Can a dash of socialism be good for capitalism?

If capitalism is defined by the question of who controls capital - the money that makes the world go around - there's one organisation that has perhaps more influence over modern capitalism than any other. That company is BlackRock.

The American-founded investment company has total assets under management of more than $ 6 trillion (£ 4.6 trillion), bigger than any competitor.

BlackRock owns - on behalf of its millions of pension fund investors - a portion of just about every publicly-listed company in the world. And often a sizeable one. It invests in trillions of dollars of debts of global governments and company bonds.

So who runs this leviathan? Well, to some extent it's on auto-pilot. A hefty chunk of these assets are held in tracker funds, which simply passively "track" stock markets. But BlackRock also has hundreds of active fund managers, who select companies for their portfolios based on various criteria.

And what's their ethos? The answer, if you're used to hearing about the endemic short-termism of the world of finance, might surprise you.

Last week Larry Fink, the chief executive and founder of BlackRock, published his annual letter to the chief executives of all the companies around the world in which it invests last week. And Fink's message was: don't put profits first. Put "purpose" first. "Purpose is not the sole pursuit of profits, but the animating force for achieving them," Fink explained. "Profits are in no way inconsistent with purpose - in fact, profits and purpose are inextricably linked."

This corporate purpose, he went on, means investing for the long term, serving a community, developing the talents of a workforce. And so on. BlackRock also says that bosses' pay should not rise faster than that of the firm's workers and has threatened to vote against remuneration committees that agree to excessive awards.

It's enough to make the libertarian epigoni of Milton Friedman, the economist who famously asserted "there is one and only one social responsibility of business - to use its resources and engage in activities designed to increase its profits", choke on their cornflakes.

But purpose is often easier said than delivered in the business world. Sacha Romanovitch was the chief executive of Grant Thornton, the first woman to run a major accountancy firm. She attempted to restructure the company to have a focus on (in her own words, but words that might also have come from Fink) "profits with a purpose". This meant dropping some questionable clients and sharing profits with all staff rather than just top partners. She capped her own pay at 20 times the average in the firm.

It ended badly. Romanovitch was essentially defenestrated by other Grant Thornton partners last autumn.

An anonymous memo of discontent leaked to the media claimed she was following a "socialist agenda".

But is Romanovitch's brand of reform really "socialist"? And even if we call it that, is it really something to fear? Among successful German "Mittelstand" companies - small and medium-sized family manufacturing firms - the kind of practices introduced by Romanovitch have always been normal.

Klaus Fischer, the owner of a firm near Stuttgart that makes wall plugs and car parts, insists that happy workers come above profits. "I've always been driven by the urge to be jointly successful with my employees, not just alone," he told the Financial Times recently.

And there's some evidence from the UK and the US that "shared capitalism" - where firms pay employees, in part, on the basis of performance of the overall enterprise or workplace - is associated with faster productivity growth within the organisation.

We often hear about Jeremy Corbyn's supposedly backward-looking "socialism". And Labour's plan to compel larger firms to distribute a tenth of their equity into special funds for workers has been dismissed in some quarters in those terms.

But it's worth thinking a little harder about what socialism means in the context of 21st-century business and finance. Perhaps a dash of that broader purpose-over-profits ethos is not as antithetical to successful business practice as we're often told. Perhaps it could actually be a benefit. The world's biggest fund manager, for one, seems to think so.

Capitalist? Socialist? It’s time to drop the meaningless labels from our political debates

The American essayist Ralph Waldo Emerson once observed that a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds. Swap "foolish consistency" for "foolish label" and one has a good description of our contemporary political discourse.

Theresa May defends "free market capitalism". Jeremy Corbyn makes the case for "21 century socialism".

So the headlines and the news reports yell at us. So the party leaders themselves inform us in their speeches. But what do these labels actually mean? What economic policies do they signify? What sort of societies do they describe? The concept of capitalism dates back to the Industrial Revolution, when wealthy entrepreneurs owned the new physical "capital" that was made possible by advances in technology. The boss of the new textile factory was also the owner. And that ownership conferred immense economic power and social authority, as factory bosses could determine the wages and conditions of the workers.

But who owns the physical capital, the "means of production", of our modern economy? It's no longer the people who run the large organisations in which a great many of us work. Millions of us will be invested in these giant companies through our pension funds. Does that make us all "capitalists", like little 19 century mill owners? Hardly. Economic power has been divorced from corporate ownership. But that doesn't mean it's been broadly shared.

Another wrinkle is that today's most dynamic companies - think Google, Amazon and Uber - actually have very little "capital" in the classic meaning of the word. The value of such firms derives not from tangible equipment or commodities, but from their intellectual property: the expertise of their high-skilled employees and, increasingly, their networks and brands.

"Socialism" is a similarly problematic label, dating from the era of political struggles between newlyorganised workers and the established economic elite. But the workers won many of those battles, establishing workplace protections, universal voting rights and state welfare systems. So what does socialism mean in a modern context? Soviet Union-style central planning and the abolition of private property? Venezuelan-style price controls? Cuban-style suppression of civil liberties? Or does it simply mean the state ownership of certain natural monopoly utilities? This seems to be the justification for the use of the label in relation to Labour's election manifesto. But, following that rationale, should we describe the Netherlands as socialist because its rail system is state-owned? Is France socialist because it has a national energy company? Is Germany socialist because it has rent controls? In fact all these countries are social democracies - a variety of developed-world market-based economy.

Britain has another variety. So does Japan. So do the Scandinavian nations. These are all mixed economies, where markets coexist with some degree of state ownership and intervention. Even America, with its state-funded scientific research programmes and New Deal-era social security system, is really a mixed economy.

The idea that Theresa May and the Conservatives are offering a set of policies that can be usefully summed up as "capitalism" and Labour are offering something entirely distinct called "socialism", is fatuous. There are certainly differences between the two major parties in their view of the proper borders between market and state within our mixed economy (bigger differences than there have been for several decades) - but their positions plainly still lie on a recognisable continuum.

Theresa May herself says she wants a louder voice for workers in company board rooms, and stresses that markets must operate "with the right rules and regulations". And Jeremy Corbyn, for all the attempts by the right-wing press to portray him as a bloodthirsty revolutionary, is not calling for the nationalisation of supermarkets and car manufacturers.

People are time-poor, and labels can be a useful shorthand when we all know roughly what is being referred to. But these particular labels - "capitalist", "socialist" - don't facilitate understanding: they shortcircuit it. They don't encourage us to think seriously about the challenges of making our complex and rapidly-evolving economies work in ways that will raise living standards and opportunities for human flourishing. They are essentially a spur to mindless tribalism: an invitation to take part in the political equivalent of an English Civil War battle recreation society.

The best advice is to banish the hobgoblins. Ignore the labels and focus on the merit - or otherwise - of the policies.