Author: JW Mason

Money and Cryptocurrencies


(This is an edited and expanded version of a talk I gave in Trento, Italy in June 2018, on a panel with Sheila Dow.)

The topic today is “Digital currencies: threat or opportunity?”

I’d like to offer a third alternative: New digital currencies like bitcoin are neither a threat or an opportunity. They do not raise any interesting economic questions and do not pose any significant policy problems. They do not represent any kind of technological advance on existing payment systems, which are of course already digital. They are just another asset bubble, based on the usual mix of fraud and fantasy. By historical standards, they are not a very large or threatening bubble. There is nothing important about them at all.

Why might you conclude that the new digital currencies don’t matter?

– Aggregate size – the total value of all bitcoin is on the order of $200 billion, other digital currencies are much smaller. On the scale of modern financial markets that’s not much more than a rounding error.

– No articulation with the rest of the financial system. No banks or other important institutions rely on cryptocurrencies to settle transactions, or have substantial holdings on their balance sheets. They’re not used as collateral for loans.

– Not used to structure real activity. No significant part of collective productive or reproductive activity is organized by making payments or taking positions in cryptocurrencies.

Besides that, these currencies don’t even do what they claim to do. In practice, digital currencies do depend on intermediaries. Payment is inconvenient and expensive — as much as $14 per transaction, and accepted by only 3 of top 500 online retailers. And markets in these currencies are not decentralized, but dominated by a few big players. All this is documented in Mike Beggs’ wonderful Jacobin article on cryptocurrencies, which I highly recommend.

Compare this to the mortgage market. Total residential mortgages in the US are over $13 trillion, not far short of GDP. The scale is similar in many other countries. Mortgages are a key asset for the financial system, even when not securitized. And of course they play a central role in organizing the provision of housing (and commercial space), an absolutely essential function to social reproduction.

And yet here we are talking about cryptocurrencies. Why?

Partly it’s just hard money crankery and libertarianism, which have a outsized voice in economics discussions. And partly it’s testimony to the success of their marketing machine. One might say that the only thing that stands behind that $200 billion value, is the existence of conversations like this one.

But it’s not just cranks and libertarians who care about cryptocurrencies. Central bank research departments are earnestly exploring the development of digital currencies. This disproportionate attention reflects, I think, some deeper problems with how we think of money and central banking. The divide over whether crypto-currencies represent anything new or important reflects a larger divide over how we conceive of the monetary system.

In the language of Schumpeter — whose discussion in his History of Economic Thought remains perhaps the best starting point for thinking about these things — it comes down to whether we “start from the coin.” If we start from the coin, if we think of money as a distinct tangible thing, a special kind of asset, then bitcoin may look important. We could call this the quantity view of money. But if we follow Schumpeter — and in different ways Hyman Minsky, Perry Mehrling and David Graeber — and start from balance sheets, then it won’t. Call this the ledger view of money.

In the quantity view, “money” is something special. The legal monopoly of governments on printing currency is very important, because that is money in a way that other assets aren’t. Credit created by banks is something different. Digital currencies are a threat or opportunity, as the case may be, because they seem to also go in this exclusive “outside money” box.

But from the Minsky-Mehrling-Graeber point of view, there’s nothing special about outside money. It’s just another set of tokens for recording changes in the social ledger. What matters isn’t the way that changes are recorded, but the accounts themselves. From this perspective, “money” isn’t an asset, a thing, it is simply the arbitrary units in which ledgers are kept and contracts denominated.

The starting point, from this point of view, is a network of money payments and commitments. Some of these commitments structure real activity (I show up for work because I expect to receive a wage). Others are free-standing. (I pay you interest because I owe you a debt.) In either case money is simply a unit of account. I have made a promise to you, you have a made a promise to someone else; these promises are in some cases commitments to specific concrete activities (to show up for work and do what you’re told), but in other cases they are quantitative, measured as a certain quantity of “money.”

What does money mean here? Simply whatever will be accepted as fulfilment of the promise, as specified in whatever legal or quasi-legal provisions govern it. It is entirely possible for the unit of account to have no concrete existence at all. And in any case the concrete assets that will be accepted are never identical; their equivalence is to some extent a fiction enshrined in the terms of the contract, and to some extent the result of active interventions by whatever authorities are responsible for the payments system.

In short, the fact that some particular asset that serves as money in this or that case is not very interesting. What matters is the balance sheets. Money is just a means of recording changes on balance sheets, of making transfers between ledgers. If we take the ledger view, then there’s no difference between physical currency and an instrument like a check. In either case the social ledger maintained by the banking system has a certain credit to you. You want to transfer a part of that to someone else, for whatever reason. So you give that person a piece of paper with the amount written on it, and they take it to their bank, which adjusts the social ledger accordingly. It makes no difference whether the piece of paper is a dollar or euro bill or a check or a money order, any more than it matters what its physical dimensions are or whether it is one sheet of paper or two.

And of course the majority of transactions are made, the majority of obligations, are settled without using pieces of paper at all. In fact the range of transactions you can carry out using the pieces of paper we call “money” is rather limited.

To put it another way: At the train station there are various machines, which will give you a piece of paper while debiting your bank account. Some of those pieces of paper can be used in exchange for a train ride, others for various other purposes. We call one a ticket machine and one an ATM. But conceptually we should think of them as the same kind of machine. Both debit your social ledger and then give you a claim on something concrete — a paper from the newsstand, say, or a train ride, as the case may be.

In the quantity view of money, there is some special asset called money which the rest of the payments system builds off. So the fact that something else could “be” money seems important. It matters that the government has a legal monopoly on printing currency, so it also matters that something like cryptocurrency seems to evade that monopoly. In the ledger view, on the other hand, that legal monopoly doesn’t matter at all. There are lots of systems for making transfers between bank accounts, including many purely electronic ones. And there are social ledgers maintained by institutions that we don’t officially recognize as banks. New digital currencies introduce a few more of each. So what?

In the quantity view, money and credit are two distinct things. We start with money, which might then be lent. This is how we learn it as children. In the ledger view, money is just anything that settles an obligation. And that is constantly done by promises or IOUs. The fact that “banks create money” in our modern economy isn’t some kind of innovation out of an original situation of cash-on-the-barrelhead exchange. Rather, it is a restriction of money-creation from the historical situation where third-party IOUs of all kinds circulated as payment.

Related to this are two different views of central banks. In the quantity view, the fundamental role of the central bank is in some sense setting or managing the money supply. In the ledger view, where money is just an arbitrary subset of payments media, which is constantly being created and destroyed in the course of making payments, “the money supply” is a nonsense term. What central banks are doing in this view is controlling the elasticity of the credit system. In other words, they are managing the willingness and ability of economic units to make promises to each other.

