Tag: debt

At Barron’s: Americans Owe Less Than They Used To. Will the Fed Change That?

(I write a monthly opinion piece for Barron’s. This one was published there in September.)

Almost everyone, it seems, now agrees that higher interest rates mean economic pain. This pain is usually thought of in terms of lost jobs and shuttered businesses. Those costs are very real. But there’s another cost of rate increases that is less discussed: their effect on balance sheets.

Economists tend to frame the effects of interest rates in terms of incentives for new borrowing. As with (almost) anything else, if loans cost more, people will take less of them. But interest rates don’t matter only for new borrowers, they also affect people who borrowed in the past. As debt rolls over, higher or lower current rates get passed on to the servicing costs of existing debt. The effect of interest rate changes on the burden of existing debt can dwarf their effect on new borrowing—especially when debt is already high.

Let’s step back for a moment from current debates. One of the central macroeconomic stories of recent decades is the rise in household debt. In 1984, it was a bit over 60% of disposable income, a ratio that had hardly changed since 1960. But over the next quarter-century, debt-income ratios would double, reaching 130%. This rise in household debt was the background of the worldwide financial crisis of 2007-2008, and made household debt a live political question for the first time in modern American history.

Household debt peaked in 2008; it has since fallen almost as quickly as it rose. On the eve of the pandemic, the aggregate household debt-income ratio stood at 92%—still high, by historical standards, but far lower than a decade before.

These dramatic swings are often explained in terms of household behavior. For some on the political right, rising debt in the 1984-2008 period was the result of misguided government programs that encouraged excessive borrowing, and perhaps also a symptom of cultural shifts that undermined responsible financial management. On the political left, it was more likely to be seen as the result of financial deregulation that encouraged irresponsible lending, along with income inequality that pushed those lower down the income ladder to spend beyond their means.

Perhaps the one thing these two sides would agree on is that a higher debt burden is the result of more borrowing.

But as economist Arjun Jayadev and I have shown in a series of papers, this isn’t necessarily so. During much of the period of rising debt, households borrowed less on average than during the 1960s and 1970s. Not more. So what changed? In the earlier period, low interest rates and faster nominal income growth meant that a higher level of debt-financed expenditure was consistent with stable debt-income ratios.

The rise in debt ratios between 1984 and 2008, we found, was not mainly a story of people borrowing more. Rather, it was a shift in macroeconomic conditions that meant that the same level of borrowing that had been sustainable in a high-growth, low-interest era was unsustainable in the higher-interest environment that followed the steep rate hikes under Federal Reserve Chair Paul Volcker. With higher rates, a level of spending on houses, cars, education and other debt-financed assets that would previously have been consistent with a constant debt-income ratio, now led to a rising one.

(Yes, there would later be a big rise in borrowing during the housing boom of the 2000s. But this is not the whole story, or even the biggest part of it.)

Similarly, the fall in debt after 2008 in part reflects sharply reduced borrowing in the wake of the crisis—but only in part. Defaults, which resulted in the writing-off of about 10% of household debt over 2008-2012, also played a role. More important were the low interest rates of these years. Thanks to low rates, the overall debt burden continued to fall even as households began to borrow again.

In effect, low rates mean that the same fraction of income devoted to debt service leads to a larger fall in principal—a dynamic any homeowner can understand.

The figure nearby illustrates the relative contributions of low rates and reduced borrowing to the fall in debt ratios after 2008. The heavy black line is the actual path of the aggregate household debt-income ratio. The red line shows the path it would have followed if households had not reduced their borrowing after 2008, but instead had continued to take on the same amount of new debt (as a share of their income) as they did on average during the previous 25 years of rising debt. The blue line shows what would have happened to the debt ratio if households had borrowed as much as they actually did, but had faced the average effective interest rate of that earlier period.

As you can see, both reduced borrowing and lower rates were necessary for household debt to fall. Hold either one constant at its earlier level, and household debt would today be approaching 150% of disposable income. Note also that households were paying down debt mainly during the crisis itself and its immediate aftermath—that’s where the red and black lines diverge sharply. Since 2014, as household spending has picked up again, it’s only thanks to low rates that debt burdens have continued to fall.

(Yes, most household debt is in the form of fixed-rate mortgages. But over time, as families move homes or refinance, the effective interest rate on their debt tends to follow the rate set by the Fed.)

The rebuilding of household finances is an important but seldom-acknowledged benefit of the decade of ultra-low rates after 2007. It’s a big reason why the U.S. economy weathered the pandemic with relatively little damage, and why it’s growing so resiliently today.

And that brings us back to the present. If low rates relieved the burden of debt on American families, will rate hikes put them back on an unsustainable path?

The danger is certainly real. While almost all the discussion of rate hikes focuses on their effects on new borrowing, their effects on the burden of existing debt are arguably more important. The 1980s—often seen as an inflation-control success story—are a cautionary tale in this respect. Even though household borrowing fell in the 1980s, debt burdens still rose. The developing world—where foreign borrowing had soared in response to the oil shock—fared much worse.

Yes, with higher rates people will borrow less. But it’s unlikely they will borrow enough less to offset the increased burden of the debt they already have. The main assets financed by credit—houses, cars, and college degrees—are deeply woven into American life, and can’t be easily foregone. It’s a safe bet that a prolonged period of high rates will result in families carrying more debt, not less.

That said, there are reasons for optimism. Interest rates are still low by historical standards. The improvement in household finances during the post-2008 decade was reinforced by the substantial income-support programs in the relief packages Congress passed in response to the pandemic; this will not be reversed quickly. Continued strong growth in employment means rising household incomes, which, mechanically, pushes down the debt-income ratio.

Student debt cancellation is also well-timed in this respect. Despite the fears of some, debt forgiveness will not boost  current demand—no interest has been paid on this debt since March 2020, so the immediate effect on spending will be minimal. But forgiveness will improve household balance sheets, offsetting some of the effect of interest rate hikes and encouraging spending in the future, when the economy may be struggling with too little demand rather than (arguably) too much.

Reducing the burden of debt is also one of the few silver linings of inflation. It’s often assumed that if people’s incomes are rising at the same pace as the prices of the things they buy, they are no better off. But strictly speaking, this isn’t true—income is used for servicing debt as well as for buying things. Even if real incomes are stagnant or falling, rising nominal incomes reduce the burden of existing debt. This is not an argument that high inflation is a good thing. But even bad things can have benefits as well as costs.

Will we look back on this moment as the beginning of a new era of financial instability, as families, businesses, and governments find themselves unable to keep up with the rising costs of servicing their debt? Or will the Fed be able to declare victory before it has done too much damage? At this point, it’s hard to say.

Either way we should focus less on how monetary policy affects incentives, and more time on how it affects the existing structure of assets and liabilities. The Fed’s ability to steer real variables like GDP and employment in real time has, I think, been greatly exaggerated. Its long-run influence over the financial system is a different story entirely.

Fisher Dynamics Revisited

Back in the 2010s, Arjun Jayadev and I wrote a pair of papers (one, two) on the evolution of debt-income ratios for US households. This post updates a couple key findings from those papers. (The new stuff begins at the table below.)

Rather than econometric exercises, the papers were based on a historical accounting decomposition —  an approach that I think could be used much more widely. We separated changes in the debt-income ratio into six components — the primary deficit (borrowing net of debt service payments); interest payments; real income growth; inflation; and write downs of debt through default — and calculated the contribution of each to the change in debt ratios over various periods. This is something that is sometimes done for sovereign debt but, as far as I know, we were the first to do it for private debt-income ratios.

We referred to the contributions of the non-borrowing components as “Fisher dynamics,” in honor of Irving Fisher’s seminal paper on depressions as “debt deflations.” A key aspect of the debt-deflation story was that when nominal incomes fell, the burden of debt could rise even as debtors sharply reduced new borrowing and devoted a greater share of their income to paying down existing debt. In Fisher’s view, this was one of the central dynamics of the Great Depression. Our argument was that something like a slow-motion version of this took place in the US (and perhaps elsewhere) in recent decades.

The logic here is that the change in debt-income ratios is a function not only of new borrowing but also of the effects of interest, inflation and (real) income growth on the existing debt ratio, as well as of charge offs due to defaults.

Imagine you have a mortgage equal to double your annual income. That ratio can go down if your current spending is less than your income, so that you can devote part of your income to paying off the principal. Or it can go down if your income rises, i.e. by raising the denominator rather than lowering the numerator. It can also go down if you refinance at a lower interest rate; then the same fraction of your income devoted to debt service will pay down the principal faster. Our of course it can go down if some or all of it is written off in bankruptcy.

It is possible to decompose actual historical changes in debt-income ratios for any economic unit or sector into these various factors. The details are in either of the papers linked above. One critical point to note: The contributions of debt and income growth are proportional to the existing debt ratio, so the higher it already is, the more important these factors are relative to the current surplus or deficit.

Breaking out changes in debt ratios into these components was what we did in the two papers. (The second paper also explored alternative decompositions to look at the relationship been debt ratio changes and new demand from the household sector.) The thing we wanted to explain was why some periods saw rising debt-income ratios while others saw stable or falling ones.

While debt–income ratios were roughly stable for the household sector in the 1960s and 1970s, they rose sharply starting in the early 1980s. The rise in household leverage after 1980 is normally explained in terms of higher household borrowing. But increased household borrowing cannot explain the rise in household debt after 1980, as the net flow of funds to households through credit markets was substantially lower in this period than in earlier postwar decades. During the housing boom period of 2000–2007, there was indeed a large increase in household borrowing. But this is not the case for the earlier rise in household leverage in 1983–1990, when the debt– income ratios rose by 20 points despite a sharp fall in new borrowing by households.

As we explained:

For both the 1980s episode of rising leverage and for the post-1980 period as a whole, the entire rise in debt–income ratios is explained by the rise in nominal interest rates relative to nominal income growth. Unlike the debt deflation of the 1930s, this ‘debt disinflation’ has received little attention from economists or in policy discussions.

Over the full 1984–2011 period, the household sector debt–income ratio almost exactly doubled… Over the preceding 20 years, debt–income ratios were essentially constant. Yet households ran cumulative primary deficits equal to just 3 percent of income over 1984–2012 (compared to 20 percent in the preceding period). The entire growth of household debt after 1983 is explained by the combination of higher interest payments, which contributed an additional 3.3 points per year to leverage after 1983 compared with the prior period, and lower inflation, which reduced leverage by 1.3 points per year less.

We concluded:

From a policy standpoint, the most important implication of this analysis is that in an environment where leverage is already high and interest rates significantly exceed growth rates, a sustained reduction in household debt–income ratios probably cannot be brought about solely or mainly via reduced expenditure relative to income. …There is an additional challenge, not discussed in this paper, but central to both Fisher’s original account and more recent discussions of ‘balance sheet recessions’: reduced expenditure by one sector must be balanced by increased expenditure by another, or it will simply result in lower incomes and/or prices, potentially increasing leverage rather than decreasing it. To the extent that households have been able to run primary surpluses since 2008, it has been due mainly to large federal deficits and improvement in US net exports.

We conclude that if reducing private leverage is a policy objective, it will require some combination of higher growth, higher inflation, lower interest rates, and higher rates of debt chargeoffs. In the absence of income growth well above historical averages, lower nominal interest rates and/or higher inflation will be essential. … Deleveraging via low interest rates …  implies a fundamental shift in monetary policy. If interest-rate policy is guided by the desired trajectory of debt ratios, it no longer can be the primary instrument assigned to managing aggregate demand. This probably also implies a broader array of interventions to hold down market rates beyond traditional open market operations, policies sometimes referred to as ‘financial repression.’ Historically, policies of financial repression have been central to almost all episodes where private (or public) leverage was reduced without either high inflation or large-scale repudiation.

These papers only went through 2011. I’ve thought for a while it would be interesting to revisit this analysis for the more recent period of falling household debt ratios. 

With the help of Arjun’s student Advait Moharir, we’ve now brought the same analysis forward to the end of 2019. Stopping there was partly a matter of data availability — the BEA series on interest payments we use is published with a considerable lag. But it’s also a logical period to look at, since it brings us up to the start of the pandemic, which one would want to split off anyway.

The table below is a reworked version of tables in the two papers, updated through 2019. (I’ve also adjusted the periodization slightly.) 

