Bloomberg Opinion columnist Barry Ritholtz interviews Paul Vigna, a Wall Street Journal reporter who covers the cryptocurrency sector. His most recent book. Paul Vigna, along with his writing partner Michael Casey, are crypto gurus. A crypto critic and Wall Street Journal reporter, Vigna sees. Money, “The Age of Cryptocurrency” explains, is “a medium of exchange, a unit of account and a store of value.” But for Schopenhauer it was. BEST CRYPTOCURRENCY GROUPS
This is manifest in the dog feces littering Buenos Aires' sidewalks, the graffiti defacing the city's once-beautiful Parisian architecture, and the interminable traffic jams caused by drivers' unwillingness to yield. Peronism's system of Machiavellian power has trapped Argentine politics in a vicious cycle of shortsightedness and corruption, a failure that has left Argentines with zero faith in their governments. Skipping taxes is the norm-why, people reason, would you pay crooks who will steal your money?
In this environment, self-interest constantly asserts itself, and the country's deep pool of natural resources is squandered. Bucketloads of money will be made in short multiyear bursts by those savvy enough to ride the pump-and-dump schemes that masquerade as policies, but that only means the economy rushes toward an oncoming cliff every ten years or so. I arrived in Argentina in early , right when the last such crisis was barely subsiding.
Banks, which were still keeping people's savings frozen in accounts that the government had forcibly converted from dollars to devalued pesos, had enclosed their downtown branches in steel plates to protect their windows from the barrages of bricks hurled by protesting depositors. When I left, in , the next crisis was brewing.
Inflation was pushing toward 30 percent a year, but the government was openly lying about it, an act of bad faith that only made Argentines mistrust their currency further and led businesses to hike prices preemptively in a self-reinforcing cycle. People were slowly withdrawing pesos from banks again, and the government was putting restrictions on purchases of foreign currencies, which, predictably, further undermined confidence in the national currency.
This cat-and-mouse game, as Argentines knew too well, was destined to end badly. It also complicated our departure. A year after we left, we finally sold the lovely apartment we'd bought in the leafy Buenos Aires suburb of Palermo.
But when I returned to the city to close the deal, it was now difficult to get our money out of the country. Residential property in Argentina has historically been sold in dollars-literally, physical greenbacks. History has made Argentines wary not only of their own currency but also untrusting of checks, money orders, and anything else that requires the provision of credit.
Cold, hard dollar notes can cut through all that. That's what our buyers wanted. Reluctant to wire money to our U. They suggested we complete the deal at a casa de cambio in Buenos Aires' financial district, one of numerous exchange houses that help Argentines manage their complicated financial affairs.
The casa would take our newly obtained cash and credit our U. What could possibly go wrong? With shiny lobbies, Victorian-style insignia, and names conveying integrity and security, these exchange houses can look similar to bank branches, but they operate outside the banking system. In addition to swapping dollars for pesos, they manage a network of accounts to shift money overseas at lower costs than bank wires. Now that the government was placing strict constraints on offshore bank wires, these places were in demand as convenient, extra-official money transmitters.
I was uncomfortable with this seemingly shady option, but Miguel, my closest friend in Buenos Aires, told me that this casa de cambio handled his business weekly in fully legal transactions with his associates overseas. He trusted them fully and I trusted him.
This was the way things worked in Argentina: you trusted whom you knew, and to resolve your business affairs you frequently leaned on those relationships more than you relied on the legal protection of a corrupt judicial system. To be certain, however, I had an initial meeting with the casa de cambio, in which I was assured that the overseas transfer would be fully verifiable and legal since we would have the real estate contract as backing documentation.
Satisfied, I agreed to the buyers' plan. Days later, eight people gathered in one of the firm's sealed rooms to complete the closing: two staff members; the couple buying our apartment; one of their fathers, who was paying for it; an official escribano, or notary public, required by law to authenticate the settlement; Miguel; and I. A man entered carrying ten or so stacks of bills and gave them to me.
