Tag: it’s pronounced lay-on-HOOF-udd

In Praise of Profiteering

Of the usefulness of the concept, that is.1

 In my comments on inflation, I’ve emphasized supply disruptions more than market power. But as I’ll explain in this post, I think the market power or profiteering frame is also a valid and useful one.

Thanks in large part to Lindsay Owens and her team at the Groundwork Collaborative, the idea that corporate profiteering is an important part of today’s inflation is getting a surprising amount of traction, including from the administration. So it’s no surprise that it’s attracted some hostile pushback. This sneering piece by Catherine Rampell in the Washington Post is typical, so let’s start from there.

For critics like Rampell, the profiteering claim isn’t just wrong, but “conspiracy theory”, vacuous and incoherent:

The theory goes something like this: The reason prices are up so much is that companies have gotten “greedy” and are conspiring to “pad their profits,” “profiteer” and “price-gouge.” No one has managed to define “profiteering” and “price-gouging” more specifically than “raising prices more than I’d like.” 

The problem with this narrative is that it’s just a pejorative tautology. Yes, prices are going up because companies are raising prices. Okay. This is the economic equivalent of saying “It’s raining because water is falling from the sky.” 

The interesting thing about the profiteering story, to me, is precisely that it’s not a tautology. As a matter of logic, one might just as easily say “prices are going up because consumers are paying more.” It is not an axiomatic truth that businesses are who decide on prices. It is not a feature of textbook economics (where firms are price takers) nor is it an empirically true of all markets. As for profiteering, there is a straightforward definition — price increases that don’t reflect any change in the costs of production. Both economically and in the common-sense morality that terms like “price gouging” appeal to, there’s a distinction between price increases that reflect higher costs and ones that do not. And there’s nothing novel or strange about policies to limit the latter.

These two points are related. If prices were set straightforwardly as a markup over marginal costs, it wouldn’t make sense to say that “companies are raising prices.” And there wouldn’t be any question of price-gouging. The starting point here is, that’s not necessarily how prices are set. And once we agree that prices are a decision variable for firms, rather than an automatic market outcome, it’s not obvious why there shouldn’t be a public interest in how that decision gets made.

Think about water. It’s a commonplace that big increases in the price of bottled water in a disaster zone should not be allowed. The marginal cost of selling a bottle of water already on the shelf is no higher than in normal times. Nor are high prices for bottled water serving a function as signals — the premise is precisely that the quantity available is temporarily fixed. And everyone agrees that in these settings, willingness to pay is not a good measure of need. 

What about water in normal times? In most of the United States, piped water is provided by local government. But in some places, it is provided by private water companies. And in those cases, invariably, its price is tightly regulated by a public utility commission, with price increases limited to cases where an increase in costs has been established. According to this recent GAO report, states with private water utilities all “rely on the same standard formula … to set private for-profit water rates. The formula relies on the actual costs of the utility …. including capital invested in its facilities, operations and maintenance costs, taxes, and other adjustments.” 

The principle in these types of regulations — which, again, are ubiquitous and uncontroversial — is that in the real world prices may or may not track costs of production. Price increases that reflect higher costs are legitimate, and should be permitted; ones that do not are not, and should not.

Rent control is very controversial, both among economists and the general public. But I have never heard “water rate control” brought up as an example of an illegitimate government interference in the market, or seen a study of how much more water would be provided if utilities could charge what the market would bear. (Maybe some enterprising young economist will take that on.)

The same goes for many other public utilities — electricity, gas, and so on. Here in New York, a utility that wants to raise its electricity rates has to submit a filing to the Public Service Commission documenting the its operating and capital costs; if the proposed increase doesn’t reflect the company’s costs, it is not allowed. Obviously this isn’t so simple in practice, and the system certainly has its critics. But the point is, no one thinks that electricity — an industry that combines very high fixed costs, concentration and very inelastic demand, and which is an essential input to all kinds of other activity — is something where prices can be left to the market.

So the the question is not: Should prices be regulated or controlled? Nor is it whether some price increases are unreasonable. The answers to those questions are obviously, uncontroversially Yes. The question is whether the price regulation of utilities, and the economic analysis behind it, should be extended to other areas, or to prices in general.

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People like Rampell are not thinking in terms of our world of production by large organizations using specialized tools and techniques. They are imagining an Econ 101 world where there is a fixed stock of stuff, and the market price is the one where people just want to buy that much. There are, to be sure, cases where this is a reasonable first approximation — used car dealers, say. But it is not a good description of most of the economy. Markets are not allocating a given stock of stuff, but guiding production. This production is carried out by large enterprises with substantial market power. They are not price takers. For most goods and services, price is a decision variable for producers, involving tradeoffs on a number of margins.2 

In the models taught in introductory microeconomics, producers are price takers; they choose a quantity of output which they will sell at the going price. Given rising marginal costs — each additional unit of output costs more to produce than the last one — firms will carry out production just to the point where marginal cost equals the market price. This model is in principle consistent with the existence of fixed as well as marginal costs: Free entry and exit ensures that revenue at the market price just covers fixed costs, plus the normal profit (whatever that is). 

The usual situation in a modern economy, however, is flat or declining marginal costs. Non-increasing marginal costs, nonzero fixed costs, and competitive pricing cannot coexist: In the absence of increasing marginal costs, a price equal to marginal cost leaves nothing to cover fixed costs. Modern industries, which invariably involve substantial fixed costs and flat or declining marginal costs at normal levels of output, require some degree of monopoly power in order to survive. This is the economic logic behind patents and copyrights — developing a new idea is costly, but disseminating it is cheap. So if we are relying on private businesses for this, they must be granted some degree of monopoly.3

The problem is, once we agree that some degree of market power is necessary in order for industries without declining returns to cover their fixed costs, how do we know how much market power is enough? Too much market power, and firms can make super-normal profits by holding prices above the level required to cover their costs, reducing access to whatever social useful thing they supply. Too little market power, and competing firms will be inefficiently small, drive each other to bankruptcy, or simply decline to enter, depriving society of the useful thing entirely. Returning to the IP example: To the extent that copyrights and patents serve an economic function, it is possible for them to be either too long or too short.

The problem gets worse when we think about what fixed costs men concretely. On the one hand, the decision to pay for a particular long-lived means of production is irreversible and taken in historical time; producers don’t know in advance whether their margins over costs of production will be enough to recoup the outlay. But on the other hand, the form these costs take is financial: A company has, typically, borrowed to pay for its plant, equipment and intellectual property; the concrete ongoing costs it faces are debt service payments.  These may change after the fact, by, for example, being discharged in bankruptcy — which does not in general prevent the firm from continuing to operate. So there may be a very wide space between a price high enough to induce new firms to enter and a price low enough to induce existing firms to exit.

In addition, concerns over market share, public opinion, financing constraints,  strategic interaction with competitors and other considerations mean that the price chosen within this space will not necessarily be the one that maximizes short-term profits (to the extent that this can even be known.) A lower price might allow a firm to gain market share, but risk retaliation from competitors. A higher price might allow for increased payments to shareholders, but risk a backlash from regulators or bad press. Narrowly economic factors may set some broad limits to pricing, but within them there is a broad range for strategic choices by sellers.

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These issues were central to economic debates around the turn of the last century, particularly in the context of railroads. In the second half of the 19th century, railroads were the overwhelmingly dominant industrial businesses. And they clearly did not fit the models of competitive producers pricing according to marginal cost that the economics profession was then developing.

Railroads provided an essential function, for which there were no good alternatives. A single line on a given route had an effective monopoly, while two lines in parallel were almost perfect substitutes. The largest part of costs were fixed. But on the other hand, a firm that failed to meet its fixed costs would see its debt discharged in bankruptcy and then continue operating under new ownership. The result was cycles of price gouging and ruinous competition, in which farmers and small businesses could (much of the time) reasonably complain that they were being crushed by rapacious railroad owners, and railroads could (some of the time) reasonably complain they were being driven to the wall by cutthroat competition. Or as Alfred Chandler puts it,

Railroad competition presented an entirely new business phenomenon. Never before had a very small number of very large enterprises competed for the same business. And never before had competitors been saddled with such high fixed costs. In the 1880s fixed costs…averaged two-thirds of total cost. The relentless pressure of such costs quickly convinced railroad managers that uncontrolled competition of through traffic would be “ruinous”. As long as a road had cars available to carry freight, the temptation to attract traffic by reducing rates was always there. … To both the railroad managers and investors, the logic of such competition would be bankruptcy for all.4

As Michael Perelman explains in his excellent books The End of Economics and Railroading Economics (from which the following quotes are drawn), the problem of the railroads was the problem for the first generation of American professional economists. As these economists were developing models in which prices set in competitive markets would guarantee both a rational allocation of society’s resources and a normatively fair distribution of incomes, it was clear that in the era’s dominant industry, market prices did not work at all.

Already in the 1870s, Charles Francis Adams could observe:

The traditions of political economy,…notwithstanding, there are functions of modern life, the number of which is also continually increasing, which necessarily partake in their essence of the character of monopolies…. Now it is found that, whenever this characteristic exists, the effect of competition is not to regulate cost or equalize production, but under a greater or less degree of friction to bring about combination and a closer monopoly. This law is invariable. It knows no exceptions. 

Arthur Hadley, an early president of the American Economic Association, made a similar argument. Where railroads competed, prices fell to a level that was too low to recover fixed costs, eventually sending one or both lines into bankruptcy. In the absence of competition, railroads could charge monopoly prices, which might be much higher than fixed costs. Equating prices to marginal costs made sense in an economy of small farmers or artisans. But in industries where most costs took the form of large, irreversible investments in fixed capital, there was no automatic process that would bring prices in line with costs. In Perelman’s summary:

 In order to attract new capital into the business, rates must be high enough to pay not merely operating expenses, but fixed charges on both old and new capital. But, when capital is once invested, it can afford to make rates hardly above the level of operating expenses rather than lose a given piece of business. This “fighting rate” may be only one-half or one-third of a rate which would pay fixed charges. Based on his knowledge of the railroads, [Hadley] concluded that “survival of the fittest is only possible when the unfittest can be physically removed—a thing which is impossible in the case of an unfit trunk line.”