Due to …
Period Annual PP Change in Debt Ratio Primary Deficit Interest Growth Inflation Defaults
1929 – 1931 3.7 -5.5 2.9 2.8 2.9 *
1932 – 1939 -1.2 -1.5 2.4 -1.6 -0.7 *
1940 – 1944 -3.8 -1.6 1.3 -2.5 -1.9 *
1945 – 1963 2.6 2.5 2.6 -1.5 -0.8 *
1964 – 1983 0.0 0.8 5.1 -2.4 -3.5 *
1984 – 1999 1.7 -0.3 7.5 -2.9 -2.1 -0.4
2000 – 2008 4.5 2.4 7.2 -1.7 -2.5 -0.8
2009 – 2013 -5.4 -3.7 5.8 -3.1 -2.3 -2.4
2014 – 2019 -2.0 -1.4 4.6 -3.4 -1.3 -0.6

Again, our central finding in the earlier papers was that if we compare the 1984-2008 period of rising debt ratios to the previous two decades of stable debt ratios, there was no rise in the primary deficit. For 1984-2008 as a whole, annual new borrowing exceeded debt service payments by 0.7 percent of income on average, almost exactly the same as during the 1964-1983 period. (That’s the weighted average of the two sub-periods shown in the table.) Even during the housing boom period, when new borrowing did significantly exceed debt service, this explained barely a third of the difference in annual debt-ratio growth (1.6 out of 4.5 points).

The question now is, what has happened since 2008? What has driven the fall in debt ratios from 130 percent of household income in 2008 to 92 percent on the eve of the pandemic?

In the immediate aftermath of the crisis, sharply reduced borrowing was indeed the main story. Of the 10-point swing in annual debt-ratio growth (from positive 4.5 points per year to negative 5.4), 6 points is accounted for by the fall in net borrowing (plus another 1.5 points from higher defaults). But for the 2014-2019 period, the picture is more mixed. Comparing those six years to the whole 1984-2008 period of rising debt, we have a 4.7 point shift in debt ratio growth, from positive 2.7 to negative 2. Of that, 2.1 points is explained by lower net borrowing, while almost 3 points is explained by lower interest. (The contribution of nominal income growth was similar in the two periods.) So if we ask why household debt ratios continued to fall over the past decade, rather than resuming their rise after the immediate crisis period, sustained low interest rates are at least as important as household spending decisions. 

Another way to see this is in the following graph, which compares three trajectories: The actual one in black, and two counterfactuals in red and blue. The red counterfactual is constructed by combining the average 1984-2008 level of net borrowing as a fraction of income to the actual historical rates of interest, nominal income growth and defaults. The blue counterfactual is similarly constructed by combining the average 1984-2008 effective interest rate with historical levels of net borrowing, nominal income growth and defaults. In other words, the red line shows what would have happened in a world where households had continued to borrow as much after 2008 as in the earlier period, while the blue line shows what would have happened if households had faced the same interest rates after 2008 as before. 

As the figure shows, over the 2008-2019 period as a whole, the influence of the two factors is similar — both lines end up in the same place. But the timing of their impact is different. In the immediate wake of the crisis, the fall in new borrowing was decisive — that’s why the red and black lines diverge so sharply. But in the later part of the decade, as household borrowing moved back toward positive territory and interest rates continued to fall, the more favorable interest environment became more important. That’s why the blue line starts rising after 2012 — if interest rates had been at their earlier level, the borrowing we actually saw in the late 2010s would have implied rising debt ratios. 

As with the similar figures in the papers, this figure was constructed by using the law of motion for debt ratios:

where b is the debt-income ratio, d is the primary deficit, i is the effective interest rate (i.e. total interest payments divided by the stock of debt), g is income growth adjusted for inflation, π is the inflation rate, and sfa is a stock-flow adjustment term, in this case the reduction of debt due to defaults. The exact sources and definitions for the various variables can be found in the papers. (One note: We do not have a direct measurement of the fraction of household debt written off by default for the more recent period, only the fraction of such debt written down by commercial banks. So we assumed that the ratio of commercial bank writeoffs of household debt to total writeoffs was the same for the most recent period as for the period in which we have data for both.)

Starting from the actual debt-ratio in the baseline year (in this case, 2007), each year’s ending debt-income ratio is calculated using the primary deficit (i.e. borrowing net of debt service payments), the share of debt written off in default, nominal income growth and the interest rate. All but one of these variables are the actual historical values; for one, I instead use the average value for 1984-2007. This shows what the path of the debt ratio would have been if that variable had been fixed at its earlier level while the others evolved as they did historically.  In effect, the difference between these counterfactual lines and the historical one shows the contribution of that variable to the difference between the two periods.

Note that the interest rate here is not the current market rate, but the effective or average rate, that is, total interest payments divided by the stock of debt. For US households, this fell from around 6 percent in 2007 to 4.4 percent by 2019 — less than the policy rate did, but still enough to create a very different trajectory, especially given the compounding effect of interest on debt over time. So while expansionary monetary policy is not the whole story of falling debt ratios since 2008, it was an important part of it. As I recently argued in Barrons, the deleveraging of US households is unimportant and under appreciated benefit of the decade of low interest rates after the crisis.

 

“Has Finance Capitalism Destroyed Industrial Capitalism?”

(At the big economics conference earlier in January, I spoke on a virtual panel in response to Michael Hudon’s talk on the this topic. HIs paper isn’t yet available, but he has made similar arguments here and here. My comments were in part addressed to his specific paper, but were also a response to the broader discussion around financialization. A version of this post will appear in a forthcoming issue of the Review of Radical Political Economics.)

Michael Hudson argues that the industrial capitalism of a previous era has given way to a new form of financial capitalism. Unlike capitalists in Marx’s day, he argues, today’s financial capitalists claim their share of the surplus by passively extracting interest or economic rents broadly. They resemble landlords and other non-capitalist elites, whose pursuit of private wealth does not do anything to develop the forces of production, broaden the social division of labor, or prepare the ground for socialism.

Historically, the progressive character of capitalism comes from three dimensions on which capitalists differ from most elites. First, they do not merely claim the surplus from production, but control the production process itself; second, they do not use the surplus directly but must realize it by selling it on a market; and third, unlike most elites who acquire their status by inheritance or some similar political process, a capitalist’s continued existence as a capitalist depends on their ability to generate a large enough money income to acquire new means of production. This means that capitalists are under constant pressure to reduce the costs through technical improvements to the production process. In some cases the pressure to reduce costs may also lead to support for measures to socialize the reproduction costs of labor power via programs like public education, or for public provision of infrastructure and other public services.

In Hudson’s telling, financial claims on the surplus are essentially extractive; the pursuit of profit by finance generates pressure neither for technical improvements in the production process, nor for cost-reducing public investment. The transition from one to the other as the dominant form of surplus appropriation is associated with a great many negative social and political developments — lower wages, privatization of public goods, anti-democratic political reforms, tax favoritism and so on. (The timing of this transition is not entirely clear.)

Other writers have told versions of this story, but Hudson’s is one of the more compelling I have seen. I am impressed by the breadth of his analysis, and agree with him on almost everything he finds objectionable in contemporary capitalism.  

I am not, however, convinced. I do not think that “financial” and “industrial” capital can be separated in the way he proposes. I think it is better to consider them two moments of a single process. Connected with this, I am skeptical of the simple before and after periodization he proposes. Looking at the relationship between finance and production historically, we can see movements in both directions, with different rhythms in different places and sectors. Often, the growth of industrial capitalism in one industry or area has gone hand in hand with a move toward more financial or extractive capitalism somewhere else. I also think the paper gives a somewhat one-sided account of developments in the contemporary United States. Finally, I have concerns about the political program the analysis points to.

1.

Let’s start with idea that industrial capitalists support public investments in areas like education, health care or transportation because they lower the reproduction costs of labor. This is less important for owners of land, natural resources or money, whose claim on the social surplus doesn’t mainly come through employing labor. 

I wouldn’t say this argument is wrong, exactly, but I was struck by the absence of any discussion of the other ways in which industrial capitalists can reduce the costs of labor — by lowering the subsistence level of workers, or reducing their bargaining power, or extracting more work effort, or shifting employment to lower-wage regions or populations. The idea that the normal or usual result of industrial capitalists’ pursuit of lower labor costs is public investment seems rather optimistic.

Conversely, public spending on social reproduction only reduces costs for capitalist class insofar as the subsistence level is fixed. As soon as we allow for some degree of conflict or bargaining over workers share of the social product, we introduce possibility that socializing reproduction costs does not lower the price of labor, but instead raises the living standards of the human beings who embody that labor. Indeed, that’s why many people support such public spending in the first place!

On the flip side, the case against landlords as a force for capitalist progress is not as straightforward as the paper suggests. 

Ellen Meiksins Wood argues, convincingly, that the origins of what Hudson calls industrial capitalism should really be placed in the British countryside, where competition among tenants spurred productivity-boosting improvements in agricultural land. It may be true that these gains were mostly captured by landlords in the form of higher rents, but that does not mean they did not take place. Similarly, Gavin Wright argues that one of the key reasons for greater public investment in the ante-bellum North compared with the South was precisely the fact that the main form of wealth in the North was urban land. Land speculators had a strong interest in promoting canals, roads and other forms of public investment, because they could expect to capture gains from them in the form of land value appreciation. 

In New York City, the first subways were built by a company controlled by August Belmont, who was also a major land speculator. In a number of cases, Belmont — and later the builders of the competing BMT system — would extend transit service into areas where they or their partners had assembled large landholdings, to be able to develop or sell off the land at a premium after transit made it more valuable. The possibility of these gains was probably a big factor in spurring private investment in transit service early in the 20th century.

Belmont can stand as synecdoche for the relationship of industrial and financial capital in general. As the organizer of the labor engaged in subway construction, as the one who used the authority acquired through control of money to direct social resources to the creation of new means of transportation, he appears as an industrial capitalist, contributing to the development of the forces of production as well as reducing reproduction costs by giving workers access to better, lower-cost housing in outlying areas. As the real estate speculator profiting by selling off land in those areas at inflated prices, he appears as a parasitic financial capitalist. But it’s the same person sitting in both chairs. And he only engaged in the first activity in the expectation of the second one.

None of this is to defend landlords. But it is to make the point that the private capture of the gains from the development of the forces of production is, under capitalism, a condition of that development occurring in the first place, as is the coercive control over labor in the production process. If we can acknowledge the contributions of a representative industrial capitalist like Henry Frick, author of the Homestead massacre, to the development of society’s productive forces, I think we can do the same for a swindler like August Belmont.

More broadly, it seems to me that the two modes of profit-seeking that Hudson calls industrial and financial are not the distinct activities they appear as at first glance. 

It might seem obvious that profiting from a new, more efficient production process is very different from profiting by using the power of the state to get some legal monopoly or just compel people to pay you. It is true that the first involves real gains for society while the second does not. But how do those social gains come to be claimed as profit by the capitalist? First, by the exclusive access they have to the means of production that allows them to claim the product, to the exclusion of everyone else who helped produce it. And second, by their ability to sell it at a price above its cost of production that allows them to profit, rather than everyone who consumes the product. In that sense, the features that Hudson points to as defining financial capitalism are just as fundamental to industrial capitalism. Under capitalism, making a product is not a distinct goal from extracting a rent. Capturing rents is the whole point.

The development of industry may be socially progressive in a way that the development of finance is not. But that doesn’t mean that the income and authority of the industrial capitalist is different from that of the financial capitalist, or even that they are distinct people.

Hudson is aware of this, of course, and mentions that from a Marxist standpoint the capitalist is also a rentier. If he followed this thought further I think he would find it creates problems for the dichotomy he is arguing for.

Let’s take a step back.

Capital is a process, a circuit: M – C – P – C’ – M’. Money is laid out to gain control of commodities and labor power, which are the combined in a production process. The results of this process are then converted back into money through sale on the market.

At some points in this circuit, capital is embodied in money, at other points in labor power and means of production. We often think of this circuit as happening at the level of an individual commodity, but it applies just as much at larger scales. We can think of the growth of an industrial firm as the earlier part of the circuit where value comes to be embodied in a concrete production process, and payouts to shareholders as the last part where value returns to the money form. 

This return to money form just as essential to the circuit of capital as production is. It’s true that payouts to shareholders absorb large fraction of profits, much larger than what they put in. We might see this as a sign that finance is a kind of parasite. But we could also see shareholder payouts as where the M movement is happening. Industrial production doesn’t require that its results be eventually realized as money. But industrial capitalism does. From that point of view, the financial engineers who optimize the movement of profits out of the firm are as integral a part of industrial capital as the engineer-engineers who optimize the production process. 

2.

My second concern is with the historical dimension of the story. The sense one gets from the paper is that there used to be industrial capitalism, and now there is financial capitalism. But I don’t think history works like that.

It is certainly true that the forms in which a surplus is realized as money have changed over time. And it is also true that while capital is a single process, there are often different human beings and institutions embodying it at different points in the circuit.

