The Slack Wire – Page 4

At Barron’s: The Fed’s View of the Economy Matters for More than Monetary Policy

(I write a monthly opinion piece for Barron’s. This is the most recent one; you can find earlier ones here.)

Has the inflationary fever broken at last? The headline Consumer Price Index, which was rising at a 17 percent annual rate last June, actually fell in December. Other measures show a similar, if less dramatic, slowing of price growth. But before we all start congratulating the Federal Reserve, we should think carefully about what else we’re signing up for.

For Fed Chair Jerome Powell, it’s clear that slower price growth is not enough. Inflation may be coming down, but labor markets are still much too tight. “Nominal wages have been growing at a pace well above what would be consistent with 2 percent inflation over time,” he said recently, so “another condition we are looking for is the restoration of balance between supply and demand in the labor market.”

The model of the economy that the Fed is working with looks something like this: most prices are, at the end of the day, set as a markup over wages. Wage increases depend on the relative bargaining power of workers and employers, and that in turn depends on labor market tightness. Labor market tightness depends on aggregate demand, which the Fed can influence through interest rates. Yes, there are other influences on inflation; but it’s clear that for the Fed this story is central. Indeed, we might call it the Federal Reserve View.

Is this story a fair description of the real world? Yes and no.

A useful rule to remember is that the rise in average wages must equal the rise in the price of domestically-produced goods, plus productivity growth, plus the share of income going to workers. All else equal, higher wages mean higher prices. But all else is not always equal. It’s possible to have faster wage growth and stable inflation if profit margins are falling, or if productivity is rising, or if import prices are falling.

In the short run, these other factors can easily outweigh wage growth. Just look at the 10 years prior to the pandemic. Hourly wages grew almost twice as fast in the second half of the decade as in the first half — nearly 4 percent annually, versus 2 percent. Yet inflation as measured by the CPI was no higher over 2015-2019 than over 2010-2014. That was thanks to productivity growth, which accelerated significantly, and import prices, which declined. (Workers’ share of national income did not change significantly.)

On the other hand, there is a limit to how fast productivity can rise, or profit margins or import prices can fall. No one doubts that if wages were to rise by, say, 10 percent year after year, inflation would eventually rise.

Critics of the Fed have questioned whether these long-run relationships tell us much about the inflation we are seeing now. There are plenty of things that cannot go on forever but can, and should, go on for a while. Rapid wage gains might be one of them. While Powell clearly still sees wage growth as excessive, others might look at the latest Employment Cost Index—less than 1% growth, compared with 1.4% at the start of 2022—and see a problem taking care of itself.

The Fed’s current plan is to increase unemployment by 1 percent over the next year, throwing 1.6 million people out of work. If the link between labor market conditions and prices is not as tight as they think, that’s a lot of suffering being inflicted for no reason.

But there’s an even bigger problem with the Federal Reserve View: what else follows once you accept it. If price stability requires a weaker labor market – one in which employers have an easier time finding workers, and workers have a harder time finding jobs – that has implications that go far beyond monetary policy.

Take the Fair Trade Commission’s recent ban on non-compete clauses in employment contracts. When President Biden issued the executive order that led to this action, he explicitly framed it as a way of shifting bargaining power to workers and allowing them to demand higher pay. “If your employer wants to keep you,” he said, “he or she should have to make it worth your while to stay.”

This sounds like good news for workers. But here’s the problem: from the Fed’s point of view, businesses are already paying too much to hold onto their employees. As Powell has said repeatedly over the past year, there is currently a “real imbalance in wage negotiating” in favor of workers. He wants to make it harder for people to switch jobs, not easier. So if the non-compete ban delivers what the President promised, that will just mean that rates have to go up by more.

Or think about minimum wage laws. Thanks to widespread indexing, nearly half the states saw significant increases in their minimum wages at the start of this year. Others, like New York, are moving in this direction. For many people the case for indexing is obvious: It makes sure that the incomes of low-wage workers in retail, fast food and other services keep pace with rising prices. But for the Fed, these are exactly the wages that are already rising too fast. Higher minimum wages, from the Fed’s point of view, call for higher interest rates and unemployment.