Perelman continues:

The root of the problem, for Hadley, was that to build a new line, owners had to expect rates high enough to cover not only the costs of operating it but the costs of constructing it, the financing charges, and a premium for risk; while to continue running an existing line, rates only had to cover operating costs. And these costs were essentially invariant to the volume of traffic on the line. 

Or as John Bates Clark  put it in 1901: “There is often a considerable range within which trusts can control prices without calling potential competition into positive activity.”

These were some of the leading figures in the economics profession around the turn of the century, so it’s striking how unambiguously they rejected the  Marshallian orthodoxy of equilibrium prices. When the American Economics Association met for the first time, its proposed statement of principles included the line: “While we recognize the necessity of individual initiative in industrial life, we hold that the doctrine of laissez-faire is unsafe in politics and unsound in morals.” Politically, they were not socialists or radicals. They rejected competitive markets, but not private ownership. That however left the question, how should prices be regulated? 

For a conservative economist like Hadley, the answer was social norms:

This power [of the trusts] is so great that it can only be controlled by public opinion—not by statute…. There are means enough. Don’t let him come to your house. Disqualify him socially. You may say that it is not an operative remedy. This is a mistake. Whenever it is understood that certain practices are so clearly against public need and public necessity that the man who perpetrates them is not allowed to associate on even terms with his fellow men, you have in your hands an all-powerful remedy.

Unfortunately, in practice, the withholding of dinner party invitations is not always an operative remedy.

In principle, there are many other ways to solve the problem. Intellectually, one can assume it away by simply insisting on declining returns to scale; or one can allow constant returns but have firms rent the services of undifferentiated capital, so there are no fixed costs. If the problem is not assumed away — a more practical option for theorists than for policymakers — it could in principle be solved by somehow ensuring that producers enjoy just the right degree of monopoly. This is what patents and copyrights are presumably supposed to do. Another possible answer is to say that where competition is not possible, that is an activity that should be carried out by the public. That was, of course, where urban rail systems ended up. For someone like Oskar Lange, it was a decisive argument for socializing production more broadly.5

Alternatively, one can accept cartels or monopolies (perhaps under the tutelage of dominant banks) in the hopes that social pressure or norms will limit prices, or on the grounds that a useful service provided at monopoly prices is still better than it not being provided at all. This was, broadly, the view of figures like Hadley, Ely and Clark, and arguably a big part of how things worked out. 

But the main resolution to the problem, at least in the case of railroads, came from the increasing public pressure to regulate prices. The Interstate Commerce Commission was established to regulate railroad rates in 1887; its authority was initially limited, and it faced challenges from hostile Gilded-Age courts. But it was strengthened over the ensuing decades. The guiding principle was that rates should be high enough to cover a railroad’s full costs and a reasonable return, but no higher. This required railroads, among other things, to adopt more systematic and consistent accounting for capital costs.

Indeed, there’s a sense in which the logic of Langean socialism describes much of the evolution of private markets over the 20th century. The spread of cost-based price regulation forced firms to systematically measure and account for marginal  costs in a way they might not have done otherwise. Mark Wilson, in his fascinating Destructive Creation, describes how the use of cost-plus contracts during World War II rationalized accounting in a broad range of industries. Systems of railroad-like rate regulation were applied to a number of more or less utility-like businesses both before and after the war, imposing from above the rational relationship between costs and prices that the market could not. Many of these regulations have been rolled back since the 1970s, but as noted earlier, many others remain in place. 

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Late 19th-century debates over railroad regulation might not be the most obvious place to look for guidance to today’s inflation debates. But as Axel Leijonhufvud points out in a beautiful essay on “The Uses of the Past,” economics is not progressive in the way that physical sciences are — we can’t assume that the useful contributions of the past are all incorporated into today’s thought. Economists’ thinking often changes for reasons of politics or fashion, while the questions posed by reality are changing as well as well, often in quite different ways. Older ideas may be more relevant to new problems than the current state of the art. History of economic thought becomes useful, Leijonhufvud writes,

when the road that took you to the ‘frontier of the field’ ends in a swamp or blind alley. A lot of them do. … Back there, in the past, there were forks in the road and it is possible, even plausible, that some roads were more passable than the one that looked most promising at the time.

The road I want to take from those earlier debates is that in a setting of high fixed costs and pervasive market power, how businesses set prices is a legitimate question, both as an object of inquiry and target for policy. One of the central insights of the railroad economists is that in modern capital-intensive industries, there is a wide range over which prices are, in an economic sense, indeterminate. Depending on competitive conditions and the strategic choices of firms, prices can be persistently too high or too low relative to costs. This indeterminacy means that pricing decisions are, at least potentially, a political question. 

It’s worth emphasizing here that in empirical studies of how firms actually set prices — which admittedly are rather rare in the economics literature — an important factor in these decisions often seems to be norms around price-setting. In a classic paper on sticky prices, Alan Blinder surveyed business decision-makers on why they don’t change prices more frequently. The most common answer was, “it would antagonize customers.” In a recent ECB survey, one of the top two answers to the same question from businesses selling to the public was, similarly, that “customers expect prices to remain roughly the same.” (The other one was fear that competitors would not follow suit.)

This kind of survey data supports the idea, relied on by the Groundwork team, that businesses with substantial market power might be reluctant to use it in normal times. Those inhibitions would be lifted in an environment like that of the pandemic recovery, where individual price hikes are less likely to be seen as norm violations, or to be noticed at all. (And are more likely to be matched by competitors.)

Even more: It suggests that the moralizing language that critics like Rampell object to can, itself, be a form of inflation control. If fear of antagonizing customers is normally an important restraint on price increases then maybe we need to stoke up that antagonism! The language of “greedflation,” which I admit I didn’t originally care for, can be seen as an updated version of Arthur Hadley’s proposal to “disqualify socially” any business owner who raised prices too much. It is also, of course, useful in the fight for more direct price regulation, which is unlikely to get far on the basis of dispassionate analysis alone.

And this, I think, is a big source of the hostility toward Groundwork and toward others making the greedflation argument, like Isabella Weber.6 They are taking something that has been understood as a neutral, objective market outcome and reframing it as a moral and political question. This is, in Keynes’ terms, a question about the line between the Agenda and the Non-Agenda of political debates; and these are often more acrimonious than disputes where the legitimacy of the question itself is accepted by everyone, however much they may disagree on the answer.

By the same token, I think this line-shifting is a central contribution of the profiteering work. The 2022-23 inflation seems on its way to coming to an end on its own as supply disruptions gradually revolve themselves, just as (albeit more slowly than) Team Transitory always predicted. But even if the aggregate price level is behaving itself, rising prices can remain burdensome and economically costly in all kinds of areas (as can ruinous competition and underinvestment in others). Prices will remain an important political question, even if inflation is not.

My neighbor Stephanie Luce, who spent many years working in the Living Wage movement, often points out that the direct impact of those measures was in general quite small. But that does not mean that all the hard work and organizing that went into them was wasted. A more important contribution, she argues, is that they establish a moral vision and language around wages. Beyond their direct effects, living wage campaigns help shift discussions of wage-setting from economic criteria to questions of fairness and justice. In the same way, establishing price setting as a legitimate part of the political agenda is a step forward that will have lasting value even after the current bout of inflation is long over.

 

Inflation, Interest Rates and the Fed: A Dissent

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

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

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

What Do Rate Hikes Do?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In and Out of the Corridor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is Macroeconomic Policy the Responsibility of the Fed?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What has the Fed Delivered in the Past?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alternative Visions of Inflation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That strategy did not work well.

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

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

Obviously, I don’t endorse everything in the textbook.1 (The idea of a tight link between unemployment and inflation is not looking much better than the idea of a tight link between inflation and the money supply.) I bring it up here just to establish that the absence of a link between money growth and inflation is not radical or heterodox, but literally the textbook view.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Under these assumptions, we can write the familiar equation

MV = PY

If Y, the level of output, is determined by resources, technology and other “real” factors, and V is a function of the technical process of exchange — how long must pass between the receipt of money and it spending — then we’re left with a direct relationship between the change in M and the change in P. “Inflation is always and everywhere a monetary phenomenon.”2

I think something like this underlies most folk wisdom about inflation. And as is often the case, the folk wisdom has outlived whatever basis in reality it may once have had.3

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

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

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

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

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

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

2. Money vs prices. There is one stock of money, but there are many prices, and many price indices. Which means there are many ways to measure inflation. As I mentioned above, inflation was originally conceived of as definitionally an increase in the quantity of money. Closely related to this is the idea of a decrease in the purchasing power of money, a definition which is still sometimes used. But a decrease in the value of money is not the same as an increase in the prices of goods and services, since money is used for things other than purchasing goods and services.  (Merijn Knibbe is very good on this.4) Even more problematically, there are many different goods and services, whose prices don’t move in unison. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We can ignore the stable markup assumption for now — not because it is necessarily reasonable, but because it’s not obvious in which direction it’s wrong. But if we relax the other assumptions, and allow for non-wage costs of production and fixed wage costs, that unambiguously implies that wage changes are passed through less than one for one to prices. If production inputs include anything other than current labor, then low unemployment should lead to a mix of faster inflation and faster real wage growth. And why on earth should we expect anything else? Why shouldn’t the 101 logic of “reduced supply of X leads to a higher relative price of X” be uniquely inapplicable to labor?5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is such a basic, practical requirements of contracting and management that we hardly think about it. For example, budgets — most organizations budget for periods no shorter than a quarter, which means that as far as internal controls and reporting are concerned, anything that happens within that quarter happens at the same time.6Similarly, invoices normally require payment in 30 or 60 days, thus treating shorter durations as instantaneous. Contracts of all kinds are signed for extended periods on fixed money terms. All these arrangements assume that the changes in prices over a few months or a year are small enough that they can be safely ignored.can be modified when inflation is high enough to make the fiction untenable that 30, 60 or 90 days is an instant. Social coordination strongly benefits from the convention that shorter durations can be ignored for most periods, which means people behave in practice as if they expect inflation over such shorter periods to be zero.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s easier to talk about the costs (and benefits) of inflation when we see it as a change in relative prices, and redistribution of income and wealth. If inflation is typically a change in relative prices, then the costs are experienced by those whose incomes rise more slowly than their payments. Keynes emphasized this point in an early article on “Social Consequences of a Change in the Value of Money.”7

