Tag: monetary policy

Inflation, Interest Rates and the Fed: A Dissent

Last week, my Roosevelt colleague Mike Konczal said on twitter that he endorsed the Fed’s decision to raise the federal funds rate, and the larger goal of using higher interest rates to weaken demand and slow growth. Mike is a very sharp guy, and I generally agree with him on almost everything. But in this case I disagree. 

The disagreement may partly be about the current state of the economy. I personally don’t think the inflation we’re seeing reflects any general “overheating.” I don’t think there’s any meaningful sense in which current employment and wage growth are too fast, and should be slower. But at the end of the day, I don’t think Mike’s and my views are very different on this. The real issue is not the current state of the economy, but how much confidence we have in the Fed to manage it. 

So: Should the Fed be raising rates to control inflation? The fact that inflation is currently high is not, in itself, evidence that conventional monetary policy is the right tool for bringing it down. The question we should be asking, in my opinion, is not, “how many basis points should the Fed raise rates this year?” It is, how conventional monetary policy affects inflation at all, at what cost, and whether it is the right tool for the job. And if not, what should we be doing instead?

What Do Rate Hikes Do?

At Powell’s press conference, Chris Rugaber of the AP asked an excellent question: What is the mechanism by which a higher federal funds rate is supposed to bring down inflation, if not by raising unemployment?1 Powell’s answer was admirably frank: “There is a very, very tight labor market, tight to an unhealthy level. Our tools work as you describe … if you were moving down the number of job openings, you would have less upward pressure on wages, less of a labor shortage.”

Powell is clear about what he is trying to do. If you make it hard for businesses to borrow, some will invest less, leading to less demand for labor, weakening workers’ bargaining power and forcing them to accept lower wages (which presumably get passed on to prices, tho he didn’t spell that step out.) If you endorse today’s rate hikes, and the further tightening it implies, you are endorsing the reasoning behind it: labor markets are too tight, wages are rising too quickly, workers have too many options, and we need to shift bargaining power back toward the bosses.

Rather than asking exactly how fast the Fed should be trying to raise unemployment and slow wage growth, we should be asking whether this is the only way to control inflation; whether it will in fact control inflation; and whether the Fed can even bring about these outcomes in the first place.

Both hiring and pricing decisions are made by private businesses (or, in a small number of cases, in decentralized auction markets.) The Fed can’t tell them what to do. What it can do – what it is doing – is raise the overnight lending rate between banks, and sell off some part of the mortgage-backed securities and long-dated Treasury bonds that it currently holds. 

A higher federal funds rate will eventually get passed on to other interest rates, and also (and perhaps more importantly) to credit conditions in general — loan standards and so on. Some parts of the financial system are more responsive to the federal funds rate than others. Some businesses and activities are more dependent on credit than others.

Higher rates and higher lending standards will, eventually, discourage borrowing. More quickly and reliably, they will raise debt service costs for households, businesses and governments, reducing disposable income. This is probably the most direct effect of rate hikes. It still depends on the degree to which market rates are linked to the policy rate set by the Fed, which in practice they may not be. But if we are looking for predictable results of a rate hike, higher debt service costs are one of the best candidates. Monetary tightening may or may not have a big effect on unemployment, inflation or home prices, but it’s certainly going to raise mortgage payments — indeed, the rise in mortgage rates we’ve seen in recent months presumably is to some degree in anticipation of rate hikes.

Higher debt service costs reduce disposable income for households and retained earnings for business, reducing consumption and investment spending respectively. If they rise far enough, they will also lead to an increase in defaults on debt.

(As an aside, it’s worth noting that a significant and rising part of recent inflation is owners’ equivalent rent, which is a BLS estimate of how much homeowners could hypothetically get if they rented out their homes. It is not a price paid by anyone. Meanwhile, mortgage payments, which are the main actual housing cost for homeowners, are not included in the CPI. It’s a bit ironic that in response to a rise in a component of “housing costs” that is not actually a cost to anyone, the Fed is taking steps to raise what actually is the biggest component of housing costs.)

Finally, a rate hike may cause financial assets to fall in value — not slowly, not predictably, but eventually. This is the intended effect of the asset sales.

Asset prices are very far from a simple matter of supply and demand — there’s no reason to think that a small sale of, say 10-year bonds will have any discernible effect on the corresponding yield (unless the Fed announces a target for the yield, in which case the sale itself would be unnecessary.) But again, eventually, sufficient rate hikes and asset sales will presumably lead asset prices to fall. When they do fall, it will probably by a lot at once rather than a little at a time – when assets are held primarily for capital gains, their price can continue rising or fall sharply, but it cannot remain constant. If you own something because you think it will rise in value, then if it stays at the current price, the current price is too high.

Lower asset values in turn will discourage new borrowing (by weakening bank balance sheets, and raising bond yields) and reduce the net worth of households (and also of nonprofits and pension funds and the like), reducing their spending. High stock prices are often a major factor in periods of rising consumption, like the 1990s; a stock market crash could be expected to have the opposite impact.

What can we say about all these channels? First, they will over time lead to less spending in the economy, lower incomes, and less employment. This is how hikes have an effect on inflation, if they do. There is no causal pathway from rate hikes to lower inflation that doesn’t pass through reduced incomes and spending along the way. And whether or not you accept the textbook view that the path from demand to prices runs via unemployment wage growth, it is still the case that reduced output implies less demand for labor, meaning slower growth in employment and wages.

That is the first big point. There is no immaculate disinflation. 

Second, rate hikes will have a disproportionate effect on certain parts of the economy. The decline in output, incomes and employment will initially come in the most interest-sensitive parts of the economy — construction especially. Rising rates will reduce wealth and income for indebted households. 2. Over time, this will cause further falls in income and employment in the sectors where these households reduce spending, as well as in whatever categories of spending that are most sensitive to changes in wealth. In some cases, like autos, these may be the same areas where supply constraints have been a problem. But there’s no reason to think this will be the case in general.

It’s important to stress that this is not a new problem. One of the things hindering a rational discussion of inflation policy, it seems to me, is the false dichotomy that either we were facing transitory, pandemic-related inflation, or else the textbook model of monetary policy is correct. But as the BIS’s Claudio Borio and coauthors note in a recent article, even before the pandemic, “measured inflation [was] largely the result of idiosyncratic (relative) price changes… not what the theoretical definition of inflation is intended to capture, i.e. a generalised increase in prices.” The effects of monetary policy, meanwhile, “operate through a remarkably narrow set of prices, concentrated mainly in the more cyclically sensitive service sectors.”

These are broadly similar results to a 2019 paper by Stock and Watson, which finds that only a minority of prices show a consistent correlation with measures of cyclical activity.3 It’s true that in recent months, inflation has not been driven by auto prices specifically. But it doesn’t follow that we’re now seeing all prices rising together. In particular, non-housing services (which make up about 30 percent of the CPI basket) are still contributing almost nothing to the excess inflation. Yet, if you believe the BIS results (which seem plausible), it’s these services where the effects of tightening will be felt most.

This shows the contribution to annualized inflation above the 2% target, over rolling three-month periods. My analysis of CPI data.

The third point is that all of this takes time. It is true that some asset prices and market interest rates may move as soon as the Fed funds rate changes — or even in advance of the actual change, as with mortgage rates this year. But the translation from this to real activity is much slower. The Fed’s own FRB/US model says that the peak effect of a rate change comes about two years later; there are significant effects out to the fourth year. What the Fed is doing now is, in an important sense, setting policy for the year 2024 or 2025. How  confident should we be about what demand conditions will look like then? Given how few people predicted current inflation, I would say: not very confident.

This connects to the fourth point, which is that there is no reason to think that the Fed can deliver a smooth, incremental deceleration of demand. (Assuming we agreed that that’s what’s called for.) In part this is because of the lags just mentioned. The effects of tightening are felt years in the future, but the Fed only gets data in real time. The Fed may feel they’ve done enough once they see unemployment start to rise. But by that point, they’ll have baked several more years of rising unemployment into the economy. It’s quite possible that by the time the full effects of the current round of tightening are felt, the US economy will be entering a recession. 

This is reinforced when we think about the channels policy actually works through. Empirical studies of investment spending tend to find that it is actually quite insensitive to interest rates. The effect of hikes, when it comes, is likelier to be through Minskyan channels — at some point, rising debt service costs and falling asset values lead to a cascading chain of defaults.

In and Out of the Corridor

A broader reason we should doubt that the Fed can deliver a glide path to slower growth is that the economy is a complex system, with both positive and negative feedbacks; which feedbacks dominate depends on the scale of the disturbance. In practice, small disturbances are often self-correcting; to have any effect, a shock has to be big enough to overcome this homeostasis.

Axel Leijonhufvud long ago described this as a “corridor of stability”: economic units have buffers in the form of liquid assets and unused borrowing capacity, which allow them to avoid adjusting expenditure in response to small changes in income or costs. This means the Keynesian multiplier is small or zero for small changes in autonomous demand. But once buffers start to get exhausted, responses become much larger, as the income-expenditure positive feedback loop kicks in.

The most obvious sign of this is the saw-tooth pattern in long-run series of employment and output. We don’t see smooth variation in growth rates around a trend. Rather, we see two distinct regimes: extended periods of steady output and employment growth, interrupted by shorter periods of negative growth. Real economies experience well-defined expansions and recessions, not generic “fluctuations”.

This pattern is discussed in a very interesting recent paper by Antonio Fatas, “The Elusive State of Full Employment.” The central observation of the paper is that whether you measure labor market slack by the conventional unemployment rate or in some other way (the detrended prime-age employment-population ratio is his preferred measure), the postwar US does not show any sign of convergence back to a state of full employment. Rather, unemployment falls and employment rises at a more or less constant rate over an expansion, until it abruptly gives way to a recession. There are no extended periods in which (un)employment rates remain stable.

One implication of this is that the economy spends very little time at potential or full employment; indeed, as he says, the historical pattern should raise questions whether a level of full employment is meaningful at all.

the results of this paper also cast doubt on the empirical relevance of the concepts of full employment or the natural rate of unemployment. … If this interpretation is correct, our estimates of the natural rate of unemployment are influenced by the length of expansions. As an example, if the global pandemic had happened in 2017 when unemployment was around 4.5%, it is very likely that we would be thinking of unemployment rates as low as 3.5% as unachievable.

There are many ways of arriving at this same point. For example, he finds that the (un)employment rate at the end of an expansion is strongly predicted by the rate at the beginning, suggesting that what we are seeing is not convergence back to an equilibrium but simply a process of rising employment that continues until something ends it.

Another way of looking at this pattern is that any negative shock large enough to significantly slow growth will send it into reverse — that, in effect, growth has a “stall speed” below which it turns into recession. If this weren’t the case, we would sometimes see plateaus or gentle hills in the employment rate. But all we see are sharp peaks. 

In short: Monetary policy is an anti-inflation tool that works, when it does, by lowering employment and wages; by reducing spending in a few interest-sensitive sectors of the economy, which may have little overlap with those where prices are rising; whose main effects take longer to be felt than we can reasonably predict demand conditions; and that is more likely to provoke a sharp downturn than a gradual deceleration.

Is Macroeconomic Policy the Responsibility of the Fed?

One reason I don’t think we should be endorsing this move is that we shouldn’t be endorsing the premise that the US is facing dangerously overheated labor markets. But the bigger reason is that conventional monetary policy is a bad way of managing the economy, and entails a bad way of thinking about the economy. We should not buy into a framework in which problems of rising prices or slow growth or high unemployment get reduced to “what should the federal funds rate do?”

Here for example is former CEA Chair Jason Furman’s list of ways to reduce inflation:

What’s missing here is any policy action by anyone other than the Fed. It’s this narrowing of the discussion I object to, more than the rate increase as such.

Rents are rising rapidly right now — at an annual rate of about 6 percent as measured by the CPI. And there is reason to think that this number understates the increase in market rents and will go up rather than down over the coming year. This is one factor in the acceleration of inflation compared with 2020, when rents in most of the country were flat or falling. (Rents fell almost 10 percent in NYC during 2020, per Zillow.) The shift from falling to rising rents is an important fact about the current situation. But rents were also rising well above 2 percent annually prior to the pandemic. The reason that rents (and housing prices generally) rise faster than most other prices generally, is that we don’t build enough housing. We don’t build enough housing for poor people because it’s not profitable to do so; we don’t build enough housing for anyone in major cities because land-use rules prevent it. 

Rising rents are not an inflation problem, they are a housing problem. The only way to deal with them is some mix of public money for lower-income housing, land-use reform, and rent regulations to protect tenants in the meantime. Higher interest rates will not help at all — except insofar as, eventually, they make people too poor to afford homes.

