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Today, when people talk of corporations, it is usually joint-stock
limited liability corporations that they have in mind. These share three
characteristics:
Legal
personality: Corporations are treated as artificial people, with a
similar capacity for legal rights and obligations.
Equity
financing: Ownership is securitized as
stock that
may be held by
multiple investors and traded in secondary markets.
Limited
liability: The liabilities of the corporation are not liabilities
of its owners, who can lose nothing more than the
capital they have
already committed to the corporation.
But it is the first characteristic that defines a corporation.
It is natural to think of an organization as having a collective
identity distinct from that of any particular person who owns or belongs
to it. The Romans recognized this with the notion of a corporation. The
word corporation derives from the Latin word corpus for body,
representing a body of people authorized to act as an individual. Cities
were the first entities the Romans treated as corporations. Over time, the
concept was extended to certain community organizations called collegia.
These included artisan associations, religious societies and social clubs
formed to provide funerals for members.
Most Roman corporations served exclusively community or religious
purposes. Of course, distinguishing public from private interests can be
difficult. A natural tension exists between the two in any society.
The Roman Republic relied on private contractors to perform a variety
of tasks. Contracts to build aqueducts, manufacture arms, construct
temples, collect taxes—even feed the geese on the capital—were granted to
firms called publicani. These originated as
loose associations among contractors who would pool their resources to bid
on contracts. Over time, the publicani evolved into permanent companies
with numerous investors, only a handful of whom served as managers. Larger
publicani employed thousands of workers spread across Rome’s provinces.
Fragmented evidence indicates that some of these received corporate status
(habere corpus), which included a grant of limited liability for
investors.
The publicani were well connected and, at times, extremely influential.
Collusion with government officials was a lucrative way of business. If
there was public indignation, it was balanced by investment enthusiasm.
Polybius reported:
There is scarcely a soul, one might say, who does not
have some interest in these contracts and the profits which are derived
from them.
As early as records exist, the publicani were tainted by scandal.
During the Second Punic War, the Republic agreed to insure the ship-borne
cargoes of publicani willing to supply the legions on credit. Two years
later, it came to light that old, rotting ships had been loaded with
worthless goods and then scuttled at sea. The perpetrators organized a mob
to disrupt a public enquiry. Eventually, it was only intervention by the
Senate that brought them to justice.
Tax collecting was one of the publicani’s more controversial
enterprises. Rome assessed a number of taxes, including taxes on pastures,
grain and even the freeing of slaves. The publicani collected a number of
these from Rome's provinces. Essentially, they would buy future tax
revenue from the state and then pocket whatever they could collect.
The system was ripe for abuse. Rome's local governors oversaw the tax
collections in each province. Some were corrupt, and the process became
one of the governor and publicani together seizing whatever they could.
Even when governors were honest, provincials understood they would be
paying more than the percentages prescribed by law. Few governors would
willingly antagonize their own financiers—publicani could work political
mischief back in Rome.
Nicomedes III was king of Bithynia, a client state of Rome. When Rome's
senate asked him to contribute troops to help fight the Germans, he
replied that he had none to spare. The publicani had enslaved most of his
subjects! The enslavements may have been related to tax debts.
Livy commented
Where there was a publicanus, there was no effective
public law and no freedom for the subjects.
Under the emperors, the political landscape shifted, and the publicani
were suppressed. New forms of corporations emerged. Charitable
corporations were established to serve Rome's growing indigent population.
The emerging Catholic Church employed the corporate form as a vehicle for
joint ownership of real estate and other property.
Roman law survived the fall of the Western Roman Empire to reemerge in
aspects of the Church's canon law and Europe's secular bodies of law.
During the Middle Ages, cities, guilds, monasteries and universities were
all chartered as corporations, typically by sovereigns, local nobility or
religious authorities. All served largely public or religious functions.
For centuries, Europe witnessed nothing that resembled Rome's publicani.