There are a variety of objectives in this; two important ones today are to control the pace of real activity via the elasticity of money commitments (e.g. to keep the wage share within certain bounds by controlling the level of aggregate employment) and to maintain the integrity of the payments system in a crisis where a wave of self-perpetuating defaults is possible.

In either case the thing which the central bank seeks to make more scarce or abundant is not the quantity of some asset labeled as “money”, but the capacity to make promises. To reduce the level of real activity, for example, the central bank needs to make it more difficult for economic units to make claims on real resources on the basis of promises of future payments. To avoid or resolve a crisis the central bank needs to increase the trustworthiness of units so they can settle outstanding obligations by making new promises; alternatively it can substitute its own commitments for those of units unable to fulfill their own.

Now obviously I think the ledger view is the correct one. But many intelligent people continue to work with a quantity view, some explicitly and some implicitly. Why? I think one reason is the historical fact that during the 20th century, the regulatory system was set up to create a superficial resemblance to the quantity theory. The basic tool of monetary policy was restrictions on the volume of credit creation by banks, plus limits on ability of other institutions to perform bank function. But for various reasons these restrictions were formalized as reserve requirements , and policy was described as changing quantity of reserves. This created the illusion we were living in world of outside money where things like seignorage are important.

Axel Leijonhufvud has given a brilliant description of how regulation created this pseudo quantity of money world in several essays, such as “So Far from Ricardo, So Close to Wicksell.”

Now this structure has been obsolete for several decades but our textbooks and our thinking have not caught up. We still have an idea of the money multiplier in our head, where bank deposits are somehow claims on money or backed by money. Whereas in reality they simply are money.

The fact that money as an analytic category is obsolete and irrelevant, doesn’t mean that central banks don’t face challenges in achieving their goals. They certainly do. But they have nothing to do with any particular settlement asset.

I would frame them the problems like this:

First, the central bank’s established instruments don’t reliably affect even the financial markets most directly linked to them. This weak articulation between the policy rates and other rates has existed for a while. If you look back to 2000-2001, in those two years the Federal Reserve reduced the overnight rate by 5 points. But corporate bond rates fell only one point, and not until two years later. Then in 2003-2006, when the Fed raised its rate by 4 points, the bond rates did not rise at all.

Second, neither real economic behavior nor financial markets respond reliably to interest rate changes. It’s a fiction of the last 25 years — though no longer than that — that this one instrument is sufficient. The smugness about the sufficiency of this tool is really amazing in retrospect. But it’s obvious today — or it should be — that even large changes in interest rates don’t reliably affect either the sclae of concrete activity or the prices of other assets.

Third, there is no single right amount of elasticity. A credit system elastic enough to allow the real economy to grow may be too elastic for stable asset prices. Enough elasticity to ensure that contracts are fulfilled, may be too much to avoid bidding up price of real goods/factors.

People who acknowledge these tensions tend to assume that one goal has to be prioritized over the others. People at the Bank for International Settlements are constantly telling us that financial stability may require accepting persistent semi-depression in real activity. Larry Summers made a splash a few years ago by claiming that an acceptable level of real activity might require accepting asset bubbles. From where I am sitting, there are just competing goals, which means this is a political question.

Fourth, the direction as well as volume of credit matters. In discussion like this, we often hear invocations of “stability” as if that were only goal of policy. But it’s not, or even the most important. The importance of crises, in my opinion, is greatly overrated. A few assets lose their values, a few financial institutions go bust, a few bankers may go to jail or leap out of windows — and this time we didn’t even get that. The real problems of inequality, alienation, ecology exist whether there is a financial crisis or not. The real problem with the financial system is not that it sometimes blows up but that, in good times and bad, it fails to direct our collective capabilities in the direction that would meet human needs. Which today is an urgent problem of survival, if we can’t finance transition away from carbon fast enough.

For none of these problems does some new digital currency offer any kind solution. The existing system of bank deposits is already fully digital. If you want set up a postal banking system — and there’s a lot to recommend it — or to recreate the old system of narrow commercial banking, great. But blockchain technology is entirely irrelevant.

The real solution, as I have argued elsewhere (and as many people have argued, back to Keynes at least) is for central banks to intervene at many more points in financial system. They have to set prices of many assets, not just one overnight interest rate, and they have to direct credit to specific classes of borrowers. They have to accept their role as central planner. It is the need for much more conscious planning of finance, and not crypto currencies, that, I think, is the great challenge and opportunity for central banks today.

The Coronavirus Recession Is Just Beginning

(A couple days ago I gave a talk — virtually, of course — to a group of activists about the state of the economy. This is an edied and somewha expanded version of what I said.)

The US economy has officially been in recession since February. But what we’ve seen so far looks very different from the kind of recessions we’re used to, both because of the unique nature of the coronavirus shock and because of the government response to it. In some ways, the real recession is only beginning now. And if federal stimulus is not restored, it’s likely to be a very deep and prolonged one.

In a normal recession, the fundamental problem is an interruption in the flow of money through the economy. People or businesses reduce their spending for whatever reason. But since your spending is someone else’s income, lower spending here reduces incomes and employment over there — this is what we call a fall in aggregate demand. Businesses that sell less need fewer workers and generate less profits for their owners. That lost income causes other people to reduce their spending, which reduces income even more, and so on.

Now, a small reduction in spending may not have any lasting effects — people and businesses have financial cushions, so they won’t have to cut spending the instant their income falls, especially if they expect the fall in income to be temporary. So if there’s just a small fall in demand, the economy can return to its old growth path quickly. But if the fall in spending is big enough to cause many workers and businesses to cut back their own spending, then it can perpetuate itself and grow larger instead of dying out. This downward spiral is what we call a recession. Usually it’s amplified by the financial system, as people who lose income can’t pay their debts, which makes banks less willing or able to lend, which forces people and businesses that needed to borrow to cut back on their spending. New housing and business investment in particular are very dependent on borrowed money, so they can fall steeply if loans become less available. That creates another spiral on top of the first. Or in recent recessions, often it’s the financial problems that come first.

But none of that is what happened in this case. Businesses didn’t close because there wasn’t enough money flowing through the economy, or because they couldn’t get loans. They closed because under conditions of pandemic and lockdown they couldn’t do specific things — serve food, offer live entertainment, etc. And to a surprising extent, the stimulus and unemployment benefits meant that people who stopped working did not lose income. So you could imagine that once the pandemic was controlled, we could return to normal much quicker than in a normal recession.