There’s nothing new or secret about this. In a typical macroeconomics textbook, the first example of something that raises the “natural rate” of unemployment (the one the central bank targets) is more generous unemployment benefits, which encourage workers to hold out for higher wages.

Publicly, the Fed disavows any responsibility for labor market policy. But obviously, if your goal is to maintain a certain balance of power between workers and employers, anything that shifts that balance is going to concern you.

This problem had dropped from view in recent years, when the Fed was struggling to get inflation up to its target. But historically, there’s been a clear conflict between protecting workers and keeping unemployment low. Under Alan Greenspan, Fed officials often worried that any revival of organized labor could make the job of inflation control harder. Treasury Secretary Yellen made a version of this argument early on in her career at the Fed, observing that “lower unemployment benefits or decreased unionization could … result in a decline in workers’ bargaining power.” This, she explained, could be a positive development, since it would imply “a permanent reduction in the natural rate of unemployment.”

Unfortunately, the same logic works the other way too. Stronger unions, higher minimum wages, and other protections for workers must, if you accept the Federal Reserve View, result in a higher natural rate of unemployment — which means more restrictive monetary policy to bring it about.

It’s easy to understand why administration officials would say they trust the Fed to manage inflation, while they focus on being the most-pro-labor administration in history. Unfortunately, dividing things up this way may not be as simple as it sounds. If that’s what they think their job is, they may have to challenge how the Fed thinks about its own.

Keynes on Newton and the Methods of Science

I’ve just been reading Keynes’ short sketches of Isaac Newton in Essays in Biography. (Is there any topic he wasn’t interesting on?) His thesis is that Newton was not so much the first modern scientist as “the last of the magicians” — “a magician who believed that by intense concentration of mind on traditional hermetics and revealed books he could discover the secrets of nature and the course of future events, just as by the pure play of mind on a few facts of observation he had unveiled the secrets of the heavens.”

The two pieces are fascinating in their own right, but they also crystallized something I’ve been thinking about for a while about the relationship between the methods and the subject matter of the physical sciences.

It’s no secret that Newton had an interest in the occult, astrology and alchemy and so on. Keynes’ argument is that this was not a sideline to his “scientific” work, but was his project, of which his investigations into mathematics and the physical world formed just a part. In Keynes’ words,

He looked on the whole universe and all that is in it as a riddle, as a secret which could be read by applying pure thought to … mystic clues which God had laid about the world to allow a sort of philosopher’s treasure hunt to the esoteric brotherhood. He believed that these clues were to be found partly in the evidence of the heavens and in the constitution of elements… but also partly in certain papers and traditions … back to the original cryptic revelation in Babylonia. …

In Keynes’ view — supported by the vast collection of unpublished papers Newton left after his death, which Keynes made it his mission to recover for Cambridge — Newton looked for a mathematical pattern in the movements of the planets in exactly the same way as one would look for the pattern in a coded message or a secret meaning in a ancient text. Indeed, Keynes says, Newton did look in the same way for secret messages in ancient texts, with the same approach and during the same period in which he was developing calculus and his laws of motion.

There was extreme method in his madness. All his unpublished works on esoteric and theological matters are marked by careful learning, accurate method and extreme sobriety of statement. They are just as sane as the Principia, if their whole matter and purpose were not magical. They were nearly all composed during the same twenty-five years of his mathematical studies.

Even in his alchemical research, which superficially resembled modern chemistry, he was looking for secret messages. He was, says Keynes, “almost entirely concerned, not in serious experiment, but in trying to read the riddle of tradition, to find meaning in cryptic verses, to imitate the alleged but largely imaginary experiments of the initiates of past centuries.”

There’s an interesting parallel here to Foucault’s discussion in The Order of Things of 16th century comparative anatomy. When someone like Pierre Belon carefully compares the structures of a bird’s skeleton to a human one, it superficially resembles modern biology, but really “belongs to the same analogical cosmography as the comparison between apoplexy and tempests,” reflecting the idea that man “stands in proportion to the heavens just as he does to animals and plants.”