In a small business, the same person may have legal ownership of the enterprise, directly manage the production process, and receive the profits it generates. Hudson is certainly right that this form of enterprise was more common in the 19th century, which among other things allowed Marx to write in Volume One about “the capitalist” without having to worry too much about exactly where this person was located within the circuit. In a modern corporation, by contrast, production is normally in the hands of professional managers, while the surplus flows out to owners of stock or other financial claims. This creates the possibility for the contradiction between the conditions of generating a surplus and of realizing it, which always exists under capitalism, to now appear as a conflict between distinct social actors.

The conversion of most large enterprises to publicly traded corporations took place in the US in a relatively short period starting in the 1890s. The exact timing is of course different elsewhere, but this separation of ownership and control is a fairly universal phenomenon. Even at the time this was perceived as a momentous change, and if we are looking for a historical break that I think this is where to locate it. Already by the early 20th century, the majority of great fortunes took the form of financial assets, rather than direct ownership of businesses. And we can find contemporary observers like Veblen describing “sabotage” of productive enterprises by finance (in The Price System and the Engineers) in terms very similar to the ones that someone like Michael Hudson uses today.

It’s not unreasonable to describe this change as financialization. But important to realize it’s not a one-way or uniform transition.

In 1930s, Keynes famously described American capital development as byproduct of a casino, again in terms similar to Hudson’s. In The General Theory, an important part of the argument is that stock markets have a decisive influence on real investment decisions. But the funny thing is that at that moment the trend was clearly in the opposite direction. The influence of financial markets on corporate managers diminished after the 1920s, and reached its low point a generation or so after Keynes wrote.  

If we think of financialization as the influence of financial markets over the organization of production, what we see historically is an oscillation, a back and forth or push and pull, rather than a well-defined before and after. Again, the timing differs, but the general phenomenon of a back and forth movement between more and less financialized capitalism seems to be a general phenomenon. Postwar Japan is often pointed to, with reason, as an example of a capitalist economy with a greatly reduced role for financial markets. But this was not a survival from some earlier era of industrial capitalism, but rather the result of wartime economic management, which displaced financial markets from their earlier central role.

Historically, we also find that moves in one direction in one place can coexist with or even reinforce moves the other way elsewhere. For example, the paper talks about the 19th-century alliance of English bankers and proto-industrialists against landlords in the fight to overturn the corn laws. Marx of course agreed that this was an example of the progressive side of capitalist development. But we should add that the flip side of Britain specializing in industry within the global division of labor was that other places came to specialize more in primary production, with a concomitant increase in the power of landlords and reliance on bound labor. Something we should all have learned from the new historians of capitalism like Sven Beckert is how intimately linked were the development of wage labor and industry in Britain and the US North with he development of slavery and cotton production in the US South; indeed they were two sides of the same process. Similar arguments have been made linking the development of English industry to slave-produced sugar (Williams), and to the second serfdom and de-urbanization in Eastern Europe (Braudel). 

Meanwhile, as theorists of underdevelopment like Raul Prebisch have pointed out, it’s precisely the greater market power enjoyed by industry relative to primary products that allows productivity gains in industry to be captured by the producers, while productivity gains in primary production are largely captured by the consumers. We could point to the same thing within the US, where tremendous productivity advances in agriculture have led to cheap food, not rich farmers. Here again, the relationship between the land-industry binary and the monopoly-competition binary is the opposite as Hudson’s story. This doesn’t mean that they always line up that way, either, but it does suggest that the relationship is at least historically contingent.

3.

Let’s turn now to the present. As we all know, since 1980 the holders of financial assets have reasserted their claims against productive enterprises, in the US and in much of the rest of the world. But I do not think this implies, as Hudson suggests, that today’s leading capitalists are the equivalent of feudal landowners. While pure rentiers do exist, the greatest accumulations of capital remain tied to control over the production process. 

Even within the financial sector, extraction is only part of the story. A major development in finance over the past generation has been the growth of specialized venture capital and private equity funds. Though quite different in some ways — private equity specializing in acquisition of existing firms, venture capital in financing new ones — both can be seen as a kind of de-financialization, in the sense that both function to re-unite management and ownership. It is true of course, that private equity ownership is often quite destructive to the concrete production activities and social existence of a firm. But private equity looting happens not through the sort of arm’s length tribute collection of al landlord, but through direct control over the firm’s activity. The need for specialized venture capital funds to invest in money-losing startups, on the other hand, is certainly consistent with the view that strict imposition of financial criteria is inconsistent with development of production. But it runs against a simple story in which industry has been replaced by finance. (Instead, the growth of these sectors looks like an example of the way the capital looks different at different moments in its circuit. Venture capitalists willing to throw money at even far-fetched money-losing enterprises, are specialists in the M-C moment, while the vampires of private equity are specialists in C-M.)

It is true, of course, that finance as an industry has grown relative to the economy over the past 50 years, as have the payments made by corporations to shareholders.   Hudson describes these trends as a “relapse back toward feudalism and debt peonage”, but I don’t think that’s right. The creditor and the landlord stand outside the production process. A debt peon has direct access to means of production, but is forced to hand over part of the product to the creditor or landlord. Capitalists by contrast get their authority and claim on surplus from control over the production process. This is as true today as when Marx wrote. 

There is a widespread view that gains from ownership of financial assets have displaced profits from production even more many nonfinancial corporations, and that household debt service is a form of exploitation that now rivals the work place as a source of surplus, as households are forced to take on more debt to meet their subsistence needs. But these claims are mistaken — they confuse the temporary rise in interest rates after 1980 for a deeper structural shift.

As Joel Rabinovich convincingly shows, the increased financial holdings of nonfinancial corporations mostly represent goodwill from mergers and stakes in subsidiaries, not financial assets in the usual sense, while the apparent rise in their financial income of in the 1980s is explained by the higher interest on their cash holdings. With respect to household debt, it continues to overwhelmingly finance home ownership, not consumption; is concentrated in the upper part of the income distribution; and rose as a result of the high interest rates after 1980, not any increase in household borrowing. (See my discussion here.) With the more recent decline in interest rates, much of this supposed finacialization has reversed. Contrary to Hudson’s picture of an ever-rising share of income going to debt service, interest payments in the US now total about 17 percent of GDP, the same as in 1975.

On the other side, the transformation of the production process remains the source of the biggest concentrations of wealth. Looking at the Forbes 400 list of richest Americans, it is striking how rare generalized financial wealth is, as opposed to claims on particular firms. Jeff Bezos (#1), Bill Gates (#2) and Mark Zuckerberg (#3) all gained their wealth through control over newly created production processes, not via financial claims on existing ones. Indeed, of the top 20 names on the list, all but one are founders and active managers of companies or their immediate families. (The lone exception is Warren Buffet.) Finance and real estate are the source of a somewhat greater share of the fortunes found further down the list, but nowhere near a majority.

Companies like Wal Mart and Google and Amazon are clearly examples of industrial capitalism. They sell products, they lower prices, they put strong downward pressure on costs. Cheap consumer goods at Wal Mart lower the costs of subsistence for workers today just as cheap imported food did for British workers in the 19th century.

Does this mean Amazon and Wal Mart are good? No, of course not. (Tho we shouldn’t deny that their logistical systems are genuine technological accomplishments that a socialist society could build on.) My point is that the greatest concentrations of wealth today still arise from the competition to sell more desirable goods at lower prices. This runs against the idea of dominance by rentiers or passive rent-extractors. 

Finally, I have some concerns about the political implications of this analysis. If we take Hudson’s story seriously, we may see a political divide between industrial capital and finance capital, and the possibility of a popular movement seeking alliance with the former. I am doubtful about this. While finance is a distinct social actor, I do not think it is useful to think of it as a distinct type of capital, one that is antagonistic to productive capital. As I’ve written elsewhere, it’s better to see finance as weapon by which the claims of wealth holders are asserted against the rest of society.

Certainly I don’t think the human embodiments of industrial capital would agree that they are victims of finance. Many of the features of contemporary capitalism he objects would appear to them as positive developments. Low wages, weak labor and light taxes are desired by capitalists in general, not just landlords and bankers. The examples Hudson points to of industrial capitalists and their political representatives supporting measures to socialize the costs of reproduction are real and worth learning from, but as products of specific historical circumstances rather than as generic features of industrial capitalism. We would need a better account of the specific conditions under which capital turns to programs for reducing labor costs in this way — rather than, for example, simply forcing down wages — to assess to what extent, and in which areas, they exist today. 

Even if it were feasible, I am not sure this kind of program does much to support a more transformative political project. Hudson quotes Simon Patten’s turn-of-the-last-century description of public services like education as a “fourth factor of production” that is necessary to boost industrial competitiveness, with the implication that similar arguments might be successful today. Frankly, this kind of language strikes me as more characteristic of our neoliberal era than a basis for an alternative to it. As a public university teacher, I reject the idea that my job is to raise the productive capacity of workers, or reduce the overhead costs of American capital. Nor do I think we will be successful in defending education and other public goods from defunding and austerity using this language. And of course, it is not the only language available to us. As Mike Konczal notes in his new book Freedom from the Market, historically the case for public provision has often been made in terms of removing certain areas of life from the market, as well as the kinds of arguments Hudson describes.

More fundamentally, the framing here suggests that the objectionable features of capitalism stem from it not being capitalist enough. The focus on monopolies and rents suggests that what is wanted is more vigorous market competition. It is a strikingly Proudhonian position to say that the injustice and waste of existing capitalism stem from the failure of prices to track costs of production. Surely from a Marxist perspective it is precisely the pressure to compete on the basis of lower costs that is the source of that injustice and waste.

There is a great deal that is interesting and insightful in this paper, as there always is in Michael Hudson’s work. But I remain unconvinced that financial and industrial capitalism can be usefully thought of as two opposed systems, or that we can tell a meaningful historical story about a transition between them. Industry and finance are better thought of, in my view, as two different sides of the same system, or two moments in the same circuit of capital.  Capitalism is a system in which human creative activity is subordinated to the endless accumulation of money. In this sense, finance is as integral to it as production. A focus on on the industrial-financial divide risks attributing the objectionable effects of accumulation to someone else — a rentier or landlord — leaving a one-sided and idealized picture of productive capital as the residual.

This being URPE, many people here will have at one time or another sung “is there aught we have in common with the greedy parasites?” Do we think those words refer to the banker only, or to the boss?

 

UPDATE: My colleague Julio Huato made similar arguments in response to an earlier version of Hudson’s paper a few years ago, here.

 

On Negative Rates

Negative interest rates – weird, right?

In the five thousand years that interest rates have been recorded, they’ve never hit zero before.  Today, there’s some $15 trillion in negative-yielding bonds — admittedly down from $17 trillion last year, but still a very substantial fraction of the global bond market outside the US. At first it was only shorter bonds that were negative, but today German bunds are negative all the way out to 30 years. What’s going on? Does this mean it would be profitable to bulldoze the Rockies for farmland? Will it cause the extinction of the banking system? And more fundamentally, if the interest rate reflects the cost of a good today in terms of the same good next year, why would it ever be negative? Why would people place a higher value on stuff in the future than on stuff today?

Personally, I don’t think they’re so weird. And the reason I think that is that interest rates are not, in fact, the price of goods today in terms of goods tomorrow. It is, rather, the price of a financial asset that promises a certain schedule of money payments. Negative rates are only a puzzle in the real-exchange perspective that dominates economics, where we can safely abstract from money when discussing interest rates. In the money view, where interest transactions are swap of assets, or of a stream of money payments, nothing particularly strange about them. 

(I should say up front that this post is an attempt to clarify my own thinking. I think what I’m writing here is right, but I’m open to hearing why it’s wrong, or incomplete. It’s not a finished or settled position, and it’s not backed up by any larger body of work. At best, like most of what I wrote, it is informed by reading a lot of Keynes.)

The starting point for thinking about negative rates is to remember that these are market prices. Government is not setting a negative yield by decree, someone is voluntarily holding all those negative-yielding bonds. Or more precisely, someone is buying a bond at a price high enough, relative to the payments it promises, to imply a negative yield. 

Take the simplest example — a government bond that promises a payment of $100 at some date in the future, with no other payments in between. (A zero-coupon bond, in other words.) If the bond sells today for less than $100, the interest rate on it is positive. If the bond sells today for more than $100, the interest rate is negative. Negative yields exist insofar market participants value such a bond at greater than $100. 

So now we have to ask, what are the sources of demand for government bonds?

A lot of confusion is created, I think, by asking this question the wrong way. People think about saving, and about trading off spending today against spending tomorrow. This after all is the way an economics training encourages you to think about interest rates — as a shorthand for any exchange between present and future. Any transaction that involves getting less today in return for more tomorrow incorporates the interest rate as part of the price — at a high enough level of abstraction, they’re all the same thing. The college wage premium, say, is just as much an interest rate from this perspective as the yield on the bond. 