That was the situation as recently as August.

The problem is that much of the federal spending dried up at the end of July. And that is shifting the economy from a temporary lockdown toward a self-perpetuating fall in incomes and employment.

One way we see the difference between the lockdown and a recession is the industries affected. The biggest falls in employment were in entertainment and recreation and food service, which are industries that normally weather downturns pretty well, while construction and manufacturing, normally the most cyclical industries, have been largely unaffected. Meanwhile, employment in health and education, which in previous recessions has not fallen at all, this time has declined quite a bit.1

If we look at employment, for instance which is normally our best measure of business-cycle conditions, we again see something very different from past recessions. Total employment fell by 20 million in April and May of this year. In just two months, 15 percent of American workers lost their jobs. There’s nothing remotely comparable historically — more jobs were lost in the Depression, but that was a slow process over years not just two months. The post-World War II demobilization was the closest, but that only involved about half the fall in employment. So this is a job loss without precedent.

Since May, about half of those 20 million people have gone back to work. We’re about 10 million jobs down from a year ago. Still, that might look like a fairly strong recovery.

But in the spring, the vast majority of unemployed people described themselves as on temporary layoff — they expected to go back to their jobs. The recovery in employment has almost all come from that group. If we look at people who say they have lost their jobs permanently, that number has continued to grow. Back in May, almost 90 percent of the people out of work described it as temporary. Today, it’s less than half. Business closings and layoffs that were expected to be temporary in the spring are now becoming permanent. So in a certain sense, even though unemployment is officially much lower than it was a few months ago, unemployment as we usually think of it is still rising.

We can see this even more dramatically if we look at income. Most people don’t realize how large and effective the stimulus and pandemic unemployment insurance programs were. Back in the spring, most people — me included — thought there was no way the federal government would spend on the scale required to offset the hob losses. The history of stimulus in this country — definitely including the ARRA under Obama — has always been too little, too late. Unemployment insurance in particular has historically had such tight eligibility requirements that the majority of people who lose their jobs never get it.

But this time, surprisingly, the federal stimulus was actually big enough to fill the hole of lost incomes. The across-the-board $600 per week unemployment benefit reached a large share of people who had lost their jobs, including gig workers and others who would not have been able to get conventional UI. And of course the stimulus checks reached nearly everyone. As a result, if we look at household income, we see that as late as July, it was substantially above pre-recession levels. This is a far more effective response than the US has made to any previous downturn. And it’s nearly certain that the biggest beneficiaries were lower-wage workers.

We can see the effects of this in the Household Pulse surveys conducted by the Census. Every week since Mach, they’ve been asking a sample of households questions about their economic situation, including whether they have enough money to meet their basic needs. And the remarkable thing is that over that period, there has been no increase in the number of people who say they can’t pay their rent or their mortgage or can’t get enough to eat. About 9 percent of families said they sometimes or often couldn’t afford enough to eat, and about 20 percent of renters said they were unable to pay the last month’s rent in full. Those numbers are shockingly high. But they are no higher than they were before the pandemic.

To be clear – there are millions of people facing serious deprivation in this country, far more than in other rich countries. But this is a longstanding fact about the United States. It doesn’t seem to be any worse than it was a year ago. And given the scale of the job loss, that is powerful testimony to how effective the stimulus has been.

But the stimulus checks were one-off, and the pandemic unemployment insurance expired at end of July. Fortunately there are other federal unemployment supplements, but they are nowhere as generous. So we are now seeing the steep fall in income that we did not see in the first five months of the crisis.

That means we may now be about to see the deep recession that we did not really get in the spring and summer. And history suggests that recovery from that will be much slower. If we look at the last downturn, it took five full years after the official end of the recession for employment to just get back to its pre-recession level. And in many ways, the economy had still not fully recovered when the pandemic hit.

One thing we may not see, though, is a financial crisis. The Fed is in some ways one of the few parts of our macroeconomic policy apparatus that works well, and it’s become even more creative and aggressive as a result of the last crisis. In the spring, people were talking about a collapse in credit, businesses unable to get loans, people unable to borrow. But this really has not happened. And there’s good reason to think that the Fed has all the tools they need if a credit crunch did develop, if some financial institutions to end up in distress. Even if we look at state and local governments, where austerity is already starting and is going to be a big part of what makes this recession severe, all the evidence is that they aren’t willing to borrow, not that they can’t borrow.

Similarly with the stock market — people think it’s strange that it’s doing well, that it’s delinked from the real economy, or that it’s somehow an artificial result of Fed intervention. To be clear, there’s no question that low interest rates are good for stock prices, but that’s not artificial — there’s no such thing as a natural interest rate.

More to the point, by and large, stocks are doing well because profits are doing well. Stock market indexes dominated by a small number of large companies, and many of those have seen sales hold up or grow. Again, so far we haven’t seen a big fall in total income. So businesses in general are not losing sales. What we have seen is a division of businesses into winners and losers. The businesses most affected by the pandemic have seen big losses of sales and profits and their share prices have gone down. But the businesses that can continue to operate have done well. So there’s nothing mysterious in the fact that Amazon’s stock price, for instance, has risen, and there’s no reason to think it’s going to fall. If you look at specific stocks, you see that by and large the ones that are doing well, the underlying business is doing well.

This doesn’t mean that what’s good for the stock market is good for ordinary workers. But again, that’s always been true. Shareholders don’t care about workers, they only care about the flow of profits their shares entitle them to. And if you’re a shareholder in a company that makes most of its sales online, that flow of profits is looking reasonably healthy right now.

So going forward, I think the critical question is whether we see any kind of renewed stimulus. If we do, it’s still possible that the downward income-expenditure spiral can be halted. At some point soon that will be much harder.

“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.2

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.3

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.4 (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. 5 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.”6

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

Marx on the Corporation

(I wrote this post back in 2015, and for some reason never posted it. The inspiration was a column by Matt Levine, where he wondered what Marx would think of the modern corporation.)

Let’s begin at the beginning.

Capital, for Marx, is not a thing, it’s a social relation, a way of organizing human activity. Or from another point of view, it’s a process. It’s the conversion of a sum of money into a mass of commodities, which are transformed through a production process into a different mass of commodities, which are converted back into a (hopefully greater) sum of money, allowing the process to start again.  Capital is a sum of money yielding a return, and it is a mass of commodities used in production, and it is a form of authority over the production process, each in turn.