It was counted by staff from the casa de cambio, after which the signing of the transfer papers began. Once the escribano had ascertained that all was aboveboard and fair, he and the father bid their farewell, and arrangement of the international transfer began. Suddenly, a staff member rushed in, hurriedly yelling, "You can't do it!
This has to go through the banking system! The staff had misunderstood a key documentation requirement under the ever-changing Argentine foreign-exchange laws. Or perhaps-the conspiratorial Argentine in me was now kicking in-we'd been set up. Why did this happen after the escribano had left and signed over the property? Either way, we were stuck. These were my options: I could gather up the money, our life savings, and take them across town-in what?
A backpack? In my socks? Or, the casa de cambio offered, I could complete the deal with them but without the documentation I'd been promised. The institution would take my money, and an agent overseas would deposit the equivalent amount in our account-but I would receive no paper record of ever having handed over any money.
I would have to trust- that word again -that twenty-four hours later I could call my bank and ascertain that the money was en route to my account, although it would take three days before the credit actually registered. I thought hard about it. Tens of thousands of Argentines did such transactions every day. To them, it was, ironically, a more trustworthy method of exchanging value than dealing with a banking system that had repeatedly robbed them of their savings.
More important, Miguel, the man I trusted more than anyone else in Argentina, trusted this group of people to look after his accounts. He did so in a more transparent, aboveboard way than I was contemplating, but he dealt with them regularly. Indeed, the casa de cambio needed to maintain Miguel's trust. The confidence of their customers was the foundation of their business.
On the other hand, I was unlikely to be a repeat customer. I reluctantly agreed to the unofficial transaction. All the exchange house could give me as a "record" was a cutoff piece of ticker tape from a basic, receipt-printing calculator that simply showed numbers in text: the total amount transferred, minus the fee, and nothing else. I misplaced it that very evening. The next day, Miguel and I returned to the casa de cambio to get a special code with which my bank could trace the payment.
The gentleman we were supposed to meet wasn't there, or so we were told by the security guard looking after the heavily fortified entrance to the back offices. As my blood pressure spiked, I asked to see another staff member. The guard called him, then relayed his message: the money was already deposited in my account. I was incredulous. It was supposed to take three days.
My heart raced. Were they lying? Had I been swindled? Nervous beyond belief, I went outside to the street and called an agent at my bank. The reply came back: "Yes, Mr. Casey, the money is in your account. In this sense, calling bitcoin "trustless" is inaccurate, even though it's a convenient descriptor all the time. You need some kind of model of trust to run a monetary system. Bitcoin seeks to address this challenge by offering users a system of trust based not on human beings but on the inviolable laws of mathematics.
Its own trust challenge lies in the fact that not many people are filled with confidence by the overall image of bitcoin-its sense of insecurity, its volatility. To many, too, math is kind of scary, as is the notion that computers, rather than human beings, are running things-though applying such concerns to bitcoin alone would betray an ignorance of how computerized our fiat-currency-based financial markets have become.
In places such as Argentina, where confidence in political institutions is weak, the trust problem is resolved by elevating the trust that society holds in families, friends, and reputation-based relationships. Unfortunately, this is exceedingly inefficient. Such circles of trust are too small for any economy that has a complex network of economic interactions outside of small communities, let along one that purports to be integrated with the rest of the world.
What's more, the system gets stretched to the breaking point when a crisis prompts everyone to rush for the exits and dump their untrustworthy pesos. Solving this problem is what cryptocurrencies purport to do. They are marketed as such because no government-run monetary system is perfect. Argentina might be an extreme case, but as the events of showed, every other nation's model is also vulnerable to breakdowns of trust. To comprehend why trust is so important to money, and before we delve into the workings and grand promise of cryptocurrency, let's take a trip through history and explore competing theories of money that have developed over the centuries.
We hope that by its end you will have an idea of what money actually is. You'd think the answer to that would be simple by now, with people having used the stuff for millennia. But in reality, the practice of exchanging money lies so deep in the cultural evolution of society that we give it little thought.