If we insist on thinking of interest rates this way, we would have to explain negative yields in terms of a society-wide desire to defer spending, and/or the absence of any store of wealth that even maintains its value, let alone increases it. Either of those would indeed be pretty weird!

(Or, it would be the equivalent of people paying more for a college education than the total additional wages they could expect to earn from it, or people paying more for a house than the total cost of renting an identical one for the rest of their lives. Which are both things that might happen! But also, that would be generally seen as something going wrong in the economic system.)

Since economists (and economics-influenced people) are so used to thinking of interest as reflecting a tradeoff between present and future, a kind of inter-temporal exchange rate, it’s worth an example to clarify why it isn’t. Imagine a typical household credit transaction, a car loan. The household acquires means to pay for the acquisition of a car, and commits to a schedule of payments to the bank; the bank gets the opposite positions. Is the household giving up future consumption in order to consume now? No. At every period, the value the household gets from the use of the car will exceed the payments the household is making for it — otherwise, they wouldn’t be doing it. If anything, since the typical term of a car loan is six or seven years while a new car should remain in service for a decade or more, the increased consumption comes in the future, when the car is paid off and still delivering transport services. Credit, in general, finances assets, not consumption. The reason car loans are needed is not to shift consumption from the future to the present, but because use of the transportation services provided by the car are tightly bound up with ownership of the car itself.

Nor, of course, is the lender shifting present consumption to the future. The lender itself, being a bank, does not consume. And no one else needs to forego or defer consumption for the banks to make the auto loan either. No one needs to deposit savings in a bank before it makes a loan; the lent money is endogenous, created by banks in the course of lending it. Whatever factors limit the willingness of the bank to extend additional auto loans — risk; liquidity; capital; regulation; transaction costs — a preference for current consumption is not among them. 

The intertemporal-exchange way of looking at government bonds would make sense if the only way to acquire one was to forego an equal amount of consumption, so that bond purchases were equivalent to saving in an economic sense. Then understanding the demand for government bonds, would be the same as understanding the desire to save, or defer consumption. But of course government bonds are not part of some kind of economy-wide savings equilibrium like that. First of all, the purchasers of bonds are not households, but banks and other financial actors. Second, the purchase of the bond does not entail a reduction in current spending, but a swap of assets. And third, the owners of bonds do not hold them in order to finance some intended real expenditure in the future, but rather for some combination of benefits from owning them (liquidity, safety, regulation) and an expectation of monetary profit. 

From the real-exchange perspective, there is one intertemporal price — the interest rate —  just as there is one exchange rate between any given pair of countries. From the money view perspective, there are many different interest rates, corresponding to the different prices of different assets promising future payments. Many of the strong paradoxes people describe from negative rates only exist if rates are negative across the board. But in reality, rates do not move in lockstep. We will set aside for now the question of how strong the arbitrage link between different assets actually is.

We can pass over these questions because, again, government bonds are not held for income. They are not held by households or the generic private sector. They are overwhelmingly held by banks and bank-like entities for some combination of risk, liquidity and regulatory motives, or by a broader set of financial institutions for return. Note for later: Return is not the same as income!

Let’s take the first set of motivations first. 

If you are a bank, you may want to hold some fraction of your assets as government bonds in order to reduce the chance your income will be very different from what you expected; reduce the chance that you will find yourself unable to make payments that you need or want to make (since it’s easy to sell the bonds as needed); and/or to reduce the chance that you’ll fall afoul of regulation  (which presumably is there because you otherwise might neglect the previous two goals).

The key point here is that these are benefits of holding bonds that are in addition to whatever return those bonds may offer. And if the ownership of government bonds provides substantial benefits for financial institutions, it’s not surprising they would be willing to pay for those services.

This may be clearer if we think about checking accounts. Scare stories about negative rates often ask what happens when households have to pay for the privilege of lending money to the bank. Will they withdraw it all as cash and keep it under the mattress? But of course, paying the bank to lend it money is the situation most people have always been in. Even before the era of negative rates, lots of people held money in checking accounts that carried substantial fees (explicit and otherwise) and paid no interest, or less than the cost of the fees. And of course unbanked people have long paid exorbitant amounts to be able to make electronic payments. In general, banks have no problem getting people to hold negative-yield assets. And why would they? The payments services offered by banks are valuable. The negative yield just reflects people’s willingness to pay for them.

In the national accounts, the difference between the interest that bank depositors actually receive and a benchmark rate that they in some sense should receive is added to their income as “imputed interest”, which reflects the value of the services they are getting from their low- or no- or negative-interest bank accounts. In 2019, this imputed interest came to about $250 billion for households and another $300 billion for non financial corporations. These nonexistent interest payments are, to be honest, an odd and somewhat misleading thing to include in the national accounts. But their presence reflects the genuine fact that people hold negative and more broadly below-market yield assets in large quantities because of other benefits they provide. 

Turned around this way, the puzzle is why government debt ever has a positive yield. The fundamental form of a bond sale is the creating of pair of offsetting assets and liabilities. The government acquires an asset in the form of a deposit, which is the liability of the bank; and the bank acquires an asset in the form of a bond, which is the liability of the government. Holding the bond has substantial benefits for the bank, while holding the deposit has negligible benefits for the government. So why shouldn’t the bank be the one that pays to make the transaction happen?

One possible answer is the cost of financing the holding. But, it is normally assumed that the interest rate paid by banks follows the policy rate. There’s no obvious reason for the downward shift in rates to affect spread between bank deposits and government bonds.  Of course some bank liabilities will carry higher rates, but again, that was true In the past too.

Another possible answer is the opportunity cost of not holding positive-yield asset. Again, this assumes that other yields don’t move down too. More fundamentally, it assumes a fixed size of bank balance sheets, so that holding more of one asset means less of another. In a world with with a fixed or exogenous money stock, or where regulations and monetary policy create the simulacrum of one, there is a cost to the bank of holding government debt, namely the income from whatever other asset it might have held instead. Many people still have this kind of mental model in thinking about government debt. (It’s implicit in any analysis of interest rates in terms of saving.) But in a world of endogenous credit money, holding more government debt doesn’t reduce a bank’s ability to acquire other assets. Banks’ ability to expand their balance sheets isn’t unlimited, but what limits it is concerns about risk or liquidity, or regulatory constraints. All of these may be relaxed by government debt holdings, so holding more government bonds may increase the amount of other assets banks can hold, not reduce it. In this case the opportunity cost would be negative. 

So why aren’t interest rates on government debt usually negative? As a historical matter, I suppose the reasons we haven’t seen negative yields in the past are, first, that under the gold standard, government bonds were not at the top of the hierarchy of money and credit, and governments had to pay to access higher-level money; in some contexts government debt may have been lower in the hierarchy than bank money as well. Second, in the postwar era the use of the interest rate for demand control has required central banks to ensure positive rates on public  as well as private debt. And third, the safety, liquidity and regulatory benefits of government debt holdings for the financial system weren’t as large or as salient before the great financial crisis of 2007-2009. 

Even if negative yields aren’t such a puzzle when we think about the sources of bank demand for government debt, we still have the question of how low they can go. Analytically, we would have to ask, how much demand is there for the liquidity, safety and regulatory-compliance services provided by sovereign debt holdings, and to what extent are there substitute sources for them?

But wait, you may be saying, this isn’t the whole story. Bonds are held as assets, not just as reserves for banks and bank-like entities. Are there no bond funds, are there no bond traders?

These investors are the second source of demand for government bonds. For them, return does matter. The goal of making a profit from holding the bond is the second motivation mentioned earlier.

The key point to recognize here is that return and yield are two different things. Yield is one component of return. The other is capital gains. The market price of a bond changes if interest rates change during the life of the bond, which means that the overall return on a negative-yielding bond can be positive. This would be irrelevant if bonds were held to maturity for income, but of course that is not bond investment works. 

For foreign holders, return also includes gains or losses from exchange rate changes, but we can ignore that here. Most foreign holders presumably hold government bonds as foreign exchange reserves, which is a subset of the safety/liquidity/regularity benefits discussed above. 

To understand how negative yielding bonds could offer positive returns, we have to keep in mind what is actually going on with bond prices, including negative rates. The borrower promises one or more payments of specified amounts at specified dates in the future. The purchaser then offers a payment today in exchange for that stream of future payments. What we call an interest rate is a description of the relationship between the promised payments and the immediate payment. We normally think of interest as something paid over a period of time, but strictly speaking the interest rate is a price today for a contract today. So unlike in the checking account case, the normal negative-rates situation is not the lender paying the borrower. 

Here’s an example. Suppose I offer to pay you $100 30 years from now. This is, formally, a zero-coupon 30-year bond. How much will you pay for this promse today? 

If you will pay me $41 for the promise, that is the same as saying the interest rate on the loan is 3 percent. (41 * 1.03 ^ 30 = 100). So an interest rate of 3 percent is just another way of saying that the current market price of a promise of $100 30 years from now is $41. 

If you will pay me $55 for the promise, that’s the same as an interest rate of 2 percent. If you’ll pay me $74, that’s the same as an interest rate of 1 percent.

If you’ll pay me $100 for the promise, that is of course equivalent to an interest rate of 0. And if you’ll pay me $135 for the promise of $100 30 years from now, that’s the equivalent of an interest of -1 percent. 

When we look at things this way, there is nothing special about negative rates. There is just continuous range of prices for an asset. Negative rates refer to the upper part of the range but nothing in particular changes at the boundary between them. Nothing magical or even noticeable happens when the price of an asset (in this case that promise of $100) goes from $99 to $101, any different from when it went from $97 to $99. The creditor is still paying the borrower today, the borrower is still paying the creditor in the future.

Now the next step: Think about what happens when interest rates change. 

Suppose I paid $135 for a promise of $100 thirty years from now, as in the example above. Again, this equivalent to an interest rate of -1 percent. Now it’s a year later, so I have a promise of $100 29 years from now. At an interest rate of -1 percent, that is worth $133.50. (The fact that the value of the bond declines over time is another way of seeing that it’s a negative interest rate.) But now suppose that, in the meantime, market interest rates have fallen to -2 percent. That means a promise of $100 29 years from now is now worth $178. (178 * 0.98 ^ 29 = 100.) So my bond has increased in value from $135 to $178, a capital gain of one-third! So if I think it is even modestly more likely that interest rates will fall than that they’ll rise over the next year, the expected return on that negative-yield bond is actually positive.

Suppose that it comes to be accepted that the normal, usual yield on say, German 10-year bunds is -1 percent. (Maybe people come to agree that the liquidity, risk and regulatory benefits of holding them are worth the payment of 1 percent of their value a year. That seems reasonable!) Now, suppose that the yield starts to move toward positive territory – for concreteness, say the current yield reaches 0, while people still expect the normal yield to be -1 percent. This implies that the rise to 0 is probably transitory. And if the ten-year bund returns to a yield of -1 percent, that implies a capital gain on the order of 10 percent for anyone who bought them at zero. This means that as soon as the price begins to rise toward zero, demand will rise rapidly. And the bidding-up of the price of the bund that happens in response to the expected capital gains, will ensure that the yield never in fact reaches zero, but stops rising before gets much above -1 percent. 

Bond pricing is a technical field, which I have absolutely no expertise in. But this fundamental logic has to be an important factor in decisions by investors (as opposed to financial institutions) who hold negative-yielding bonds in their portfolios. The lower you expect bond yields to be in the future, the higher the expected return on a bond with a given yield today. If a given yield gets accepted as usual or normal, then expected capital gains will rise rapidly when the yield rises above that — a dynamic that will ensure that the actual yield does not in fact depart far from the normal one. Capital gains are a bigger part of the return the lower the current yield is. So while high-yielding bonds can see price moves in response to fundamentals (or at least beliefs about them), these self-confirming expectations (or conventions) are likely to dominate once yields fall to near zero. 

These dynamics disappear when you think in terms of an intertemporal equilibrium where future yields are known and assets are held to maturity. When we think of trading off consumption today for consumption tomorrow, we are implicitly imagining something equivalent to holding bond to maturity. And of course if you have a model with interest rates determined by some kind of fundamentals by a process known to the agents in the model — what is called model-consistent or rational expectations — than it makes to sense to say that people could believe the normal or “correct” level of interest rates is anything other than what it is. So speculation is excluded by assumption.

Keynes understand all this clearly, and the fact that the long-term interest rate is conventionally determined in this way is quite important to his theory. But he seems never to have considered the possibility of negative yields. As a result he saw the possibility of capital gains as disappearing as interest rates got close to zero. This meant that for him, the conventional valuation was not symmetrical, but operated mainly as a floor. But once we allow the possibility of negative rates, conventional expectations can prevent a rise in interest rates just as easily as a fall. 