Or energy costs. Energy today still mostly means fossil fuels, especially at the margin. Both supply and demand are inelastic, so prices are subject to large swings. It’s a global market, so there’s not much chance of insulating the US even if it is “energy independent” in net terms. The geopolitics of fossil fuels means that production is both vulnerable to interruption from unpredictable political developments, and subject to control by cartels. 

The long run solution is, of course, to transition as quickly as possible away from fossil fuels. In the short run, we can’t do much to reduce the cost of gasoline (or home heating oil and so on), but we can shelter people from the impact, by reducing the costs of alternatives, like transit, or simply by sending them checks. (The California state legislature’s plan seems like a good model.) Free bus service will help both with the short-term effect on household budgets and to reduce energy demand in the long run. Raising interest rates won’t help at all — except insofar as, eventually, they make people too poor to buy gas.

These are hard problems. Land use decisions are made across tens of thousands of local governments, and changes are ferociously opposed by politically potent local homeowners (and some progressives). Dependence on oil is deeply baked into our economy. And of course any substantial increase in federal spending must overcome both entrenched opposition and the convoluted, anti-democratic structures of our government, as we have all been learning (again) this past year. 

These daunting problems disappear when we fold everything into a price index and hand it over to the Fed to manage. Reducing everything to the core CPI and a policy rule are a way of evading all sorts of difficult political and intellectual challenges. We can also then ignore the question how, exactly, inflation will be brought down without costs to the real economy,  and how to decide if these costs are worth it. Over here is inflation; over there are the maestros with their magic anti-inflation device. All they have to do is put the right number into the machine.

It’s an appealing fantasy – it’s easy to see why people are drawn to it. But it is a fantasy.

A modern central bank, sitting at the apex of the financial system, has a great deal of influence over markets for financial assets and credit. This in turn allows it to exert some influence — powerful if often slow and indirect — on production and consumption decisions of businesses and households. Changes in the level and direction of spending will in turn affect the pricing decisions of business. These effects are real. But they are no different than the effects of anything else — public policy or economic developments — that influence spending decisions. And the level of spending is in turn only one factor in the evolution of prices. There is no special link from monetary policy to aggregate demand or inflation. It’s just one factor among others — sometimes important, often not.

Yes, a higher interest rate will, eventually reduce spending, wages and prices. But many other forces are pushing in other directions, and dampening or amplifying the effect of interest rate changes. The idea that there is out there some “r*”, some “neutral rate” that somehow corresponds to the true inter temporal interest rate — that is a fairy tale. 

Nor does the Fed have any special responsibility for inflation. Once we recognize monetary policy for what it is — one among many regulatory and tax actions that influence economic rewards and incomes, perhaps influencing behavior — arguments for central bank independence evaporate. (Then again, they did not make much sense to begin with.) And contrary to widely held belief, the Fed’s governing statutes do not give it legal responsibility for inflation or unemployment. 

That last statement might sound strange, given that we are used to talking about the Fed’s dual mandate. But as Lev Menand points out in an important recent intervention, the legal mandate of the Fed has been widely misunderstood. What the Federal Reserve Act charges the Fed with is

maintain[ing the] long run growth of the monetary and credit aggregates commensurate with the economy’s long-run potential to increase production, so as to promote effectively the goals of maximum employment, stable prices, and moderate long-term interest rates.

There are two things to notice here. First, the bolded phrase: The Fed’s mandate is not to maintain price stability or full employment as such. It is to prevent developments in the financial system that interfere with them. This is not the same thing. And as Menand argues (in the blog post and at more length elsewhere), limiting the Fed’s macroeconomic role to this narrower mission was the explicit intent of the lawmakers who wrote the Fed’s governing statutes from the 1930s onward. 

Second, price stability, maximum employment and moderate interest rates (an often forgotten part of the Fed’s mandate) are not presented as independent objectives, but as the expected consequences of keeping credit growth on a steady path. As Menand writes:

The Fed’s job, as policymakers then recognized, was not to combat inflation—it was to ensure that banks create enough money and credit to keep the nation’s productive resources fully utilized…

This distinction is important because there are many reasons that, in the short-to-medium term, the economy might not achieve full potential—as manifested by maximum employment, price stability, and moderate long-term interest rates. And often these reasons have nothing to do with monetary expansion, the only variable Congress expected the Fed to control. For example, supply shortages of key goods and services can cause prices to rise for months or even years while producers adapt to satisfy changing market demand. The Fed’s job is not to stop these price rises—even if policymakers might think stopping them is desirable—just as the Fed’s job is not to … lend lots of money to companies so that they can hire more workers. The Fed’s job is to ensure that a lack of money and credit created by the banking system—an inelastic money supply—does not prevent the economy from achieving these goals. That is its sole mandate.

As Menand notes, the idea that the Fed was directly responsible for macroeconomic outcomes was a new development in the 1980s, an aspect of the broader neoliberal turn that had no basis in law. Nor does it have any good basis in economics. If a financial crisis leads to a credit crunch, or credit-fueled speculation develops into an asset bubble, the central bank can and should take steps to stabilize credit growth and asset prices. In doing so, it will contribute to the stability of the real economy. But when inflation or unemployment come from other sources, conventional monetary policy is a clumsy, ineffectual and often destructive way of responding to them. 

There’s a reason that the rightward turn in the 1980s saw the elevation of central banks as the sole custodians of macroeconomic stability. The economies we live in are not in fact self-regulating; they are subject to catastrophic breakdowns of various forms, and even when they function well, are in constant friction with their social surroundings. They require active management. But routine management of the economy — even if limited to the adjustment of the demand “thermostat,” in Samuelson’s old metaphor — both undermine the claim that markets are natural, spontaneous and decentralized, and opens the door to a broader politicization of the economy. The independent central bank in effect quarantines the necessary economic management from the infection of democratic politics. 

The period between the 1980s and the global financial crisis saw both a dramatic elevation of the central bank’s role in macroeconomic policy, and a systematic forgetting of the wide range of tools central banks used historically. There is a basic conflict between the expansive conception of the central bank’s responsibilities and the narrow definition of what it actually does. The textbooks tell us that monetary policy is the sole, or at least primary, tool for managing output, employment and inflation (and in much of the world, the exchange rate); and that it is limited to setting a single overnight interest rate according to a predetermined rule. These two ideas can coexist comfortably only in periods of tranquility when the central bank doesn’t actually have to do anything. 

What has the Fed Delivered in the Past?

Coming back to the present: The reason I think it is wrong to endorse the Fed’s move toward tightening is not that there’s any great social benefit to having an overnight rate on interbank loans of near 0. I don’t especially care whether the federal funds rate is at 0.38 percent or 1.17 percent next September. I don’t think it makes much difference either way. What I care about is endorsing a framework that commits us to managing inflation by forcing down wages, one that closes off discussion of more progressive and humane — and effective! — ways of controlling inflation. Once the discussion of macroeconomic policy is reduced to what path the federal funds rate should follow, our side has already lost, whatever the answer turns out to be.

It is true that there are important differences between the current situation the end of 2015, the last time the Fed started hiking, that make today’s tightening more defensible. Headline unemployment is now at 3.8 percent, compared with 5 percent when the Fed began hiking in 2015. The prime-age employment rate was also about a point lower then than now. But note also that in 2015 the Fed thought the long-run unemployment rate was 4.9 percent. So from their point of view, we were at full employment. (The CBO, which had the long-run rate at 5.3 percent, thought we’d already passed it.) It may be obvious in retrospect (and to some of us in the moment) that in late 2015 there was still plenty of space for continued employment growth. But policymakers did not think so at the time.

More to the point, inflation then was much lower. If inflation control is the Fed’s job, then the case for raising rates is indeed much stronger now than it was in December 2015. And while I am challenging the idea that this should be the Fed’s job, most people believe that it is. I’m not upset or disappointed that Powell is moving to hike rates now, or is justifying it in the way that he is. Anyone who could plausibly be in that position would be doing the same. 

So let’s say a turn toward higher rates was less justified in 2015 than it is today. Did it matter? If you look at employment growth over the 2010s, it’s a perfectly straight line — an annual rate of 1.2 percent, month after month after month. If you just looked at the employment numbers, you’d have no idea that the the Fed was tightening over 2016-2018, and then loosening in the second half of 2019. This doesn’t, strictly speaking, prove that the tightening had no effect. But that’s certainly the view favored by Occam’s razor. The Fed, fortunately, did not tighten enough to tip the economy into recession. So it might as well not have tightened at all. 

The problem in 2015, or 2013, or 2011, the reason we had such a long and costly jobless recovery, was not that someone at the Fed put the wrong parameter into their model. It was not that the Fed made the wrong choices. It was that the Fed did not have the tools for the job.

Honestly, it’s hard for me to see how anyone who’s been in these debates over the past decade could believe that the Fed has the ability to steer demand in any reliable way. The policy rate was at zero for six full years. The Fed was trying their best! Certainly the Fed’s response to the 2008 crisis was much better than the fiscal authorities’. So for that matter was the ECB’s, once Draghi took over from Trichet. 4 The problem was not that the central bankers weren’t trying. The problem was that having the foot all the way down on the monetary gas pedal turned out not to do much.

As far as I can tell, modern US history offers exactly one unambiguous case of successful inflation control via monetary policy: the Volcker shock. And there, it was part of a comprehensive attack on labor. 

It is true that recessions since then have consistently seen a fall in inflation, and have consistently been preceded by monetary tightenings. So you could argue that the Fed has had some inflation-control successes since the 1980s, albeit at the cost of recessions. Let’s be clear about what this entails. To say that the Fed was responsible for the fall in inflation over 2000-2002, is to say that the dot-com boom could have continued indefinitely if the Fed had not raised rates. 

Maybe it could have, maybe not. But whether or not you want to credit (or blame) the Fed for some or all of the three pre-pandemic recessions, what is clear is that there are few if any cases of the Fed delivering slower growth and lower inflation without a recession. 

According to Alan Blinder, since World War II the Fed has achieved a soft landing in exactly two out of 11 tightening cycles, most recently in 1994. In that case, it’s true, higher rates were not followed by a recession. But nor were they followed by any discernible slowdown in growth. Output and employment grew even faster after the Fed started tightening than before. As for inflation, it did come down about two years later, at the end of 1996 – at exactly the same moment as oil prices peaked. And came back up in 1999, at exactly the moment when oil prices started rising again. Did the Fed do that? It looks to me more like 2015 – a tightening that stopped in time to avoid triggering a recession, and instead had no effect. But even if we accept the 1994 case, that’s one success story in the past 50 years. (Blinder’s other soft landing is 1966.)

I think the heart of my disagreement with progressives who are support tightening is whether it’s reasonable to think the Fed can adjust the “angle of approach” to a higher level of employment. I don’t think history gives us much reason to believe that they can. There are people who think that a recession, or at least a much weaker labor market, is the necessary cost of restoring price stability. That’s not a view I share, obviously, but it is intellectually coherent. The view that the Fed can engineer a gentle cooling that will bring down inflation while employment keeps rising, on the other hand, seems like wishful thinking.

That said, of the two realistic outcomes of tightening – no effect, or else a crisis – I think the first is more likely, unless they move quite a bit faster than they are right now. 

So what’s at stake then? If the Fed is doing what anyone in their position would do, and if it’s not likely to have much impact one way or another, why not make some approving noises, bank the respectability points, and move on? 

Four Good Reasons to Be Against Rate Hikes (and One that Isn’t)

I think that it’s a mistake to endorse or support monetary tightening. I’ll end this long post by summarizing my reasons. But first, let me stress that a commitment to keeping the federal funds rate at 0 is not one of those reasons. If the Fed were to set the overnight rate at some moderate positive level and then leave it there, I’d have no objection. In the mid-19th century, the Bank of France kept its discount rate at exactly 4 percent for something like 25 years. Admittedly 4 percent sounds a little high for the US today. But a fixed 2 percent for the next 25 years would probably be fine.

There are four reasons I think endorsing the Fed’s decision to hike is a mistake.

  1. First, most obviously, there is the risk of recession. If rates were at 2 percent today, I would not be calling for them to be cut. But raising them is a different story. Last week’s hike is no big deal in itself, but there will be another, and another, and another. I don’t know where the tipping point is, where hikes inflict enough financial distress to tip the economy into recession. But neither does the Fed. The faster they go, the sooner they’ll hit it. And given the long lags in monetary transmission, they probably won’t know until it’s too late. People are talking a lot lately about wage-price spirals, but that is far from the only positive feedback in a capitalist economy. Once a downturn gets started, with widespread business failures, defaults and disappointed investment plans, it’s much harder to reverse it than it would have been to maintain growth. 