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Money and Cryptocurrencies


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet here we are talking about cryptocurrencies. Why?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I would frame them the problems like this:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On money, debt, trust and central banking”

The central point of my Jacobin piece on the state of economics was meant to be: Whatever you think about mainstream macroeconomic theory, there is a lot of mainstream empirical and policy work that people on the left can learn from and engage with — much more than there was a decade ago. 1 

Some of the most interesting of that new work is from, and about, central banks. As an example, here is a remarkable speech by BIS economist Claudio Borio. I am not sure when I last saw such a high density of insight-per-word in a discussion of money and finance, let alone in a speech by a central banker. I could just say, Go read it. But instead I’m going to go through it section by section, explaining what I find interesting in it and how it connects up to a larger heterodox vision of money. 

From page one:

My focus will be the on the monetary system, defined technically as money plus the transfer mechanisms to execute payments. Logically, it makes little sense to talk about one without the other. But payments have too often been taken for granted in the academic literature, old and new. In the process, we have lost some valuable insights.

… two properties underpin a well functioning monetary system. One, rather technical, is the coincidence of the means of payment with the unit of account. The other, more intangible and fundamental, is trust. 

This starting point signals three central insights about money. First, the importance of payments. You shouldn’t fetishize any bit of terminology, but I’ve lately come to feel that the term “payments system” is a fairly reliable marker for something interesting to say about money. We all grow up with an idealized model of exchange, where the giving and receiving just happen, inseparably; but in reality it takes a quite sophisticated infrastructure to ensure that my debit coincides with your credit, and that everyone agrees this is so. Stefano Ugolini’s brilliant book on the prehistory of central banking emphasizes the central importance of finality – a binding determination that payment has taken place. (I suppose this was alsso the point of the essay that inaugurated Bitcoin.) In any case it’s a central aspect of “money” as a social institution that the mental image of one person handing a token to another entirely elides.

Second: the focus on money as unit of account and means of payment. The latter term mean money as the thing that discharges obligations, that cancels debts. It’s not evenb included in many standard lists of the functions of money, but for Marx, among others, it is fundamental. Borio consciously uses this term in preference to the more common medium of exchange, a token that facilitates trade of goods and services. He is clear that discharging debt and equivalent obligations is a more central role of money than exchanging commodities. Trade is a special case of debt, not vice versa. Here, as at other points through the essay, there’s a close parallel to David Graeber’s Debt. Borio doesn’t cite Graeber, but the speech is a clear example of my point in my debate with Mike Beggs years ago: Reading Graeber is good preparation for understanding some of the most interesting conversation in economics.

Third: trust. If you think of money as a social coordination mechanism, rather than a substance or quantity, you could argue that the scarce resource it’s helping to allocate is precisely trust.  More on this later.

Borio:

a key concept for understanding how the monetary system works is the “elasticity of credit”, ie the extent to which the system allows credit to expand. A high elasticity is essential for the system’s day-to-day operation, but too high an elasticity (“excess elasticity”) can cause serious economic damage in the longer run. 

This is an argument I’ve made before on this blog. Any payments system incorporate some degree of elasticity — some degree to which payments can run ahead of incomes. (As my old teacher David Kotz observes, the expansion of capital would be impossible otherwise.) But the degree of elasticity involves some unresolvable tensions. The logic of the market requires that every economic units expenditure eventually be brought into line with its income. But expansion, investment, innovation, requires eventually to be not just yet. (I talked a bit about this tension here.) Another critical point here is the impossibility of separating payments and credit – a separation that has been the goal of half the monetary reform proposals of the past 250 years.2

Along the way, I will touch on a number of sub-themes. .. whether it is appropriate to think of the price level as the inverse of the price of money, to make a sharp distinction between relative and absolute price changes, and to regard money (or monetary policy) as neutral in the long run.

So much here! The point about the non-equivalence of a rise in the price level and a fall in the value of money has been made eloquently by Merijn Knibbe.  I don’t think Borio’s version is better, but again, it comes with the imprimatur of Authority.

The fact that inflation inevitably involves relative as well as absolute price changes is made by Leijonhufvud (who Borio cites) and Minsky (who he surprisingly doesn’t); the non-neutrality of money is the subject (and the title) of what is in my opinion Minsky’s own best short distillation of his thought. 

Borio: 

Compared with the traditional focus on money as an object, the definition [in terms of means of payment] crucially extends the analysis to the payment mechanisms. In the literature, there has been a tendency to abstract from them and assume they operate smoothly in the background. I believe this is one reason why money is often said to be a convention, much like choosing which hand to shake hands with: why do people coordinate on a particular “object” as money? But money is much more than a convention; it is a social institution. It is far from self-sustaining. Society needs an institutional infrastructure to ensure that money is widely accepted, transactions take place, contracts are fulfilled and, above all, agents can count on that happening. 

Again, the payments mechanism is a complex, institutionally heavy social arrangement; there’s a lot that’s missed when we imagine economic transactions as I hand you this, you hand me that. Ignoring this social infrastructure invites the classical idea of money as an arbitrary numeraire, from which its long-run neutrality is one short step. 

The last clause introduces a deep new idea. In an important sense, trust is a kind of irrational expectation. Trust means that I am sure (or behave as if I am sure) that you will conform to the relevant rules. Trust means I believe (or behave as if I believe) this 100 percent. Anything less than 100 percent and trust quickly unravels to zero.  If there’s a small chance you might try to kill me, I should be prepared to kill you first; you might’ve had no bad intentions, but if I’m thinking of killing you, you should think about killing me first; and soon we’re all sprawled out on the warehouse floor. To exist in a world of strangers we need to believe, contrary to experience, that everyone around us will follow the rules.

a well functioning monetary system … will exploit the benefits of unifying the means of payment with the unit of account. The main benefit of a means of payment is that it allows any economy to function at all. In a decentralised exchange system, it underpins the quid-pro-quo process of exchange. And more specifically, it is a highly efficient means of “erasing” any residual relationship between transacting parties: they can thus get on with their business without concerns about monitoring and managing what would be a long chain of counterparties (and counterparties of counterparties).

Money as an instrument for erasing any relationship between the transacting parties: It could not be said better. And again, this is something someone who has read Graeber’s Debt understands very well, while someone who hasn’t might be a bit baffled by this passage. Graeber could also take you a step farther. Money might relieve you of the responsibility of monitoring your counterparties and their counterparties but somebody still has to. Graeber compellingly links the generalized use of money to strong centralized states. In a Graeberian perspective, money, along with slavery and bureaucracy, is one of the great social technologies for separating economic coordination from the broader network of mutual obligations.

The central banks’ elastic supply of the means of payment is essential to ensure that (i) transactions are settled in the interbank market and (ii) the interest rate is controlled. The interbank market is a critical component of our two-tier monetary system, where bank customer transactions are settled on the banks’ books and then banks, in turn, finally settle on the central bank’s books. To smooth out interbank settlement, the provision of central bank credit is key. The need for an elastic supply to settle transactions is most visible in the huge amounts of intraday credit central banks supply to support real- time gross settlement systems

“Two-tier monetary system” is a compressed version of Mehrling’s hierarchy of money. The second point, which Borio further develops further on, is that credit is integral to the payment system, since the two sides of a transaction never exactly coincide – there’s always one side that fulfills its part first and has to accept, however briefly, a promise in return. This is one reason that the dream of separating credit and payments is unrealizable.

The next point he makes is that a supply and demand framework is useless for thinking about monetary policy: 

The central bank … simply sets the desired interest rate by signalling where it would like it to be. And it can do so because it is a monopoly supplier of the means of payment: it can credibly commit to provide funds as needed to clear the market. … there is no such thing as a well behaved demand for bank reserves, which falls gradually as the interest rate increases, ie which is downward-sloping.

An interesting question is how much this is specific to the market for reserves and how much it applies to a range of asset markets. In fact, many markets share the two key features Borio points to here: adjustment via buffers rather than prices, and expected return that is a function of price.

On the first, there are a huge range of markets where there’s someone on one or both sides prepared to passively by or sell at a stated price. Many financial markets function only thanks to the existence of market makers – something Mehrling and his Barnard colleague Rajiv Sethi have written eloquently about. But more generally, most producers with pricing power — which is almost all of them — set a price and then passively meet demand at that price, allowing inventories and/or delivery times to absorb shifts in demand, within some range.

The second feature is specific to long-lived assets. Where there is an expected price different from the current price, holding the asset implies a capital gain or loss when the price adjusts. If expectations are sufficiently widespread and firmly anchored, they will be effectively self-confirming, as the expected valuation changes will lead the asset to be quickly bid back to its expected value. This dynamic in the bond market (and not the zero lower bound) is the authentic Keynesian liquidity trap.

To be clear, Borio isn’t raising here these broader questions about markets in general. But they are a natural extension of his arguments about reserves. 

Next come some points that shouldn’t be surprising to to readers of this blog, but which are nice, for me as an economics teacher, to see stated so plainly. 