When we have a single representative enterprise, managed by its owner and financed out of its own retained profits, then there’s no need to worry about where the “capitalist” is in this process. They are the owner of the money, and they are the steward of the means of production, and they are master of the production process. Whatever happens in the circuit of capital, the capitalist is the one who makes it happen.

This is the framework of Volume 1 of Capital. There the capitalist is just the personification of capital. But once credit markets allow capitalists to use loaned funds rather than their own, and even more once we have joint-stock enterprises with salaried managers in charge of the production process, these roles are no longer played by the same individuals. And it is not at all obvious what the relationships are between them, or which of them should be considered the capitalist.  This is the subject of part V of Volume 3 of Capital Vol. 3, which explores the relation of ownership of money as such (“interest-bearing capital”) with ownership of capitalist enterprises.

For present purposes, the interesting part begins in chapter 23. There Marx introduces the distinction between the money-capitalist who owns money but does not manage the production process, and the industrial, functioning or productive capitalist who controls the enterprise but depends on money acquired from elsewhere. “The productive capitalist who operates on borrowed funds,” he writes, “represents capital only as functioning capital,” that is, only in the production process itself. “He is the personification of capital as long as … it is profitably invested in industry or commerce, and such operations are undertaken with it … as are prescribed by the branch of industry concerned.”

The possibility of carrying out a capitalist enterprise with borrowed funds implies a division of the surplus into two parts — one attributable to management of the enterprise, the other to ownership as such. “The specific social attribute of capital under capitalist production — that of being property commanding the labour-power of another” now appears as interest, the return simply on owning money. So “the other part of surplus-value — profit of enterprise — must necessarily appear as coming not from capital as such, but from the process of production… Therefore, the industrial capitalist, as distinct from the owner of capital [appears] … as a functionary irrespective of capital,… indeed as a wage-labourer.”

So now we have one set of individuals personifying capital at the M moment, when capital is in its most abstract form as money, and a different set of individuals personifying it in the C and P moments, when capital is crystallized in a particular productive activity. One effect of this separation is to obscure the link between profit and the labor process: The money-owners who receive profit in the form of interest (or dividends) are different from the actual managers of the production process. Not only that, the two often experience themselves as opposed. In this sense, the division between the money-capitalist and the industrial capitalist blurs the lines of social conflict.

Marx continues:

Interest as such expresses … the ownership of capital as a means of appropriating the products of the labour of others. But it represents this characteristic of capital as something which belongs to it outside the production process… Interest represents this characteristic not as directly counterposed to labour, but rather as unrelated to labour, and simply as a relationship of one capitalist to another. … In interest, therefore, in that specific form of profit in which the antithetical character of capital assumes an independent form, this is done in such a way that the antithesis is completely obliterated and abstracted. Interest is a relationship between two capitalists, not between capitalist and labourer.

We might read Marx here as warning against an easy opposition between “productive” and “financial” capital, in which we can with good conscience take the side of the former. On the contrary, these are just shares of the same surplus extracted from us in the labor process. It’s important to note in this context that Marx speaks of a “productive capitalist,” not of productive capital. The productive capitalist and the money capitalist are, so to speak, two human bodies that the same capital occupies in turn.

Once the pirates have burned your fields, seized your possessions and carried off your daughters, it shouldn’t matter to you how they divide up the booty: I think this is a valid reading of Marx’s argument here. Or as he puts it: “If the capitalist is the owner of the capital on which he operates, he pockets the whole surplus-value. It is absolutely immaterial to the labourer whether the capitalist does this, or whether he has to pay a part of it to a third person as its legal proprietor.”

But while the development of interest-bearing capital obscures the true relations of production in one sense, it clarifies them in another. It separates the claims exercised by ownership as such, from the claims due to the specific labor performed by the capitalist within the enterprise. With the owner-manager, these two are mixed together. (This is still a big problem for the national accounts.) Now, the part of apparent profit that was really payment for the labor of the capitalist appears in a distinct form as “wages of superintendence.”

Marx’s analysis here seems like a good starting point for discussions of the position of managers in modern economies.

The specific functions which the capitalist as such has to perform, … [with the development of credit] are presented as mere functions of labour. He creates surplus-value not because he works as a capitalist, but because he also works, regardless of his capacity of capitalist. This portion of surplus-value is thus no longer surplus-value, but its opposite, an equivalent for labour performed. … the process of exploitation itself appears as a simple labour-process in which the functioning capitalist merely performs a different kind of labour than the labourer.

As Marx later emphasizes, one consequence of the development of management as a distinct category of labor is that the profits still received by owners can no longer be justified as the compensation for organizing the production process. But what about the managers themselves, how should we think about them? Are they really laborers, or capitalists? Well, both — their position is ambiguous. On the one hand, they are performing a social coordination function, that any extended division of labor will require. But on the other hand, they are the representatives of the capitalist class in the coercive, adversarial labor process that is specific to capitalism.

The discussion is worth quoting at length:

The labour of supervision and management is naturally required wherever the direct process of production assumes the form of a combined social process, and not of the isolated labour of independent producers. However, it has a double nature. On the one hand, all labour in which many individuals co-operate necessarily requires a commanding will to co-ordinate and unify the process … much like that of an orchestra conductor. This is a productive job, which must be performed in every combined mode of production.

On the other hand … supervision work necessarily arises in all modes of production based on the antithesis between the labourer, as the direct producer, and the owner of the means of production. The greater this antagonism, the greater the role played by supervision. Hence it reaches its peak in the slave system. But it is indispensable also in the capitalist mode of production, since the production process in it is simultaneously a process by which the capitalist consumes labour-power. Just as in despotic states, supervision and all-round interference by the government involves both the performance of common activities arising from the nature of all communities, and the specific functions arising from the antithesis between the government and the mass of the people.

In one of those acid asides that makes him so bracing to read, Marx quotes an American defender of slavery explaining that since slaves were unwilling to do plantation labor on their own, it was only right to compensate the masters for the effort required to compel them to work. In this sense it doesn’t matter that the Bosses are performing productive labor. Their claims are just a version of the German nihilists’: It’s only fair that you give me what I want, since I’ve gone to such effort to take it from you. Or Dinesh D’Souza’s argument that equality of opportunity would be unfair to him, since he’s gone to great effort to give his kids an advantage over others.

But again, the industrial capitalist is not only a slave-driver. They do have an essential coordinating function, even if it is performed by the same people, and in the same activities, as the coercive labor-discipline that extracts greater effort from workers and deprives them of their autonomy. The ways these two sides of the labor process develop together is one of the major contributions of Marxist and Marx-influenced work, I think — Braverman, Noble, Marglin, Barbara Garson. It seems to me that, paradoxical as it might sound, it’s this positive role of managers that is ultimately the stronger argument against capitalism. Because the development of professional management fatally undermines the supposed connection between the economic function performed by capitalists, and the economic form of property ownership. 