I think many people see trusting the Fed to deal with inflation as the safe, cautious position. But the fact that a view is widely held doesn’t mean it is reasonable. It seems to me that counting on the Fed to pull off something that they’ve seldom if ever succeeded at before is not safe or cautious at all.5 Those of us who’ve been critical of rate hikes in the past should not be too quick to jump on the bandwagon now. There are plenty of voices calling on the Fed to move faster. It’s important that there also be some saying, slow down. 

2. Second, related to this, is a question I think anyone inclined to applaud hikes should be asking themselves: If high inflation means we need slower growth, higher unemployment and lower wages, where does that stop? Inflation may come down on its own over the next year — I still think this is more likely than not. But if it doesn’t come down on its own, the current round of rate hikes certainly isn’t going to do it. Looking again at the Fed’s FRB/US model, we see that a one point increase in the federal funds rate is  predicted to reduce inflation by about one-tenth of a point after one year, and about 0.15 points after two years. The OECD’s benchmark macro model make similar predictions: a sustained one-point increase in the interest rate in a given year leads to an 0.1 point fall in inflation the following year, an 0.3 fall in the third year and and an 0.5 point fall in the fourth year.

Depending which index you prefer, inflation is now between 3 and 6 points above target.6 If you think conventional monetary policy is what’s going to fix that, then either you must have have some reason to think its effects are much bigger than the Fed’s own models predict, or you must be imagining much bigger hikes than what we’re currently seeing. If you’re a progressive signing on to today’s hikes, you need to ask yourself if you will be on board with much bigger hikes if inflation stays high. “I hope it doesn’t come to that” is not an answer.

3. Third, embracing rate hikes validates the narrative that inflation is now a matter of generalized overheating, and that the solution has to be some form of across-the-board reduction in spending, income and wages. It reinforces the idea that pandemic-era macro policy has been a story of errors, rather than, on balance, a resounding success.

The orthodox view is that low unemployment, rising wages, and stronger bargaining power for workers are in themselves serious problems that need to be fixed. Look at how the news earlier this week of record-low unemployment claims got covered: It’s a dangerous sign of “wage inflation” that will “raise red flags at the Fed.”  Or the constant complaints by employers of “labor shortages” (echoed by Powell last week.) Saying that we want more employment and wage growth, just not right now, feels like trying to split the baby. There is not a path to a higher labor share that won’t upset business owners.

The orthodox view is that a big reason inflation was so intractable in the 1970s was that workers were also getting large raises. From this point of view, if wages are keeping pace with inflation, that makes the problem worse, and implies we need even more tightening. Conversely, if wages are falling behind, that’s good. Alternatively, you might think that the Powell was right before when he said the Phillips curve was flat, and that inflation today has little connection with unemployment and wages. In that case faster wage growth, so that living standards don’t fall, is part of the solution not the problem. Would higher wages right now be good, or bad? This is not a question on which you can be agnostic, or split the difference. I think anyone with broadly pro-worker politics needs to think very carefully before they accept the narrative of a wage-price spiral as the one thing to be avoided at all costs.

Similarly, if rate hikes are justified, then so must be other measures to reduce aggregate spending. The good folks over at the Committee for a Responsible Federal Budget just put out a piece arguing that student loan forbearance and expanded state Medicare and Medicaid funding ought to be ended, since they are inflationary. And you have to admit there’s some logic to that. If we agree that the economy is suffering from excessive demand, shouldn’t we support fiscal as well as monetary measures to reduce it? A big thing that rate hikes will do is raise interest payments by debtors, including student loan debtors. If that’s something we think ought to happen, we should think so when it’s brought about in other ways too. Conversely, if you don’t want to sign on to the CFRB program, you probably want to keep some distance from Powell.

4. Fourth and finally, reinforcing the idea that inflation control is the job of the Fed undermines the case for measures that actually would help with inflation. Paradoxical as it may sound, one reason it’s a mistake to endorse rate hikes is precisely because rising prices really are a problem. High costs of housing and childcare are a major burden for working families. They’re also a major obstacle to broader social goals (more people living in dense cities; a more equal division of labor within the family). Rate hikes move us away from the solution to these problems, not towards it. Most urgently and obviously, they are entirely unhelpful in the energy transition. Tell me if you think this is sensible: “Oil prices are rising, so we should discourage people from developing alternative energy sources”. But that is how conventional monetary policy works. 

The Biden administration has been strikingly consistent in articulating an alternative vision of inflation control – what some people call a progressive supply-side vision. In the State of the Union, for example, we heard:

We have a choice. One way to fight inflation is to drive down wages and make Americans poorer. I think I have a better idea … Make more cars and semiconductors in America. More infrastructure and innovation in America. …

First, cut the cost of prescription drugs. We pay more for the same drug produced by the same company in America than any other country in the world. Just look at insulin. … Insulin costs about $10 a vial to make. … But drug companies charge … up to 30 times that amount. …. Let’s cap the cost of insulin at $35 a month so everyone can afford it.7

Second, cut energy costs for families an average of $500 a year by combating climate change. Let’s provide investment tax credits to weatherize your home and your business to be energy efficient …; double America’s clean energy production in solar, wind and so much more; lower the price of electric vehicles,…

Of course weatherizing homes is not, by itself, going to have a big effect on inflation. But that’s the direction we should be looking in. If we’re serious about managing destructive price increases, we can’t leave the job to the Fed. We need to be looking for a mix of policies that directly limit price increases using  administrative tools, that cushion the impact of high prices on family budgets in the short run, and that deal with the supply constraints driving price increases in the long run. 

The interest rate hike approach is an obstacle to all this, both practically and ideologically. A big reason I’m disappointed to see progressives accepting  the idea that inflation equals rate hikes, is that there has been so much creative thinking about macroeconomic policy in recent years. What’s made this possible is increasing recognition that the neoliberal, central bank-centered model has failed. We have to decide now if we really believed that. Forward or backward? You can’t have it both ways.

Today’s Inflation Won’t be Solved by the Fed

(This post originally ran as an opinion piece in Barron’s.)

The U.S. today is experiencing inflation. This is not controversial. But what exactly does it mean?

In the textbook, inflation is a rise in all prices together, caused by an excessive increase in the money supply. But when we measure it, inflation is just a rise in the average price of goods and services. That average might reflect a uniform rise in prices due to excessive money creation. Or, as today, it might instead be the result of big rises in the prices of a few items, for their own reasons.

Over the past year, prices have risen by 7.5%, far above the usual 2% target set by the Federal Reserve. But 70% of that 5.5 points of excess inflation has come from two categories that make up just 15% of the consumption basket: energy (2 points) and new and used cars (1.9 points). Used cars alone make up barely 4% of the consumption basket, but accounted for a third of the excess inflation.

Some commentators have argued that inflation is just a matter of too much money. If that were true, it’s hard to see why so much of it would be flowing to cars. (And before you say cheap financing: Rates on auto loans were lower through most of the 2010s.)

In recent months, vehicle and energy prices have begun to stabilize, while food and housing prices have picked up. These price increases hit family budgets harder. A car purchase can usually be put off, but not rent or groceries. But this is still a story about specific sectors following their own dynamics.

Energy prices are global, and their periodic rise and fall depends mostly on the politics of oil-producing regions (as we are being reminded today). As recently as the summer of 2014, gas prices were higher than they are now, before falling precipitously. No doubt they will fall again, but in the short run there is not much to do about them—though it may be possible to shield people from their impact. In the longer run, decarbonization will leave us less vulnerable to the gyrations of the oil market.

As for vehicles, it’s no mystery why prices soared. Early in the pandemic, automakers expected a long period of depressed demand, and cut back production plans. When the economy bounced back rapidly, automakers found themselves short of key inputs, especially semiconductors. Combine this with a pandemic-induced shift in demand from services to goods, and you have a formula for rapid price increases. The effect was strongest for used cars, whose supply is essentially fixed in the short run.

Housing has made a smaller contribution so far—0.6 of the 5.5 points of excess inflation—but given the way the Bureau of Labor Statistics measures them, housing prices are likely to rise sharply over the coming year. This is a problem. But, it was also a big problem before the pandemic, when rents were rising by nearly 4% annually. Housing affordability is a serious issue in the U.S. But if the question is why inflation is higher today than in 2018 or 2019, housing is not the answer.

Finally, there are food prices, which have contributed about 0.7 points to excess inflation over the past year, and more in recent months. Food prices, like energy prices, are famously volatile; there’s a reason they are both excluded from the Fed’s measure of “core” inflation. They’re also an area where market power may be playing a major role, given the high concentration in food processing. Monopolies may be reluctant to fully exploit their power in normal times; price increases elsewhere in the economy give them a chance to widen their margins.

The great majority of the excess inflation over the past year has come from these four areas. Other sectors—including labor-intensive services where prices have historically risen more quickly—have contributed little or nothing.

The point is not that these price increases don’t matter. Food, housing and energy are necessities of life. People are naturally unhappy when they have to pay more for them. The point is that current price rises are not symptoms of economy-wide overheating.

Some of these prices, like autos, will come back down on their own as supply-chain kinks work themselves out. Others, like housing, will not, and call for a policy response. But that response is not raising interest rates, which would only make the problem worse. The main reason why housing costs are rising is that the U.S. does not build enough of it, especially in the expensive metro areas where employment opportunities are concentrated. Construction is one of the most interest-sensitive sectors of the economy. Rate hikes will cause supply to fall further short of demand.

Some might say that the Fed still controls the overall level of spending in the economy. If people spent less on used cars, wouldn’t they spend more on something else? This ignores the existence of balance sheets. Households hold cash, and finance many purchases—including cars—with debt. Lower used-car prices wouldn’t mean higher prices elsewhere, but higher household savings and less debt.

An inability to build housing where people want to live, dependence on fossil fuels, fragile supply chains and the monopolization of key industries: These are all serious economic problems. But they are not monetary-policy problems. Looking at them through the lens of a textbook story of inflation will not get us any closer to solving them.

 

No Maestros: Further Thoughts

One of the things we see in the questions of monetary policy transmission discussed in my Barron’s piece is the real cost of an orthodox economics education. If your vision of the economy is shaped by mainstream theory, it is impossible to think about what central banks actually do.

The models taught in graduate economics classes feature an “interest rate” that is the price of goods today in terms of identical goods in the future. Agents in these models are assumed to be able to freely trade off consumption today against consumption at any point in the future, and to distribute income from any time in the future over their lifetime as they see fit, subject only to the “no Ponzi” condition that over infinite time their spending must equal their income. This is a world, in other words, of infinite liquidity. There are no credit markets as such, only real goods at different dates.8

Monetary policy in this framework is then thought of in terms of changing the terms at which goods today trade for goods tomorrow, with the goal of keeping it at some “natural” level. It’s not at all clear how the central bank is supposed to set the terms of all these different transactions, or what frictions cause the time premium to deviate from the natural level, or whether the existence of those frictions might have broader consequences. 9 But there’s no reason to get distracted by this imaginary world, because it has nothing at all to do with what real central banks do.

In the real world, there are not, in general, markets where goods today trade for identical goods at some future date. But there are credit markets, which is where the price we call “the interest rate” is found. The typical transaction in a credit market is a loan — for example, a mortgage. A mortgage does not involve any trading-off of future against present income. Rather, it is income-positive for both parties in every period.

The borrower is getting a flow of housing services and making a flow of mortgage payments, both of which are the same in every period. Presumably they are getting more/better housing services for their mortgage payment than they would for an equivalent rental payment in every period (otherwise, they wouldn’t be buying the house.) Far from getting present consumption at the expense of future consumption, the borrower probably expects to benefit more from owning the house in the future, when rents will be higher but the mortgage payment is the same.

The bank, meanwhile, is getting more income in every period from the mortgage loan than it is paying to the holder of the newly-created deposit. No one associated with the bank is giving up any present consumption — the loan just involves creating two offsetting entries on the bank’s books. Both parties to the transaction are getting higher income over the whole life of the mortgage.

So no one, in the mortgage transaction, is trading off the present against the future. The transaction will raise the income of both sides in every period. So why not make more mortgages to infinity? Because what both parties are giving up in exchange for the higher income is liquidity. For the homeowner, the mortgage payments yield more housing services than equivalent rent payments, but they are also harder to adjust if circumstances change. Renting gives you less housing for your buck, but it’s easier to move if it turns out you’d rather live somewhere else. For the bank, the mortgage loan (its asset) carries a higher interest rate than the deposit (its liability), but involves the risk that the borrower will not repay, and also the risk that, in a crisis, ownership of the mortgage cannot be turned into immediate cashflows while the deposit is payable on demand.