The monetary base – such a common concept in the literature – plays no significant causal role in the determination of the money supply … or bank lending. It is not surprising that … large increases in bank reserves have no stable relationship with the stock of money … The money multiplier – the ratio of money to the monetary base – is not a useful concept. … Bank lending reflects banks’ management of the risk-return tradeoff they face… The ultimate anchor of the monetary system is not the monetary base but the interest rate the central bank sets.

We all know this is true, of course. The mystery is why so many textbooks still talk about the supply of high-powered money, the money multiplier, etc. As the man says, they just aren’t useful concepts.

Next comes the ubiquity of credit, which not only involves explicit loans but also any transaction where delivery and payment don’t coincide in time — which is almost all of them. Borio takes this already-interesting point in an interestingly Graeberian direction:  

A high elasticity in the supply of the means of payment does not just apply to bank reserves, it is also essential for bank money. … Credit creation is all around us: some we see, some we don’t. For instance, explicit credit extension is often needed to ensure that two legs of a transaction are executed at the same time so as to reduce counterparty risk… And implicit credit creation takes place when the two legs are not synchronised. ….

In fact, the role of credit in monetary systems is commonly underestimated. Conceptually, exchanging money for a good or service is not the only way of solving the problem of the double coincidence of wants and overcoming barter. An equally, if not more convenient, option is to defer payment (extend credit) and then settle when a mutually agreeable good or service is available. In primitive systems or ancient civilisations as well as during the middle ages, this was quite common. … It is easier to find such examples than cases of true barter.

The historical non-existence of barter is the subject of the first chapter of Debt . Here again, the central banker has more in common with the radical anthropologist than with orthodox textbooks, which usually make barter the starting point for discussions of money.

Borio goes on:

the distinction between money and debt is often overplayed. True, one difference is that money extinguishes obligations, as the ultimate settlement medium. But netting debt contracts is indeed a widespread form of settling transactions.

Yes it is: remember Braudel’s Flanders fairs? “The fairs were effectively a settling of accounts, in which debts met and cancelled each other out, melting like snow in the sun.”

At an even deeper level, money is debt in the form of an implicit contract between the individual and society. The individual provides something of value in return for a token she trusts to be able to use in the future to obtain something else of value. She has a credit vis-à-vis everyone and no one in particular (society owes a debt to her).

In the classroom, one of the ways I suggest students think about money is as a kind of social scorecard. You did something good — made something somebody wanted, let somebody else use something you own, went to work and did everything the boss told you? Good for you, you get a cookie. Or more precisely, you get a credit, in both senses, in the personal record kept for you at a bank. Now you want something for yourself? OK, but that is going to be subtracted from the running total of how much you’ve done for the rest for us.

People get very excited about China’s social credit system, a sort of generalization of the “permanent record” we use to intimidate schoolchildren. And ok, it does sound kind of dystopian. If your rating is too low, you aren’t allowed to fly on a plane. Think about that — a number assigned to every person, adjusted based on somebody’s judgement of your pro-social or anti-social behavior. If your number is too low, you can’t on a plane. If it’s really low, you can’t even get on a bus. Could you imagine a system like that in the US?

Except, of course, that we have exactly this system already. The number is called a bank account. The difference is simply that we have so naturalized the system that “how much money you have” seems like simply a fact about you, rather than a judgement imposed by society.

Back to Borio:

All this also suggests that the role of the state is critical. The state issues laws and is ultimately responsible for formalising society’s implicit contract. All well functioning currencies have ultimately been underpinned by a state … [and] it is surely not by chance that dominant international currencies have represented an extension of powerful states… 

Yes. Though I do have to note that it’s at this point that Borio’s fealty to policy orthodoxy — as opposed to academic orthodoxy — comes into view. He follows up the Graeberian point about the link between state authority and money with a very un-Graeberian warning about the state’s “temptation to abuse its power, undermining the monetary system and endangering both price and financial stability.”

Turning now to the policy role of the central bank, Borio  starts from by arguing that “the concepts of price and financial stability are joined at the hip. They are simply two ways of ensuring trust in the monetary system…. It is no coincidence that securing both price and financial stability have been two core central bank functions.” He then makes the essential point that what the central bank manages is at heart the elasticity of the credit system. 

The process underpinning financial instability hinges on how “elastic” the monetary system is over longer horizons… The challenge is to ensure that the system is not excessively elastic drawing on two monetary system anchors. One operates on prices – the interest rate and the central bank’s reaction function. … The other operates on quantities: bank regulatory requirements, such as those on capital or liquidity, and the supervisory apparatus that enforces them.

This is critical, not just for thinking about monetary policy, but as signpost toward the heart of the Keynesian vision. (Not the bastard — but useful  — postwar Keynesianism of IS-LM, but the real thing.) Capitalism is not a system of real exchange — it shouldn’t be imagined as a system in which people exchange pre-existing stuff for other stuff they like better. Rather, it is a system of monetary production — a system in which payments and claims of money, meaningless themselves, are the coordinating mechanism for human being’s collective, productive activity. 

This is the broadest sense of the statement that money has to be elastic, but not too elastic. If it is too elastic, money will lose its scarcity value, and hence its power to organize human activity. Money is only an effective coordinating mechanism when its possession allows someone to compel the obedience of others. But it has to be flexible enough to adapt to the concrete needs of production, and of the reproduction of society in general. (This is the big point people take form Polanyi.) “You can’t have the stuff until you give me the money” is the fundamental principle that has allowed capitalism to reorganize vast swathes of our collective existence, for better or worse. But applied literally, it stops too much stuff from getting where it needs to go to to be compatible with the requirements of capitalist production itself. There’s a reason why business transactions are almost always on the basis of trade credit, not cash on the barrelhead. As Borio puts it, “today’s economies are credit hungry.” 

The talk next turns to criticism of conventional macroeconomics that will sound familiar to Post Keynesians. The problem of getting the right elasticity in the payments system — neither too much nor too little — is “downplayed in the current vintage of macroeconomic models. One reason is that the models conflate saving and financing.“ In reality,

Saving is just a component of national income – as it were, just a hole in overall expenditures, without a concrete physical representation. Financing is a cash flow and is needed to fund expenditures. In the mainstream models, even when banks are present, they imply endowments or “saving”; they do not create bank deposits and hence purchasing power through the extension of loans or purchase of assets. There is no meaningful monetary system, so that any elasticity is seriously curtailed. Financial factors serve mainly to enhance the persistence of “shocks” rather than resulting in endogenous booms and busts.

This seems right to me. The point that there is no sense in which savings finance or precede or investment is a key one for Keynes, in the General Theory and even more clearly in his subsequent writing.3 I can’t help noting, also, that passages like this are a reminder that criticism of today’s consensus macro does not come only from the professionally marginalized.

The flipside of not seeing money as social coordinating mechanism, a social ledger kept by banks, is that you do  see it as a arbitrary token that exists in a particular quantity. This latter vision leads to an idea of inflation as a simple imbalance between the quantity of money and the quantity of stuff. Borio:

The process was described in very simple terms in the old days. An exogenous increase in the money supply would boost inflation. The view that “the price level is the inverse of the price of money” has probably given this purely monetary interpretation of inflation considerable intuitive appeal. Nowadays, the prevailing view is not fundamentally different, except that it is couched in terms of the impact of the interest rate the central bank sets.

This view of the inflation process has gone hand in hand with a stronger proposition: in the long run, money (monetary policy) is neutral, ie it affects only prices and no real variables. Again, in the classical tradition this was couched in terms of the money supply; today, it is in terms of interest rates. … Views about how long it takes for this process to play itself out in calendar time differ. But proponents argue that the length is short enough to be of practical policy relevance.

The idea that inflation can be thought of as a decline in the value of money is effectively criticized by Merijn Knibbe and others. It is a natural idea, almost definitionally true, if you vision starts from a world of exchange of goods and then adds money as facilitator or numeraire. But if you start, as Borio does, and as the heterodox money tradition from Graeber to Minsky to Keynes to Marx and back to Tooke and Thornton does, from the idea of money as entries in a social ledger, then it makes about as much sense as saying that a game was a blowout because the quantity of points was too high.  

once we recognise that money is fundamentally endogenous, analytical thought experiments that assume an exogenous change and trace its impact are not that helpful, if not meaningless. They obscure, rather than illuminate, the mechanisms at work. … [And] once we recognise that the price of money in terms of the unit of account is unity, it makes little sense to think of the price level as the inverse of the price of money. … any financial asset fixed in nominal terms has the same property. As a result, thinking of inflation as a purely monetary phenomenon is less compelling.

“Not that helpful”, “makes little sense,” “is less compelling”: Borio is nothing if not diplomatic. But the point gets across.

Once we recognise that the interest rate is the monetary anchor, it becomes harder to argue that monetary policy is neutral… the interest rate is bound to affect different sectors differently, resulting in different rates of capital accumulation and various forms of hysteresis. … it is arguably not that helpful to make a sharp distinction between what affects relative prices and the aggregate price level…., not least because prices move at different speeds and differ in their flexibility… at low inflation rates, the “pure” inflation component, pertaining to a generalised increase in prices, [is] smaller, so that the distinction between relative and general price changes becomes rather porous.

In part, this is a restatement of Minsky’s “two-price” formulation of Keynes. Given that money or liquidity is usefulat all, it is presumably more useful for some things more than for others; and in particular, it is most useful when you have to make long-lived commitments that expose you to vagaries of an unknown future; that is, for investment. Throttling down the supply of liquidity will not just reduce prices and spending across the board, it will reduce them particularly for long-lived capital goods.