Newton’s “scientific” work was, similarly, an integral part of his search for ancient secrets and, perhaps, for him, not the most important part. Keynes approvingly quotes the words that George Bernard Shaw (drawing on some of the same material) puts in Newton’s mouth:

There are so many more important things to be worked at: the transmutations of matter, the elixir of life, the magic of light and color, above all the secret meaning of the Scriptures. And when I should be concentrating my mind on these I find myself wandering off into idle games of speculation about numbers in infinite series, and dividing curves into indivisibly short triangle bases. How silly!

None of this, Keynes insists, is to diminish Newton’s greatness as a thinker or the value of his achievements. His scientific accomplishments flowed from this same conviction that the world was a puzzle that would reveal some simple, logical, in retrospect obvious solution if one stared at it long enough. His greatest strength was his power of concentration, his ability to

hold a problem in his mind for hours and days and weeks until it surrendered to him its secret. Then being a supreme mathematical technician he could dress it up… for purposes of exposition, but it was his intuition which was pre-eminent … The proofs … were not the instrument of discovery.

There is the story of how he informed Halley of one of his most fundamental discoveries of planetary motion. ‘Yes,’ replied Halley, ‘but how do you know that? Have you proved it?’ Newton was taken aback—’Why, I’ve known it for years,’ he replied. ‘ If you’ll give me a few days, I’ll certainly find you a proof of it’—as in due course he did.

This is a style of thinking that we are probably all familiar with — the conviction that a difficult problem must have an answer, and that once we see it in a flash of insight we’ll know that it’s right. (In movies and tv shows, intellectual work is almost never presented in any other way.) Some problems really do have answers like this. Many, of course, do not. But you can’t necessarily know in advance which is which.

Which brings me to the larger point I want to draw out of these essays. Newton was not wrong to think that if the motion of the planets could be explained by a simple, universal law expressible in precise mathematical terms, other, more directly consequential questions might be explained the same way. As Keynes puts it,

He did read the riddle of the heavens. And he believed that by the same powers of his introspective imagination he would read the riddle of the Godhead, the riddle of past and future events divinely fore-ordained, the riddle of the elements…, the riddle of health and of immortality.

It’s a cliché that economists suffer from physics envy. There is definitely some truth to this (though how much the object of envy resembles actual physics I couldn’t say.) The positive content of this envy might be summarized as follows: The techniques of physical sciences have yielded good results where they have been applied, in physics, chemistry, etc. So we should expect similar good results if we apply the same techniques to human society. If we don’t have a hard science of human society, it’s simply because no one has yet done the work to develop one. (Economists, it’s worth noting, are not alone in believing this.)

In Robert Solow’s critical but hardly uniformed judgement,

the best and the brightest in the profession proceed as if economics is the physics of society. There is a single universal model of the world. It only needs to be applied. You could drop a modern economist from a time machine … at any time in any place, along with his or her personal computer; he or she could set up in business without even bothering to ask what time and which place. In a little while, the up-to-date economist will have maximized a familiar-looking present-value integral, made a few familiar log-linear approximations, and run the obligatory familiar regression.

It’s not hard to find examples of this sort of time-machine economics. David Romer’s widely-used macroeconomics textbook, for example, offers pre-contact population density in Australia and Tasmania (helpfully illustrated with a figure going back to one million BC) as an illustration of endogenous growth theory. Whether you’re asking about GDP growth next year, the industrial revolution or the human population in the Pleistocene, it’s all the same equilibrium condition.

Romer’s own reflections on economics methodology (in an interview with Snowdon and Vane) are a perfect example of what I am talking about.

As a formal or mathematical science, economics is still very young. You might say it is still in early adolescence. Remember, at the same time that Einstein was working out the theory of general relativity in physics, economists were still talking to each other using ambiguous words and crude diagrams.