Calling money a "social technology," he declares that "currency is not itself money. Money is the system of credit accounts and their clearing that currency represents. It provided a universal value system, which meant that power structures in prehistoric tribal communities, where order was maintained through the threat of violence at the hands of whoever was the most brutally powerful, could give way to something that allowed all members of society, not just the physically powerful or connected, to thrive.
Wealth as defined by the accumulation of this new, abstract measure of value would become the benchmark of power. It completely changed the rules of the game. Martin takes us to the Micronesian island of Yap to make his point. He describes a unique currency system that baffled early European visitors, consisting of stone wheels known as fei. These were quarried three hundred miles away and were as large as twelve feet in diameter.
After an exchange, it was frequently too inconvenient to transport these giant limestone rocks to their new owner, so they were often left in the possession of the previous owner. Yet the mutual understanding throughout Yapese society was that ownership rights to these hefty symbols of wealth could pass from one person to another in a series of transactions, thereby providing a means of settling outstanding debts.
Martin cites an account by the young American adventurer William Henry Furness III of how one fei sank into the ocean en route from Babelthuap but was still recognized as an exchangeable unit of currency for its new owner. The fei system shows how far society can come in creating abstract notions of value and power. This concept plays out to varying degrees as societies come to recognize the universal, if fictional, value of money and is incredibly powerful.
So we see the arrival of money in ancient Greece and its groundbreaking system of democracy coinciding with a break from the society that preceded it, where the power structures were far more brutal and limiting. Money opened up the world, created possibilities. But as powerful as this communal act of accepting the abstraction has been to the development of civilization, it's a struggle for our individual minds, which prefer material explanations for how the world works and especially for understanding value.
We see this now as an older generation that grew up with bricks-and-mortar stores and physical goods struggles to comprehend why someone would buy "virtual goods"-such as those sold in online games such as Second Life-much less pay for them with "virtual currency. Take a good hard look at it. Now, ask yourself, what's it worth? Your first answer, no doubt, would be something like "Duh, one dollar.
What's it really worth? What intrinsic value does that thing in your hand, that 2. Well, you could write on it if you so desired, turning it into a note-keeping device, albeit one extremely less efficient than a perfectly good notepad.
Drug users have found it to be a useful tool for snorting cocaine, though that's possibly more of a "because you can" statement than a reflection of the dollar bill's special utility for this purpose. The point is, as a material object little is unique about a dollar, or about any country's banknote. It's not a table or a hammer or a car or a source of food, or even a service rendered such as a haircut or a taxi ride.
To some extent, this piece of paper is similar to those other pieces of paper that play an important role in our society: written contracts. Contracts are not valuable for the material they are written on, but because a court will recognize the words contained on them as evidence of an enforceable agreement.
They are proof of a deal between two parties and afford each party an optional claim on our legal system to get the other one to abide by its terms. But what exactly is the contractual agreement conveyed by a dollar? Sitting there in your hand, it contains a rather obscure promise, an affirmation from the U. Uncle Sam promises to accept those IOUs and net them off against the debts that you in turn owe him-your tax bill, fees, fines, etc. When you think about it, how could he?
In a strict legal sense, a dollar constitutes a claim on the banking system and, by extension, on the U. Federal Reserve, which establishes the rights of all future holders of that banknote when it first issues it to a bank.
The bank and the Fed are obligated to recognize your claim according to the value it purports to represent. Put simply, if you deposit a dollar note in your account, the bank acknowledges that it owes you that dollar.
But this really doesn't resolve the problem of what gives the dollar its value. In a practical sense, its value depends entirely upon everyone else consensually recognizing that your dollar can be redeemed for an agreed-upon measure of goods and services. If that consensus were to disappear, your dollar's value would fall away very quickly, as Argentines know from the frequent phases of hyperinflation they have endured.
By this measure, a dollar's value does not reside in the fact that a bank acknowledges a liability to you or that the bank registers a claim on it with the Fed; rather, it hinges on society's willingness to accept it in settlement of a debt.
This consensus measure of value is very different from saying the dollar note has any intrinsic value. Here the gold bugs, as the finance world affectionately calls advocates of gold-based monetary systems, step up to the plate, promising to solve our intrinsic-value problem.