The second point, that inflation loses its defintion as a distinct phenomenon at low levels, and fades into the general mix of price changes, is something I’ve thought myself for a while but have never seen someone spell out this way. (I’m sure people have.) It follows directly from the fact that changes in the prices of particualr goods don’t scale proportionately with inflation, so as inflation gets low, the shared component of price changes over time gets smaller and harder to identify. Because the shared component is smaller at low inflation, it is going to be more sensitive to the choice of basket and other measurement issues. 20 percent inflation clearly (it seems to me) represents a genuine phenomenon. But it’s not clear that 2 percent inflation really does – an impression reinforced by the proliferation of alternative measures.

The Minskyan two-price argument also means that credit conditions and monetary policy necessarily affect the directiona s well as the level of economic activity.

financial booms tend to misallocate resources, not least because too many resources go into sectors such as construction… It is hard to imagine that interest rates are simply innocent bystanders. At least for any policy relevant horizon, if not beyond, these observations suggest that monetary policy neutrality is questionable.

This was one of the main points in Mike Konczal’s and my monetary toolkit paper.

In the next section, which deserves a much fuller unpacking, Borio critiques the fashionable idea that central banks cannot control the real rate of interest. 

 Recent research going back to the 1870s has found a pretty robust link between monetary regimes and the real interest rate over long horizons. By contrast, the “usual suspects” seen as driving saving and investment – all real variables – do not appear to have played any consistent role. 

This conflation of the “real”  (inflation-adjusted) interest rate with a rate determined by “real” (nonmonetary) factors, and therefore beyond the central bank’s influence, is one of the key fissure-points in economic ideology.4 The vision of economics, espcially its normative claims, depend on an idea of ecnomic life as the mutually beneficial exchange of goods. There is an obvious mismatch between this vision and the language we use to talk about banks and market interest rates and central banks — it’s not that they contradict or in conflict as that they don’t make contact at all. The preferred solution, going from today’s New Keynesian consensus back through Friedman to Wicksell, is to argue that the “interest rate” set by the central bank must in some way be the same as the “interest rate” arrived at by agents exchanging goods today for goods later. Since the  terms of these trades depend only on the non-monetary fundamentals of preferences and technology, the same must in the long run be true of the interest rate set by the financial system and/or the central bank. The money interest rate cannot persistently diverge from the interest rate that would obtain in a nonmonetary exchange economy that in some sense corresponds to the actual one.

But you can’t square the circle this way. A fundamental Keynesian insight is that economic relations between the past and the future don’t take the form of trades of goods now for goods later, but of promises to make money payments at some future date or state of the world. Your ability to make money promises, and your willingness to accept them from others, depends not on any physical scarcity, but on your confidence in your counterparties doing what they promised, and in your ability to meet your own commitments if some expected payment doesn’t come through. In short, as Borio says, it depends on trust. In other words, the fundamental problem for which interest is a signal is not allocation but coordination. When interest rates are high, that reflects not a scarcity of goods in the present relative to the future, but a relative lack of trust within the financial system. Corporate bond rates did not spike in 2008 because decisionmakers suddenly wished to spend more in the present relative to the future, but because the promises embodied in the bonds were no longer trusted.

Here’s another way of looking at it: Money is valuable. The precursor of today’s “real interest rate” talk was the idea of money as neutral in the long run, in the sense that a change in the supply of money would eventually lead only to a proportionate change in the price level.5  This story somehow assumes on the one hand that money is useful, in the sense that it makes transactions possible that wouldn’t be otherwise. Or as Kocherlakota puts it: “At its heart, economic thinking about fiat money is paradoxical. On the one hand, such money is viewed as being inherently useless… But at the same time, these barren tokens… allow society to implement allocations that would not otherwise be achievable.” If money is both useful and neutral, evidently it must be equally useful for all transactions, and its usefulness must drop suddenly to zero once a fixed set of transactions have been made. Either there is money or there isn’t. But if additional money does not allow any desirable transaction to be carried out that right now cannot be, then shouldn’t the price of money already be zero? 

Similarly: The services provided by private banks, and by the central bank, are valuable. This is the central point of Borio’s talk. The central bank’s explicit guarantee of certain money commitments, and its open ended readiness to ensure that others are fulfilled in a crisis, makes a great many promises acceptable that otherwise wouldn’t be. And like the provider of anything of value, the central bank — and financial system more broadly — can affect its price by supplying more or less of it. It makes about as much sense to say that central banks can influence the interest rate only in the short run as to say that public utilities can only influence the price of electricity in the short run, or that transit systems can only influence the price of transportation in the short run. The activities of the central bank allow a greater degree of trust in the financial system, and therefore a lesser required payment to its professional promise-accepters.6 Or less trust and higher payments, as the case may be. This is true in the short run, in the medium run, in the long run. And because of the role money payments play in organizing productive activity, this also means a greater or lesser increase in our collective powers over nature and ability to satisfy our material wants.

 

Five, Ten or Even Thirty Years

Neel Kashkari is clearly a very smart guy. He’s been an invaluable voice for sanity at the Fed these past few years. Doesn’t he see that something has gone very wrong here?

Kashkari:

When people borrow money to buy a house, or businesses take out a loan to build a new factory, they don’t really care about overnight interest rates. They care about what interest rates will be for the term of their loan: 5, 10 or even 30 years. [*] Similarly, when banks make loans to households and businesses, they also try to assess where interest rates will be over the length of the loan when they set the terms. Hence, expectations about future interest rates are enormously important to the economy. When the Fed wants to stimulate more economic activity, we do that by trying to lower the expected future path of interest rates. When we want to tap the brakes, we try to raise the expected future path of interest rates.

Here’s the problem: recession don’t last 5, 10 or even 30 years. Per the NBER, they last a year to 18 months.

Mainstream theory says we have a long run dictated by supply side — technology, demographics, etc. On average the output gap is zero, or at least, it’s at a stable level. On top of this are demand disturbances or shocks — changes in desired spending — which produce the businesses cycle, alternating periods of high unemployment and normal growth or rising inflation. The job of monetary policy is to smooth out these short-term fluctuations in demand; it absolves itself of responsibility for the longer-run growth path.

If policy responding to demand shortfalls lasting a year or two, how is that supposed to work if policy shifts have to be maintained for 5, 10 or even 30 years to be effective?

If the Fed is faced with rising inflation in 2005, is it supposed to respond by committing itself to keeping rates high even in 2010, when the economy is sliding into depression? Does anyone think that would have been a good idea? (I seriously doubt Kashkari thinks so.) And if it had made such a commitment in 2005, would anyone have worried about breaking it in 2010? But if the Fed can’t or shouldn’t make such a commitment, how is this vision of monetary policy supposed to work?

If monetary policy is only effective when sustained for 5, 10 or even 30 years, then monetary policy is not a suitable tool for managing the business cycle. Milton Friedman pointed this out long ago: It is impossible for countercyclical monetary policy to work unless the lags with which it takes effect are decidedly shorter than the frequency of the shocks it is supposed to respond to. The best you can do, in his view, is maintain a stable money supply growth that will ensure stable inflation over the long run.

Meanwhile, conventional monetary policy rules like the Taylor rule are defined based on current macroeconomic conditions — today’s inflation rate, today’s output gap, today’s unemployment rate. There’s no term in there for commitments the Fed made at some point in the past. The Taylor rule seems to describe the past two or three decades of monetary policy pretty well. Now, Kashkari says the Fed can influence real activity only insofar as it is setting policy over the next 5, 10 or even 30 year’s based on today’s conditions. But what the Fed actually will do, if the Taylor rule continues to be a reasonable guide, is to set monetary policy based on conditions over the next 5, 10 or even 30 years. So if Kashkari takes his argument seriously, he must believe that monetary policy as it is currently practiced is not effective at all.

In the abstract, we can imagine some kind of rule that sets policy today as some kind of weighted average of commitments made over the past 5, 10 or even 30 years. Of course neither economic theory nor official statements describe policy this way. Still, in the abstract, we can imagine it. But in practice? FOMC members come and go; Kashkari is there now, he’ll be gone next year. The chair and most members are appointed by presidents, who also come and go, sometimes in unpredictable ways. Whatever Kashkari thinks is the appropriate policy for 2022, 2027 or 2047, it’s highly unlikely he’ll be there to carry it out. Suppose that in 2019 Fed chair Kevin Warsh  looks at the state of the economy and says, “I think the most appropriate policy rate today is 4 percent”. Is it remotely plausible that that sentence continues “… but my predecessor made a commitment to keep rates low so I will vote for 2 percent instead”? If that’s the reed the Fed’s power over real activity rests on it, it’s an exceedingly thin one. Even leaving aside changes of personnel, the Fed has no institutional capacity to make commitments about future policy. Future FOMC members will make their choices based on their own preferred models of the economy plus the data on the state of the economy at the time. If monetary policy only works through expectations of policy 5, 10 or even 30 years from now, then monetary policy just doesn’t work.

There are a few ways you can respond to this.

One is to accept Kashkari’s premise — monetary policy is only effective if sustained over many years — and follow it to its logical conclusion: monetary policy is not useful for stabilizing demand over the business cycle. Two possible next steps: Friedman’s, which concludes that stabilizing demand at business cycle frequencies is not a realistic goal for policy, and the central bank should focus on the long-term price level; and Abba Lerner’s, which concludes that business cycles should be dealt with by fiscal policy instead.