In short, the fundamental tradeoff in credit markets – what the interest rate is the price of – is not less now versus more later, but income versus liquidity and safety.10

Money and credit are hierarchical. Bank deposits are an asset for us – they are money – but are a liability for banks. They must settle their own transactions with a different asset, which is a liability for the higher level of the system. The Fed sits at the top of this hierarchy. That is what makes its actions effective. It’s not that it can magically change the terms of every transaction that involves things happening at different dates. It’s that, because its liabilities are what banks use to settle their obligations to each other, it can influence how easy or difficult they find it to settle those liabilities and hence, how willing they are to take on the risk of expanding their balance sheets.

So when we think about the transmission of monetary policy, we have to think about two fundamental questions. First, how much do central bank actions change liquidity conditions within the financial system? And second, how much does real activity depends on the terms on which credit is available?

We might gloss this as supply and demand for credit. The mortgage, however, is typical of credit transactions in another way: It involves a change in ownership of an existing asset rather than the current production of goods and services. This is by far the most common case. So some large part of monetary policy transmission is presumably via changes in prices of assets rather than directly via credit-financed current production. 11 There are only small parts of the economy where production is directly sensitive to credit conditions.

One area where current production does seem to be sensitive to interest rates is housing construction. This is, I suppose, because on the one hand developers are not large corporations that can finance investment spending internally, and on the other hand land and buildings are better collateral than other capital goods. My impression – tho I’m getting well outside my area of expertise here – is that some significant part of construction finance is shorter maturity loans, where rates will be more closely linked to the policy rate. And then of course the sale price of the buildings will be influenced by prevailing interest rates as well. As a first approximation you could argue that this is the channel by which Fed actions influence the real economy. Or as this older but still compelling article puts it, “Housing IS the business cycle.”

Of course there are other possible channels. For instance, it’s sometimes argued that during the middle third of the 20th century, when reserve requirements really bound, changes in the quantity of reserves had a direct quantitative effect on the overall volume of lending, without the interest rate playing a central role one way or the other. I’m not sure how true this is — it’s something I’d like to understand better — but in any case it’s not relevant to monetary policy today. Robert Triffin argued that inventories of raw materials and imported commodities were likely to be financed with short term debt, so higher interest rates would put downward pressure on their prices specifically. This also is probably only of historical interest.

The point is, deciding how much, how quickly and how reliably changes in the central bank’s policy rate will affect real activity (and then, perhaps, inflation) would seem to require a fairly fine-grained institutional knowledge about the financial system and the financing needs of real activity. The models taught in graduate macroeconomics are entirely useless for this purpose. Even for people not immersed in academic macro, the fixation on “the” interest rate as opposed to credit conditions broadly is a real problem.

These are not new debates, of course. I’ve linked before to Juan Acosta’s fascinating article about the 1950s debates between Paul Samuelson and various economists associated with the Fed.12 The lines of debate then were a bit different from now, with the academic economists more skeptical of monetary policy’s ability to influence real economic outcomes. What Fed economist Robert Roosa seems to have eventually convinced Samuelson of, is that monetary policy works not so much through the interest rate — which then as now didn’t seem to have big effect on investment decision. It works rather by changing the willingness of banks to lend — what was then known as “the availability doctrine.” This is reflected in later editions of his textbook, which added an explanation of monetary policy in terms of credit rationing.

Even if a lender should make little or no change in the rate of interest that he advertises to his customers, there may probably still be the following important effect of “easy money.” …  the lender will now be rationing out credit much more liberally than would be the case if the money market were very tight and interest rates were tending to rise. … Whenever in what follows I speak of a lowering of interest rates, I shall also have in mind the equally important relaxation of the rationing of credit and general increase in the availability of equity and loan capital to business.

The idea that “the interest rate” is a metaphor or synecdoche for a broader easing of credit conditions is important step toward realism. But as so often happens, the nuance has gotten lost and the metaphor gets taken literally.

At Barron’s: There Are No Maestros

(A week ago, I had an opinion piece in Barron’s, which I am belatedly posting here. I talk a bit more about this topic in the following post.)

In today’s often acrimonious economic debates, one of the few common grounds is reverence for the Fed. Consider Jay Powell: First nominated to the Fed’s board of governors by President Obama, he was elevated to FOMC chair by Trump and renominated by Biden His predecessors Bernanke, Greenspan and Volcker were similarly first appointed by a president from one party, then reappointed by a president from the other. Politics stops at Maiden Lane.

There are disagreements about what the Fed should be doing — tightening policy to rein in inflation, or holding back to allow for a faster recovery. But few doubt that it’s the Fed’s job to make the choice, and that once they do, they can carry it out.

Perhaps, though, we should take a step back and ask if the Fed is really all-powerful. You might like to see inflation come down; I’d like to see stronger labor markets. But can the Fed give either of us what we want?

During the so-called Great Moderation, it was easy to have faith in the Fed. In the US, as in most rich countries, governments had largely turned over the job of macroeconomic management to independent central banks, and were enjoying an era of stable growth with low inflation. Magazine covers could, without irony, feature the Fed chair as  “Pope Greenspan and His College of Cardinals,” or (when the waters got choppier) the central figure in the “committee to save the world.”

Respectable opinion of the 1990s and 2000s was captured in a speech by Christina Romer (soon to be Obama’s chief economist), declaring that “the Federal Reserve, is directly responsible for the low inflation and the virtual disappearance of the business cycle in the last 25 years. …The story of stabilization policy of the last quarter century is one of amazing success.”

Romer delivered those words in late 2007. At almost exactly that moment, the US was entering its then-deepest recession since World War II.

The housing bubble and financial crisis raised some doubts about whether that success had been so amazing after all. The subsequent decade of slow growth and high unemployment, in the face of a Fed Funds rate of zero and multiple rounds of QE, should have raised more. Evidently the old medicine was no longer working – or perhaps had never worked as well as we thought.

In truth, there were always reasons for doubt.

One is that, as Milton Friedman famously observed, monetary policy acts with long and variable lags. A common  estimate is that the peak impact of monetary policy changes comes 18 to 24 months later, which is cripplingly slow for managing business cycles. Many people – including at the Fed – believe that today’s inflation is the transitory result of the pandemic. When the main effects of today’s tightening are felt two years from now, how confident are we that inflation will still be too high?

More fundamentally, there’s the question of what links monetary policy to inflation in the first place. Prices are, after all, set by private businesses; if they think it makes sense to raise prices, the Fed has no mind-control ray to convince them otherwise.

In the textbook story, changes in the Federal funds rate are passed through to other interest rates. A higher cost of borrowing discourages investment spending, reducing demand, employment and wages, which in turn puts downward pressure on prices. This was always a bit roundabout; today, it’s not clear that critical links in the chain function at all.

Business investment is financed with long-term debt; the average maturity of a corporate bond is about 13 years. But long rates don’t seem particularly responsive to the Federal funds rate. Between Fall 2015 and Spring 2019, for example, the Fed raised its policy rate by 2.5 points. Over this same period, the 10-year Treasury rate was essentially unchanged, and corporate bond yields actually fell. Earlier episodes show a similar non-response of long rates to Fed actions.

Nor is it obvious that business investment is particularly sensitive to interest rates, even long ones. One recent survey of the literature by Fed economists finds that hurdle rates for new investment “exhibit no apparent relation to market interest rates.”

Former Fed chair Ben Bernanke puzzled over “the black box” of monetary policy transmission. If it doesn’t move interest rates on the long-term debt that businesses mostly issue, and if even longer rates have no detectable effect on investment, how exactly is monetary policy affecting demand and inflation? It was a good question, to which no one has offered a very good answer.

To be sure, no one would claim that the Fed is powerless. Raise rates enough, and borrowers unable to roll over their loans will face default; as asset values fall and balance sheets weaken, households will have no choice but to drastically curtail consumption.

But being able to sink a ship is not the same as being able to steer it. The fact that the Fed can, if it tries hard enough, trigger a recession, does not mean that it can maintain steady growth. Perhaps it’s time to admit that there are no central banking “maestros” who know the secret of maintaining full employment and price stability. Balancing these critical social objectives requires a variety of tools, not just a single interest rate. And it is, for better or worse, the responsibility of our elected governments.

Alternative Visions of Inflation

Like many people, I’ve been thinking a bit about inflation lately. One source of confusion, it seems to me, is that underlying concept has shifted in a rather fundamental way, but the full implications of this shift haven’t been taken on board.

I was talking with my Roosevelt colleague Lauren Melodia about inflation and alternative policies to manage it, which is a topic I hope Roosevelt will be engaging in more in the later part of this year. In the course of our conversation, it occurred to me that there’s a basic source of confusion about inflation. 

Many of our ideas about inflation originated in the context of a fixed quantity money. The original meaning of the term “inflation” was an increase in the stock of money, not a general increase in the price level. Over there you’ve got a quantity of stuff; over here you’ve got a quantity of money. When the stock of money grows rapidly and outpaces the growth of stuff, that’s inflation.

 In recent decades, even mainstream economists have largely abandoned the idea of the money stock as a meaningful economic quantity, and especially the idea that there is a straightforward relationship between money and inflation.

Here is what a typical mainstream macroeconomics textbook — Olivier Blanchard’s, in this case; but most are similar — says about inflation today. (You can just read the lines in italics.) 

There are three stories about inflation here: one based on expected inflation, one based on markup pricing, and one based on unemployment. We can think of these as corresponding to three kinds of inflation in the real world — inertial, supply-driven, and demand-driven. What there is not, is any mention of money. Money comes into the story only in the way that it did for Keynes: as an influence on the interest rate. 

To be fair, the book does eventually bring up the idea of a direct link between the money supply and inflation, but only to explain why it is obsolete and irrelevant for the modern world:

Until the 1980s, the strategy was to choose a target rate of money growth and to allow for deviations from that target rate as a function of activity. The rationale was simple. A low target rate of money growth implied a low average rate of inflation. … 

That strategy did not work well.

First, the relation between money growth and inflation turned out to be far from tight, even in the medium run. … Second, the relation between the money supply and the interest rate in the short run also turned out also to be unreliable. …

Throughout the 1970s and 1980s, frequent and large shifts in money demand created serious problems for central banks. … Starting in the early 1990s, a dramatic rethinking of monetary policy took place based on targeting inflation rather than money growth, and the use of an interest rate rule.

Obviously, I don’t endorse everything in the textbook.13 (The idea of a tight link between unemployment and inflation is not looking much better than the idea of a tight link between inflation and the money supply.) I bring it up here just to establish that the absence of a link between money growth and inflation is not radical or heterodox, but literally the textbook view.

One way of thinking about the first Blanchard passage above is that the three stories about inflation correspond to three stories about price setting. Prices may be set based on expectations of where prices will be, or prices may be set based on market power (the markup), or prices may be set based on costs of production. 

This seems to me to be the beginning of wisdom with respect to inflation: Inflation is just an increase in prices, so for every theory of price setting there’s a corresponding theory of inflation. There is wide variation in how prices get set across periods, countries and markets, so there must be a corresponding variety of inflations. 

Besides the three mentioned by Blanchard, there’s one other story that inflation is perhaps even more widespread. We could call this too much spending chasing too little production. 

The too-much-spending view of inflation corresponds to a ceiling on output, rather than a floor on unemployment, as the inflationary barrier. As the NAIRU has given way to potential output as the operational form of supply constraints on macroeconomic policy, this understanding of inflation has arguably become the dominant one, even if without formalization in textbooks. It overlaps with the unemployment story in making current demand conditions a key driver of inflation, even if the transmission mechanism is different. 

Superfically “too much spending relative to production” sounds a lot like “too money relative to goods.” (As to a lesser extent does “too much wage growth relative to productivity growth.”) But while these formulations sound similar, they have quite different implications. Intuitions formed by the old quantity-of-money view don’t work for the new stories.

The older understanding of inflation, which runs more or less unchanged from David Hume through Irving Fisher to Milton Friedman and contemporary monetarists, goes like this. There’s a stock of goods, which people can exchange for their mutual benefit. For whatever reasons, goods don’t exchange directly for other goods, but only for money. Money in turn is only used for purchasing goods. When someone receives money in exchange for a good, they turn around and spend it on some good themselves — not instantly, but after some delay determined by the practical requirements of exchange. (Imagine you’ve collected your earnings from your market stall today, and can take them to spend at a different market tomorrow.) The total amount of money, meanwhile, is fixed exogenously — the quantity of gold in circulation, or equivalently the amount of fiat tokens created by the government via its central bank.

Under these assumptions, we can write the familiar equation

MV = PY

If Y, the level of output, is determined by resources, technology and other “real” factors, and V is a function of the technical process of exchange — how long must pass between the receipt of money and it spending — then we’re left with a direct relationship between the change in M and the change in P. “Inflation is always and everywhere a monetary phenomenon.”14

I think something like this underlies most folk wisdom about inflation. And as is often the case, the folk wisdom has outlived whatever basis in reality it may once have had.15

Below, I want to sketch out some ways in which the implications of the excessive-spending-relative-to-production vision of inflation are importantly different from those of the excessive-money-relative-to-goods vision. But first, a couple of caveats.