Gold, they say, is real currency, for it is hard, tangible, durable, and intrinsically valuable. Under their beloved gold standard, you could indeed take your dollar to the U. But that raises another question: What is a bar of gold truly worth? What indeed is its intrinsic value?
The gold bugs point to myriad uses for this highly durable, fully fungible metal. Its properties are impressive: It is both malleable and enduring. It can be melted down and re-formed but never loses any of its luster. Its electrical conductivity is used in circuit boards, while dental implants have drawn on its strength and resistance to tarnishing. But let's be clear: these uses are not why we assign value to gold. Indeed, they account for only a tiny portion of its supply. No, the assigned value has much more to do with its perceived beauty, exemplified by its traditional use in jewelry, in architecture, and in housewares.
Here, though, we still end up in a circular argument about gold's value: it's hard to distinguish our innate appreciation for gold's beauty-as we might appreciate a flower, for example-from our idea that a gold ornament conveys value, that it signifies wealth, prosperity, and prestige. Gold is scarce. It's been said that all the gold mined throughout history would fill up only two Olympic-size swimming pools. But scarcity is relative, and relevant only if there is demand. Countless material objects could be deemed scarce, but they don't have value because they are not in demand.
All that matters is that people want gold. But why? We're going around in circles. The only conclusion we can reach is tautological: gold is valuable as a currency or investment because we believe it is valuable which is the same reason for valuing money itself. Gold's value as currency is an abstract social construct. Yet-that value itself is real. It has a real impact on the world.
Through history, blood has been spilled, lands have been conquered, and nations have been built and destroyed in the pursuit of this shiny material thing. All of that illustrious and at times ugly history stems from the fact that societies from very early on recognized gold as an excellent, practical currency and store of value, one that fulfilled a host of key qualities needed for that monetary purpose: it was scarce, durable, divisible, portable, easily verified, and fungible-i.
Those qualities led societies everywhere to collectively agree that gold would be acceptable as currency. It's that agreement that gives it its value. Once again, though, this does not mean gold has intrinsic value. The centuries-long debate over the nature of money can be reduced to two sides. One school sees money as merely a commodity, a preexisting thing, with its own inherent value.
This group believes that societies chose certain commodities to become mutually recognized units of exchange in order to overcome the cumbersome business of barter. Exchanging sheep for bread was imprecise, so in our agrarian past traders agreed that a certain commodity, be it shells or rocks or gold, could be a stand-in for everything else. This "metallism" viewpoint, as it is known, encourages the notion that a currency should itself be, or at least be backed by, some tangible material.
This orthodox view of currency is embraced by many gold bugs and hard-money advocates from the so-called Austrian school of economics, a group that has enjoyed a renaissance in the wake of the financial crisis with its critiques of expansionist central-bank policies and inflationary fiat currencies. They blame the asset bubble that led to the crisis on reckless monetary expansion by unfettered central banks. The other side of the argument belongs to the "chartalist" school, a group that looks past the thing of currency and focuses instead on the credit and trust relationships between the individual and society at large that currency embodies.
This view, the one we subscribe to and which informs our understanding of cryptocurrencies, recognizes the presence of an implicit, societywide agreement that allows monetary exchange to perpetuate and debt and credit to be issued and cleared. This negotiated solution, a project that's inherently political, is money. It's not the currency. The currency is merely the token or symbol around which this complex system is arranged.
Chartalist comes from the Latin charta, which means "token. Yet it is also ingrained into the rigid structure of any cryptocurrency monetary system, one that allows no room for Keynesian interventionists yet depends just as much on a collective agreement that the digital currency can be accepted in the settlement of debts. This philosophical division sustains a core debate over cryptocurrencies and how or whether to regulate them.
The rise of bitcoin has attracted many with the metallist mind-set, a group led by libertarians and anarcho-capitalists, who want government to get its greedy mitts out of the money supply. Overlooking the intangible nature of bitcoin, they've treated the digital currency as a scarce commodity, a thing to be "mined" and stored, a thing whose mathematically proven finite supply ensures that its value will rise and outstrip that of unlimited fiat currencies such as the dollar. Yet many other cryptocurrency believers, including a cross section of techies and businessmen who see a chance to disrupt the bank-centric payments system, are de facto chartalists.