Marx makes just this argument:

The capitalist mode of production has brought matters to a point where the work of supervision, entirely divorced from the ownership of capital, is always readily obtainable. It has, therefore, come to be useless for the capitalist to perform it himself. An orchestra conductor need not own the instruments of his orchestra, nor is it within the scope of his duties as conductor to have anything to do with the “wages” of the other musicians. Co-operative factories furnish proof that the capitalist has become no less redundant as a functionary in production… Inasmuch as the capitalist’s work does not …  confine itself solely to the function of exploiting the labour of others; inasmuch as it therefore originates from the social form of the labour-process, from combination and co-operation of many in pursuance of a common result, it is … independent of capital.

The connection Marx makes between joint-stock companies (what we would today call corporations) and cooperative enterprises is to me one of the most interesting parts of this whole section. In both, the critical thing is that the work of management, or coordintion, is just one kind of labor among others, and has no neceessary connection to ownership claims.

The wages of management both for the commercial and industrial manager are completely isolated from the profits of enterprise in the co-operative factories of labourers, as well as in capitalist stock companies. … Stock companies in general — developed with the credit system — have an increasing tendency to separate this work of management as a function from the ownership of capital… just as the development of bourgeois society witnessed a separation of the functions of judges and administrators from land-ownership, whose attributes they were in feudal times. Since, on the one hand, … money-capital itself assumes a social character with the advance of credit, being concentrated in banks and loaned out by them instead of its original owners, and since, on the other hand, the mere manager who has no title whatever to the capital, … performs all the real functions pertaining to the functioning capitalist as such, only the functionary remains and the capitalist disappears as superfluous from the production process.

This, to me, is one of the central ways in which we can see capitalism as a necessary step on the way to socialism. Only under capitalism has large scale industry developed; only the acid of  the market was able to break the bonds of small family productive units and free their constituent pieces for recombination on a much larger scale. So the only form in which the organization of large-scale enterprises is familiar to us is as capitalist enterprises. (At least, this is Marx’s argument. Arguably he understates the ability of states to organize production on a large scale.) But just because large industrial enterprises and capitalism have gone together historically, it doesn’t follow that that capitalism is the only institutional setting in which they can exist, or that the conditions required for their development are required for their continued existence.

In fact, as capitalist enterprises develop, their internal organization becomes progressively less market-like. Markets exist only at the surfaces, the external membranes, of enterprises, which internally are organized on quite different principles; and as the scale of enterprises grows, less and less economic life takes place on those surfaces. So while capital continues, nominally, to be privately owned, relations of ownership play less and less of a role in the concrete organization of production. The “mere manager” as Marx says, “has no title whatever to the capital”; nonetheless, he or she “performs all the real functions” of the capitalist.

When Marx was writing this in the 1870s, he thought the trend towards the separation of ownership from control was clearly established, even if most capitalist enterprises at the time were still directly managed by their owners.

With the development of co-operation on the part of the labourers, and of stock enterprises on the part of the bourgeoisie, even the last pretext for the confusion of profit of enterprise and wages of management was removed, and profit appeared also in practice as it undeniably appeared in theory, as mere surplus-value, a value for which no equivalent was paid.

That’s as far as the argument gets in chapter 23.

The next few chapters are focused on the other side of the question, interest-bearing capital — that is,capital that appears to its owners simply as money, without being embodied in any production process.  Chapter 24 is an attack on writers who reduce both to money capital, and imagine that the accumulation of capital is just an example of the power of compound interest. (Among other things, this chapter anticipates the essential points of left critiques of Piketty by people like Galbraith and Varoufakis, and by me.) Chapter 26 attacks the opposite conflation — the treatment of money as just capital in general, and of interest as simply a reflection of the physical productivity of capital rather than a specifically monetary phenomenon. This is today’s orthodoxy, represented for Marx by Lord Overstone. Chapter 25 anticipates Minsky on the elasticity of finance, and takes the side of the credit-money theorists like Thornton and banking-school writers like Tooke and Fullarton, against quantity theorists and the currency school. Marx’s debt to Ricardo is well known, but it’s less recognized how much he learned from this group of writers — the best discussion I know is by Arie Arnon. When Tooke died, Marx wrote to Engels that he had been “the last English economist of any value.”

Marx returns to the industrial or functioning capitalist in chapter 27, which is focused on joint-stock companies. Marx credits stock companies with “an enormous expansion of the scale of production and of enterprises, that was impossible for individual capitals.” And critically these new enterprises are public in both name and substance (the “public” in “publicly-traded corporations” is significant.)

The development of joint stock companies continues the sociological transformation that begins with the development of interest-bearing capital and the ability to operate on borrowed funds — that is, the 

transformation of the actually functioning capitalist into a mere manager, administrator of other people’s capital, and of the owner of capital into a mere owner, a mere money-capitalist. Even if the dividends which they receive include the interest and the profit of enterprise, … this total profit is henceforth received only in the form of interest, i.e., as mere compensation for owning capital that now is entirely divorced from the function in the actual process of reproduction, just as this function in the person of the manager is divorced from ownership of capital. … This result of the ultimate development of capitalist production is a necessary transitional phase towards the reconversion of capital into the property of producers, although no longer as the private property of the individual producers, but rather … as outright social property. … the stock company is a transition toward the conversion of all functions in the reproduction process which still remain linked with capitalist property, into mere functions of associated producers.

In short, the joint stock company “is the abolition of the capitalist mode of production within the capitalist mode of production itself.”

Announcement: Money and Things

Arjun Jayadev and I are writing a book. The working title is Money and Things: How Finance Shapes the World. Here’s what it’s about:

Money is one of our most ubiquitous social technologies. It is also one of the most misunderstood.  Economics students in college are taught that money is just a convenience to avoid the clumsiness of barter – that prices and incomes depend on underlying “real” values, and money is just a veil. Academic economists insist that money is “neutral” – that the long-run development of the economy depends on “real” factors like population growth and technological progress, which have nothing to do with money or credit. Many people still have some vague notion that money is backed by something “real”, perhaps vaults of gold under Fort Knox, while those who do understand that money is nothing but an entry on bank ledger, often feel this is dangerous and unnatural, and demand that a sharp line be drawn between credit and money. For the vast majority of people money is simply the background hum of the world they live in, something that they pay attention to only occasionally, if perhaps with a sense of unease. 