First, the idea of a given or exogenous quantity of money isn’t wrong a priori, as a matter of logic; it’s an approximation that happens not to fit the economy in which we live. Exactly what range of historical settings it does fit is a tricky question, which I would love to see someone try to answer. But I think it’s safe to say that many important historical inflations, both under metallic and fiat regimes, fit comfortably enough in a monetarist framework. 

Second, the fact that the monetarist understanding of inflation is wrong (at least for contemporary advanced economies) doesn’t mean that the modern mainstream view is right. There is no reason to think there is one general theory of inflation, any more than there is one general etiology of a fever. Lots of conditions can produce the same symptom. In general, inflation is a persistent, widespread rise in prices, so for any theory of price-setting there’s a corresponding theory of inflation. And the expectations-based propagation mechanism of inertial inflation — where prices are raised in the expectation that prices will rise — is compatible with many different initial inflationary impulses. 

That said — here are some important cleavages between the two visions.

1. Money vs spending. More money is just more money, but more spending is always more spending on something in particular. This is probably the most fundamental difference. When we think of inflation in terms of money chasing a given quantity of goods, there is no connection between a change in the quantity of money and a change in individual spending decisions. But when we think of it in terms of spending, that’s no longer true — a decision to spend more is a decision to spend more on some specific thing. People try to carry over intuitions from the former case to the latter, but it doesn’t work. In the modern version, you can’t tell a story about inflation rising that doesn’t say who is trying to buy more of what; and you can’t tell a story about controlling inflation without saying whose spending will be reduced. Spending, unlike money, is not a simple scalar.

The same goes for the wages-markup story of the textbook. In the model, there is a single wage and a single production process. But in reality, a fall in unemployment or any other process that “raises the wage” is raising the wages of somebody in particular.

2. Money vs prices. There is one stock of money, but there are many prices, and many price indices. Which means there are many ways to measure inflation. As I mentioned above, inflation was originally conceived of as definitionally an increase in the quantity of money. Closely related to this is the idea of a decrease in the purchasing power of money, a definition which is still sometimes used. But a decrease in the value of money is not the same as an increase in the prices of goods and services, since money is used for things other than purchasing goods and services.  (Merijn Knibbe is very good on this.16) Even more problematically, there are many different goods and services, whose prices don’t move in unison. 

This wasn’t such a big deal for the old concept of inflation, since one could say that all else equal, a one percent increase in the stock of money would imply an additional point of inflation, without worrying too much about which specific prices that showed up in. But in the new concept, there’s no stock of money, only the price changes themselves. So picking the right index is very important. The problem is, there are many possible price indexes, and they don’t all move in unison. It’s no secret that inflation as measured by the CPI averages about half a point higher than that measured by the PCE. But why stop there? Those are just two of the infinitely many possible baskets of goods one could construct price indexes for. Every individual household, every business, every unit of government has their own price index and corresponding inflation rate. If you’ve bought a used car recently, your personal inflation rate is substantially higher than that of people who haven’t. We can average these individual rates together in various ways, but that doesn’t change the fact that there is no true inflation rate out there, only the many different price changes of different commodities.

3. Inflation and relative prices. In the old conception, money is like water in a pool. Regardless of where you pour it in, you get the same rise in the overall level of the pool.

Inflation conceived of in terms of spending doesn’t have that property. First, for the reason above — more spending is always more spending on something. If, let’s say for sake of argument, over-generous stimulus payments are to blame for rising inflation, then the inflation must show up in the particular goods and services that those payments are being used to purchase — which will not be a cross-section of output in general. Second, in the new concept, we are comparing desired spending not to a fixed stock of commodities, but to the productive capacity of the economy. So it matters how elastic output is — how easily production of different goods can be increased in response to stronger demand. Prices of goods in inelastic supply — rental housing, let’s say — will rise more in response to stronger demand, while prices of goods supplied elastically — online services, say — will rise less. It follows that inflation, as a concrete phenomenon, will involve not an across-the-board increase in prices, but a characteristic shift in relative prices.

This is a different point than the familiar one that motivates the use of “core” inflation — that some prices (traditionally, food and energy) are more volatile or noisy, and thus less informative about sustained trends. It’s that  when spending increases, some goods systematically rise in price faster than others.

This recent paper by Stock and Watson, for example, suggests that housing, consumer durables and food have historically seen prices vary strongly with the degree of macroeconomic slack, while prices for gasoline, health care, financial services, clothing and motor vehicles do not, or even move the opposite way. They suggest that the lack of a cyclical component in health care and finance reflect the distinct ways that prices are set (or imputed) in those sectors, while the lack of a cyclical component in gas, clothing and autos reflects the fact that these are heavily traded goods whose prices are set internationally. This interpretation seems plausible enough, but if you believe these numbers they have a broader implication: We should not think of cyclical inflation as an across the board increase in prices, but rather as an increase in the price of a fairly small set of market-priced, inelastically supplied goods relative to others.

4. Inflation and wages. As I discussed earlier in the post, the main story about inflation in today’s textbooks is the Phillips curve relationship where low unemployment leads to accelerating inflation. Here it’s particularly clear that today’s orthodoxy has abandoned the quantity-of-money view without giving up the policy conclusions that followed from it.

In the old monetarist view, there was no particular reason that lower unemployment or faster wage growth should be associated with higher inflation. Wages were just one relative price among others. A scarcity of labor would lead to higher real wages, while an exogenous increase in wages would lead to lower employment. But absent a change in the money supply, neither should have any effect on the overall price level. 

It’s worth noting here that altho Milton Friedman’s “natural rate of unemployment” is often conflated with the modern NAIRU, the causal logic is completely different. In Friedman’s story, high inflation caused low unemployment, not the reverse. In the modern story, causality runs from lower unemployment to faster wage growth to higher inflation. In the modern story, prices are set as a markup over marginal costs. If the markup is constant, and all wages are part of marginal cost, and all marginal costs are wages, then a change in wages will just be passed through one to one to inflation.

We can ignore the stable markup assumption for now — not because it is necessarily reasonable, but because it’s not obvious in which direction it’s wrong. But if we relax the other assumptions, and allow for non-wage costs of production and fixed wage costs, that unambiguously implies that wage changes are passed through less than one for one to prices. If production inputs include anything other than current labor, then low unemployment should lead to a mix of faster inflation and faster real wage growth. And why on earth should we expect anything else? Why shouldn’t the 101 logic of “reduced supply of X leads to a higher relative price of X” be uniquely inapplicable to labor?17

There’s an obvious political-ideological reason why textbooks should teach that low unemployment can’t actually make workers better off. But I think it gets a critical boost in plausibility — a papering-over of the extreme assumptions it rests on — from intuitions held over from the old monetarist view. If inflation really was just about faster money growth, then the claim that it leaves real incomes unchanged could work as a reasonable first approximation. Whereas in the markup-pricing story it really doesn’t. 

5. Inflation and the central bank.  In the quantity-of-money vision, it’s obvious why inflation is the special responsibility of the central bank. In the textbooks, managing the supply of money is often given as the first defining feature of a central bank. Clearly, if inflation is a function of the quantity of money, then primary responsibility for controlling it needs to be in the hands of whoever is in charge of the money supply, whether directly, or indirectly via bank lending. 

But here again, it seems, to me, the policy conclusion is being asked to bear weight even after the logical scaffolding supporting it has been removed. 

Even if we concede for the sake of argument that the central bank has a special relationship with the quantity of money, it’s still just one of many influences on the level of spending. Indeed, when we think about all the spending decisions made across the economy, “at one interest rate will I borrow the funds for it” is going to be a central consideration in only a few of them. Whether our vision of inflation is too much spending relative to the productive capacity of the economy, or wages increasing faster than productivity, many factors are going to play a role beyond interest rates or central bank actions more broadly. 

One might believe that compared with other macro variables, the policy interest rate has a uniquely strong and reliable link to the level of spending and/or wage growth; but almost no one, I think, does believe this. The distinct responsibility of the central bank for inflation gets justified not on economic grounds but political-institutional ones: the central bank can act more quickly than the legislature, it is free of undue political influence, and so on. These claims may or may not be true, but they have nothing in particular to do with inflation. One could justify authority over almost any area of macroeconomic policy on similar grounds.

Conversely, once we fully take on board the idea that the central bank’s control over inflation runs through to the volume of credit creation to the level of spending (and then perhaps via unemployment to wage growth), there is no basis for the distinction between monetary policy proper and other central bank actions. All kinds of regulation and lender-of-last-resort operations equally change the volume and direction of credit creation, and so influenced aggregate spending just as monetary policy in the narrow sense does.

6. The costs of inflation. If inflation is a specifically monetary phenomenon, the costs of inflation presumably involve the use of money. The convenience of quoting relative prices in money becomes a problem when the value of money is changing.

An obvious example is the fixed denominations of currency — monetarists used to talk with about “shoe leather costs” — the costs of needing to go more frequently to the bank (as one then did) to restock on cash. A more consequential example is public incomes or payments fixed in money terms. As recently as the 1990s, one could find FOMC members talking about bracket creep and eroded Social Security payments as possible costs of higher inflation — albeit with some embarrassment, since the schedules of both were already indexed by then. More broadly, in an economy organized around money payments, changes in what a given flow of money can buy will create problems. Here’s one way to think about these problems:

Social coordination requires a mix of certainty and flexibility. It requires economic units to make all kinds of decisions in anticipation of the choices of other units — we are working together; my plans won’t work out if you can change yours too freely. But at the same time, you need to have enough space to adapt to new developments — as with train cars, there needs to be some slack in the coupling between economic unit for things to run smoothly. One dimension of this slack is the treatment of some extended period as if it were a single instant.

This is such a basic, practical requirements of contracting and management that we hardly think about it. For example, budgets — most organizations budget for periods no shorter than a quarter, which means that as far as internal controls and reporting are concerned, anything that happens within that quarter happens at the same time.18Similarly, invoices normally require payment in 30 or 60 days, thus treating shorter durations as instantaneous. Contracts of all kinds are signed for extended periods on fixed money terms. All these arrangements assume that the changes in prices over a few months or a year are small enough that they can be safely ignored.can be modified when inflation is high enough to make the fiction untenable that 30, 60 or 90 days is an instant. Social coordination strongly benefits from the convention that shorter durations can be ignored for most periods, which means people behave in practice as if they expect inflation over such shorter periods to be zero.

Axel Leijonhufvud’s mid-70s piece on inflation is one of the most compelling accounts of this kinds of cost of inflation — the breakdown of social coordination — that I have seen. For him, the stability of money prices is the sine qua non of decentralized coordination through markets. 

In largely nonmonetary economies, important economic rights and obligations will be inseparable from particularized relationships of social status and political allegiance and will be in some measure permanent, inalienable and irrevocable. … In monetary exchange systems, in contrast, the value to the owner of an asset derives from rights, privileges, powers and immunities against society generally rather than from the obligation of some particular person. …

Neoclassical theories rest on a set of abstractions that separate “economic” transactions from the totality of social and political interactions in the system. For a very large set of problems, this separation “works”… But it assumes that the events that we make the subject of … the neoclassical model of the “economic system” do not affect the “social-political system” so as … to invalidate the institutional ceteris paribus clauses of that model. …

 Double-digit inflation may label a class of events for which this assumption is a bad one. … It may be that … before the “near-neutral” adjustments can all be smoothly achieved, society unlearns to use money confidently and reacts by restrictions on “the circles people shall serve, the prices they shall charge, and the goods they can buy.”

One important point here is that inflation has a much greater impact than in conventional theory because of the price-stability assumption incorporated into any contract that is denominated in money terms and not settled instantly — which is to say, pretty much any contract. So whatever expectations of inflation people actually hold, the whole legal-economic system is constructed in a way that makes it behave as if inflation expectations were biased toward zero:

The price stability fiction — a dollar is a dollar is a dollar — is as ingrained in our laws as if it were a constitutional principle. Indeed, it may be that no real constitutional principle permeates the Law as completely as does this manifest fiction.

The market-prices-or-feudalism tone of this seems more than a little overheated from today’s perspective, and when Arjun and I asked him about this piece a few years ago, he seemed a bit embarrassed by it. But I still think there is something to it. Market coordination, market rationality, the organization of productive activity through money payments and commitments, really does require the fiction of a fixed relationship between quantities of money and real things. There is some level of inflation at which this is no longer tenable.

So I have no problem with the conventional view that really high inflations — triple digits and above — can cause far-reaching breakdowns in social coordination. But this is not relevant to the question of inflation of 1 or 2 or 5 or probably even 10 percent. 