They describe bitcoin not as a currency but as a payments protocol. They are less concerned about its appeal as an intrinsically valuable thing and more with the underlying computer network's capacity to rearrange the rules of trust around which society manages exchanges of value.
They see money as a system for settling and recording debt obligations. These distinctions will prove important as we examine in later chapters the future for cryptocurrencies, but for now let's take a step back into the millennia-old past and trace the events that brought us to this point. The answer to that question depends on which camp you belong to. Discussing the history of money almost inevitably veers toward a discussion of the historicity of money because it's impossible to describe its evolution without also describing how it has been conceived.
On that basis, the metallism crowd views the beginnings of money through the eyes of Aristotle, who wrote, "When the inhabitants of one country became more dependent on those of another and they imported what they needed, and exported what they had too much of, money necessarily came into use.
Smith described the New World communities of Peru and elsewhere as burdened by barter until the genius of European coinage was introduced. Smith's view was critical to the conventional wisdom that we've sequenced from barter to money to debt.
He argued that as human beings divided labor according to their talents, they produced surplus goods to trade but were trapped by the failure to meet what economists call a "coincidence of wants. So, an easily exchangeable, clearly distinguished commodity was chosen to function as the agreed-upon standard to facilitate exchange. This commodity became money, and by this thinking it was a thing in its own right, carrying an intrinsic value.
Once we thrust it into this role, money opened the doors to all other tools for exchanging value, including the creation of debt. If you're a chartalist, your historical starting point is very different. First, you dismiss the barter story as myth.
You draw on the writings of dozens of twentieth-century anthropologists who have visited places where currencies weren't used; anthropologists who claim to have found no evidence that these peoples ever engaged in barter, at least not as the primary system of exchange.
Instead, these societies came up with elaborate codes of behavior for sorting out their various debts and obligations. Debt, in other words, came first. The anthropologist David Graeber hypothesizes that specific debt agreements likely evolved out of gift exchanges, which generated the sense of owing a favor. After that, codified value systems may have emerged from the penalties that tribes meted out for various wrongdoings: twenty goats, say, for killing someone's brother.
From there human beings started to think about money as a system for resolving, offsetting, and clearing those debts across society. Given this wide divide in their worldviews, the metallists and the chartalists ascribe very different motivations to the prominent role played by the state in the minting of currency through the ages. To the metallists, governments simply played an endorsement role, authenticating the quality and quantity of metal in each coin.
But to the chartalists, the state evolved to become the ultimate clearinghouse for debts and credits through its monopoly power over taxes, which could only be paid in the coin of the realm. Regardless of where loyalties lie across this divide, most agree that the first recorded monetary system appeared in Mesopotamia, modern-day Iraq, around B.
It coincided with development of the Code of Hammurabi, one of the oldest surviving pieces of writing and the first example of a ruler setting down laws, also in Mesopotamia. That code included a set of payment rules by which debts could be settled with either silver or barley. Based on those instructions, early-day Mesopotamian accountants would keep records of transactions in society, doing so via specialized indents in clay tablets.
Their record-keeping employed a relatively easily understood cuneiform style that supplanted hieroglyphics, an ancient writing system that had been limited to royalty and high priests. Over time, people's standing in society would become defined by a monetary measure of their ability to obtain items of value, more so than by a record of their capacity to inflict suffering.
Money, then, made human settlements less vulnerable to bloodletting and chaos. As the world became more orderly, it was also more conducive to trade. From there developed the great ancient civilizations: Mesopotamia, Greece, and, most successfully, Rome. The rise and fall of these civilizations coincided with money, and whether one fueled the other or vice versa is impossible to disentangle.
The Roman Empire's vast reach was synonymous with its coins being legal tender across huge swaths of Europe and the Middle East. The political instability that ultimately weakened it and led to its collapse was in part generated by the deterioration of that currency's purchasing power, as Rome succumbed to repeated bouts of raging inflation, worsened by Emperor Diocletian's flawed attempts at price controls.