In short, negative yields are a puzzle and a problem in the real exchange paradigm that dominates economic conversation, in which the “interest rate” is the terms on which goods today exchange for goods in the future. But from the money view, where the interest rate is the (inverse of) the price of an asset yielding a flow of money payments, there is nothing especially puzzling about negative rates. It just implies greater demand for the relevant assets. A corollary is that while there should be a single exchange rate between now and later, the prices of different assets may behave quite differently. So while many of the paradoxes people pose around negative rates assume that all rates go negative together, in the real world the average rate on US credit cards, for example, is still about 15 percent — the same as it was 20 years ago. 

In the future, the question people may ask is not how interest rates could be negative, but why was it that the government for so long paid the banks for the valuable services its bonds offered them? 

A Baker’s Dozen of Reasons Not to Worry about Government Debt

(EDIT: It’s not sufficiently clear in the original post, but I wrote this as a sort of compendium of arguments one might use in response to claims that the federal debt is a binding constraint on new spending. I’m not saying these are the best or only reasons to reject the idea that federal government cannot borrow more. I’m saying that these are arguments that seem to have some traction in the mainstream policy world, such that you could use them in a newspaper op-ed or conversation with a congress member’s staff. Also, a premise here is that there are urgent needs we want the public sector to spend more on. Apart from the last couple, these are not arguments for more public dbet as an end in itself.)

 

Why might larger budget deficits be ok?

There are a number of reasons why economists, policymakers and advocates believe that increased public borrowing is not something to be afraid of. As I’ll discuss below, the fundamental factor linking most of these reasons is the idea that the US economy is generally operating below capacity.

When we think about the fiscal balance – the difference between government spending and government revenue – we always have to keep in mind that it has two sides: the real side and the financial side. Whenever the government increases spending, it has two kinds of effects. First, all else equal, it increases the amount of government debt in circulation. And second, it increases demand for goods and services, both directly when the government buys them and indirectly as government spending creates incomes for private businesses and households. 

To put it another way, for government to successfully raise spending without raising taxes, two things have to be true. First, someone – banks, wealthy families, foreign countries – has to be willing to hold the additional debt that the government issues. And second, someone has to be prepared to sell whatever it is that the government is trying to buy. If we are asking what kinds of limits there might be to deficit spending, we have to think about both sides. A government’s spending may face financial constraints, if people are unwilling to hold more of its debt; or real constraints, if the economy cannot produce the additional goods and services it is trying to buy.

Some people who think higher deficits are not a problem – particularly those associated with Modern Monetary Theory – believe that the US federal government never faces financial constraints, so only the real constraints matter. Others believe that the federal government might in principle face financial constraints, but there are good reasons to think that they are not an issue today. For policy purposes, the difference between these positions may not be very important.

On the real constraint side, the essential question is how close the economy is to potential output, or full employment. (The two terms are used interchanegably.) In an economy operating at potential, government can only increase its spending f the private sector reduces its spending. This “crowding out” is the real cost of increased public spending. In an economy below potential, on the other hand, the goods and services purchased by increased public spending come from mobilizing unused productive capacity, so there is no crowding out. In. fact, if the fiscal multiplier is big enough (greater than one) then increased purchases of goods and services by the public sector will result in more goods and services being purchased by the private sector as well.

Below, I lay out a baker’s dozen of related arguments for why, from a macroeconomic perspective, we should welcome increased debt-financed public spending. Some people who believe in greater public borrowing would accept all of these arguments; some only some of them. 

Real-economy arguments for more public borrowing

1. The economy generally operates below potential. Over the past 30 years, there have been three recessions, each followed by a long period of weak growth and high unemployment. By official measures, in 10 of the past 30 years GDP has been at least two points below potential; there have been only six months when it was more than two points above potential. And there has been no periods of high inflation. This suggests that in general, the economy is not running at full capacity; there is additional productive potential that could be mobilized by higher public spending, without crowding out private spending. In that sense, there is no real cost to higher public spending, and no need top offset it with higher taxes. Even better, higher public spending will help close the output gap and raise private spending as well.

2. There are long run forces pushing down demand. Larry Summers famously reintroduced into the economic conversation the idea of secular stagnation – that there is a long-run tendency for private spending to fall short of the economy’s productive potential. There are many reasons we might expect private spending to be lower, relative to national income, in the future than in the past. Among these: increased monopoly power; the shift toward information-based rather than resource-intensive production; increased shareholder power; a more unequal distribution of income; slower population growth; and the satiation of demand for market consumption, in favor of leisure and nonmarket activities. (The first three of these factors tend to reduce investment spending, the last  three consumption spending.)  If this idea is correct, the demand shortfalls of the past thirty years are not an anomaly, and we should expect them to grow larger in the future.

3. Potential output is mismeasured; we are still well below it. Even by the conventional measures of unemployment and potential output, the US economy has spent far more time in recent decades below target than above it. But if the target is mismeasured, the problem may be even worse. There are good reasons to think that both productivity and laborforce growth over the past decade have been depressed by weak demand. If this is the case, the US economy even at the height of a supposed boom, may in fact be operating well below potential today. The fact that  even with measured unemployment below 4 percent wage growth has accelerated only modestly, and inflation has not accelerated at all, is important evidence for this view.

4. Recessions and jobless recoveries have occurred repeatedly in past, will occur again in the future. Whether or not the US economy is at potential today, the current expansion will not continue forever. Recessions have occurred in the past and will occur in the future. Many forecasts believe there is a high risk of recession is likely in the relatively near future; the fact that the Fed is moving toward cutting rates suggests that they share this view. When thinking about what fiscal balance is appropriate, we need to consider not just where the economy is today but where it is likely to be in coming years.

5. Monetary policy is not effective at maintaining full employment. In the past, weak demand and recessions weren’t considered an argument for more public spending because it was assumed that a central bank following the correct policy rule could quickly return the economy to full employment. But it is increasingly clear that central banks do not have the tools (and perhaps the willingness) to precent extended periods of weak demand. It is increasingly recognized that fiscal policy is also required to stabilize demand. In his July testimony before Congress, Fed chair Jerome Powell said explicitly that in the event of another deep recession, the Fed would need help from fiscal policy. One important reason for this is the problem of the zero lower bound – since the policy interest rate cannot be set below zero, there is a limit to how far the Fed can lower it in a recession.

6. It’s hard to ramp up public spending quickly in recession. Orthodox opinion has long been that fiscal policy is not as effective as monetary policy in a recession because it takes much longer to ramp up public spending than to cut interest rates. While the experience of the Great Recession undermined conventional wisdom on many points, it supported it on this one. The ARRA stimulus bill was supposed to direct spending to “shovel-ready” projects, but in fact the majority of the infrastructure spending funded by the bill came several years after it passed. There are many institutional obstacles to increasing public spending rapidly. This means that if we need higher public spending in a recession, the best thing is to have higher spending all the time. If that leads to an overheating economy in the boom, that is an easier problem for the Fed to solve then a deep recession.

7. The costs of getting demand wrong are not symmetrical. Traditionally policymakers have defined their goal as keeping output as close to potential as possible. But it is increasingly clear that the costs of demand falling short are greater than the costs of demand overshooting potential. One reason for this is the previous point – that conventional policy has an easier time reining in excessive demand than stimulating weak demand. (As the old saying has it, “you can’t push on a string.”) A second reason is that demand has effects that go beyond the level of output. In particular, strong demand and low unemployment redistribute income toward workers from owners, and toward lower-wage workers in particular. Periods of weak demand, conversely, reduce the share of income going to workers. If we think the upward redistribution of income over the past generation is a problem, we should prefer to let demand overshoot potential than fall short of it.

8. Weak demand may have permanent effects on potential output. Traditionally, economists saw the economy’s long-term growth as being completely independent of demand conditions. People spending more money might raise production and employment today, but the long-term growth of potential output depended on structural factors – demographics, technological change, and so on. More recently, however, there has been renewed interest in the idea that weak demand can reduce potential output, an effect known as hysteresis. high unemployment may lead more people to drop out of the laborforce, while low unemployment may lead more people to enter the laborforce (or immigrate from abroad.) Strong demand may also lead to faster productivity growth. If hysteresis is real, then demand shortfalls don’t reduce output and employment this year, but potentially many years in the future as well. This is another reason to be more worried about demand falling short than overshooting, hence another reason to prefer a more expansionary fiscal stance, which normally implies more public borrowing.

Financial arguments for more public borrowing

9. With low interest rates, debt does not snowball. Traditionally, concerns about the financing of government spending have focused on whether debt is “sustainable” – whether debt levels will stabilize as a fraction of GDP, or rise without limit. When interest rates are greater than GDP growth rates, this implies a hard limit to government borrowing – to keep the debt-GDP ratio on a stable path, a deficit in one year must be made up for by a larger surplus in a future year. Otherwise, the interest on the existing debt will imply more and more borrowing, with the debt-GDP ratio rising without limit. But when interest rates on government debt are below growth rates, as they have been for the past 25 years, the debt ratio will stabilize on its own – deficits do not have to be offset with surpluses. This makes much of the earlier concern with debt sustainability obsolete.

10. There is good reason to think interest rates will remain low. There are a number of reasons to think that interest rates on public debt are likely to remain low, even if debt ratios rise considerably higher. First, low interest rates reflect the conditions of chronic weak demand discussed above, for two reasons. First, low investment means less demand for borrowed funds. And second, weak demand means that the interest rate set by the central bank is likely to be low. A second reason to expect low interest rates to continue is that the past ten years have repeatedly falsified predictions of bond vigilantes driving up the rates on government debt. Prior to the financial crisis of 2007-2008, many observers expected a catastrophic flight by investors away from US government debt and the dollar, but in fact, the crisis saw a steep fall interest rates on government debt and a rise in the dollar, as investors all over the world rushed to the safety of Treasury debt. Similarly, in Europe, even in the worst crisis-hit countries like Greece, interest rates are at their lowest point in history. Similarly Japan, with one of the highest debt0-GDP ratios ever recorded (about triple that of the US) continues to borrow at very low rats. Third, the experience of the past ten years have made it clear that even if investors were to demand higher interest rates on government debt, modern central banks can easily overcome this. The most dramatic illustration of this came in the summer of 2012, when a public statement by European Central bank chief Mario Draghi “we will do whatever it takes, and believe me, it will be enough”) reversed the spike in interest rates in countries like Italy, Spain and Portugal practically overnight. Finally, the prices of bonds — with hardly any premium for 30 year bonds over 5 and 10 year maturities — show that private investors do not expect a rise in interest rates any time in the foreseeable future.

11. With hysteresis, higher public borrowing can pay for itself. Even if we are concerned about lowering the debt-GDP ratio, the existence of hysteresis (point 8 above) means that cutting public borrowing is necessarily the right way to get there. In a world where the long-term path of GDP depends on aggregate demand, austerity can be self-defeating even in its own narrow financial terms. If lower public spending reduces demand, then it can lead to lower GDP, potentially raising the debt to GDP ratio even if it succeeds in reducing debt. Greece offers a clear example of this – the fiscal surpluses between 2010 and 2015 succeeded in reducing government debt by 5 percent, but the deep austerity contributed to a fall in GDP of 25 percent. So the debt-GDP ratio actually rose. Similarly, if debt-financed public spending leads to faster growth, the debt-GDP ratio may end up lower than otherwise. 

12. Federal debt is an important asset for financial markets. The points up to now have been arguments for why higher public debt is acceptable. But there is also an argument that increased public debt would be a positive good. Financial markets depend on Treasury debt as a safe, liquid asset. Federal government debt offers an absolutely safe asset that can always be sold quickly and at a predictable price – something that is extremely valuable for banks and other financial institutions. There is a strong argument that the growth of the mortgage-backed security market in the 2000s was fundamentally driven by a scarcity of government debt – many financial institutions wanted (or were compelled by regulation) to hold a substantial amount of ultrasafe, liquid debt, and there was not enough government debt in circulation to meet this demand. So financial markets came up with mortgage-backed securities as a supposed alternative – with disastrous results. Similarly, after the recession, one argument for why the recovery was so slow was a “safe asset shortage” – financial institutions were unwilling to make risky loans without  holdings of ultrasafe assets to balance them. While these concerns have receded today, there is still good reason to expect a “flight to safety” toward Treasury debt in the event of a new crisis, and government debt remains important for settling many financial contracts and pricing other assets. So strange as it may sound, there is a serious argument – made by, among others, Nobel prize winner Jean Tirole in his book on financial liquidity — that increased government borrowing would make the financial system more stable and increase access to credit for other borrowers.