This changed around 1600, when new business forms emerged to challenge the
might of Spain and Portugal. The upstarts were chartered corporations.
There is something about representative government that
allows people and their institutions to flourish. Is it coincidence that
both Rome and the United States were republics? Consider the Dutch. From
1568 to 1648, they fought the Eighty Years War to cast off their Spanish
rulers. In the midst of that war, they formed their own republic. This
launched a period that has come to be known as the Dutch
Golden Age. Art,
trade and social tolerance flourished. This was the age of Rembrandt and Vemeer. The Dutch formed the first stock exchange. They sailed all over
the world, founding one outpost on the Southern tip of Manhattan Island.
Portugal had discovered the East Indies as the source of spices, and
Spain was plundering the Americas for gold and silver. The Vatican
legitimized this arrangement, ruling that lands discovered in the Eastern
Hemisphere belonged to Portugal while lands discovered in the Western
Hemisphere belonged to Spain. Holland and England flaunted the Vatican's
law. Not only did they practice a different religion, but they adopted
different methods. While the Spanish and Portuguese sovereigns shouldered
the expenses and risks of overseas ventures, English and Dutch traders
formed corporations to challenge them.
These trading corporations had their roots in guilds. During the 14th
and 15th centuries, guilds were chartered primarily to enforce a monopoly
in certain businesses or geographic regions. In exchange for a grant of
monopoly, a guild would make ongoing fee payments to its chartering
authority. Members of a guild might compete with one another, but
outsiders were excluded.
Traders also formed guilds. Their purpose was to secure from the
government a grant of monopoly over trade with specific geographic
regions. In England, such guilds were called regulated companies. They
were often referred to by names reflecting their monopolies—the India
Company, African Company, Russia Company, Turkey Company, etc.
The members of a regulated company might compete with one another, but
they often formed short-term partnerships to conduct specific voyages.
Also, a regulated company might sponsor voyages, which it would open to
all members. Because these voyages were the company's own ventures,
participants enjoyed limited liability.
Equity subscriptions were offered
to members, but additional capital could be raised from outsiders, who
would pay a nominal "membership fee" in addition to their investment.
Members would then outfit and man the ships. Regulated companies that
sponsored equity-financed voyages came to be called joint-stock companies.
Two early joint stock companies were Holland's and England's
respective East India
Companies, which were chartered to challenge Portugal's dominance of the
spice islands. Initially, neither company had permanent equity. Each
voyage would have its own equity subscription. This proved impractical,
and soon capital from one voyage was being rolled over to finance
subsequent voyages. In this way, the companies evolved to become much like
today's business corporations. They had separate managers and investors.
Members gradually became an anachronism, taking on more the role of an
employee base.
The joint-stock corporations cultivated influence at the highest levels
of government. The Queen and nobility had significant
investments in the English East India Company, and they looked out for the
company's interests in the halls of government. The joint-stock companies
continued the guild practice of making ongoing payments to the state. In
this we may perceive the origins of corporate taxation, but the people of
the day viewed it as more akin to graft.
When motivated by greed, managers' behavior could be deplorable. While
the English East India Company was negotiating trading rights with the
kingdom of Achin, that nation's sultan suggested it would be nice if he
could have a couple European girls for his harem. The English managers
felt uncomfortable facilitating polygamy, but they saw nothing wrong with
presenting just one English girl for what would, in essence, be sexual
slavery. One of the company's managers offered his own daughter for this
purpose. She was saved by King James II, who refused to approve the gift.
The Dutch were brutal in pursuing their trade interests. Holland was at
war with Portugal, and their East India Company carried on that war. They
attacked Portugese shipping and facilities wherever they found them.
England and Holland were allies, but Dutch merchants didn't care. As
Holland's de facto representatives in the East Indies, they put profits
ahead of national interest and periodically employed the threat of
violence as a competitive device against English traders.