In this sense, I think the mainstream paradoxically both understates and overstates the real costs of inflation. They exaggerate the importances of small differences in inflation. But at the same time, because they completely naturalize the organization of life through markets, they are unable to talk about the possibility that it could break down.

But again, this kind of breakdown of market coordination is not relevant for the sorts of inflation seen in the United States or other rich countries in modern times. 

It’s easier to talk about the costs (and benefits) of inflation when we see it as a change in relative prices, and redistribution of income and wealth. If inflation is typically a change in relative prices, then the costs are experienced by those whose incomes rise more slowly than their payments. Keynes emphasized this point in an early article on “Social Consequences of a Change in the Value of Money.”19

A change in the value of money, that is to say in the level of prices, is important to Society only in so far as its incidence is unequal. Such changes have produced in the past, and are producing now, the vastest social consequences, because, as we all know, when the value of money changes, it does not change equally for all persons or for all purposes. … 

Keynes sees the losers from inflation as passive wealth owners, while the winners are active businesses and farmers; workers may gain or lose depending on the degree to which they are organized. For this reason, he sees moderate inflation as being preferable to moderate deflation, though both as evils to be avoided — until well after World War II, the goal of price stability meant what it said.

Let’s return for a minute to the question of wages. As far as I can tell, the experience in modern inflations is that wage changes typically lag behind prices. If you plot nominal wage growth against inflation, you’ll see a clear positive relationship, but with a slope well below 1. This might seem to contradict what I said under point 4. But my point there was that insofar as inflation is driven by increased worker bargaining power, it should be associated with faster real wage growth. In fact, the textbook is wrong not just on logic but on facts. In principle, a wage-driven inflation would see a rise in real wage. But most real inflations are not wage-driven.

In practice, the political costs of inflation are probably mostly due to a relatively small number of highly salient prices. 

7. Inflation and production. The old monetarist view had a fixed quantity of money confronting a fixed quantity of goods, with the price level ending up at whatever equated them. As I mentioned above, the fixed-quantity-of-money part of this has been largely abandoned by modern mainstream as well as heterodox economists. But what about the other side? Why doesn’t more spending call forth more production?

The contemporary mainstream has, it seems to me, a couple ways of answering the question. One is the approach of a textbook like Blanchard’s. There, higher spending does lead to to higher employment and output and lower unemployment. But unless unemployment is at a single unique level — the NAIRU — inflation will rise or fall without limit. It’s exceedingly hard to find anything that looks like a NAIRU in the data, as critics have been pointing out for a long time. Even Blanchard himself rejects it when he’s writing for central bankers rather than undergraduates. 

There’s a deeper conceptual problem as well. In this story, there is a tradeoff between unemployment and inflation. Unemployment below the NAIRU does mean higher real output and income. The cost of this higher output is an inflation rate that rises steadily from year to year. But even if we believed this, we might ask, how much inflation acceleration is too much? Can we rule out that a permanently higher level of output might be worth a slowly accelerating inflation rate?

Think about it: In the old days, the idea that the price level could increase without limit was considered crazy. After World War II, the British government imposed immense costs on the country not just to stabilize inflation, but to bring the price level back to its prewar level. In the modern view, this was crazy — the level of prices is completely irrelevant. The first derivative of prices — the inflation rate — is also inconsequential, as long as it is stable and predictable. But the second derivative — the change in the rate of inflation — is apparently so consequential that it must be kept at exactly zero at all costs. It’s hard to find a good answer, or indeed any answer, for why this should be so.

The more practical mainstream answer is to say, rather than that there is a tradeoff between unemployment and inflation with one unambiguously best choice, but that there is no tradeoff. In this story, there is a unique level of potential output (not a feature of the textbook model) at which the relationship between demand, unemployment and inflation changes. Below potential, more spending calls forth more production and employment; above potential, more spending only calls forth higher inflation. This looks better as a description of real economies, particular given that the recent experience of long periods of elevated unemployment that have not, contrary to the NAIRU prediction, resulted in ever-accelerating deflation. But it begs the question of why should be such a sharp line.

The alternative view would be that investment, technological change, and other determinants of “potential output” also respond to demand. Supply constraints, in this view, are better thought of in terms of the speed with which supply can respond to demand, rather than an absolute ceiling on output.

Well, this post has gotten too long, and has been sitting in the virtual drawer for quite a while as I keep adding to it. So I am going to break off here. But it seems to me that this is where the most interesting conversations around inflation are going right now — the idea that supply constraints are not absolute but respond to demand with varying lags — that inflation should be seen as often a temporary cost of adjustment to a new higher level of capacity. And the corollary, that anti-inflation policy should aim at identifying supply constraints as much as, or more than, restraining demand. 

The Natural Rate of Interest?

(A year ago, I mentioned that Arjun Jayadev were writing a book about money. The project was then almost immediately derailed by covid, but we’ve recently picked it up again. I’ve decided to post some of what we’re writing here. Plucked from its context, it may be a bit unclear both where this piece is coming from and where it is going.)

The problem of interest rates is one of the key fissures between the vision of the economy in terms of the exchange of real stuff and and the reality of a web of money payments. Like a flat map laid over a globe, a rigid ideological vision can be made to lie reasonably smoothly over reality in some places only at the cost of ripping or crumpling elsewhere; the interest rate is one of the places that rips in the smooth fabric of economics most often occur. As such, it’s been a central problem since the emergence of economics as a distinct body of thought. How does the “real” rate determined by saving and investment demand get translated into the terms set for the exchange of IOUs between the bank and its customer?

One straightforward resolution to the problem is simply to deny that money plays a role in the determination of the interest rate. David Hume’s central argument in his essay “On Interest” (one of the first discussions within the genealogy of modern economics) was that changes in the supply of money do not affect the interest rate.20 

High interest arises from three circumstances: A great demand for borrowing; little riches to supply that demand; and great profits arising from commerce: And these circumstances are a clear proof of the small advance of commerce and industry, not of the scarcity of gold and silver… Those who have asserted, that the plenty of money was the cause of low interest, seem to have taken a collateral effect for a cause….  though both these effects, plenty of money and low interest, naturally arise from commerce and industry, they are altogether independent of each other. 

“Riches” here means real, material wealth, so this is an early statement of what we would today call the loanable-funds view of interest rates. Similar strong claims have been taken up by some of today’s more doctrinaire classical economists, in the form of what is known as neo-Fisherism. If the “real” rate, in the sense of the interest rate adjusted for inflation, is set by the fundamentals of preferences and technology, then central bank actions must change only the nominal rate. This implies that when the central bank raises the nominal interest rate, that must cause inflation to rise — not to fall, as almost everyone (including the central bankers!) believes. Or as Minneapolis Federal Reserve president Narayana Kocherlakota put it, if we believe that money is neutral, then “over the long run, a low fed funds rate must lead to … deflation.”21 This view is, not surprisingly, also popular among libertarians.

The idea that monetary influences on the interest rate are canceled out by changes in inflation had a superficial logic to it when those influences were imagined as a literal change in the quantity of money — of the relative “scarcity of gold and silver,” as Hume put it. If we imagine expansionary monetary policy as an increase in the fixed stock of money, then it might initially make money more available via loans, but over time as that money was spent, it would lead to a general rise in prices, leaving the real stock of money back where it started. 

But in a world where the central bank, or the private banking system, is setting an interest rate rather than a stock of money, this mechanism no longer works. More money, plus higher prices, leaves the real stock of money unchanged. But low nominal rates, plus a higher rate of inflation, leaves the real interest rate even lower. In a world where there is a fixed, central bank-determined money stock, the inflation caused by over-loose policy will cancel out that policy. But when the central bank is setting an interest rate, the inflation caused by over-loose policy implies an even lower real rate, making  the error even worse. For the real rate to be ultimately unaffected by monetary policy, low interest rates must somehow lead to lower inflation. But it’s never explained how this is supposed to come about. 

Most modern economists are unwilling to outright deny that central banks or the financial system can affect the rate of interest.22 Among other things, the privileged role of the central bank as macroeconomic manager is a key prop of policy orthodoxy, essential to stave off the possibility of other more intrusive forms of intervention. Instead, the disjuncture between the monetary interest rate observable in credit markets and the intertemporal interest rate of theory is papered over by the notion of the “natural” interest rate.

This idea, first formulated around the turn of the 20th century by Swedish economist Knut Wicksell, is that while banks can set any interest rate they want, there is only one interest rate consistent with stable prices and, more broadly, appropriate use of society’s resources. It is this rate, and not necessarily the interest rate that obtains at any given moment, that is set by the nonmonetary fundamentals of the economy, and that corresponds to the intertemporal exchange rate of theory. In the classic formulation of Milton Friedman, the natural rate of interest, with its close cousin the natural rate of unemployment, correspond to the rates that would be “ground out by the Walrasian system of general equilibrium equations, provided there is imbedded in them the actual structural characteristics of the labor and commodity markets, including market imperfections, stochastic variability in demands and supplies, the cost of gathering information about job vacancies and labor availabilities, the costs of mobility, and so on.”

The natural rate of interest is exactly the rate that you would calculate from a model of a rational individual trading off present against future — provided that the model was actually a completely different one.

Despite its incoherence, Friedman’s concept of the natural rate has had a decisive influence on economic thinking about interest in the 50 years since. His 1968 Presidential Address to the American Economics Association introducing the concept (from which the quote above comes) has been called “very likely the most influential article ever published in an economics journal” (James Tobin); “the most influential article written in macroeconomics in the past two decades” (Robert Gordon); “one of the decisive intellectual achievements of postwar economics” (Paul Krugman); “easily the most influential paper on macroeconomics published in the post-war era” (Mark Blaug and Robert Skidelsky). 23 The appeal of the concept is clear: It provides a bridge between the nonmonetary world of intertemporal exchange of economic theory, and the monetary world of credit contracts in which we actually live. In so doing, it turns the intertemporal story from a descriptive one to a prescriptive one — from an account of how interest rates are determined, to a story about how central banks should conduct monetary policy.

To understand the ideological function of R*, it’s useful to look at a couple of typical examples of how it’s used in mediating between the needs of managing a monetary economy and the real-exchange vision through which that economy is  imagined.

A 2018 speech by Fed Chair Jerome Powell is a nice example of how monetary policy practitioners think of the natural rate. He  introduces the idea of R* with the statement that “In conventional models of the economy, major economic quantities such as inflation, unemployment, and the growth rate of gross domestic product (GDP) fluctuate around values that are considered ‘normal,’ or ‘natural,’ or ‘desired.’” The slippage between the three last quoted terms is a ubiquitous and essential feature of discussions of R*. Like the controlled slipping between the two disks of a clutch in a car, it allows systems moving in quite different ways to be joined up without either fracturing from the stress. The ambiguity between these meanings is itself normal, natural and desired.

In a monetary policy context, Powell continues, these values are operationalized as “views on the longer-run normal values for the growth rate of GDP, the unemployment rate, and the federal funds rate.” Powell immediately glosses this as  “fundamental structural features of the economy …  such as the ‘natural rate of unemployment’.” Here again, we see a move from something that is expected to be true on average, to something that is a “fundamental structural feature” presumably linked to things like technology and demographics, and then to the term “natural”, which implies that these fundamental structures are produced by some quite different process than the network of money payments managed by the Fed. The term “natural” of course also implies beyond human control, and indeed, Powell says that these values “are not … chosen by anyone”. In the conventions of modeling, such natural, neutral, long-run, unchosen values are denoted with stars, so along with R* there is U* and a bevy of starred Greek letters. 

Powell, to be fair, goes on to talk about how difficult it is to navigate by these stars in practice, and criticizes his predecessors who were too quick to raise interest rates based on hazy, imprecise ideas of the natural rate of unemployment. But there’s a difference between saying the stars are hard to see, and that they are not there at all. He has not (or, plausibly, assumes his audience has not) escaped the scholastic and tautological habit of interpreting any failure of interest rate changes to deliver the expected result as a sign that the natural rate was different than expected.

It is, of course true, that if there is any stable relationship between the policy rate controlled by the Fed and a target like GDP or unemployment, then at any particular moment there is presumably some interest rate which would move that target to its desired level. But the fact that an action can produce a desired result doesn’t make it “natural” in any sense, or an unchanging structural feature of the world.

Powell, a non-economist, doesn’t make any particular effort to associate his normal or natural values with any particular theoretical model. But the normal and natural next step is to identify “fundamental structural features” of the world with the parameters of a non monetary model of real exchange among rational agents. Indeed, in the world of macroeconomics theory, that is what “deep structural parameters” mean. In the usage of Robert Lucas and his followers, which has come to dominate academic macroeconomics, structural parameters are those that describe the rational choices of agents based only on their preferences and the given, objective production function describing the economy. There’s no reason to think Powell has this narrower meaning in mind, but it’s precisely the possibility of mapping these meanings onto each other that allows the “natural rate” and its cousins to perform their ideological role.