13. Federal debt is an important asset for the rest of the world. Federal debt is an important asset not just for the US financial system, but for the rest of the world. In today’s dollar-based international system, the great majority of international trade and investment is denominated in dollars, and most foreign-exchange transactions involve dollars. As a result, central banks (and private financial institutions) all over the world hold foreign-exchange reserves primarily in the form of dollars. These dollar reserves are mainly held in the form of Treasury debt. Close to half of federal debt is now held abroad, mainly as reserves by foreign governments. These holdings are essential for the stability of the international financial system – without adequate reserves, countries are vulnerable to sudden flows of “hot money” out of their countries. As Barry Eichengreen – perhaps the leading economic historian of the international financial system, — has noted, a deep market for government is an essential requirement for a currency to serve as the global reserve currency. If the US is going to be a responsible partner for the rest of the world — and continue reaping the benefits of being at the center of the global economy — it needs to provide an adequate supply of safe government debt for the rest of the world to hold as reserves.

 (I wrote this document for internal use at the Roosevelt Institute. Figured I might as well put it up here as well. Obviously it would benefit from links to supporting material, which I may add at some point.)

The Economic Case for the Green New Deal

(Co-authored with Sue Holmberg and Mark Paul, and cross-posted from Forbes. This is a teaser for a project the three of us are working on at the Roosevelt Institute on the economics of the Green New Deal.)

Almost overnight, the idea of a Green New Deal has won over environmental activists and many lawmakers. An all-out national mobilization to decarbonize the economy has a natural appeal to those who see climate change as an immediate, existential threat. But others have doubts. Why can’t markets guide the transition from carbon? Do we really need an expansion of the public sector on the scale of the New Deal or World War II? Can we afford it?

As economists, we think the answer is Yes.

To many economists, the obvious alternative to a Green New Deal is a carbon tax. Make the tax high enough, and businesses and consumers will figure the best ways to reduce emissions. A group of eminent economists from both parties, including Nobel Laureates and former Federal Reserve chairman, recently endorsed this approach to climate change. They argue that markets, rather than regulation or public spending, are best at spurring investments in clean energy.

Carbon pricing definitely has a role to play, but market approaches have limits. Markets are effective at allocating resources when the required adjustments are small and the outcomes clear and immediate. Yet, there’s a reason that during World War II, the government built aircraft factories and allocated scarce materials like steel and rubber through the War Production Board. Closer to home, there’s a reason that large businesses have professional managers to plan their operations, and don’t rely on internal markets.

The limits of leaving large-scale planning to markets should be even clearer today, especially after the experience of the housing bubble and crash, which demonstrated a colossal failure of financial markets to direct investment to productive uses. We shouldn’t count on the same financial system that so mismanaged the housing market to guide the shift away from fossil fuels on its own.

Instead, the government needs to mobilize our collective productive capacities through a mix of tools: directly through public investments and credit policy; through regulations that enforce key climate goals, in the same way that harmful chemicals are banned and not just taxed; and through taxes and subsidies that ensure that what consumers and businesses pay for goods and services reflects their true social cost.

What about the fact that the Green New Deal bill includes seemingly unrelated issues, like health coverage and a jobs guarantee? Is there a danger of weighing down a climate program with perhaps worthy but unrelated social goals?  If we were talking about small-bore regulatory changes, this criticism might have merit. But we may be looking at five or ten percent of GDP, sustained over many years. Action on this scale is going to have major effects on labor markets and income distribution, one way or another. The question is only whether these impacts come haphazardly, or openly and deliberately.

A Green New Deal that didn’t address social justice would risk reinforcing existing inequities of education, geography, race and gender, as certain workers and regions found their labor in much greater demand and others much less. The fact that the authors of the bill have addressed these impacts directly does not mean they are getting distracted or being disingenuous. It means they are taking the project seriously. As recent events in France demonstrate, environmental policy that ignores existing inequities invites a ferocious backlash.

Perhaps the most common question about the Green New Deal approach is “How do we pay for it?” That is, where will the money come from for new public spending? And where will the real resources come from, for both public and private investment in decarbonization?

Supporters of the Green New Deal, like most Americans, also favor higher taxes on very high incomes and wealth. But these will not cover all the increased public spending. So, yes, the government will borrow more, but this shouldn’t worry us.

In recent years, there has been a remarkable shift among economists on the dangers of high public debt. The big runup in U.S. debt over the past decade has not been accompanied by any of the disasters that we used to fear—runaway inflation, sky-high interest rates. Neither has rising debt in Japan, which has now reached 250 percent of GDP with no obvious ill effects.

In a world of low interest rates, which seem to be here for the foreseeable future, there is no danger of a runaway debt spiral. The idea that low interest rates make deficits less worrisome has been forcefully argued by people like former IMF chief economist Olivier Blanchard and former Treasury Secretary Lawrence Summers and Council of Economic Advisors Chair Jason Furman. Even if the government runs deficits year after year, the debt will eventually stabilize.

On the productivity side, there is good reason to think that our economy is still operating well below full capacity. Real GDP today is more than 10 percent below the level predicted a decade ago, and at least some of this gap reflects lingering weak demand following the Great Recession. Despite the low headline unemployment rate, the fraction of working-age adults in the labor market is substantially lower than it was a decade ago — let alone than in the late 1990s, or in many other rich countries. Meanwhile, flat productivity suggests that many of the Americans who have jobs are underemployed. A truly strong labor market would bring discouraged workers back into the labor force, shift currently employed workers into more high-yielding work, and boost wage growth – something that still hasn’t happened despite today’s supposedly tight labor markets.

We won’t know for sure how much space there is exactly until we reach the limits, but there’s every reason to push them – if a deficit-funded Green New Deal causes the economy to run hot for a while, that’s a benefit, not a cost. Faster wage growth will help workers regain the ground they have lost in the last 50 years. And if the Fed has to raise rates to step on the brakes, that gives them more room to cut them again in the next recession.

There is no silver bullet to address climate change, but history shows us that market approaches alone are not enough –  public investment and other, more direct government action are necessary to provide an effective, robust response. The costs of a Green New Deal are affordable, but the costs of inaction are literally beyond calculation.

As economists, we see a Green New Deal as eminently reasonable. As human beings, we see it as a necessity.

Saving and Borrowing: A Response to Klein

Matthew Klein has a characteristically thoughtful post disagreeing with my new paper on income distribution and debt. I think his post has some valid arguments, but also, from my point of view, some misunderstandings. In any case, this is the conversation we should be having.

I want to respond on the specific points Klein raises. But first, in this post, I want to clarify some background conceptual issues. In particular, I want to explain why I think it’s unhelpful to think about the issues of debt and demand in terms of saving.

Klein talks a great deal about saving in his post. Like most people writing on these issues, he treats the concepts of rising debt-income ratios, higher borrowing and lower saving as if they were interchangeable. In common parlance, the question “why have households borrowed more?” is equivalent to “why have households saved less?” And either way, the spending that raises debt and reduces saving, is also understood to contribute to aggregate demand.

This conception is laid out in Figure 1 below. These are accounting rather than causal relationships. A minus sign in the link means the relationship is negative.

 

We start with households’ decision to consume more or less out of their income. Implicitly, all household outlays are for consumption, or at least, this is the only flow of household spending that varies significantly. An additional dollar of household consumption spending means an additional dollar of demand for goods and services; it also means a dollar less of savings. A dollar less of savings equals a dollar more of borrowing. More borrowing obviously means higher debt, or — equivalently in this view — a higher debt-GDP ratio.

There’s nothing particularly orthodox or heterodox about this way of looking at things. You can hear the claim that a rise in the household debt-income ratio contributes more or less one for one to aggregate demand as easily from Paul Krugman as from Steve Keen. Similarly, the idea that a decline in savings rates is equivalent to an increase in borrowing is used by Marxists as well as by mainstream economists, not to mention eclectic business journalists like Klein. Of course no one actually says “we assume that household assets are fixed or nonexistent.” But implicitly that’s what you’re doing when you treat the question of what has happened to household borrowing as if it were the equivalent of what has happened to household saving.

There is nothing wrong, in principle, with thinking in terms of the logic of Figure 1, or constructing models on that basis. Social science is impossible without abstraction. It’s often useful, even necessary, to think through the implications of a small subset of the relationships between economic variables, while ignoring the rest. But when we turn to  the concrete historical changes in macroeconomic quantities like household debt and aggregate demand in the US, the ceteris paribus condition is no longer available. We can’t reason in terms of the hypothetical case where all else was equal. We have to take into account all the factors that actually did contribute to those changes.

This is one of the main points of the debt-inequality paper, and of my work with Arjun Jayadev on household debt. In reality, much of the historical variation in debt-income ratios and related variables cannot be explained in terms of the factors in Figure 1. You need something more like Figure 2.

Figure 2 shows a broader set of factors that we need to include in a historical account of household sector balances. I should emphasize, again, that this is not about cause and effect. The links shown in the diagram are accounting relationships. You cannot explain the outcomes at the bottom without the factors shown here. [1] I realize it looks like a lot of detail. But this is not complexity for complexity’s sake. All the links shown in Figure 2 are quantitatively important.

The dark black links are the same as in the previous diagram. It is still true that higher household consumption spending reduces saving and raises aggregate demand, and contributes to lower saving and higher borrowing, which in turn contributes to lower net wealth and an increase in the debt ratio. Note, though, that I’ve separated saving from balance sheet improvement. The economic saving used in the national accounts is quite different from the financial saving that results in changes in the household balance sheet.

In addition to the factors the debt-demand story of Figure 1 focuses on, we also have to consider: various actual and imputed payment flows that the national accounts attribute to the household sector, but which do not involve any money payments to or fro households (blue); the asset side of household balance sheets (gray); factors other than current spending that contribute to changes in debt-income ratios (red); and change in value of existing assets (cyan).

The blue factors are discussed in Section 5 of the debt-distribution paper. There is a much fuller discussion in a superb paper by Barry Cynamon and Steve Fazzari, which should be read by anyone who uses macroeconomic data on household income and consumption. Saving, remember, is defined as the difference between income and consumption. But as Cynamon and Fazzari point out, on the order of a quarter of both household income and consumption spending in the national accounts is accounted for by items that involve no actual money income or payments for households, and thus cannot affect household balance sheets.

These transactions include, first, payments by third parties for services used by households, mainly employer-paid premiums for health insurance and payments to healthcare providers by Medicaid and Medicare. These payments are counted as both income and consumption spending for households, exactly as if Medicare were a cash transfer program that recipients then chose to use to purchase healthcare. If we are interested in changes in household balance sheets, we must exclude these payments, since they do not involve any actual outlays by households; but they still do contribute to aggregate demand. Second, there are imputed purchases where no money really changes hands at all.  The most important of these are owners’ equivalent rent that homeowners are imputed to pay to themselves, and the imputed financial services that households are supposed to purchase (paid for with imputed interest income) when they hold bank deposits and similar assets paying less than the market interest rate. Like the third party payments, these imputed interest payments are counted as both income and expenditure for households. Owners’ equivalent rent is also added to household income, but net of mortgage interest, property taxes and maintenance costs. Finally, the national accounts treat the assets of pension and similar trust funds as if they were directly owned by households. This means that employer contributions and asset income for these funds are counted as household income (and therefore add to measured saving) while benefit payments are not.

These items make up a substantial part of household payments as recorded in the national accounts – Medicare, Medicaid and employer-paid health premiums together account for 14 percent of official household consumption; owners’ equivalent rent accounts for another 10 percent; and imputed financial services for 4 percent; while consolidating pension funds with households adds about 2 percent to household income (down from 5 percent in the 1980s). More importantly, the relative size of these components has changed substantially in the past generation, enough to substantially change the picture of household consumption and income.

Incidentally, Klein says I exclude all healthcare spending in my adjusted consumption series. This is a misunderstanding on his part. I exclude only third-party health care spending — healthcare spending by employers and the federal government. I’m not surprised he missed this point, given how counterintuitive it is that Medicare is counted as household consumption spending in the first place.

This is all shown in Figure 3 below (an improved version of the paper’s Figure 1):

The two dotted lines remove public and employer payments for healthcare, respectively, from household consumption. As you can see, the bulk of the reported increase in household consumption as a share of GDP is accounted for by healthcare spending by units other than households. The gray line then removes owners’ equivalent rent. The final, heavy black line removes imputed financial services, pension income net of benefits payments, and a few other, much smaller imputed items. What we are left with is monetary expenditure for consumption by households. The trend here is essentially flat since 1980; it is simply not the case that household consumption spending has increased as a share of GDP.

So Figure 3 is showing the contributions of the blue factors in Figure 2. Note that while these do not involve any monetary outlay by households and thus cannot affect household balance sheets or debt, they do all contribute to measured household saving.