The second response is to start from the fact — actual or assumed — that monetary policy is effective at smoothing out the business cycle, in which case Kashkari’s premise must be wrong. Evidently the effect of monetary policy on activity today does not depend on beliefs about what policy will be 5, 10 or even 30 years from now. This is not a hard case to make. We just have to remember that there is not “an” interest rate, but lots of different credit markets, with rationing as well as prices, with different institutions making different loans to different borrowers. Policy is effective because it targets some particular financial bottleneck. Perhaps stocks or inventories are typically financed short-term and changes in their financing conditions are also disproportionately likely to affect real activity; perhaps mortgage rates, for institutional reasons, are more closely linked to the policy rate than you would expect from “rational” lenders; perhaps banks become more careful in their lending standards as the policy rate rises. One way or another, these stories depend on widespread liquidity constraints and the lack of arbitrage between key markets. Generations of central bankers have told stories like these to explain the effectiveness of monetary policy. Remember Ben Bernanke? His article Inside the Black Box is a classic of this genre, and its starting point is precisely the inadequacy of Kashkari’s interest rate story to explain how monetary policy actually works. Somehow or other policy has to affect the volume of lending on a short timeframe than it can be expected to move long rates. Going back a bit further, the Fed’s leading economist of the 1950s, Richard Roosa, was vey clear that neither the direct effect of Fed policy shifts on longer rates, nor of interest rates on real activity, could be relied on. What mattered rather was the Fed’s ability to change the willingness of banks to make loans. This was the “availability doctrine” that guided monetary policy in the postwar years. [2] If you think monetary policy is generally an effective tool to moderate business cycles, you have to believe something like this.

Response three is to accept Kashkari’s premise, yet also to believe that monetary works. This means you need to adjust your view of what policy is supposed to be doing. Policy that has to be sustained for 5, 10 or even 30 years to be effective, is no good for responding to demand shortfalls that last only a year or two at most. It looks better if you think that demand may be lacking for longer periods, or indefinitely. If shifts in demand are permanent, it’s not such a problem that to be effective policy shifts must also be permanent, or close to it. And the inability to make commitments is less of a problem in this case; now if demand is weak today, theres a good chance it will be weak in 5, 10 or even 30 years too; so policy will be persistent even if it’s only based on current conditions. Obviously this is inconsistent with an idea that aggregate demand inevitably gravitates toward aggregate supply, but that’s ok. It might indeed be the case that demand deficiencies an persist indefinitely, requiring an indefinite maintenance of lower rates. There’s a good case that something like this response was Keynes’ view. [3] But while this idea isn’t crazy, it’s certainly not how central banks normally describe what they’re doing. And Kashkari’s post doesn’t present itself as a radical reformulation of monetary policy’s goals, or mention secular stagnation or anything like that.

I don’t know which if any of these responses Kashkari would agree with. I suppose it’s possible he sincerely believes that policy is only effective when sustained for 5, 10 or even 30 years, and simply hasn’t noticed that this is inconsistent with a mission of stabilizing demand over business cycles that turn much more quickly. Given what I’ve read of his I feel this is unlikely. It also seems unlikely that he really thinks you can understand monetary policy while abstracting from banks, finance, credit and, well, money — that you can think of it purely in terms of an intertemporal “interest rate,” goods today vs goods tomorrow, which the central bank can somehow set despite controlling neither preferences nor production possibilities. My guess: When he goes to make concrete policy, it’s on the basis of some version of my response two, an awareness that policy operates through the concrete financial structures that theory abstracts from. And my guess is he wrote this post the way he did because he thought the audience he’s writing for would be more comfortable with a discussion of the expectations of abstract agents, than with a discussion of the concrete financial structures through which monetary policy is transmitted. It doesn’t hurt that the former is much simpler.

Who knows, I’m not a mind reader. But it doesn’t really matter. Whether the most progressive member of the FOMC has forgotten everything his predecessors knew about the transmission of monetary policy, or whether he merely assumes his audience has, the implications are about the same. “The Fed sets the interest rate” is not the right starting point for thinking about monetary policy manages aggregate demand.

 

[1] This is a weird statement, and seems clearly wrong. My wife and I just bought a house, and I can assure you we were not thinking at all about what interest rates would be many years from now. Why would we? — our monthly payments are fixed in the contract, regardless of what happens to rates down the road. Allowing the buyer to not care about future interest rates is pretty much the whole point of the 30-year fixed rate mortgage. Now it is true that we did care, a little, about interest rates next year (not in 5 years). But this was in the opposite way that Kashkari suggests — today’s low rates are more of an inducement to buy precisely if they will not be sustained, i.e. if they are not informative about future rates.

I think what may be going on here is a slippage between long rates — which the borrower does care about — and expected short rates over the length of the loan. In any case we can let it go because Kashkari’s argument does work in principle for lenders.

[2] Thanks to Nathan Tankus for pointing this article out to me.

[3] Leijonhufvud as usual puts it best:

Keynes looked forward to an indefinite period of, at best, unrelenting deflationary pressure and painted it in colors not many shades brighter than the gloomy hues of the stagnationist picture. But these stagnationist fears were based on propositions that must be stated in terms of time-derivatives. Modern economies, he believed, were such that, at a full employment rate of investment, the marginal efficiency of capital would always tend to fall more rapidly than the long rate of interest. … When he states that the long rate “may fluctuate for decades about a level which is chronically too high” one should … see this in the historical context of the “obstinate maintenance of misguided monetary policies” of which he steadily complained.

Links for May 11

My dinner with Axel. Last fall, Arjun Jayadev and I had a series of conversations with Axel Leijonhufvud at his home in California; videos and transcript are now up at the INET site, along with a collection of his writings. I’m very grateful to have had this chance to talk with him; Leijonhufvud is one of two or three economists who’ve most influenced my thinking. He’s also a charming and delightful storyteller, which I hope comes through in the interviews. I’ll be writing something soon, I hope, about Axel’s work and its significance, but in the meantime, check out the interview.

 

The mind of Draghi. This speech by Mario Draghi offers a nice glimpse into the thinking of central bankers circa 2016. The fundamental point is the idea of a long run “real” or “natural” rate of interest, which policy cannot affect. This idea, and the corollary that the economic world we actually observe is in some sense a false, unreal, artificial or “distorted” sublunary version of the true ideal, is, I think, the central site of tension between economic ideology and economic reality today. But there are other particular points of interest in the speech. First, the frank acknowledgement that the big problem with zero rates is that they reduce the profitability of financial institutions. (By the same logic, Draghi should want to do away with public education since  it reduces the profitability of private schools, and with law enforcement since it reduces the profitability of private security firms.) And second, the claim that one reason for the problem of low interest rates is … excessive government debt!

A temporary period of policy rates being close to zero or even negative in real terms is not unprecedented by any means. Over the past decades, however, we have seen long-term yields trending down in real terms as well, independent of the cyclical stance of monetary policy.

The drivers behind this have been, among others, rising net savings as ageing populations plan for retirement, relatively less public capital expenditure in a context of high public indebtedness, and a slowdown in productivity growth reducing the profitability of investment.

Yes, for years we have been warned that excessive government debt is that interest rates will get too high, increasing borrowing costs for the government and crowding out of private investment. But now it turns out that excessive government debt is also responsible for rates that are too low. Truly, to be a central banker in these times one must be a Zen master.

 

Business cycle measurement ahead of theory … or heading in an entirely different direction. I’m very excited about a series of posts Merijn Knibbe is doing for the World Economics Association. They are on the incompatibility of the concepts used in the construction of national accounts and other macroeconomic data, with the concepts used in macroeconomic theory. I’ve wanted for a while to make the case for a consistent economic nominalism, meaning that we should treat the money payments we actually observe as fundamental or primitive, and not merely as manifestations of some deeper “real” economy. Knibbe is now doing it. The first installment is here.

 

Kaminska on “deglobalization”. Izabella Kaminska is always worth reading, but this piece from last week is even more worth reading than usual. I particularly like her point that the international role of the dollar means that the US is to the world as Germany is to the eurozone:

the dollarisation of the global economy … has created a sort of worldwide Eurozone effect, wherein every country whose own currency isn’t strong or reputable enough to be used for trade settlement with commodity producers is at the mercy of dollar flows into its own country. Just like Greece, they can’t print the currency that affords them purchasing power on the global market.

The logical corollary, which she doesn’t quite spell out, is that the US, thanks to its willingness to run trade deficits that supply dollars to the rest of the world, has fulfilled its international role much more responsibly than Germany has.

Ancient Economists: Two Views

John Cochrane, reporting from the NBER Summer Institute:

The use of ancient quotations came up several times. I  complained a bit about Eggertsson and Mehrotra’s long efforts to tie their work to quotes from verbal speculations of Keynes, Alvin Hansen, Paul Krugman and Larry Summers. Their rhetorical device is, “aha, these equations finally explain what some sage of 80 years ago or Important Person today really meant.”  Ivan Werning really complained about this in Paul Beaudry’s presentation. What does this complex piece of well worked out “21st century economics” have to do with long ago muddy debates between Keynes and Hayek? It stands on its own, or it doesn’t. (In his view, it did, so why belittle it?) 

Physics does not write papers about “the Newton-Aristotle debate.” Our papers should stand on their own too. They are right or wrong if they are logically coherent and describe the data, not if they fulfill the vague speculations of some sage, dead or alive. It’s especially unhelpful to try to make this connection, I think, because the models differ quite sharply from the speculations of the sage. Alvin Hansen certainly did not think that a Taylor interest rate rule with a phi parameter greater than one was a central culprit in “secular stagnation.” I haven’t checked against the speech, but I doubt he thought that inflation would completely cure the problem in the first place. 

Sure, history of thought is important; tying ideas to their historical predecessors is important; recognizing the centuries of thinking on money and business cycles is important. But let’s stand up for our own generation; we do not exist simply to finally put equations in the mouths of ancient economists. 

But, tying it all up, perhaps I’m just being an old fogey. Adam Smith wrote mostly words. Marx like Keynes wrote big complicated books that people spent a century writing about “this is what they really meant.” Maybe models are at best quantitative parables. Maybe economics is destined to return to this kind of literary philosophy, not quantified science.

(via Suresh, who was also there.)

For the case in favor of ancient economists, here is Axel Leijonhufvud:

According to Sir Peter Medawar

A scientist’s present thoughts and actions are of necessity shaped by what others have done and thought before him: they are the wave-front of a continuous secular process in which The Past does not have a dignified independent existence of its own. Scientific understanding is the integral of a curve of learning; science therefore in some sense comprehends its history within itself.