In other words, people who studied physical reality embraced precise mathematical formalism early, and had success. The people who studied society stuck with “ambiguous words and crude diagrams” and did not. Of course, Romer says, that is now being corrected. But it’s not surprising that with its late start, economics hasn’t yet produced as definite and useful knowledge as the physical science have.

This is where Newton comes in. His occult interests are a perfect illustration of why the Romer view gets it backward. The same techniques of mathematical formalization, the same effort to build up from an axiomatic foundation, the same search for precisely expressible universal laws, have been applied to the whole range of domains right from the beginning — often, as in Newton’s case, by the same people. We have not, it seems to me, gained useful knowledge of orbits and atoms because that’s where the techniques of physical science happen to have been applied. Those techniques have been consistently applied there precisely because that’s where they turned out to yield useful knowledge.

In the interview quoted above, Romer defends the aggregate production function (that “drove Robinson to distraction”) and Real Business Cycle theory as the sort of radical abstraction science requires. You have “to strip things down to their bare essentials” and thoroughly grasp those before building back up to a more realistic picture.

There’s something reminiscent of Newton the mystic-scientist in this conviction that things like business cycles or production in a capitalist economy have an essential nature which can be grasped and precisely formalized without all the messy details of observable reality. It’s tempting to think that there must be one true signal hiding in all that noise. But I think it’s safe to say that there isn’t. As applied to certain physical phenomena, the idea that apparently disparate phenomena are united by a single beautiful mathematical or geometric structure has been enormously productive. As applied to business cycles or industrial production, or human health and longevity, or Bible exegesis, it yields nonsense and crankery.

In his second sketch, Keynes quotes a late statement of Newton’s reflecting on his own work:

I do not know what I may appear to the world; but to myself I seem to have been only like a boy, playing on the sea-shore, and diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.

I’m sure this quote is familiar to anyone who’s read anything about Newton, but it was new and striking to me. One way of reading it as support for the view that Newton’s scientific work was, in his mind, a sideshow to the really important inquiries which he had set aside. But another way is as a statement of what I think is arguably the essence of a scientific mindset – the willingness to a accept ignorance and uncertainty. My friend Peter Dorman once made an observation about science that has always stuck with me – that what distinguishes scientific thought is the disproportionate priority put on avoiding Type I errors (accepting a false claim) over avoiding Type II errors (rejecting a true claim). Until an extraordinary degree of confidence can be reached, one simply says “I don’t know”.

It seems to me that if social scientists are going to borrow something from the practices of Newton and his successors, it shouldn’t be an aversion to “ambiguous words,” the use calculus or geometric proofs, or the formulation of universal mathematical laws. It should be his recognition of the vast ocean of our ignorance. We need to accept that on most important questions we don’t know the answers and probably cannot know them. Then maybe we can recognize the small pebbles of knowledge that are accessible to us.

2020 books

(I wrote this list at the beginning of 2021 but for some reason never posted it. I figured it’s worth putting up now – they’re all still good books.)

Books I read in 2020. None of them were life-changing, but several were very good.

Weather, by Jenny Offill. A small graceful novel about middle-class life against the background of climate change.

The Mirror and the Light, by Hilary Mantel. Final installment of the Thomas Cromwell trilogy. Better than the second, not as good as the first, in my opinion. Gripping as the others as a story, and shifts our perspective on the central character in some interesting ways, but much of the most interesting history of the period (like the Pilgrimage of Grace) happens oddly offstage, and the central conflict between Cromwell and Henry VIII is never properly motivated. Was Archbishop Cranmer’s protege really a true-believing Protestant reformer all along?

Poor Numbers: How We Are Misled by African Development Statistics and What to Do about It, by Morten Jerven. GDP and other national accounts numbers for poor countries (and for the distant past everywhere) are bullshit. Sorry but it’s true. I read this because I was thinking of assigning it; I ultimately didn’t, but it’s a good book.