The Banda Islands, West of New Guinea, were the world's sole source of
nutmeg. In 1620, the Dutch East India Company forcibly evicted the English
from this prize. They then committed genocide against the natives, killing
or deporting into slavery most of the population. In 1623, on the nearby
island of Amboyna, the Dutch imprisoned about 40 individuals, whom they
accused of plotting against them. Among the prisoners were ten
representatives of the English East India Company. The Dutch merchants
brutally tortured their prisoners and then executed most of them. When
word of this atrocity reached London, it almost sparked a war.
Most people have heard of the Mississippi
Scheme and the South Sea Bubble.
They were popularized in Mackay's (1841) Extraordinary Popular
Delusions and the Madness of Crowds as early instances of speculative
bubbles. What is not as widely known is the fact that these
schemes—essentially frauds—were orchestrated and promoted by the French
and English governments. In the early 1700s, both nations had large war
debts they wanted to quickly retire. Both nations pursued a strategy of
engraftment. Publicly owned government debt
would be exchanged for stock in some corporation, which would then hold
all the debt. The governments could then extract reduced interest rates
from those corporations in exchange for generous monopoly grants. This was
the theory. In practice, the French and English governments implemented
their engraftment schemes with struggling corporations with questionable
prospects. The French did so with the Mississippi Company, which was a
struggling, mismanaged corporation with vague plans to promote emigration
to the Americas and acquire a grant of monopoly over tobacco. The English
did so with the South Sea Company, which was formed by the government
specifically for the purpose of engraftment. It was granted certain
monopolies over English trade with South America. Since Spain was in
control of those regions, those monopolies were probably worthless. The
Mississippi and South Sea Companies' only valuable assets would be
government debt paying reduced interest rates. To induce investors to
exchange their government debt for shares in the corporations, promoters
and the French and English governments had to convince them that the
corporations' franchises were valuable. They manipulated the corporations'
stock prices so they would be higher than the par value of the exchanged government
debt. Investors scrambled to make the exchange, and frenzied speculators bid
the corporations' stocks even higher. Speculative bubbles developed for
both corporations' stocks. The Mississippi Company bubble burst in the
Summer of 1720. Fortunes were lost, and France's semi-feudal economy was
crippled. The South Sea bubble burst soon afterwards. Its impact on the
more robust English economy was not as severe, but it had repercussions
across all the economies of Europe.
At the height of the South Sea bubble, England's
Parliament passed an act severely restricting the formation of new
corporations. This has come to be known as the
Bubble Act. There is a common misperception that it was passed as
a response to the bursting of the South Seas bubble. In fact, it was
passed while the bubble was forming in an attempt to block new
corporations from competing with the South Seas Company for investors'
capital. For almost a hundred years following the bursting of the bubble,
the Bubble Act and a general anti-corporate sentiment severely limited the
formation of new English corporations.
A recurring theme in the history of corporations is that they should
exist to serve some public purpose, and they are granted certain
privileges to facilitate this. The state would charter corporations that
it deemed worthy. At first, the most important privilege was a grant of
some monopoly—say a monopoly over trade with some region or an exclusive
right to build a certain canal. Over time, transferability of shares and
limited liability became more important. These gave corporations an
enormous advantage in raising capital over sole proprietorships and
partnerships. Investors with modest holdings and limited liability were
comfortable letting specialists run their corporations, so the separation
of investors and management became one of the great strengths—and great
weaknesses—of limited liability joint-stock corporations.
The building of highways, canals and railroads was a quintessential public need,
and numerous corporations were chartered for these purposes. For other
businesses, the state's monopoly on granting corporate status proved
onerous. When entrepreneurs tried to form a new corporation, competitors
could oppose their petition for incorporation. Inevitably, the process was
marked by political intrigue. When incorporation was denied, entrepreneurs
had meager options. They might buy a failing corporation as a shell and
then raise capital for a business unrelated to that corporation's original
monopoly. This practice was called charter abuse. With the supply of
failing corporations limited, a more common solution was to simply issue
stock in unincorporated companies. This legally perilous practice became
widespread in England during the late 1700s. Many respectable firms were
formed in this manner. In the early 1800s, competitors started challenging
their legality in court.