… Not every field of learning can claim to “comprehend its history within itself.” For the current state of the art to be the “integral of past learning” in Medawar’s sense, the collective learning process must be one that remembers everything of value and forgets only the errors and the false leads. But this requires the recognized capability to decide what is correct or true and what is in error or false. These decisions, moreover, must compel general assent. Once an answer is arrived at, it must be generally agreed to be the answer. The field must be one in which answers kill questions so definitively that the sense of alternative possibilities disappears. … 

A science, or a subfield within it, may come to approximate these conditions because of its positive successes. But two other mechanisms that are not so nice will also be at work. First, the people in the field agree that certain questions, which they would have a hard time deciding, are somebody else’s responsibility. So economics among the social sciences, like physics among the natural sciences, had first pick of problems and left the really hard ones, on which their methods did not give them a firm grip, for the younger sister disciplines to deal with as best they might. Second, the insiders to the field will agree to exclude some people who refuse to assent to the manner in which certain important questions have been settled. Both the exclusion of undecidable questions from the field of inquiry and the exclusion of undecided people from the professional group help to achieve collective concentration and intensive interaction within the group. … 

These reflections … offer some suggestions about when scientists might find the history of their field relevant and useful to current inquiry. One suggestion is to look for situations when a research program has bogged down, when anomalies have cropped up that cannot be reduced to or converted into ordinary puzzles within the paradigm. Another is to look for cases in which three conditions seem to be met:
a) certain central questions cannot be decided in a way that commands assent,
b) the (for the time being) undecidable questions cannot very well be left for somebody else to worry about, and
c) the people who withhold their assent from some popular suggested answer cannot be ignored or excommunicated.

… Economists are wont to reduce everything to choices. Economics itself develops through the choices that economists make. To use the past for present purposes, we should see the history of the field as sequences of decisions, of choices, leading up to the present. Imagine a huge decision tree, with its roots back in the time of Aristotle, and with the present generation of economists — not all of them birds of a feather! — twittering away at each other from the topmost twigs and branches. 

The branching occurs at points where economists have parted company, where problematic decisions had to be made but could not be made so as to command universal assent. The two branches need not be of equal strength at all; in many cases, universal agreement is eventually reached ex post so that one branch eventually dies and falls away. The oldest part of the tree is, perhaps, just the naked trunk; but the sap still runs in some surprising places. 

If you want to translate Medawar’s image of science into my decision tree metaphor, you will have to imagine his sciences as fir trees — with physics, surely, as the redwood – majestic things with tall, straight trunks and with live branches only at the very top. Economics, in contrast, would come out as a rather tangled, ill-pruned shrub … 

As long as “normal” progress continues to be made in these established directions, there is no need to reexamine the past … Things begin to look different if and when the workable vein runs out or, to change the metaphor, when the road that took you to the “frontier of the field” ends in a swamp or in a blind alley. A lot of them do. Our fads run out and we do get stuck occasionally. Reactions to finding yourself in a cul-de-sac differ. Tenured professors might often be content to accommodate themselves to it, spend their time tidying up the place, putting in a few modern conveniences, and generally improving the neighborhood. Braver souls will want out and see a tremendous leap of the creative imagination as the only way out — a prescription, however, that will leave ordinary mortals just climbing the walls. Another way to go is to backtrack. Back there, in the past, there were forks in the road and it is possible, even plausible, that some roads were more passable than the one that looked most promising at the time. At this point, a mental map of the road network behind the frontier becomes essential.

Varieties of Keynesianism

Here’s something interesting from Axel Leijonhufvud. It’s a response to Luigi Pasinetti’s book on Keynes, but really it’s an assessment of the Keynesian revolution in general.

There really was a revolution, according to Pasinetti, and it can be dated precisely, to 1932. Leijonhufvud:

By the Spring of that year, Keynes had concluded that the Treatise could not be salvaged by a revised edition. He still gave his “Pure Theory of Money” lecture series which was largely based on it but members of his ‘Circus’ attended and gave him trouble. The summer of that year appears to have been a critical period. In the Fall, Keynes announced a new series of lectures with the title “The Monetary Theory of Production”. The new title signaled a break with his previous work and a break with tradition. From this point onward, Keynes felt himself to be doing work that was revolutionary in nature. 

What was revolutionary about these lectures was that they weren’t about extending or modifying the established framework of economics, but about adopting a new starting point. A paradigm in economics can be thought of as defined by the minimal model — the model that (in Pasinetti’s words) “contains those analytical features, and only those features, which the theory cannot do without.” Or as I’ve suggested here, the minimal model is the benchmark of simplicity in terms of which Occam’s razor is applied.

For the orthodox economics of Keynes’s day (and ours), the minimal model was one of “real exchange” in which a given endowment of goods and a given set of preferences yielded a vector of relative prices. Money, production, time, etc. can then be introduced as extensions of this minimal model. In Keynes’ “monetary production” model, on the other hand, the “analytical features which the theory cannot do without” are a set of income flows generated in production, and a set of expenditure flows out of income. The minimal model does not include any prices or quantities. Nor does it necessarily include exchange — it’s natural to think of the income flows as consisting of profits and wages and the expenditure flows as consumption and investment, but they can just as naturally include taxes, interest payments, asset sales, and so on.

I don’t want to suggest that the monetary production paradigm has ever been as well-defined as the real exchange paradigm. One of Leijonhufvud’s main points is that there has never been a consensus on the content of the Keynesian revolution. There are many smart people who will tell you what “Keynes really meant.” With due respect (and I mean it) I’m not convinced by any of them. I don’t think anyone knows what Keynes really meant —including Keynes himself. The truth is, the Hicks-Patinkin-Samuelson version of Keynes is no bastard; its legitimate paternity is amply documented in the General Theory. Pasinetti quotes Joan Robinson: “There were moments when we had some trouble in getting Maynard to see what the point of his revolution really was.” Which doesn’t, of course, means that Hicks-Patinkin-Samuelson is the only legitimate Keynes — here even more than  in most questions of theory, we have to tolerate ambiguity and cultivate the ability to hold more than one reading in mind at once.

One basic ambiguity is in that term, “monetary production.” Which of those words is the important one?

For Pasinetti, the critical divide is between Keynes’ theory of production and the orthodox theory of exchange. Pasinetti’s production-based Keynesianism

starts from the technological imperatives stemming from the division and specialization of labor. In this context, exchange is derivative, stemming from specialization in production. How it is institutionalized and organized is a matter that the minimal production paradigm leaves open (whereas the exchange paradigm necessarily starts by assuming at least private property and often also organized markets). Prices in the production paradigm are indices of technologically determined resource costs and, as such, leave open the question whether the system does or does not have a tendency towards the full utilization of scarce resources and, in particular, of labor. …

The exchange paradigm relies on individual self-interest, on consumer’s sovereignty, and on markets and private property as the principal institutions needed to bring about a socially desirable and harmonious outcome. In putting the division of labor and specialization at center stage, the pure production model, in contrast, highlights the “necessarily cooperative aspects of any organized society…

To an unsympathetic audience, I admit, this could come across as a bunch of commencement-speech pieties. For a rigorous statement of the pure production paradigm we need to turn to Sraffa. In Production of Commodities by Means of Commodities he starts from the pure engineering facts — the input-output matrices governing production at current levels using current technology. There’s nothing about prices, demand, distribution. His system “does not explain anything about the allocation of resources. Instead, the focus is altogether on finding a logical basis for objective measurement. It is a system for coherent, internally coherent macroeconomic accounting.”

In other words: We cannot reduce the heterogeneous material of productive activity to a single objective quantity of need-satisfaction. There is no such thing. Mengers, Jevons, Walras and their successors set off after the will-o-the-wisp of utility and, to coin a phrase, vanished into a swamp, never to be heard from by positive social science again.

The question then is, how can we consistently describe economic activity using only objective, observable data? (This was also the classical question.) Sraffa answers in terms of a “snapshot” of production at a given moment. Or as Sen puts it, in a perceptive essay, he is showing how one can do economics without the use of counterfactuals.

For Pasinetti, Keynes’ revolution and Sraffa’s anti-subjectivist revival of classical economics — his effort to ground economics in engineering data — were part of the same project, of throwing out subjectivism in favor of engineering. Leijonhufvud is not convinced. “Keynes was above all a monetary economist,” he notes, “and there are good reasons to believe” that it was monetary and not production that was the key term in the “theory of monetary production.” Keynes made no use of the theory of imperfect competition, despite its development by members of his inner circle (Richard Kahn and Joan Robinson). Or consider his famous reversal on wages — in the General Theory, he assumed they were equal to the marginal product of labor, which declined with the level of output. But after this claim was challenged Dunlop, Tarshis and others, he admitted there was no real evidence for it and good reason to think it was not true. [1] The fact that JMK didn’t think anything important in his theory hinged on how wages were set, at least suggests that production side of economy was not central to his project.

The important point for us is that there is one strand of Cambridge that rejects orthodoxy on the grounds that it misrepresents a system of production based on objective relationships between inputs and outputs, as a system of exchange based on subjective preferences. But this is not the only vantage point from which one can criticize the Walrasian system and it’s not clear it’s the one occupied by Keynes or by Keynesianism — whatever that may be.

The alternative standpoint is still monetary production, but with the stress on the first word rather than the second. Leijonhufvud doesn’t talk much about this here, since this is an essay about Pasinetti. But it’s evidently something along the lines of Mehrling’s “money view” or “finance view.” [2] It seems to me this view has three overlapping elements: 1. The atomic units of the economy are money flows (and commitments to future money flows), as opposed to prices and quantities. 2. Quantities are quantities of money; productive activity is not measurable except insofar as it involves money payments. 3. The active agents of the economy are seeking to maximize money income or wealth, not to end up with some preferred consumption basket. Beside Mehrling, I would include Minsky, Paul Davidson and Wynne Godley here, among others.