The Causality Mixtape, by Scott Cunningham. Another one I read in order to use in a class. Good, clear, accessible, but it also reinforced my sense that there’s something fundamentally wrong with econometrics. I think there is a deep reason why so many textbook examples are about how much of pay differences are due to differences in innate ability – that is the kind of question econometrics is designed to answer. Anyway, if you’re teaching (or taking) a class on statistics or econometrics, you might well want to look at this. Otherwise, not.

The Histories, by Herodotus (Landmark edition). I’m trying to think of a way to not sound like an asshole when I say that I read all this to 8-year old Eli, and that we are now reading Thucydides. Nope, no luck. (ETA: We finished Thucydides and moved on to Xenophon.)

The Price of Peace: Money, Democracy and the Life of John Maynard Keynes, by Zach Carter. The first two thirds of this is a quite good and timely biography of Keynes. It benefits from the fact that author is a journalist rather than an economist — his interest is in how Keynes’ various writings were responding to particular political situations, rather than trying to fit them all into one coherent system. And then the last third is random gossip about postwar economists and greatest hits from the wikipedia “macroeconomic policy” page. Oh well.

Radical Hamilton: Economic Lessons from a Misunderstood Founder, by Christian Parenti. Christian is an old friend and colleague. I read most of this in draft, but I reread it this year after it came out. It’s very good.

The Deficit Myth: Modern Monetary Theory and the Birth of the People’s Economy, by Stephanie Kelton. I reviewed it in The American Prospect. I also discussed it at more length on the Current Affairs podcast.

Keynes against Capitalism: His Economic Case for Liberal Socialism, by Jim Crotty. Another one I read in draft, years ago in this case. The ideas in this book, and in the articles that preceded it (especially this one), and even more all the conversations with Jim over the 20 years since I first studied macroeconomics with him, have so fundamentally shaped my thinking about Keynes and about economics that honestly it’s hard to evaluate the book as a book. But I think it’s important, and very good. Maybe read the articles first?

The Half Has Never Been Told: Slavery and the Making of American Capitalism, by Edward Baptist. I used this in my economic history class last spring. It works very well in the classroom — reads like a novel, and very effectively connects concrete experiences of slavery to economic logic of the system as a whole. There have been a number of claims that the book misrepresents or distorts the material it draws on in the service of its larger narrative, at least some of which unfortunately seem to be valid. I still haven’t decided whether/to what extent these problems cancel out the book’s merits.

Labor’s War At Home: The CIO In World War II, by Nelson Lichtenstein. This was one that had been sitting on my shelves for years and years, which I finally picked up while working on my articles on WWII economic policy with Andrew Bossie (here and here). In those papers we emphasized the positive lessons from the war, but the book gives a sense of the much more radical direction wartime economic planning might have gone in, but didn’t.

Zapata and the Mexican Revolution, by John Womack. Read this after listening to the Mexican revolution series on the Revolutions podcast, which draws on it heavily. If you’re looking for a genuine hero, someone thoroughly admirable, in the history of radical politics, I don’t know that you can do better than Zapata.

American Slavery American Freedom: The Ordeal of Colonial Virginia, by Edmund Morgan. Another book I read in order to use in my economic history class. A classic for a reason.

Pale Horse, Pale Rider, by Katherine Anne Porter Laura was casting around for fiction dealing with the 1918 flu pandemic, which is surprisingly hard to find, and finally lighted on this. It’s a beautiful set of three linked novellas, wrestling in different ways with the ways in which one’s choices are or should be constrained by one’s personal or family past. (Only one involves the influenza epidemic.) The middle story (“Noon Wine”) is especially striking for the fully realized interior life granted its rural, working-class characters, which you never find in writing about similar milieus by someone like Faulkner.

Freedom From the Market: America’s Fight to Liberate Itself from the Grip of the Invisible Hand, by Mike Konczal. Mike is one of the few people in the world that I agree with about almost everything, so naturally I agreed with everything in this book. Reading it felt like picking up loose ends from numerous conversations over the past five or six years: oh, that’s where that was going. Well, that’s why I liked it, but you would probably like it too. It’s a good book.