The gray factors involve household assets. No one denies, in principle, that balance sheets have both an asset side and a liability side; but it’s striking how much this is ignored in practice, with net and gross measures used interchangeably. In the first place, we have to take into account residential investment. Purchase of new housing is considered investment, and does not reduce measured saving; but it does of course involve monetary outlay and affects household balance sheets just as consumption spending does. [2] We also have take into account net acquisition of financial assets. An increase in spending relative to income moves household balance sheets toward deficit; this may be accommodated by increased borrowing, but it can just as well be accommodated by lower net purchases of financial assets. In some cases, higher desired accumulation of financial asset can also be an autonomous factor requiring balance sheet adjustment. (This is probably more important for other sectors, especially state and local governments, than for households.) The fact that adjustment can take place on the asset as well as the liability side is another reason there is no necessary connection between saving and debt growth.

Net accumulation of financial assets affects household borrowing, but not saving or aggregate demand. Residential investment also does not reduce measured saving, but it does increase aggregate demand as well as borrowing. The red line in Figure 3 adds residential investment by households to adjusted consumption spending. Now we can see that household spending on goods and services did indeed increase during the housing bubble period – conventional wisdom is right on that point. But this was a  spike of limited duration, not the secular increase that the standard consumption figures suggest.

Again, this is not just an issue in principle; historical variation in net acquisition of assets by the household sector is comparable to variation in borrowing. The decline in observed savings rates in the 1980s, in particular, was much more reflected in slower acquisition of assets than faster growth of debt. And the sharp fall in saving immediately prior to the great recession in part reflects the decline in residential investment, which peaked in 2005 and fell rapidly thereafter.

The cyan item is capital gains, the other factor, along with net accumulation, in growth of assets and net wealth. For the debt-demand story this is not important. But in other contexts it is. As I pointed out in my Crooked Timber post on Piketty, the growth in capital relative to GDP in the US is entirely explained by capital gains on existing assets, not by the accumulation dynamics described by his formula “r > g”.

Finally, the red items in Figure 2 are factors other than current spending and income that affect the debt-income ratio. Arjun Jayadev and I call this set of factors “Fisher dynamics,” after Irving Fisher’s discussion of them in his famous paper on the Great Depression. Interest payments reduce measured saving and shift balance sheets toward deficit, just like consumption; but they don’t contribute to aggregate demand. Defaults or charge-offs reduce the outstanding stock of debt, without affecting demand or measured savings. Like capital gains, they are a change in a stock without any corresponding flow. [3] Finally, the debt-income ratio has a denominator as well as a numerator; it can be raised just as well by slower nominal income growth as by higher borrowing.

These factors are the subject of two papers you can find here and here. The bottom line is that a large part of historical changes in debt ratios — including the entire long-term increase since 1980 — are the result of the items shown in red here.

So what’s the point of all this?

First, borrowing is not the opposite of saving. Not even roughly. Matthew Klein, like most people, immediately translates rising debt into declining saving. The first half of his post is all about that. But saving and debt are very different things. True, increased consumption spending does reduce saving and increase debt, all else equal. But saving also depends on third party spending and imputed spending and income that has no effect on household balance sheets. While debt growth depends, in addition to saving, on residential investment, net acquisition of financial assets, and the rate of chargeoffs; if we are talking about the debt-income ratio, as we usually are, then it also depends on nominal income growth. And these differences matter, historically. If you are interested in debt and household expenditure, you have to look at debt and expenditure. Not saving.

Second, when we do look at expenditure by households, there is no long-term increase in consumption. Consumption spending is flat since 1980. Housing investment – which does involve outlays by households and may require debt financing – does increase in the late 1990s and early 2000s, before falling back. Yes, this investment was associated with a big rise in borrowing, and yes, this borrowing did come significantly lower in the income distribution that borrowing in most periods. (Though still almost all in the upper half.) There was a debt-financed housing bubble. But we need to be careful to distinguish this episode from the longer-term rise in household debt, which has different roots.

 

[1] Think of it this way: If I ask why the return on an investment was 20 percent, there is no end to causal factors you can bring in, from favorable macroeconomic conditions to a sound business plan to your investing savvy or inside knowledge. But in accounting terms, the return is always explained by the income and the capital gains over the period. If you know both those components, you know the return; if you don’t, you don’t. The relationships in the figure are the second kind of explanation.

[2] Improvement of existing housing is also counted as investment, as are brokers’ commissions and other ownership transfer costs. This kind of spending will absorb some part of the flow of mortgage financing to the household sector — including the cash-out refinancing of the bubble period — but I haven’t seen an estimate of how much.

[3] There’s a strand of heterodox macro called “stock-flow consistent modeling.” Insofar as this simply means macroeconomics that takes aggregate accounting relationships seriously, I’m very much in favor of it. Social accounting matrices (SAMs) are an important and underused tool. But it’s important not to take the name too literally — economic reality is not stock-flow consistent!

 

Two Papers in Progress

There are two new papers on the articles page on this site. Both are work in progress – they haven’t been submitted anywhere yet.

 

[I’ve taken the debt-distribution paper down. It’s being revised.]

The Evolution of State-Local Balance Sheets in the US, 1953-2013

Slides

The first paper, which I presented in January in Chicago, is a critical assessment of the idea of a close link between income distribution and household debt. The idea is that rising debt is the result of rising inequality as lower-income households borrowed to maintain rising consumption standards in the face of stagnant incomes; this debt-financed consumption was critical to supporting aggregate demand in the period before 2008. This story is often associated with Ragnuram Rajan and Mian and Sufi but is also widely embraced on the left; it’s become almost conventional wisdom among Post Keynesian and Marxist economists. In my paper, I suggest some reasons for skepticism. First, there is not necessarily a close link between rising aggregate debt ratios and higher borrowing, and even less with higher consumption. Debt ratios depend on nominal income growth and interest payments as well as new borrowing, and debt mainly finances asset ownership, not current consumption. Second, aggregate consumption spending has not, contrary to common perceptions, risen as a share of GDP; it’s essentially flat since 1980. The apparent rise in the consumption share is entirely due to the combination of higher imputed noncash expenditure, such as owners’ equivalent rent; and third party health care spending (mostly Medicare). Both of these expenditure flows are  treated as household consumption in the national accounts. But neither involves cash outlays by households, so they cannot affect household balance sheets. Third, household debt is concentrated near the top of the income distribution, not the bottom. Debt-income ratios peak between the 85th and 90th percentiles, with very low ratios in the lower half of the distribution. Most household debt is owed by the top 20 percent by income. Finally, most studies of consumption inequality find that it has risen hand-in-hand with income inequality; it appears that stagnant incomes for most households have simply meant stagnant living standards. To the extent demand has been sustained by “excess” consumption, it was more likely by the top 5 percent.

The paper as written is too polemical. I need to make the tone more neutral, tentative, exploratory. But I think the points here are important and have not been sufficiently grappled with by almost anyone claiming a strong link between debt and distribution.

The second paper is on state and local debt – I’ve blogged a bit about it here in the past few months. The paper uses budget and balance sheet data from the census of governments to make two main points. First, rising state and local government debt does not imply state and local government budget deficits. higher debt does not imply higher deficits: Debt ratios can also rise either because nominal income growth slows, or because governments are accumulating assets more rapidly. For the state and local sector as a whole, both these latter factors explain more of the rise in debt ratios than does the fiscal balance. (For variation in debt ratios across state governments, nominal income growth is not important, but asset accumulation is.) Second, despite balanced budget requirements, state and local governments do show substantial variation in fiscal balances, with the sector as a whole showing deficits and surpluses up to almost one percent of GDP. But unlike the federal government, the state and local governments accommodate fiscal imbalances entirely by varying the pace of asset accumulation. Credit-market borrowing does not seem to play any role — either in the aggregate or in individual states — in bridging gaps between current expenditure and revenue.

I will try to blog some more about both these papers in the coming days. Needless to say, comments are very welcome.

The Action Is on the Asset Side

Let’s talk about state and local government balance sheets.

Like most sectors of the US economy, state and local governments have seen a long-term increase in credit-market debt, from about 8 percent of GDP in 1950 to 19 percent of GDP in 2010, before falling back a bit to 17 percent in 2013. [1] While this is modest compared with federal-government and household debt, it is not trivial. Municipal bonds are important assets in financial markets. On the liability side, state and local debt operates as a political constraint at the state level and often plays a prominent role in public discussions of state budgets. Cuts to state services and public employee wages and pensions are often justified by the problem of public debt, municipal bond offerings are a focal point for local politics, and you don’t have to look far to find scare stories about an approaching state  or local debt crisis.

muni-debt
State and Local Government Debt, 1953-2013

 

My interest in state and local debt is an extension of my work (with Arjun Jayadev) on household debt and on sovereign debt. The question is: To what extent to historical changes in debt ratios reflect the balance between revenue and expenditure, and to what extent do they represent monetary-financial factors like inflation and interest rates? The exact balance of course depends on the sector and period; what we want to steer people away from is the habit of assuming that balance sheet changes are a straightforward record of real income and spending flows. [2]

The first thing to note about state and local debt is that, as the first figure shows, only about 40 percent of it is owed by state governments, with the majority is owed by the thousands of local governments of various types. Of the 10 percent of GDP or so owed by local governments, about half is owed by general-purpose governments (cities, counties and towns, in that order), and half by special purpose districts, with school districts accounting for about half of this (or a bit over 2 percent of GDP). This is interesting because, as the  figure below shows, the majority of state and local spending is at the state level.

muni-spending
State and Local Government Spending, 1953-2013

 

This imbalance goes back to at least the 1950s and 1960s, when local governments accounted for just over half of combined state and local spending, but more than three-quarters of combined state and local government debt. The explanation for the different distributions of spending and debt over different levels of government is simple: While state governments account for a larger share of total state and local spending, local governments account for about two-thirds of state and local capital spending. In the US, most infrastructure spending is the responsibility of local governments; direct service provision, which requires buildings and other fixed assets, is also disproportionately local. State government budgets, on the other hand, include a large proportion of transfer spending, which is negligible at the local level. Since debt is mainly used to finance capital spending, it’s no surprise that the distribution of debt looks more like the distribution of capital spending than like the distribution of spending in general.

This is an interesting fact in itself, but it also is a good illustration of an important larger point that should be obvious but is often ignored: The main use of debt is to finance assets. This simple point is for some reason almost always ignored by economists — both mainstream and heterodox economists regard the paradigmatic loan as a consumption loan. [3] Among other things, this leads to the mistaken idea that credit-market debt reflects — or at least is somehow related to — dissaving. When in fact there’s no connection.

For households and businesses, just as for state and local governments, the majority of debt finances investment. [4] This means that additions to the liability side of the balance sheet are normally simultaneous with additions to the asset side, with no effect on saving. If anything, since most assets are not financed entirely with debt, most transactions that increase debt require saving to increase also. (Homebuyers normally get a mortgage and make a downpayment.) Sovereign governments are the only economic units whose borrowing mainly finances gaps between current revenue and current expenditure. Again, this point is missed as much by heterodoxy as by the mainstream. Just flipping over to the next tab in my browser, I find a Marxist writing that “Debt has become so high that the personal savings rate in the United States actually became negative.” Which is a non sequitur.

The fact that most state-local debt is at the local level, while most spending is at the state level, is a reflection of the fact that debt is used to finance capital spending and not spending in general. But in and of itself this fact doesn’t tell us anything about how much changes in the state-local debt ratio reflect fiscal deficits or dissaving. It still could be true that state and local debt mainly reflects accumulated fiscal deficits.

As it turns out, though, it isn’t true at all. As the next figure shows, historically there is no relationship between changes in the state-local debt ratio and the state-local fiscal balance.

muni-debtyears

Here, the vertical axis shows the change in the ratio of aggregate state and local debt to GDP over the year. The horizontal axis shows the aggregate fiscal balance, with surpluses positive and deficits negative. So for instance, in 2009 the debt ratio increased by about one point, while state and local governments ran an aggregate budget deficit of close to 6 percent of GDP. [5] If changes in the debt ratio mainly reflected fiscal deficits, we would expect most of the points to fall along a line sloping down from upper left to lower right. They really don’t. Yes, 2009 has both very large deficits and a large rise in the debt ratio; but 2007 has the largest aggregate surpluses, and the debt ratio rose by almost as much. Eyeballing the figure you might see a weak negative relationship; but in this case your eyeballs are fooling you. In fact, the correlation is positive. A regression of the change in on debt on the fiscal balance yields a coefficient of positive 0.11, significant at the 5 percent level. As I’ll discuss later, I’m not sure a regression is a good tool for this job. But it is good enough to answer the question, “Is state and local debt mainly the result of past deficits?” with a definite No.