For an example of that next step, let’s turn to a recent report from the Centre for Economic Policy Research, which assembles work by leading European macroeconomists. As with Powell’s speech, the ideological understanding of the natural rate is especially striking here because much of the substantive policy argument being made is so reasonable — fiscal policy is important, raising interest rates makes public debt problems worse, the turn to austerity after great financial crisis was a mistake. 

The CEPR economists begin with the key catechism of the real-exchange view of interest: “At its most basic level, the interest rate is the ‘price of time’ — the remuneration for postponing spending into the future.” R*, in other words, is a rate of interest determined by purely non monetary factors — it should be unaffected by developments in the financial system. This non monetary rate, 

while unobservable … provides a useful guidepost for monetary policy as it captures the level of the interest rate at which monetary policy can be considered neutral … when the economy runs below potential, pushing actual real policy rates sufficiently below R* makes policy expansionary. 

The notion of an unobservable guidepost doesn’t seem to have given the CEPR authors any pause, but it perfectly distills the contradiction embodied in the idea of R*. Yes, we can write down a model in which everyone has a known income over all future time, and with no liquidity constraints can freely trade future against present income without the need for specialized intermediaries. And we can then ask, given various parameters, what the going rate would be when trading goods at some future date for the same goods today. But given that we live in a world where the future is uncertain, where liquidity constraints are ubiquitous, and where a huge specialized financial system exists to overcome them, how do we pick one such model and say that it somehow corresponds to the real world?

And even if we somehow picked one, why would the intertemporal exchange rate in that world be informative for the appropriate level of interest rates in our own, given that the model abstracts away from the features that make monetary policy necessary and possible in the first place? In the world of the natural rate, there is no possibility for the economy to ever “run below potential” (or above it). Nor would there be any way for a single institution like a central bank to simultaneously change the terms of all those myriad private exchanges of present for future goods. 

Michael Woodford, whose widely-used graduate textbook Interest and Prices is perhaps the most influential statement of this way of thinking about monetary policy is, unusually, at least conscious of this problem. He notes that most accounts of monetary policy treat it as if the central bank is simply able to fix the price of all loan transactions, but it’s not clear how it does this or where it gets the power to do so. His answers to this question are not very satisfactory. But at least he sees the problem; the vast majority of people using this framework breeze right past it.

The CEPR writers, for instance, arrive at a definition of the natural rate as 

the real rate of interest that, averaged over the business cycle, balances the supply and demand of loanable funds, while keeping aggregate demand in line with potential output to prevent undue inflationary or deflationary pressure.

This definition simply jams together the intertemporal “interest rate” of the imagined non monetary world, with the interest rate target for monetary policy, without establishing any actual link between them. (Here again we see the natural rate as the clutch between theory and policy.) “Loanable funds” are supposed to be the real goods that their owners don’t currently want, which they agree to let someone else use.  The “while” conjunction suggests that clearing the loanable-funds market and price stability are two different criteria — that there could in principle be an interest rate that keep output at potential and inflation on target, but failed to clear the market for loanable funds. But what could this mean? Are there any observable facts about the world that would lead a central bank to conclude “the policy rate we have chosen seems to be consistent with price stability, but the supply and demand for loanable funds are not balanced”? Where would this imbalance show up? The operational meaning of the natural rate is that any rate associated with the macroeconomic outcomes sought by the central bank is, by definition, the “natural” one. And as Keynes long ago pointed out — it is a key argument of The General Theory  — the market for loanable funds always clears. There is no need for a market price balancing investment and saving, because any change in investment mechanically produces an exactly equal change in saving.

In practice, the natural rate means just this: We, the central bank, have set the interest rate under our control at a level that we hope will lead to our preferred outcomes for GDP, inflation, the unemployment rate, etc. Also, we can imagine a world in which rational agents trade present goods for future goods. Since in some such world the exchange rate between present and future goods would be the same as the policy rate we have chosen, our choice must be the optimal one.

 

 

 

 

 

“Monetary Policy in a Changing World”

While looking for something else, I came across this 1956 article on monetary policy by Erwin Miller. It’s a fascinating read, especially in light of current discussions about, well, monetary policy in a changing world. Reading the article was yet another reminder that, in many ways, debates about central banking were more sophisticated and far-reaching in the 1950s than they are today.

The recent discussions have been focused mainly on what the goals or targets of monetary policy should be. While the rethinking there is welcome — higher wages are not a reliable sign of rising inflation; there are good reasons to accept above-target inflation, if it developed — the tool the Fed is supposed to be using to hit these targets is the overnight interest rate faced by banks, just as it’s been for decades. The mechanism by which this tool works is basically taken for granted — economy-wide interest rates move with the rate set by the Fed, and economic activity reliably responds to changes in these interest rates. If this tool has been ineffective recently, that’s just about the special conditions of the zero lower bound. Still largely off limits are the ideas that, when effective, monetary policy affects income distribution and the composition of output and not just its level, and that, to be effective, monetary policy must actively direct the flow of credit within the economy and not just control the overall level of liquidity.

Miller is asking a more fundamental question: What are the institutional requirements for monetary policy to be effective at all? His answer is that conventional monetary policy makes sense in a world of competitive small businesses and small government, but that different tools are called for in a world of large corporations and where the public sector accounts for a substantial part of economic activity. It’s striking that the assumptions he already thought were outmoded in the 1950s still guide most discussions of macroeconomic policy today.24

From his point of view, relying on the interest rate as the main tool of macroeconomic management is just an unthinking holdover from the past — the “normal” world of the 1920s — without regard for the changed environment that would favor other approaches. It’s just the same today — with the one difference that you’ll no longer find these arguments in the Quarterly Journal of Economics.25

Rather than resort unimaginatively to traditional devices whose heyday was one with a far different institutional environment, authorities should seek newer solutions better in harmony with the current economic ‘facts of life.’ These newer solutions include, among others, real estate credit control, consumer credit control, and security reserve requirements…, all of which … restrain the volume of credit available in the private sector of the economy.

Miller has several criticisms of conventional monetary policy, or as he calls it, “flexible interest rate policies” — the implicit alternative being the wartime policy of holding key rates fixed. One straightforward criticism is that changing interest rates is itself a form of macroeconomic instability. Indeed, insofar as both interest rates and inflation describe the terms on which present goods trade for future goods, it’s not obvious why stable inflation should be a higher priority than stable interest rates.

A second, more practical problem is that to the extent that a large part of outstanding debt is owed by the public sector, the income effects of interest rate changes will become more important than the price effects. In a world of large public debts, conventional monetary policy will affect mainly the flow of interest payments on existing debt rather than new borrowing. Or as Miller puts it,

If government is compelled to borrow on a large scale for such reasons of social policy — i.e., if the expenditure programs are regarded as of such compelling social importance that they cannot be postponed merely for monetary considerations — then it would appear illogical to raise interest rates against government, the preponderant borrower, in order to restrict credit in the private sphere.

Arguably, this consideration applied more strongly in the 1950s, when government accounted for the majority of all debt outstanding; but even today governments (federal plus state and local) accounts for over a third of total US debt. And the same argument goes for many forms of private debt as well.

As a corollary to this argument — and my MMT friends will like this — Miller notes that a large fraction of federal debt is held by commercial banks, whose liabilities in turn serve as money. This two-step process is, in some sense, equivalent to simply having the government issue the money — except that the private banks get paid interest along the way. Why would inflation call for an increase in this subsidy?

Miller:

The continued existence of a large amount of that bank-held debt may be viewed as a sop to convention, a sophisticated device to issue needed money without appearing to do so. However, it is a device which requires that a subsidy (i.e., interest) be paid the banks to issue this money. It may therefore be argued that the government should redeem these bonds by an issue of paper money (or by an issue of debt to the central bank in exchange for deposit credit). … The upshot would be the removal of the governmental subsidy to banks for performing a function (i.e., creation of money) which constitutionally is the responsibility of the federal government.

Finance franchise, anyone?

This argument, I’m sorry to say, does not really work today — only a small fraction of federal debt is now owned by commercial banks, and there’s no longer a link, if there ever was, between their holdings of federal debt and the amount of money they create by lending. There are still good arguments for a public payments system, but they have to be made on other grounds.

The biggest argument against using a single interest rate as the main tool of macroeconomic management is that it doesn’t work very well. The interesting thing about this article is that Miller doesn’t spend much time on this point. He assumes his readers will already be skeptical:

There remains the question of the effectiveness of interest rates as a deterrent to potential private borrowing. The major arguments for each side of this issue are thoroughly familiar and surely demonstrate most serious doubt concerning that effectiveness.

Among other reasons, interest is a small part of overall cost for most business activity. And in any situation where macroeconomic stabilization is needed, it’s likely that expected returns will be moving for other reasons much faster than a change in interest rates can compensate for. Keynes says the same thing in the General Theory, though Miller doesn’t mention it.26 (Maybe in 1956 there wasn’t any need to.)

Because the direct link between interest rates and activity is so weak, Miller notes, more sophisticated defenders of the central bank’s stabilization role argue that it’s not so much a direct link between interest rates and activity as the effect of changes in the policy rate on banks’ lending decisions. These arguments “skillfully shift the points of emphasis … to show how even modest changes in interest rates can bring about significant credit control effects.”

Here Miller is responding to arguments made by a line of Fed-associated economists from his contemporary Robert Roosa through Ben Bernanke. The essence of these arguments is that the main effect of interest rate changes is not on the demand for credit but on the supply. Banks famously lend long and borrow short, so a bank’s lending decisions today must take into account financing conditions in the future. 27 A key piece of this argument — which makes it an improvement on orthodoxy, even if Miller is ultimately right to reject it — is that the effect of monetary policy can’t be reduced to a regular mathematical relationship, like the interest-output semi-elasticity of around 1 found in contemporary forecasting models. Rather, the effect of policy changes today depend on their effects on beliefs about policy tomorrow.

There’s a family resemblance here to modern ideas about forward guidance — though people like Roosa understood that managing market expectations was a trickier thing than just announcing a future policy. But even if one granted the effectiveness of this approach, an instrument that depends on changing beliefs about the long-term future is obviously unsuitable for managing transitory booms and busts.

A related point is that insofar as rising rates make it harder for banks to finance their existing positions, there is a chance this will create enough distress that the Fed will have to intervene — which will, of course, have the effect of making credit more available again. Once the focus shifts from the interest rate to credit conditions, there is no sharp line between the Fed’s monetary policy and lender of last resort roles.

A further criticism of conventional monetary policy is that it disproportionately impacts more interest-sensitive or liquidity-constrained sectors and units. Defenders of conventional monetary policy claim (or more often tacitly assume) that it affects all economic activity equally. The supposedly uniform effect of monetary policy is both supposed to make it an effective tool for macroeconomic management, and helps resolve the ideological tension between the need for such management and the belief in a self-regulating market economy. But of course the effect is not uniform. This is both because debtors and creditors are different, and because interest makes up a different share of the cost of different goods and services.

In particular, investment, especially investment in housing and other structures, is mo sensitive to interest and liquidity conditions than current production. Or as Miller puts it, “Interest rate flexibility uses instability of one variety to fight instability of a presumably more serious variety: the instability of the loanable funds price-level and of capital values is employed in an attempt to check commodity price-level and employment instability.” (emphasis added)

The point that interest rate changes, and monetary conditions generally, change the relative price of capital goods and consumption goods is important. Like much of Miller’s argument, it’s an unacknowledged borrowing from Keynes; more strikingly, it’s an anticipation of Minsky’s famous “two price” model, where the relative price of capital goods and current output is given a central role in explaining macroeconomic dynamics.

If we take a step back, of course, it’s obvious that some goods are more illiquid than others, and that liquidity conditions, or the availability of financing, will matter more for production of these goods than for the more immediately saleable ones. Which is one reason that it makes no sense to think that money is ever “neutral.”28

Miller continues:

In inflation, e.g., employment of interest rate flexibility would have as a consequence the spreading of windfall capital losses on security transactions, the impairment of capital values generally, the raising of interest costs of governmental units at all levels, the reduction in the liquidity of individuals and institutions in random fashion without regard for their underlying characteristics, the jeopardizing of the orderly completion of financing plans of nonfederal governmental units, and the spreading of fear and uncertainty generally.

Some businesses have large debts; when interest rates rise, their earnings fall relative to businesses that happen to have less debt. Some businesses depend on external finance for investment; when interest rates rise, their costs rise relative to businesses that are able to finance investment internally. In some industries, like residential construction, interest is a big part of overall costs; when interest rates rise, these industries will shrink relative to ones that don’t finance their current operations.