This book seeks to open up the world of money as it really is and its relationship to the world. Dawing on the work of Karl Marx, John Maynard Keynes, Hyman Minsky, and other “heterodox” economic thinkers, the book argues that there is no real economy behind the monetary one. In economic questions, money itself is what is real.

This claim is developed through two related arguments. First, that money and finance are autonomous — that changes in money flows, assets and debt do not just reflect underlying activities of production and consumption but have their own independent dynamics. And second, that money does not merely facilitate economic activity, but reshapes it in far-reaching ways. This is a challenge to the conventional wisdom that money payments and quantities offer a transparent window onto the concrete, material world – that a certain amount of money must correspond to an equivalent amount of stuff. And it is a challenge to the economics orthodoxy that money is “neutral” in relation to the larger economy. On the contrary, monetary phenomena like debt and exchange rates have profound and lasting effects on the development of economies and the broader society.

The book is organized in three sections, moving from the abstract to the concrete.  The first section explores the rules and logic of money as a distinct social activity, starting with the most basic building blocks of economic units and payments and building up to balance sheets, interest, exchange rates, and other more complex features of money-world. It then explores how these money terms do — and don’t — match up to the material and social world around us, critically examining concepts like “real” GDP. While numbers like this are often thought of as measuring some physical quantity, this is logically incohenerent and practically misleading.

In the second section, the book turns to the institutions that operate at the interface between money-world and society. This section explores the links between money and society, the tensions and conflicts between them, and the ways that they are actively managed. It includes chapters on the politically contested questions of reforms to the monetary system, and the sustainibility of private and public debt. The section’s main focus is on central banks and corporations as two key actors that manage the tension between an economic world imagined purely in terms of money claims and payments, and the concrete human activities of production and reproduction. 

In the final section, the book explores how the tension between society and the world of money plays out politically.  With chapters on Europe in the wake of the euro crisis, the US, the developing world, and the problem of climate change, it shows how many political developments can be understood in terms of a fundamental conflict between enforcing the logic of money, on the one hand, and meeting the concrete needs of human societies on the other. Much of what is called neoliberalism can be seen as an effort to compel politics and society to conform to the logic of money. At the same time, these constraints provoke counter responses, and the institutions constructed to maintain the dominance of money can themselves become vehicles for collective action toward other ends.

The book is an attempt to build a more sustained argument out of various things Arjun and I have written, especially this and this. It will also incorporate material from a great many posts on this blog over the past decade, including these and these and these.

If all goes according to plan, the book will be out from University from Chicago Press in early 2022.

 

Posts in Three Lines, Coronavirus Edition

I haven’t been able to write as much about the current situation as I would like to.

Personally, I am doing fine. My wife and I are lucky to have some of the most secure jobs in the country – we are both public university professors — and we’re all healthy and as comfortable as can be expected under the circumstances, and we have access to outdoor space. But we also have two children who are now home all day, both of them young enough to need more or less constant attention. And I’m teaching three classes this semester, and the transition to teaching online, which I’ve never before done, has been challenging. And of course there is work already in the pipeline that has to be completed, like my project with Andrew Bossie on the economic mobilization of World War as a model for today. (The first part is here and the second should be out soon.)

I don’t mean to complain. Again, my personal situation under the lockdown is fine. But I do feel bad about not being more present in the important moment for economic debate since 2008-2009, if not longer.  There’s an endless number of urgent, challenging, and profound economic questions to be wrestled with. I’m a bit jealous of people like my associates Nathan Tankus and Jacob Robbins, who are in a position to give the economic situation the attention it deserves and putting out a steady stream of excellent posts on their respective blogs.

And to be fair, it’s not just a matter of time. Like, I suppose, most people, I don’t feel any confidence about how this situation will develop, or what the right framework is to think about it through. I feel I’ve spent many years developing a set of economic ideas and arguemnts with, and within, certain positions, that may not be relevant here. I find it hard to gather enough thoughts together to be worth writing down.

If I did feel able to blog regularly about the economics of the coronavirus, here are some of the posts I might write. I don’t claim these are the most important topics, just ones that I would like to blog about. 

Taking the money view. Our economy consists of a network of money payments and commitments, many of them corresponding to some concrete activity. What’s unique about this crisis is that the initial interruption is to the concrete activities rather than the money payments. This complicates the policy response: It’s not enough to inject more spending in the economy somewhere, on the assumption that it will diffuse through the normal circuits of income and expenditure, we have to think about maintaining the payments, and social relations, associated with various specific activities while the activities themselves can’t take place. 

Paging Henry George. While much of the concrete activity we think of as “consumption” is on hold, much of consumption spending is various forms of social overhead that has to happen regardless; housing is far the most important category here, with a large fraction of mortgage and especially rent payments already not being made. We urgently need to replace these payments with public money, or else suspend (not just defer) them in a controlled way; the flipside of this is that here as elsewhere, where private payments are replaced with public ones, there’s an opportunity to transform the social relations structured by those payments. In this case, that could mean not just replacing rent payments  but buying out properties, so as to replace private ownership of rental housing with public or resident ownership.  

Crying “fire, fire” in Noah’s flood. Despite the uniqueness of the current crisis, I still think one important dimension is a shortfall of demand. While many businesses have been directly shut down by coronavirus restrictions, it’s clear that many others are limited by a lack of customers – airlines traffic are down by 95% not because airlines can’t find people to staff the planes, but because no one is buying tickets. (The planes that do fly are empty, not full.) As incomes continue to fall from unemployment — and only a fraction are replaced by UI and other forms of public assistance — the demand shortfall is only going to get deeper, so I’m a bit puzzled when people like Dean Baker say that the problem  in the coming year might be too much spending rather than too little.

The skeleton of the state. One reason I’m confident that the economy is going to need more demand, is that recessions always involve a downward spiral between income and expenditure; once economic units have run through their reserves of liquidity, and/or start changing their beliefs about future income, the fall in spending will continue under its own power, regardless of what started it. One important area where this process is already underway is state and local governments; thanks to a combination of institutional constraints political culture, spending here is even more closely linked to current income than it is for households and businesses. In the last recession state and local spending continued to fall for a full five years after the official recovery.

Credit contraction? Adam Tooze, in the LRB, describes the economic crisis as “a shockwave of credit contraction,” which sounds to me like an uncritical updating of the 2008-2009 script for 2020. Is there any evidence that limits on borrowing are currently playing an independent role in reducing activity, or are likely to in the future? The problem seems obviously to be a collapse in current income, not a sudden unwillingness of banks to lend. 