The English industrial revolution was taking off, and the courts and
governments found themselves making increasingly arbitrary decisions about
which businesses to favor. Something had to be done. The solution was a
new concept: incorporation by registration. In various countries,
legislation was passed allowing entrepreneurs to incorporate any firm they
liked by simply filing paperwork. No longer would corporations be
privileged associations granted monopolies by the state to pursue some
public purpose. They had become a standard business form—along with sole
proprietorships and partnerships—that was available to all.
The United States emerged from its civil war in 1865
poised for growth. She was wealthy in land and natural resources. She had
a well educated populace, liberal social and legal systems and an
abundance of cheep labor arriving at her shores. The industrial revolution
that followed was one of explosive growth unprecedented in earlier history. Mark Twain called this America's
Gilded Age. Incorporation by registration
made it easy for businessmen to form corporations and raise capital. A
lack or regulation facilitated unsavory business practices. Businessmen
with the least scruples or the most vision rose to lead industry. They
were disparagingly called robber barons,
and came to include Andrew Carnegie, who dominated steel, Jay Gould in
railroads, John D. Rockefeller in oil and John P. Morgan in banking.
The agency problem has existed as long as men have allowed
others to act on their behalf. In corporations, it arises between
stockholders and managers, and this was one of the reasons Adam Smith
(1776) denounced corporation. Commenting on managers, he complained
... being the managers rather of other people's money
than of their own, it cannot well be expected, that they should watch
over it with the same anxious vigilance with which the partners of a
private copartnery frequently watch over their own ... Negligence and
profusion, therefore, must always prevail, more or less, in the
management of the affairs of such a company.
Writing 150 years later, Berle and Means (1932) noted a
fundamental change in this agency problem. The age of the robber barons
had passed, and ownership of American corporations was becoming more
widely dispersed. This phenomena is called the
democracy of
capitalism. It meant that stock holdings were shrinking, and
individual shareholders were losing the ability to influence how corporations
were managed. Berle and Means noted:
Under such conditions, control may be held by the
directors or titular managers who can employ the proxy machinery to become
a self-perpetuating body, even though as a group they own but a small
fraction of the stock outstanding.
Berle and Means were witnessing the beginnings of a
phenomena that Chandler (1977) has called
managerial capitalism. In Adam Smith's day,
this didn't exist. Shareholders still controlled corporations, and the
agency problem was a matter of managers not exercising "anxious
vigilance." Under managerial capitalism, shareholders have surrendered
control to managers, and the agency problem is one of managers enriching
themselves to the extent applicable laws will allow. Berle and Means
identified a variety of devices by which managers might do so. Laws have
evolved since, but similar devices still exist. Perhaps the most
straightforward is for managers to pay themselves exorbitant compensation.
Scholarly apologists for managerial capitalism have tried
to redefine the very concept of the corporation in order to legitimize
managerial abuses. Ignoring a definition that dates to Roman times, not to
mention 400 years of common law, these scholars have proposed their own
definition of a corporation, which is called the
contracts theory of the firm.
It is also called the contractarian or
nexus of contracts theory of the
firm. It posits that, instead of being a legal entity, a corporation is
merely a collection of contracts—contracts between shareholders, board
members, managers, employees, suppliers and customers. Under this theory,
shareholders don't own corporation, because there is nothing to own!
Instead, shareholders' stock represents a contract under which they
provide capital to board members and receive
dividends in return. There is
much wrong with this reinterpretation of the corporation. Perhaps the
fatal flaw is the fact that not all corporate obligations are contractual.
Board members have always had a fiduciary—as opposed to
contractual—obligation to shareholders.