After Rome's fall, the Dark Ages descended on Europe and the continent lost its feel for money. Some fitful efforts to revive the practice didn't find traction until the Renaissance. As the historian Niall Ferguson reminds us, the return of money at that time and the related invention of banking by the Medici families of Florence financed an explosion in world trade and helped pay for the architectural and artistic revival of the era.
This put Europe on track to the modern era, in which money and finance have long been at its center. Consistently, those rulers have stamped their authority-both figuratively and literally-on their currency, reminding citizens of the deep connection between money and power. Staters, the gold-and-silver-alloy coins thought to be the first minted currency, from the kingdom of Lydia in what is now western Turkey, are notable for bearing a lion's head.
This insignia makes King Alyattes, presumed to be the sovereign behind these coins, likely the author of a millennia-long association between artwork and currency-a practice that has lent these otherwise impractical, inanimate objects great power, significance, and perceived value. Look at your dollar bill again. Note on its face side the ornate borders and leafage running along the edge and enclosing George Washington's head, as well as the seals of the issuing regional Federal Reserve Bank and the U.
Treasury Department. See on the reverse the even more elaborate border designs engulfing the words ONE and In God We Trust, along with the two sides of the great seal of the U. This baroque intricacy is difficult to replicate and so helps keep counterfeiters at bay, as do embedded fibers, watermarks, and metallic strips. But just as important, the compelling imagery is simply impressive.
It's filled with semiotic noise that denotes authority and order. Artistic imagery on currency helps us engage in the metallist fiction that a money token has intrinsic value. Yet neither can we escape the symbolism of state power associated with it. Countless monarchs after King Alyattes used similarly dramatic symbols to put their stamp on coinage. It gave the coin authenticity but also functioned as a kind of royal branding, an advertisement of the omnipresence of the realm.
We are reminded that money and power are inseparable. The sovereign's capacity to issue money afforded one specific benefit: the creation of seigniorage, the ability to profit directly from the issuance of currency. These days, seigniorage arises because of the interest-free loan that a government obtains by printing money on comparatively worthless pieces of paper. But when currencies were associated with particular weights of precious metals, monarchs exploited this power through more overt methods.
Many would "clip" gold or silver coins to melt down and redeem the value of the shavings. Before coins were assigned specific numerical values, rulers would "cry down" the arbitrarily assigned value of a specific coin-by declaring that it could now buy less of a certain useful commodity or contribute less than previously to the settlement of a tax bill.
Bitcoin became a buzzword overnight. A cyber-enigma with an enthusiastic following, it pops up in headlines and fuels endless media debate. You can apparently use it to buy anything from coffee to cars, yet few people seem to truly understand what it is. This raises the question: Why should anyone care about bitcoin?
Casey deliver the definitive answer to this question. Cybermoney is poised to launch a revolution, one that could reinvent traditional financial and social structures while bringing the world's billions of "unbanked" individuals into a new global economy. Cryptocurrency holds the promise of a financial system without a middleman, one owned by the people who use it and one safeguarded from the devastation of a type crash.
But bitcoin, the most famous of the cybermonies, carries a reputation for instability, wild fluctuation, and illicit business; some fear it has the power to eliminate jobs and to upend the concept of a nation-state. But it is here to stay, and you ignore it at your peril. The digital currency world will look very different from the paper currency world; The Age of Cryptocurrency will teach you how to be ready.
The currency's So there is plenty to write about if you are serious. Casey, veteran Wall Street Journal reporters, resist the common temptations to hype their trendy subject. They've written a reported explainer that patiently documents bitcoin's rise, acknowledges its flaws and highlights its promise.
Smart and conscientious, The Age of Cryptocurrency is the most thorough and readable account of the short life of this controversial currency. And the explication of the non-currency applications of the concepts behind Bitcoin--such as tamper-proof records of verified information will be valuable to any reader.