Send in the Fed. Even if a credit contraction is not a factor in the crisis, it doesn’t follow that efforts to boost the supply the of credit are irrelevant. Easing credit conditions can help offset declining demand from other sources — that’s monetary policy 101, and especially true in the current crisis, where so many incomes need to be temporarily replaced. It’s very important, for example, that the Fed support borrowing by state and local governments, partly because they may be finding it harder to borrow, but mainly because they should be borrowing much more.

Pay as you go vs prefunding. As everyone knows, state and local governments face many constraints on their ability to borrow, which the Fed can relieve only some of. But another important margin for state and local government is on the asset side; it’s not widely recognized, but in the US, subnational governments are substantial net creditors, which in principle allows them to fund current spending by reducing net asset acquisition. One important way that they can do this is by suspending pension fund contributions — this may sound crazy, but what’s really crazy is that they prefund pension expenditure in the first place.

Can we blame the shareholders? A number of us have observed over the past decade have observed that the marginal use of both corporate profits and borrowing now is payouts to shareholders; this, along with the activities of private equity, have left a number of corporations with high debt and weak balance sheets even after years of high profits. There’s an argument that this has left them more vulnerable to the crisis than they needed to be. I’m not entirely convinced on this, especially given that the relevant counterfactual seems to be higher real investment and/or higher wages rather than simply accumulating liquid assets, but it’s a question very much worth exploring.

Seasonal disorder. One technical but, I think, important point about all kinds of economic data right now is that we should not be using seasonally adjusted numbers. Seasonal adjustment for unemployment claims, and for many other economic variables, is based on the percentage change from the previous month, which  produces totally spurious results in the face of the kinds of moves we are seeing. For example, new unemployment claims rose by 3 percent, from 6 million to 6.2 million, from the week ending April 7 to the week ending April 14; but since claims normally increase by 7 percent between the first and second week of April, this was misleadingly reported as a decrease of 4 percent. 

The opportunity to be lazy. This fascinating review of a book on the plague in 17th century Florence quotes a wealthy Florentine who opposed the city’s policy of delivering food to those under quarantine, because it “would give [the poor] the opportunity to be lazy and lose the desire to work, having for forty days been provided abundantly for all their needs”. It’s striking how widespread similar worries are today among our own elite. It seems like one of the deepest lessons of the crisis is that a system organized around the threat of withholding people’s subsistence will deeply resist measures to guarantee it, even when particular circumstances make that necessary for the survival of the system itself. 

Endless austerity, state and local edition

Brian Nichols of the essential Employ America has a useful, if depressing, roundup of the coming wave of state-local austerity. Some highlights: Ohio, Nevada and Pennsylvania have already announced hiring freezes; Ohio is also looking at a 20 percent across the board cut in state spending, while Virginia has canceled planned raises for teachers. Many cities, including New York, St. Paul and New Orleans, are laying off public employees. And as I noted in my last post, New York  State is planning to slash $400 million from the hospitals at the front line of the crisis.

This isn’t new. One of the many drawbacks of American federalism is that state and local government spending — which includes the great majority of public sevices that people use on a day to day basis — is distinctly procyclical. Following the 2007-008 crisis, austerity at the state and local level more than offset stimulus at the federal level. And it lasted much longer than the recession itself.

In fact, as my colleague Amanda Page-Hoongrajok points out, inflation-adjusted state and local final expenditure did not return to its 2009 level until 2019.7 On a per-capita basis, real state and local final expenditure is 5 percent lower today than it was at the bottom of the last recession.

Source

As we face the rising wave of public-service cutbacks, we need to be fighting on all levels. We need to demand a massive package of aid to state and local govrnments as part of Stimulus IV. We need to be pushing the Fed to do more to support municipal finances. We need to keep the pressure up on mayors and governors not to throw their hands up and wait for the feds, but to be creative in working around their fiscal constraints.8 And also, we need to keep in mind: As far as state and local spending is concerned, the Great Recession never ended.

Daily News Op-Ed: Why Is Governor Cuomo Still Trying to Cut Medicaid?

(My Roosevelt colleague Naomi Zewde and I have an op-ed in the March 26 Daily News, criticizing Governor Cuomo’s plans to push ahead with cuts to state Medicaid spending despite the epidemic.)

Last week, as the coronavirus shut down much of New York, the state announced a bold plan to drastically cut funding for the state’s hard-pressed health care providers.

That’s right: As the coronavirus crisis escalates across New York State, Gov. Cuomo is proposing to slash funding for those at the frontlines.

Specifically, the cuts come via the Medicaid Redesign Team, appointed last month by the governor with the charge of cutting $2.5 billion from the state’s annual health spending. These cuts will not only mean an even more overstretched health care system; they will mean lost jobs.

For example, $200 million is slated to be cut from Consumer Directed Personal Assistance (CDPA), which allows elderly or disabled New Yorkers to hire their own home care assistants. As a Daily News editorial recently noted, CDPA was responsible for 36,000 new private-sector jobs in New York City in 2019, a lion’s share of all such jobs.

The biggest savings come from across-the-board cuts to health care providers, including $400 million from the state’s hospitals.

Cutting health spending in an epidemic seems like obvious lunacy. But it’s even worse than it seems.

Since the start of this epidemic, nearly one in five American households have had their hours cut or been laid off due to the virus. In New York, Cuomo said that the state has “never seen such volume” of unemployment claims.

As the economy slides over a cliff, we desperately need to keep people employed so that they can pay their bills and keep local businesses running. The proposed cuts will not only kneecap our health care system, but they will also deepen the coming recession.

But don’t we have to do something about out-of-control Medicaid spending? No, we do not. Medicaid spending is already under control.

Over the past five years, Medicaid spending in New York has risen by a steady 4% a year — exactly the same growth rate the state’s economy has had as a whole. And thanks to the Affordable Care Act, the share of total Medicaid costs paid by the state has gone down.

The apparent Medicaid crisis is entirely of the governor’s own making. When an arbitrary “global cap” on Medicaid spending turned out to be unachievable, instead of accepting reality, the state shifted a portion of the bill from fiscal year 2019-2020 to 2020-2021. This created the illusion of a big rise in this year’s costs.

Not only are there no runaway costs to rein in, but health spending is also an important economic stimulus. About 13% of New Yorkers work in health care — more than in manufacturing and finance combined. New York’s hospitals are stable sources of employment in many communities where good jobs are scarce. While many of the state’s traditional industries are in decline, health care promises to be a growth industry in the 21st century — if its growth isn’t cut off by shortsighted cutbacks.