Managerial capitalism
spread during the 20th century. As it did so, boards lost relevance. Many CEOs had themselves appointed chairman
of the board. Managers took board seats for themselves. On many boards,
they took most of the seats. Short of setting strategy and overseeing
managers, boards were increasingly becoming appendages to management.
There is an old joke about two campers who are startled by
a bear. When one of the campers starts lacing up his running shoes, his
partner asks "What are you doing? You can't outrun a bear." The other
camper responds "I don't have to. I just have to outrun you!"
Managers don't really maximize shareholder value. This
often-cited goal is an absolute ideal that is impossible to assess. As a
practical matter, managers strive to outperform—or at least keep up
with—competing corporations. A corporation's stock can drop 5%, but
managers are heroes so long as the market drops 10%. This relativist way
of thinking is indefensible except for the fact that there are no good
alternatives.
Cast on a relative sea and rudderless without strong board
leadership, American corporations drifted. The wakeup call came in the
1980s, when Japanese corporations flooded US markets with high quality
goods at reasonable prices. The Japanese offered a unique opportunity to
understand—in an absolute sense—how far US corporations had strayed from
maximizing shareholder value.
One response was hostile takeovers. Financed with
junk
bonds, raiders would seize control of a firm, fire management, slash
expenses, and then sell off a reorganized firm at a profit. That was the
theory. In practice, the takeover market of the 1980s was marred by
kickbacks and insider trading, but proponents justified the market in ways
that resonated with the public. Michael Milken was the messiah. Bruck
(1988) explained:
Milken had long professed contempt for the corporate
establishment, portraying many of its members as fat, poorly managed
behemoths who squandered their excess capital and whose
investment-grade
bonds, as he loved to say, could move in only one direction—down.
Takeovers threatened the prerequisites of managers, and
some started to act—slashing expenses and refocusing their firms. When
management didn't act, boards might. The boards of General Motors, IBM and
American Express all fired underperforming CEOs. Delaware courts and the
SEC clarified the responsibilities of boards. Institutional investors also
acted, pressuring boards to fire underperforming CEOs or to reform
themselves. These efforts coalesced into a
corporate governance movement
that promoted reforms such as
requiring that a majority of directors be independent;
separating the roles of CEO and chairman, or failing that, appointing a
"lead" independent director to play a role similar to that of chairman;
requiring that key board committees be composed exclusively of independent
directors.
elimination of poison pills, golden parachutes and other
anti-takeover devices.
Following the corporate scandals of 2001-2002, some of the
reforms promoted by the corporate governance movement were adopted in
legislation or in stock exchange rules.
Today, corporations are widely employed as
special
purpose vehicles in
structured finance. In this role, corporations may be little more than
receptacles for property—perhaps leased property or collateral backing a
securitization. As a special purpose
vehicle, a corporation has little in common with the Roman corporations,
not to mention the great trading corporations of the 1600s or the
industrial corporations of the robber barons. Special purpose vehicles
generally have no employees. In some cases, ownership is mostly concentrated in
a single sponsoring corporation, in which case the concept of a group of people
acting as one hardly applies. Special purpose vehicles don't have to be
implemented as corporations, but doing so is a convenient means of
achieving limited liability.
Special purpose vehicles serve many valuable purposes, but
they also offer opportunity for abuse. This became starkly apparent in the
Enron scandal, in which special
purpose vehicles were widely used to hide that firm's massive debts.
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Ads by Contingency Analysis
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Berle, Adolf A.
and Gardiner C. Means (1932). The Modern Corporation and
Private Property, New York: MacMillan.
Bruck,
Connie (1988). Predators Ball, London: Penguin.
Chandler, Alfred D. Jr.
(1977) The Visible Hand: The Managerial
Revolution in American Business, Cambridge: Harvard University
Press.
Livy, History
of Rome.
Mackay, Charles
(1841). Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of
Crowds.
Polybius, The
Histories.
Smith, Adam
(1776). An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of
Nations. |
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