Part III — Follow The Money · Lesson 47 · Follow The Money

Debt as control

Peonage, jubilees, and the long history of bondage

Why does the word for "freedom" in several ancient languages originally mean, literally, "release from debt"? The anthropologist David Graeber's Debt: The First 5,000 Years reframed the whole subject: debt is older than money, older than markets, and has always been entangled with power, morality, and bondage. This lesson traces the technology of debt-as-control from the ancient world to the student loan — and, crucially, to the historical mechanism that repeatedly broke it. Defenders of strict debt enforcement (Hayek, Friedman, and the post-1980 consensus) argue that releasing debts undermines the credit system, encourages reckless lending, and ultimately hurts the borrowers it claims to help. The strongest case for each side is in the historical record, and the question is which set of failures — bondage from enforcement or moral hazard from forgiveness — does more damage in practice.

The recurring structure

Across every era, the same structure recurs. Credit is extended on terms that, for a meaningful fraction of borrowers, cannot be sustainably repaid. The inability to repay is then converted into ongoing obligation — labor, assets, liberty, or simply perpetual interest. The borrower works to service the debt; the creditor receives a stream of value; and the relationship, far from being a one-time transaction, becomes a durable hierarchy. Debt peonage, sharecropping, the company town, the payday-loan cycle, and arguably the modern student-debt and medical-debt systems are all variations on this single theme: debt that cannot be escaped becomes a form of control over the debtor's future labor.

This is the precise sense in which the worry — that young people can be "enslaved to the system before starting their lives" — is more than rhetoric. A generation that begins adult life owing tens of thousands of dollars in non-dischargeable debt has, in a real if attenuated sense, pre-committed years of its future labor to creditors before earning its first paycheck. The bondage is partial and legal rather than total and chattel — but the structural logic is continuous with the older forms, and naming that continuity is not hyperbole.

The mechanism that broke the cycle: the jubilee

Here is the part that the modern conversation has almost entirely forgotten, and it is the most important. The ancient Near Eastern societies that invented interest-bearing debt also invented its release. Mesopotamian rulers periodically proclaimed "clean slate" decrees — debts annulled, debt-slaves freed, forfeited land returned. The Biblical Jubilee (every fiftieth year, debts forgiven and land restored) is the most famous codification. These were not acts of charity; they were acts of statecraft. Rulers understood that if debt were allowed to compound without release, it would eventually concentrate all land and liberty in a few hands, hollow out the free population, and destroy the army and tax base the state depended on. The jubilee was a systemic reset — a recognition that debt grows geometrically while the economy grows arithmetically, so periodic forgiveness was necessary to prevent the whole society from being strangled by its own credit.

The lost insight, in Michael Hudson's phrase: "Debts that can't be paid, won't be paid." The only questions are how, and at whose expense. Either the debt is forgiven (the jubilee — the loss falls on creditors), or it is enforced to the point of bondage (the loss falls on debtors and, eventually, on the society's stability), or it is inflated away (the loss falls on savers — last lesson). There is no fourth option in which everyone is made whole. Ancient statecraft chose the jubilee deliberately, to preserve a free citizenry. Modern policy has largely chosen enforcement and inflation, which is a choice about who bears the loss — and it is rarely discussed as the choice it is.
The strongest case for the other side: The post-1980 consensus position is that strict debt enforcement is not the villain — it is the precondition that makes credit available at all. If creditors believe debts will be forgiven on a politically convenient schedule, they will refuse to extend credit, lend only on punitive terms, or demand collateral that excludes the asset-poor. The bankruptcy abolitionist's case is therefore self-defeating: it would shrink the credit available to exactly the people the abolitionist wants to help. The Hayek-Friedman view goes further: the inability to discharge student debt is what made non-collateralized lending to 18-year-olds possible in the first place. Reasonable observers weigh this counter-case against the Graeber position differently. Neither side is obviously right; both are right about something the other underweights.
The honest balance: None of this means debt is bad. Credit is one of the most powerful tools ever created for letting people invest in their futures before they have the cash — a mortgage, a business loan, an education that genuinely pays off. The line is not between debt and no-debt; it is between debt that the borrower can realistically escape and debt engineered to be inescapable. A healthy credit system extends the first and limits the second. The history above is not an argument against borrowing; it is an argument for the release valves — bankruptcy, forgiveness, jubilee — that keep credit a tool rather than a chain.

The lesson in summary

Debt has functioned as a technology of control for five thousand years, converting unrepayable obligation into command over the debtor's future labor — a structure continuous from ancient debt-bondage to modern non-dischargeable student debt. The ancient remedy was the jubilee: periodic systemic forgiveness, understood as statecraft to prevent debt from strangling a free society. "Debts that can't be paid, won't be paid" — the only question is whether the loss falls on creditors (forgiveness), debtors (bondage), or savers (inflation). That allocation is always a choice, and rarely an honest public one.