If the word 'blockchain' makes you want to call a plumber, or if you think Satoshi is some kind of raw fish, you need to read The Age of Cryptocurrency today. If you're already a bit-convert, you'll still learn a lot. For those confused by bitcoin concepts, this clearheaded and readable book sets forth credible reasons why bitcoin might or might not be an evolving economic miracle. The authors have successfully demystified cryptocurrencies like bitcoin so that even a traditionalist like myself can understand them and embrace their potential.
And the references to money were so spot-on, they even taught this old dog some new tricks. The technological developments described in this book will someday affect every one of us and I can think of no better guide to what the future holds. Being Wall Street Journal reporters, they know how to dig beneath the surface and they also know how to write.
The book is full of fascinating stories, from the origins of money to the future of decentralised commerce, from the Mt Gox meltdown to the Silk Road bust. In a nutshell, it narrates the chronology of Bitcoin's evolution with impeccable precision. It is free of hype, while not being shy in pinning the important role that cryptocurrencies will play in our future. I recommend you check it out. Paul Vigna is a reporter for The Wall Street Journal, and has been a journalist for more than 25 years, as a reporter, editor, and photographer.
He currently covers the cryptocurrency sector, including bitcoin, other digital currencies, and blockchain-related technologies. He formerly was an equities reporter on the MoneyBeat blog, writing about markets, economics, and finance. He was host of both the MoneyBeat show, a daily live webcast, and the MoneyBeat podcast. He also writes about television and arts, with a weekly recap column for "The Walking Dead. He is co-author, along with Michael J.
Casey, of "The Age of Cryptocurrency" , St. Martin's Press. A native of Perth, Western Australia, Michael Casey is the Chief Content Officer at CoinDesk, the leading media platform covering cryptocurrencies, blockchain and the transformation of the financial system that those technologies are driving. He is also Chairman and cofounder of Streambed Media, a mediatech company that's solving the fragmented digital media economy's data challenges.
His MIT post came after an year stint as a journalist at Dow Jones and The Wall Street Journal, which culminated with a senior columnist position covering global economics and finance. Casey is a frequent speaker and media commentator addressing issues of technology, economy and society.
Co-authored with social media entrepreneur Oliver Luckett, The Social Organism examines the biological structure of our social media networks, offering a new way to understand how this disruptive new communications architecture works and impacts our lives. The follow-up to The Age of Cryptocurrency, the Age of Cryptocurrency examines the myriad non-currency applications of blockchain technology to emerge out of the bitcoin movement and explores the radically decentralized global economy that these portend.
Enhance your purchase. Previous page. Print length. Publication date. January 12, See all details. Next page. Frequently bought together. Total price:. To see our price, add these items to your cart. Choose items to buy together. Get it as soon as Sunday, Apr Customers who viewed this item also viewed. Page 1 of 1 Start over Page 1 of 1. Antony Lewis. Saifedean Ammous. Nathaniel Popper. Andreas M. Paul Vigna. Neel Mehta.
He is a columnist and anchor for MoneyBeat. Vigna has coauthored books with Michael J. Start reading The Age of Cryptocurrency on your Kindle in under a minute. Don't have a Kindle? About the authors Follow authors to get new release updates, plus improved recommendations. Brief content visible, double tap to read full content.
Full content visible, double tap to read brief content. See more on the author's page. Michael J. He is the author of five books: --Che's Afterlife: The Legacy of an Image , a history of and cultural commentary on Alberto Korda's famous image of Che Guevara, the world's most reproduced photographic image. Casey lives in Pelham, New York, with his wife and two daughters.
Customer reviews. How are ratings calculated? Instead, our system considers things like how recent a review is and if the reviewer bought the item on Amazon. It also analyzes reviews to verify trustworthiness. Top reviews Most recent Top reviews. Top reviews from the United States. There was a problem filtering reviews right now. Please try again later.
Agree, rather how many total ethereum users are ther opinion you
BITCOIN TECHNOLOGY USES
Paul vigna bitcoin bitcoin wallet address indiaThe Age of Cryptocurrency book trailer
And bitcoin wallet address india agree, the
Следующая статья how to sign up for bitcoin