In all these ways, monetary policy is a form of central planning, redirecting activity from some units and sectors to other units and sectors. It’s just a concealed, and in large part for that reason crude and clumsy, form of planning.

Or as Miller puts it, conventional monetary policy

discriminates between those who have equity funds for purchases and those who must borrow to make similar purchases. … In so far as general restrictive action successfully reduces the volume of credit in use, some of those businesses and individuals dependent on bank credit are excluded from purchase marts, while no direct restraint is placed on those capable of financing themselves.

In an earlier era, Miller suggests, most borrowing was for business investment; most investment was externally financed; and business cycles were driven by fluctuations in investment. So there was a certain logic to focusing on interest rates as a tool of stabilization. Honestly, I’m not sure if that was ever true.But I certainly agree that by the 1950s — let alone today — it was not.

In a footnote, Miller offers a more compelling version of this story, attributing to the British economist R. S. Sayers the idea of

sensitive points in an economy. [Sayers] suggests that in the English economy mercantile credit in the middle decades of the nineteenth century and foreign lending in the later decades of that century were very sensitive spots and that the bank rate technique was particularly effective owing to its impact upon them. He then suggests that perhaps these sensitive points have given way to newer ones, namely, stock exchange speculation and consumer credit. Hence he concludes that central bank instruments should be employed which are designed to control these newer sensitive areas.

This, to me, is a remarkably sophisticated view of how we should think about monetary policy and credit conditions. It’s not an economywide increase or decrease in activity, which can be imagined as a representative household shifting their consumption over time; it’s a response of whatever specific sectors or activities are most dependent on credit markets, which will be different in different times and places. Which suggests that a useful education on monetary policy requires less calculus and more history and sociology.

Finally, we get to Miller’s own proposals. In part, these are for selective credit controls — direct limits on the volume of specific kinds of lending are likely to be more effective at reining in inflationary pressures, with less collateral damage. Yes, these kinds of direct controls pick winners and losers — no more than conventional policy does, just more visibly. As Miller notes, credit controls imposed for macroeconomic stabilization wouldn’t be qualitatively different from the various regulations on credit that are already imposed for other purposes — tho admittedly that argument probably went further in a time when private credit was tightly regulated than in the permanent financial Purge we live in today.

His other proposal is for comprehensive security reserve requirements — in effect generalizing the limits on bank lending to financial positions of all kinds. The logic of this idea is clear, but I’m not convinced — certainly I wouldn’t propose it today. I think when you have the kind of massive, complex financial system we have today, rules that have to be applied in detail, at the transaction level, are very hard to make effective. It’s better to focus regulation on the strategic high ground — but please don’t ask me where that is!

More fundamentally, I think the best route to limiting the power of finance is for the public sector itself to take over functions private finance currently provides, as with a public payments system, a public investment banks, etc. This also has the important advantage of supporting broader steps toward an economy built around human needs rather than private profit. And it’s the direction that, grudgingly but steadily, the response to various crises is already pushing us, with the Fed and other authorities reluctantly stepping in to perform various functions that the private financial system fails to. But this is a topic for another time.

Miller himself is rather tentative in his positive proposals. And he forthrightly admits that they are “like all credit control instruments, likely to be far more effective in controlling inflationary situations than in stimulating revival from a depressed condition.” This should be obvious — even Ronald Reagan knew you can’t push on a string. This basic asymmetry is one of the many everyday insights that was lost somewhere in the development of modern macro.

The conversation around monetary policy and macroeconomics is certainly broader and more realistic today than it was 15 or 20 years ago, when I started studying this stuff. And Jerome Powell — and even more the activists and advocates who’ve been shouting at him — deserves credit for the Fed;s tentative moves away from the reflexive fear of full employment that has governed monetary policy for so long. But when you take a longer look and compare today’s debates to earlier decades, it’s hard not to feel that we’re still living in the Dark Ages of macroeconomics

Video: Monetary Policy since the Crisis

On May 30, I did a “webinar” with INET’s Young Scholar’s Intiative. The subject was central banking since the financial crisis of a decade ago, and how it forces us to rethink some long-held ideas about money and the real economy — the dstinction between a demand-determined short run and a supply-determined long run; the neutrality of money in the long run; the absence of tradeoffs between unemployment, inflation and other macroeconomic goals; the reduction of monetary policy choices to setting a single overnight interest rate based on a fixed rule.My argument is that the crisis — or more precisely, central banks’ response to it — creates deep problems for all these ideas.

The full video (about an hour and 15 minus, including Q&A) is on YouTube, and embedded below. It’s part of an ongoing series of YSI webinars on endogenous money, including ones by Daniela Gabor, Jo Mitchella nd Sheila Dow. I encourage you, if you’re interested, to sign up with YSI — anyone can join — and check them out.

I didn’t use slides, but you can read my notes for the talk, if you want to.

Could Trump Have a Point about Rate Hikes?

(Cross-posted from The Next New Deal at The Roosevelt Institute.)

At its December meeting, the Federal Reserve raised its benchmark interest rate a quarter point. The move, while widely expected, represented a clear rebuke to President Trump, who has repeatedly urged the Fed to keep rates low. He took to Twitter after the move to attack Fed head Jerome Powell as a golfer who has no touch (“he can’t putt”)—strong words in the president’s social circle.

Trump’s critics on the left may be tempted to cheer the Fed’s decision as a welcome triumph of the separation of powers. But opposing him on the grounds that the labor market is already great may end up weakening the case for a progressive agenda. We need to consider the possibility that, in this one case, the president is right.

By raising rates, the Fed is signaling that it thinks that the economy is now operating at potential, or full employment. Conventional economic theory says that when the economy is below potential, more spending will bring unemployed and underemployed people to work, and more fully utilize structures and equipment, but once potential is reached, additional spending will just lead to higher prices. So when output is below potential, anything that raises spending—whether it is tax cuts, increased federal spending, a more favorable trade balance, or lower interest rates—is macroeconomically useful. But once the economy is at potential, and there are no more unemployed people or underused buildings and machines, the same policies will lead only to more inflation.

By this standard, the case for the most recent rate increase was plausible, though not a slam dunk. By the official measures produced by the Bureau of Economic Analysis (BEA), 2018 was the first year since 2007 that GDP reached potential, and at 3.7 percent, the headline unemployment rate is quite low by historical standards. So textbook logic suggests that if demand growth does not slow, inflation is likely to rise.

The past decade, however, has given us reason to doubt the textbook models. As I argued in the Roosevelt report What Recovery?, it is far from clear that the BEA’s measure does a good job capturing the productive potential of the economy. Similarly, the headline unemployment rate may no longer be a good measure of the economically relevant category of people available for work; many people move directly between being out of the laborforce and being employed. The behavior of inflation has defied any mechanical linkage with GDP growth, wages, or unemployment. And even if one accepts that output is nearing potential, a higher interest rate may not be necessary to slow it. (This is related to the idea of r*, the “neutral” rate of interest, which neither raises nor lowers demand—something that many people, including Powell himself, have suggested we don’t actually know.) Given these uncertainties, many people—across the political spectrum—have argued that it’s foolish for the central bank to try to make policy based on guesses of where inflation is heading. Instead, they should wait to raise rates until it is clear that inflation is above target.

More broadly, the question of whether the economy is at full employment implies a judgement on whether this is the best we can do, economically. Are the millions of people who have dropped out of the laborforce over the past decade really unable or unwilling to engage in paid work? Is the decline of American manufacturing the inevitable result of a lack of competitiveness? Are the millions of people working at low-wage, dead-end jobs incapable of doing anything more rewarding? The decision to raise rates implicitly assumes that the answers are yes. People who think that the economy could work better for ordinary people should hesitate to agree.

We live in a country filled with energetic, talented, creative people, many of whom are forced to spend their days doing tedious busywork. Personally, I find it offensive to claim that a job at McDonald’s or in a nail salon or Amazon warehouse is the fullest use of anyone’s potential. When John Maynard Keynes said “we will build our New Jerusalem out of the labour which in our former vain folly we were keeping unused and unhappy in enforced idleness,” he didn’t only mean literal idleness, but wasted labor more broadly. In a society in which aggregate expenditure was constantly pushing against supply constraints, millions of people today who spend their working hours in menial, unproductive activities would instead be developing their capacities as engineers, artists, electricians, doctors, and scientists.

Progressives concerned about the distribution of income should also pause before cheering an interest rate hike. The textbook model assumes that wage changes are passed more or less one for one to prices (that’s why the Fed pays so much attention to unemployment). But we know that this is not true. Slow wage growth may simply mean a lower share of income going to workers, rather than lower inflation, and high wages may lead to an increase in labor share rather than to higher inflation. Indeed, as a matter of math, the labor share of income cannot rise unless wages rise faster than the sum of productivity growth and inflation. For most of the past decade—and much of the decade before—wages have risen more slowly than this. As a result, labor compensation has fallen to 58 percent of value added in the corporate sector (where it is most reliably measured), down from 60 percent a decade ago and 66 percent in 2000. The only way that this shift from labor to capital can be reversed is if we see an extended period of “excessive” wage growth. This recent hike suggests that the Fed will not tolerate that.

The alternative is to deliberately foster what is sometimes called a “high-pressure” economy. Allowing the unemployment rate to remain low enough for sustained rapid wage growth won’t just help restore the ground that workers have lost over the past decade. It could also boost laborforce participation, as discouraged workers return to the labor market. And it could boost productivity, as scarce workers and strong demand encourage businesses to undertake labor-saving investment. An increasing number of economists think that these kinds of effects, called hysteresis, mean that weak demand conditions can reduce the economy’s productive potential—and strong demand can increase it.

We are already seeing some signs of this. The fall in the laborforce participation over the past decade was, according to most studies, was much larger than can be explained by aging and other demographic factors. Now, as the labor market gets stronger, people who dropped out of the laborforce are reentering it. Some businesses in low-unemployment areas are now paying for English lessons so they can hire non-English speaking immigrants, who are normally among the last to be employed. After years of stagnation, wages are beginning to rise fast enough to produce a modest rise in the hare of output going to workers—the predictable result of a strong labor market. A recent study by the Federal Reserve Bank of Atlanta confirmed that a high-pressure economy, with unemployment well below normal levels, can boost earnings and strengthen attachment to the laborforce. The effects are long-lasting and strongest for those at the back of the hiring queue, such as Black Americans and those with less-formal education. Labor productivity has yet to pick up, but business investment is now quite strong, so it is likely that productivity may soon start rising as well. None of these gains will be realized if the Fed acts too quickly to rein in a boom.

Critics of the president who argue that the economy is already at full employment risk replaying the 2016 election, where the Democrats were perceived—fairly or not—as defenders of the status quo, while Trump spoke to and for those left behind by the recovery. And they risk throwing away one of the best arguments for a progressive program in 2021 and beyond. The next Democratic president will enter office with an ambitious agenda. Whether the top priority is Medicare for All, a Green New Deal, universal childcare, or free higher education, realizing this agenda will require a substantial increase in government spending. Making the case for this will be much easier if there is broad agreement that the economy still suffers from a demand shortfall that public spending can fill.

 

EDIT: The one thing I did not mention here and should have is that the principle of central bank indpedence is also not something that anyone on the left should be defending. Like the various countermajoritarian features of the US political system, it will be wielded more aggressively against any kind of progressive program. And as Mike Konczal and I have argued, both financial crises and extended periods of weak demand have forced central banks to broaden their mandate, making it much harder to mark off “monetary policy” proper from economic policy in general.

New Piece on MMT

Arjun Jayadev and I have a new piece up at the Institute for New Economic Thinking, trying to clarify the relationship between Modern Monetary Theory (MMT) and textbook macroeconomics. (There is also a pdf version here, which I think is a bit more readable.) I will have a blogpost summarizing the argument later today or tomorrow, but in the meantime here is the abstract:

An increasingly visible school of heterodox macroeconomics, Modern Monetary Theory (MMT), makes the case for functional finance—the view that governments should set their fiscal position at whatever level is consistent with price stability and full employment, regardless of current debt or deficits. Functional finance is widely understood, by both supporters and opponents, as a departure from orthodox macroeconomics. We argue that this perception is mistaken: While MMT’s policy proposals are unorthodox, the analysis underlying them is largely orthodox. A central bank able to control domestic interest rates is a sufficient condition to allow a government to freely pursue countercyclical fiscal policy with no danger of a runaway increase in the debt ratio. The difference between MMT and orthodox policy can be thought of as a different assignment of the two instruments of fiscal position and interest rate to the two targets of price stability and debt stability. As such, the debate between them hinges not on any fundamental difference of analysis, but rather on different practical judgements—in particular what kinds of errors are most likely from policymakers.

Read the rest here or here.