How can state and local fiscal balances vary without changing the sector’s debt? The key thing to recognize about state and local government balance sheets is that they also have large financial asset positions. In the aggregate, the sector’s net financial wealth is positive; unlike the federal government, state and local governments are net creditors, not net borrowers, in financial markets. As of 2013, the sector as a whole had total debt of 18 percent of GDP, and financial assets of 34 percent of GDP. As the following figures show, the long-term rise in state and local assets is much bigger than the rise in debt. Now it is true that most of these assets are held in pension funds, rather than directly. But a lot of them are not. In fact, for state governments — though not for the state-local sector as a whole — even nontrust assets exceed total debt. And whether or not you want to attribute pension assets to the sponsoring government, contributions to pension funds are important margin on which state budgets adjust.

State and Local Financial Assets, 1953-2013
State and Local Financial Assets, 1953-2013

 

Combined State-Local Financial Net Wealth

 

As the final figure shows, since the mid 1990s the aggregate financial assets of state-local government have exceeded aggregate debt in every single state. (Alaska, with government net financial wealth in excess of 100 percent of gross state product, is off the top of the chart, as is Wyoming.) This is a change from the 1950s and 1960s, when positive and negative net positions were about equally common. Nationally, the net credit position of state and local governments was equal to 16 percent of GDP in 2013, down from over 20 percent in 2007.

These large asset positions have a number of important implications:

1. To the extent that state and local governments run deficits in recessions, they are can be financed by reducing net acquisition of assets rather than by issuing more debt. And historically it seems that this is how they mostly are financed, especially in recent cycles. So if we are interested in whether state and local budgets behave procyclically or anticyclically, the degree of flexibility these governments have on the asset side is going to be a key factor.

2. Some large part of the long-term increase in state and local debt can be attributed to increased net acquisition of assets. This is especially notable in the 1980s, when there were simultaneous rises in both state debt and state financial assets. And changes in assets are strongly correlated across states. I.e. the states that increase their debt the most in a given year, tend to also be the ones that increased their assets the most — in some periods, higher debt is actually associated with a shift toward a net creditor position.

3. Low interest rates are not so clear an argument for increased infrastructure spending as people often assume, given that little of this spending currently happens at the federal level. Yes, an individual project may still look more cost-effective, but set against that is the pressure to increase trust fund contributions.

4. If state and local governments face financial constraints on current spending, these are at least as likely to reflect the terms on which they must prefund future expenses as the terms on which they can borrow.

The second point is the key one for my larger argument. Debt is part of a financial system that evolves independently of the system comprising “real” income and expenditure. They connect with each other, but they don’t correspond to each other. The case of state and local governments is somewhat different from households and the federal government — for the latter two, changes in interest rates play a major role in the evolution of debt ratios (along with changing default rates for households), while net acquisition of financial assets is not important for the federal government. But in all cases, purely financial factors play a major role in the evolution of debt ratios, along with changes in nominal income growth rates, which explain about a third of the variation in state-local debt ratios over time. And in all cases the divergence between the real and financial variables is especially visible in the 1980s.

With respect to state and local governments specifically, point 4 may be the most interesting one. Why do state and local governments hold so much bigger asset positions than they used to? What is the argument for prefunding pension benefits and similar future expenses, rather than meeting them on a pay-as-you-go basis? And how do those arguments change if we think the current regime of low interest rates is likely to persist indefinitely? It’s not obvious to me that either public employees or public employers are better off with funded pensions. Unlike in the private sector, public employees don’t need insurance against outliving their employer. It’s not obvious why governments should hold reserves against future pension payments but not against other equally large, equally predictable future payments. Nor is it obvious how much protection funded pensions offer against benefit cuts. And if interest rates remain lower than growth rates, prefunding pensions is actually more expensive than treating them as a current expense. I see lots of discussion about how state and local government funds should be managed, but does anyone ask whether they should hold these big funds at all?

In any case, given the very large asset positions of state and local governments, and the large cyclical and secular variation in net acquisition of assets, it’s clear that we shouldn’t imagine there’s any connection between sate and local debt and state and local fiscal positions. And we shouldn’t assume that the main financial problem faced by state and local governments is the terms they can borrow on. Most of the action is on the asset side.

 

[1] My critique of Piketty comes from the same place.

[2] All data in this post comes from the Census of Governments.

[3] This is true of economic theory obviously, but it’s also true of a lot of empirical work. When Gabriel Chodorow-Reich was hired at Harvard a few years ago, for instance, his job market paper was an empirical study of credit constraints on business borrowers that ignored investment and treated credit as an input into current production.

[4] For households, nearly 70 percent of debt is accounted for by mortgages, with auto loans and student debt accounting for another 10 percent each. (Admittedly, spending in the latter two categories is counted as consumption the national accounts; but functionally, cars and diplomas are assets.) Less than 10 percent of household debt looks like consumption loans.

[5] This is different from the number you will find in the national accounts. The main reasons for the difference are, first, that the Census works on a strict cashflow basis, and, second, that it consolidates pension and other trust funds with the sponsoring government. (See here.) This means that if a pension fund’s benefit payments exceed its income in a given year, that contributes to the deficit of the sponsoring government in the Census data, but not in the national accounts. This is what’s responsible for the very large deficits reported for 2009. If we are interested in credit-market debt the Census approach seems preferable, but there are some tricky questions for sure. All this will be discussed in more detail in the paper I’m writing on state and local balance sheets.

 

EDIT: Followup here.

How Should We Count Debt Owed to the Fed?

How big is US government debt? If you google this question looking for a number, your first hit is likely to be a site like this, giving a figure (as of June 2016) around $19.5 trillion, or a bit over 100 percent of GDP. That’s the total public debt as reported by the US Treasury.

If you are reading this blog, you probably don’t take that number at face value. You probably know the preferred number is federal debt held by the public. As of June 2016, that’s $14 trillion, or a bit over 70 percent of GDP. That’s the number more likely to be used in academic papers or by official bodies. (Wikipedia seems to mix the two numbers at random.)

Debt held by the public is meant to exclude debt the federal government owes to itself.  For the US, that means subtracting the $2.8 trillion in debt held by the Social Security trust fund, the $1.7 trillion held by by federal employee retirement funds, and $1 trillion various other federal trust funds. It leaves in, however, the debt held by the Federal Reserve.

I wonder how many people, the sort of people who read this blog, know that. I wonder how many people know that today, one fifth of the federal debt “held by the public” is actually held by the Fed. I certainly didn’t, until recently.

Here’s a breakdown of federal debt by who owns it. Total public debt is the whole thing. Debt held by the public is the heavy black line. Debt held by the Fed is the blue area just below that line. (Source is various series from the Financial Accounts.)

debt-holdingsAs you can see, the Fed accounts for quite a bit of federal debt holdings — $2.5 trillion, 16 percent of GDP, or 19 percent of debt “held by the public”.

There’s some other interesting stuff in there. Most obviously, the dramatic fall in the share of debt held by households and nonfinancial businesses (the orange area), and rise of the foreign share (yellow). In the 1950s Abba Lerner could talk with some plausibility about the demand-boosting effects of federal interest payments to households; but it’s silly to suggest — as some modern Lernerians do — that higher rates might boost demand through this channel today. The declining share of the financial sector (red) is also interesting. I’ve suggested that this was a factor in rising liquidity premiums and financial fragility. If, as Zoltan Pozsar argues, we’re seeing a lasting shift from “market liquidity” to “base liquidity” this may include a permanently larger share of federal debt on bank balance sheets.

But what about the Fed share? Should it be counted in debt held by the public, or not? I can’t find the reference at the moment, but I believe there is no consistent rule on this between countries. (As I recall, the UK excludes it.) In any case, the phenomenon of large central bank holdings of government debt is not unique to the US. Here, from the OECD (p. 41), are the shares of government debt held by central banks in various countries:

Screen Shot 2016-06-02 at 9.33.51 AM

If you want to say that debt held by the Fed definitely shouldn’t be counted, I won’t object. After all, any interest earnings on the debt are simply returned to the Treasury at the end of the year, so this debt literally represents payments the government is making to itself. But that’s not what I want to say. To be honest, I can see valid arguments on both sides — yes, the Fed is a part of government just as much as the Social Security Administration; but on the other hand, the Fed’s holdings were acquired in market purchases from the private sector, while the holdings of the various trust funds are nonmarketable securities that exist only as bookkeeping devices for future payments to beneficiaries. And if you think the Fed will reduce its holdings in the near future, then it makes sense to count them for any target you might have for holdings by the private sector. But of course, in that case how much you count them will depend on whether, when and how much you think the Fed will unwind its 2009-2013 balance sheet expansions. And this is my point: There is no true level of the federal debt. The “debt” is not an object out in the world. It is a way of talking about some set of the payment commitments by some set of economic units, sets whose boundaries are inherently arbitrary.

Again, debt “held by the public” does not include the notional debt in the Social Security Trust Fund, or in the various retirement funds for  federal employees. But what about the debt (currently about 5 percent of GDP) held by state and local governments in similar trust funds? Fundamentally, these represent commitments by the federal government to help with pension payments to retired state and local government employees. But this is the same commitment embodied in the Social Security Trust Fund. And on the other hand, the federal government has a vast number of payment commitments to state and local governments — transfers from the federal government make up more than a quarter of total state government revenue. Why count the commitments that happen to be recorded as debt holding in retirement funds as federal debt but not the rest of them?

For that matter, what about the future claims of Social Security recipients? They certainly represent payment commitments by the federal government. Lawrence Kotlikoff thinks there is no difference between the commitment to make future Social Security payments and the commitment to make payments on the debt, so we should add them up and say debt held by the public is over 200 percent of GDP. Other people want to add in public pensions of all kinds. Why not throw in Medicare, too? True, retirement benefits are not marketable, but checking your expected benefits at https://www.ssa.gov/myaccount is not much harder than checking your bank balance online. And for the MMT-inclined, don’t future Social Security benefits have as good a claim to be “net wealth” for the private sector as federal debt, maybe better?

One takeaway from all this is the point eloquently made by Merijn Knibbe, that one of the big problems in the economics profession today is the complete disconnect between theory and measurement. Most public discussions and economic models — and a lot of empirical work for that matter — treat “debt”  as an object that simply exists in the world. (It’s worth noting that the question of how exactly debt is defined, and who it is owed to, does get some attention in undergraduate econ textbooks, but none at all in graduate ones.) It seems to me that the large share of debt held by central banks is a case in point of how we have to make a conscious choice about which commitments we classify as “debt”, and recognize that the best place to draw the line is going to depend on the question we’re asking. We need to treat economic categories like debt not as primitives but as provisional shorthand, and we need to be constantly walking back and forth between our abstractions and the concrete phenomena they are trying to describe. You can’t, it seems to me, do useful scholarship on something like government debt, except on the basis of a deep engagement with the concrete practices and public debates that the term is part of.

More concretely: Whenever you take a functional finance line, someone is going to stand up and start demanding in a prosecutorial tone whether you really think government debt could rise to 10 times or 100 times GDP. How about 1,000 times? a million times? — until you say something noncommittal and move on to the next question (or mute them on Twitter). But of course the answer is, it depends. It depends, first, on the concrete institutional arrangements under which debt is held, which determine both economic impacts and financial constraints, if any.  (For example, whether the debt held by central banks should be counted as held by the public depends on when or if those positions will be unwound.) And it depends, second, on how we are counting debt.

Consider a trust fund holding federal debt. What the federal government has actually committed to is a stream of payments in the future which in turn will allow the fund to fulfill its own payment commitments. Converting that flow of future payments to a liability stock in the present depends on the discount rate we assign to them. But we can follow that same procedure for any future spending, whether or not it is officially recognized as someone’s asset. As Dean Baker likes to say, given that we don’t prefund education, the military, etc., pretty much all government spending could be called an unfunded liability for the federal government. How big a liability depends on the discount rate. If the discount rate is less than the nominal growth rate, then the present value of future spending grows without limit as we consider longer periods.

Here’s an exercise. Let’s go full Kotlikoff and call all future government spending a liability of taxpayers today. Say that federal spending is a constant 20 percent of GDP and nominal growth is 5 percent per year.  If we use the current 10-year Treasury rate of around 2 percent as our discount rate, then the present value of federal spending over the next 20 years works out to, let’s see, $10 quadrillion, or 55,000 percent of GDP. That’s $30 million per person. Whoa. Can I have a Time magazine cover story now? [No I cannot, because I am bad at math. See below.]

So yeah. 20 percent of debt “held by the public” is actually owed to the Fed. An interesting fact which perhaps you did not know.

 

UPDATE: As commenter Matt points out below, the math in the next-to-last paragraph is wrong. The calculation as given yields $110  trillion, a measly 600 percent of GDP. On the other hand, if we stretch it out to the next 30 years, we get nearly $200 trillion, which is 1,000 percent of GDP or more than $600,000 per person. I guess that will do.