I’m not going to try to summarize this work here. Let me just say how I’m coming at this.

As I wrote in comments to an earlier post, what I want is to think more systematically about the relationship between the network of financial assets and liabilities recorded on balance sheets, on the one hand, and the concrete social activities of production and consumption, on the other. What we have now, it seems to me, is either a “real” view that collapses these two domains into one, with changes in ownership and debt commitments treated as if they were decisions about production and consumption; or else a “finance” view that treats balance-sheet transactions as a closed system. I think the finance view is more correct, in the sense that at least it sees half of the problem clearly. The “real” view is a hopeless muddle because it tries to treat the concrete social activity of production and consumption as if it were a set of fungible quantities like money, and to treat money commitments as if they were decisions about production and consumption. The strength of the finance view is that it recognizes the system of contingent money payments recorded on balance sheets as a distinct social activity, and not simply a reflection of the allocation of goods and services. To be clear: The purpose of recognizing finance as a distinct thing isn’t to study it in isolation, but rather to explore the specific ways in which it interacts with other kinds of social activity. This is the agenda that Fisher dynamics, disgorge the cash, functional finance and the other projects I’m working on are intended to contribute to.

[1] It’s a bit embarrassing that this “First Classical Postulate,” which Keynes himself said “is the portion of my book which most needs to be revised,” is the first positive claim in the book.

[2] Mehrling prefers to trace his intellectual lineage to the independent tradition of American monetary economics of Young, Hansen and Shaw.  But I think the essential content is similar.

Liquidity Preference and Solidity Preference in the 19th Century

So I’ve been reading Homer and Sylla’s History of Interest Rates. One of the many fascinating things I’ve learned, is that in the market for federal debt, what we today call an inverted yield curve was at one time the norm.

From the book:

Three small loans floated in 1820–1821, principally to permit the continued redemption of high rate war loans, provide an interesting clue to investor preference… These were: 

$4.7 million “5s of 1820,” redeemable in 1832; sold at 100 = 5%.
“6s of 1820,” redeemable at pleasure of United States; sold at 102 = 5.88%.
“5s of 1821,” redeemable in 1835; sold at 1051⁄8 =4.50%, and at 108 = 4.25%. 

The yield was highest for the issue with early redemption risk and much lower for those with later redemption risks.

Nineteenth century government bonds were a bit different from modern bonds, in that the principal was repaid at the option of the borrower; repayment is usually not permitted until a certain date. [1] They were also sold with a fixed yield in terms of face value — that’s what the “5” and “6” refer to — but the actual yield depended on the discount or premium they were sold at. The important thing for our purposes is that the further away the earliest possible date of repayment is, the lower the interest rate — the opposite of the modern term premium. That’s what the passage above is saying.

The pattern isn’t limited to the 1820-21 bonds, either; it seems to exist through most of the 19th century, at least for the US. It’s the same with the massive borrowing during the Civil War:

In 1864, although the war was approaching its end, it had only been half financed. The Treasury was able to sell a large volume of bonds, but not at such favorable terms as the market price of its seasoned issues might suggest. Early in the year another $100 million of the 5–20s [bonds with a minimum maturity of 5 years and a maximum of 20] were sold and then a new longer issue was sold as follows: 

1864—$75 million “6s”  redeemable in 1881, tax-exempt; sold at 104.45 = 5.60%. 

The Treasury soon made an attempt to sell 5s, which met with a lukewarm reception. In order to attract investors to the lower rate the Treasury extended the term to redemption from five to ten years and the maturity from twenty to forty years: 

1864—$73 million “5%, 10–40s of 1864,” redeemable 1874, due in 1904, tax-exempt; sold at 100 = 5%.

Isn’t that striking? The Treasury couldn’t get investors to buy its shorter bonds at an acceptable rate, so they had to issue longer bonds instead. You wouldn’t see that story today.

The same pattern continues through the 1870s, with the new loans issue to refinance the Civil War debt. The first issue of bonds, redeemable in five to ten years sold at an interest rate of 5%; the next issue, redeemable in 13-15 years sold at 4.5%; and the last issue, redeemable in 27-29 years, sold at 4%. And it doesn’t seem like this is about expectations of a change in rates, like with a modern inverted yield curve. Investors simply were more worried about being stuck with uninvestable cash than about being stuck with unsaleable securities. This is a case where “solidity preference” dominates liquidity preference.

One possible way of explaining this in terms of Axel Leijonhufvud’s explanation of the yield curve.

The conventional story for why long loans normally have higher interest rates than short ones is that longer loans impose greater risks on lenders. They may not be able to convert the loan to cash if they need to make some payment before it matures, and they may suffer a capital loss if interest rates change during the life of the loan. But this can’t be the whole story, because short loans create the symmetric risk of not knowing what alternative asset will be available when the loan matures. In the one case, the lender risks a capital loss, but in the other case they risk getting a lower income. Why is “capital uncertainty” a greater concern than “income uncertainty”?

The answer, Leijonhufvud suggests, lies in

Keynes’ … “Vision” of a world in which currently active households must, directly or indirectly, hold their net worth in the form of titles to streams that run beyond their consumption horizon. The duration of the relevant consumption plan is limited by the sad fact that “in the Long Run, we are all dead.” But the great bulk of the “Fixed Capital of the modem world” is very long- term in nature and is thus destined to survive the generation which now owns it. This is the basis for the wealth effect of changes in asset values. 

The interesting point about this interpretation of the wealth effect is that it also provides a price-theoretical basis for Keynes’ Liquidity Preference theory. … Keynes’ (as well as Hicks’) statement of this hypothesis has been repeatedly criticized for not providing any rationale for the presumption that the system as a whole wants to shed “capital uncertainty” rather than “income uncertainty.” But Keynes’ mortal consumers cannot hold land, buildings, corporate equities, British consols, or other permanent income sources “to maturity.” When the representative, risk-averting transactor is nonetheless induced by the productivity of roundabout processes to invest his savings in such income sources, he must be resigned to suffer capital uncertainty. Forward markets will therefore generally show what Hicks called a “constitutional weakness” on the demand side.

I would prefer not to express this in terms of households’ consumption plans. And I would emphasize that the problem with wealth in the form of long-lived production processes is not just that it produces income far into the future, but that wealth in this form is always in danger of losing its character as money. Once capital is embodied in a particular production process and the organization that carries it out, it tends to evolve into the means of carrying out that organization’s intrinsic purposes, instead of the capital’s own self-expansion. But for this purpose, the difference doesn’t matter; either way, the problem only arises once you have, as Leijonhufvud puts it, “a system ‘tempted’ by the profitability of long processes to carry an asset stock which turns over more slowly than [wealth owners] would otherwise want.”

The temptation of long-lived production processes is inescapable in modern economies, and explains the constant search for liquidity. But in the pre-industrial United States? I don’t think so. Long-lived means of production were much less important, and to the extent they did exist, they weren’t an outlet for money-capital. Capital’s role in production was to finance stocks of raw materials, goods in process and inventories. There was no such thing, I don’t think, as investment by capitalists in long-lived capital goods. And even land — the long-lived asset in most settings — was not really an option, since it was abundant. The early United States is something like Samuelson’s consumption-loan world, where there is no good way to convert command over current goods into future production. [2] So there is excess demand rather than excess supply for long-lasting sources of income.

The switch over to positive term premiums comes early in the 20th century. By the 1920s, short-term loans in the New York market consistently have lower rates than corporate bonds, and 3-month Treasury bills have rates below longer bonds. Of course the organization of financial markets changed quite a lot in this period too, so one wouldn’t want to read too much into this timing. But it is at least consistent with the Leijonhufvud story. Liquidity preference becomes dominant in financial markets only once there has been a decisive shift toward industrial production by long-lived firm using capital-intensive techniques, and once claims on those firms has become a viable outlet for money-capital.

* * *

A few other interesting points about 19th century US interest rates. First, they were remarkably stable, at least before the 1870s. (This fits with the historical material on interest rates that Merijn Knibbe has been presenting in his excellent posts at Real World Economics Review.)

Second, there’s no sign of a Fisher equation. Nominal interest rates do not respond to changes in the price level, at all. Homer and Sylla mention that in earlier editions of the book, which dealt less with the 20th century, the concept of a “real” interest rate was not even mentioned.

As you can see from this graph, none of the major inflations or deflations between 1850 and 1960 had any effect on nominal interest rates. The idea that there is a fundamentals-determined “real” interest rate while the nominal rate adjusts in response to changes in the price level, clearly has no relevance outside the past 50 years. (Whether it describes the experience of the past 50 years either is a question for another time.)

Finally, there is no sign of “crowding out” of private by public borrowing. It is true that the federal government did have to pay somewhat higher rates during the periods of heavy borrowing (and of course also political uncertainty) in the War of 1812 and the Civil War. But rates for other borrowers didn’t budge. And on the other hand, the surpluses that resulted in the redemption of the entire debt in the 1830s didn’t deliver lower rates for other borrowers. Homer and Sylla:

Boston yields were about the same in 1835, when the federal debt was wiped out, as they were in 1830; this reinforces the view that there was little change in going rates of long-term interest during this five- year period of debt redemption.

If government borrowing really raises rates for private borrowers, you ought to see it here, given the absence of a central bank for most of this period and the enormous scale of federal borrowing during the Civil War. But you don’t.

[1] It seems that most, though not all, bonds were repaid at the earliest possible redemption date, so it is reasonably similar to the maturity of a modern bond.

[2] Slaves are the big exception. So the obvious test for the argument I am making here would be to find the modern pattern of term premiums in the South. Unfortunately, Homer and Sylla aren’t any help on this — it seems the only local bond markets in this period were in New England.