festival goers at Glastonbury.
[image © copyright BBC]

I did find that, for some, a certain style of music had always been part of their lives: one folk festival interviewee told me, "I’ve been going to folk festivals since before I was born." She still loved to go to several a year, 25 years on, sometimes still sharing the experience with her Mum.

In contrast to this comment, though, one opera festival visitor claimed: "My parents weren’t interested in the kind of music I’m interested in." For him, it was really at school that his interest in classical music germinated. He particularly remembered one teacher lending him a recording of the opera, Peter Grimes, to listen to, which was his early introduction to opera. Another opera festival visitor had clear memories of a teacher playing the piano as they went into assembly: "I now know that all those tunes she played were Mozart and Beethoven and Schubert."

School was not always a positive force for the development of musical taste, however, with one folk festival interviewee lamenting that "singing was not a terribly happy event for me at school," after a teacher had made fun of his performance. He is now an accomplished folk singer despite this discouragement, though! So perhaps early musical experiences had sown the seeds of musical taste for some of the festival visitors as Bourdieu suggests.

"many impulses, some conscious, some perhaps unconscious, inspire punters to go and stand in that muddy field and listen to music at a festival"

I then moved on to ask the festival interviewees about their later musical encounters. What did stand out was the importance of the late teenage years in musical taste development. Landmark events at the age of 19 were described by two people, for example. One opera festival interviewee spoke of his National Service posting in Vienna, which provided the opportunity to make use of regular free tickets to opera performances. This person had just enjoyed his 525^th individual opera – which doesn’t include the many alternative versions of the same opera he had seen – over 50 years later, at the festival I was studying.  Also at the age of 19, a move to university had opened the eyes of one indie-pop festival interviewee’s eyes to punk rock. Nearly 30 years later he was still reading the NME every week and had just been to Glastonbury again, as well as to the festival at which I met him.

Even in their 50s, the tastes of some of the interviewees continued to develop. An Open University music course had provided the inspiration for one opera festival interviewee to attend her first opera 10 years before, at the age of 55, and she had been going to opera ever since. This was the same lady whose teacher’s piano playing had encouraged an early and continuing love of classical music, so perhaps it was those early seeds that were being further nurtured and diversified.

It wasn’t just people’s life landscapes that seemed to be providing motivations for attending festivals though, and the chance to bond with friends – or to build ‘social capital’, as Bourdieu’s terms it – was another big pull, as was the chance for some to boast about the festival to others afterwards. It wasn’t just tales about seeing the ‘big names’ that these punters were keen to impress others with, though. What was perhaps more important to many of them was to see something fresh and new. The opera festival goers wanted to be able to add another different opera to their compendium, the indie-pop fans wanted to be the first to see the next big star, and the folkies were keen to discover that previously unknown acoustic singer-songwriter playing in a corner of a field to an ever-expanding impromptu audience.

So it seems that many impulses, some conscious, some perhaps unconscious, inspire punters to go and stand in that muddy field and listen to music at a festival.

Further reading

Distinction: a social critique of the judgement of taste, Bourdieu, Pierre (1984 [1979]), Cambridge, Mas, Harvard University Press

'The forms of capital' in Biggart, N. W. (Ed.) Readings in economic sociology, Bourdieu, Pierre (2002 [1986]), Malen, Mass, Blackwell, (pp. 280-291)

Weblinks

• Join the discussion
• A survival guide to music festivals
• FolkArts England
• Arts Council: Arts debate
• British Arts Festivals Assocation
• eFestivals.co.uk

Courses

• An introduction to business studies
• Marketing and society
• Investigating entrepreneurial opportunities
• Managing customers and quality
• Music courses at the Open University

About the author

Linda Wilks is a PhD student at the Open University. Her research is investigating how social and cultural capitals shape attendance at music festivals.

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