Cutting state Medicaid spending today would be especially perverse, as the federal government appears poised to pick up a larger share of the program’s spending, just as it did in the last recession.

When private sector spending falls in a recession, the role of government is to lean against the wind, and boost public spending to fill the gap. Fiscal stimulus is primarily the responsibility of the federal government, but a state as large and rich as New York should also do its part — especially if leadership in Washington is lacking.

In normal times, trying to balance the budget through Medicaid cuts would be a mistake. Today, it is economic malpractice.

Talk on the Economic Mobilization of World War II

Two weeks ago – it feels much longer now – I was up at UMass-Amherst to give a talk on the economic mobilizaiton of World War II and its lessons for the Green New Deal.

Here is an audio recording of the talk. Including Q&A, it’s about an hour and a half. Here are the slides that I used.

 

 

The big three lessons I draw are:

1. The more rapid the economic transformation that’s required, the bigger the role the public sector needs to take, in investment especially, and more broadly in bearing risk.

2. Output can be very elastic in response to stronger demand, much more so than is usually believed. There’s a real danger that over-conservative estimates of potential output will lead us to set our sights too low.

3. Demand conditions have major effects on income distribution. Full employment is an extremely powerful tool to shift income toward the lower-paid and to less-privelged groups, even in absence of direct redistribution.

EDIT: The underlying paper is being revised to update the lessons for the present in light of the fact that “the present” is now an acute public health crisis rather than an ongoing climate crisis. The first part of the new version is here. The rest will be forthcoming in the next couple weeks.

You can also listen to an interview with me on Doug Henwood’s Behind the News here.

Tracking COVID-19

FIGURES UPDATED 3-15-20

You’ve probably seen various graphs online showing the increase in coronavirus cases in various countries.

I don’t know that I am adding any value here, but I decided to reproduce those graphs using the convenient data from Johns Hopkins Coronavirus Research Center. (I can’t vouch for  the reliability of the Johns Hopkins data, but it seems to be what most news organizations are relying on.) Here’s one showing cases for all countries other than China that have reported at least 100 cases. The x axis is days after the 100-case mark was reached.

 

What we see here is that most countries show a consistent 35-45 percent daily growth in reported cases. Only Japan, at 20 percent, and Singapore and more recently Korea, at around 10 percent, depart significantly from this. It’s also interesting how stable the growth of cases in Japan has been over the past three weeks.

Now here is the same figure, but for US counties that have reported at least 10 cases. The x axis here is days since the first day with a least 10 cases. [UPDATE: I have stopped updating this graph since the Johns Hopkins site now reports cases only for US states.]

What surprises me here is that we basically see the same ~40 percent daily growth rate in cases. I would have thought that given all the insitutional differences and issues around testing, the US picture would have looked somehow different. But it seems like we might reasonably extrapolate from the international experience, that New York or Seattle could reach 10,000 cases in the next two weeks.

I have no expertise whatsoever on infectious diseases, so I am not going to say anything else about this.

Anyway, here is the R code if you want to produce figures like these from the most current data on the Johns Hopkins site. They also give latitude and longitude for every place included, so it wouldn’t be much more work to make an interactive map. Could be an interesting excercise for anyone teaching a statistics or data science course.

UPDATE: I had to change the code because Johns Hopkins is no longer reporting data for US places other than states. Here is the equivalent state-level figure. As you can see, the states with significant numbers of cases all show the same 40 percent daily growth rate.

 

#install.packages('reshape2')
#install.packages('ggplot2')
library(reshape2)
library(ggplot2)

corona <- read.csv('https://raw.githubusercontent.com/CSSEGISandData/COVID-19/master/csse_covid_19_data/csse_covid_19_time_series/time_series_19-covid-Confirmed.csv',
                   stringsAsFactors = F)
state.abbrevs <- read.csv('https://raw.githubusercontent.com/jasonong/List-of-US-States/master/states.csv', stringsAsFactors = F)
corona[,-1:-4] <- apply(corona[,-1:-4], 1:2, FUN=as.numeric)
US <- corona[corona$Country.Region=='US', ]
USplaces <-  US[grep(',',US[,1]),][,-2:-4]
USstates <- US[grep(',',US[,1], invert=T),][,-2:-4]
USstates <- USstates[grep('Princess',USstates[,1], invert=T),]
states.temp <- USstates
for (i in 1:nrow(USstates)){
  abbrev <- state.abbrevs[state.abbrevs[,1]==USstates[i,1],2]
  rows <- grep(abbrev, USplaces[,1])
  states.temp[i, -1] <- colSums(USplaces[rows, -1])
}
states.temp<- states.temp[!is.na(states.temp[,1]),]
USstates[,-1] <- USstates[,-1] + states.temp[,-1]
corona <- rbind(corona, c('', 'United States', NA, NA, colSums(USplaces[,-1])))
corona[,-1:-4] <- apply(corona[,-1:-4], 1:2, FUN=as.numeric)
china <-  corona[corona$Country.Region=='China',-2:-4]
corona <- rbind(corona, c('', 'China', NA, NA, colSums(china[,-1])))
corona[,-1:-4] <- apply(corona[,-1:-4], 1:2, FUN=as.numeric)
countries <- corona[corona$Province.State =='', c(-1, -3:-4)]

makePlot <- function (x, threshold){
  cases <- redate(x, threshold)
  data <- melt(cases, id.vars=1)
  names(data) <- c('place', 'day', 'cases')
  
  p <- ggplot(data, aes(x=day, y=cases, group=place)) +
    geom_line(aes(color=place))+
    geom_point(aes(color=place, shape=place))
  p <- p + scale_shape_manual(values=1:length(levels(as.factor(data$place))))
  p <- p + theme(axis.text.x = element_text(angle=45))
  p <- p + scale_y_continuous(trans='log10')
  p
}

redate <- function (x, threshold) {
  out <- data.frame(place='', stringsAsFactors = F)
  values <- matrix(nrow=99, ncol=99)
  n <- 0
  for (i in 1:nrow(x)) {
    v <- x[i,-1][x[i,-1] > threshold]
    l <- length(v)
    if (l > 1) {
      n <- n + 1
      out[n,1] <- x[i,1]
      values[n,1:l] <- v
    }
  }
  values <- values[!is.na(values[,1]),]
  cols <- length(colSums(values, na.rm=T)[colSums(values, na.rm=T) > 0])
  values <- values[,1:cols]
  out <- cbind(out, values)
}

makePlot(USplaces, 9)
makePlot(USstates, 10)
makePlot(countries[countries$Country.Region != 'China',], 99)