Previous editions:

What Does It Mean to Say that Inflation Is Caused by Demand?

There has been a lot of debate about whether the high inflation of 2021-2022 has been due mainly to supply or demand factors. Joe Stiglitz and Ira Regmi have a new paper from Roosevelt making the case for supply disruptions as the decisive factor. It’s the most thorough version of that case that I’ve seen, and I agree with almost all of it. I highly recommend reading it.

What I want to do in this post is something different. I want to clarify what it would mean, if inflation were in fact driven by demand. Because there are two quite distinct stories here that I think tend to get mixed up.

In the textbook story, production takes place with constant returns to scale and labor as the only input. (We could introduce other inputs like land or imports without affecting the logic.) Firms have market power, so price are set as a positive markup over unit costs. The markup depends on various things (regulations, market structure, etc.) but not on the current level of output. With constant output per worker, this means that the real wage and wage share are also constant.

The nominal wage, however, depends on the state of the labor market. The lower the unemployment rate, and the more bargaining power workers have, the higher the wage they will be in a position to demand. (We can think of this as an expected real wage, or as a rate of change from current wages.) When unemployment falls, workers command higher wages; but given markup pricing, these higher wages are simply passed on to higher prices. If we think of wages as a decreasing function of unemployment, there will be a unique level of unemployment where wage growth is equal to productivity growth plus the target inflation rate.

The conventional story of demand and inflation, from Blanchard. With constant returns to scale and a fixed markup, the real wage is unaffected by short-run changes in output and employment.

You can change this in various ways without losing the fundamental logic. If there are non-labor costs, then rising nominal wages can be passed less than one for one, and tight labor markets may result in faster real wage growth along with higher inflation. But there will still be a unique level of wage growth, and underlying labor-market conditions, that is consistent with the central bank’s target. This is the so-called NAIRU or natural rate of unemployment. You don’t hear that term as much as you used to, but the logic is very present in modern textbooks and the Fed’s communications.

There’s a different way of thinking about demand and inflation, though, that you hear a lot in popular discussions — variations on “too much money chasing too few goods.” In this story, rather than production being perfectly elastic at a given cost, production is perfectly inelastic — the amount of output is treated as fixed. (That’s what it means to talk about “too few goods”.) In this case, there is no relationship between costs of production and prices. Instead, the price ends up at the level where demand is just equal to the fixed quantity of goods.

In this story, there is no relationship between wages and prices — or at least, the former has no influence on the latter. Profit maximizing businesses will set their price as high as they can and still sell their available stocks, regardless of what it cost to produce them.

In the first story, the fundamental scarcity is inputs, meaning basically labor. In the second, what is scarce is final goods. Both of these are stories about how an increase in the flow of spending can cause prices to rise. But the mechanism is different. In the first case, transmission happens through the labor market. In the second, labor market conditions are at best an indicator of broader scarcities. In the first story, the inflation barrier is mediated by all sorts of institutional factors that can change the market power of businesses and the bargaining power of workers. In the second story it comes straightforwardly from the quantity of stuff available for purchase.

Once concrete difference between the stories is that only in the first one is there a tight quantitive relationship between wages and prices. When you say “wage growth consistent with price stability,” as Powell has in almost all of his recent press conferences, you are evidently thinking of wages as a cost. If we are thinking of wages as a source of demand, or an indicator of broader supply constraints, we might expect a positive relationship between wages and inflation but not the sort of exact quantitive relationship that this kind of language implies.

in any case, what we don’t want to do at this point is to say that one of these stories is right and the other is wrong. Our goal is simply to clarify what people are saying. Substantively, both could be wrong.

Or, both could be right, but in different contexts.

If we imagine cost curves as highly convex, it’s very natural to think of these two cases as describing two different situations or regimes or time scales in the same economy.¹ Imagine something like the figure below. At a point like c, marginal costs are basically constant, and shifts in demand simply result in changes in output. At a point like b, on the other hand, output is very inelastic, and shifts in demand result almost entirely in changes in price.

Note that we can still have price equal to marginal cost, or a fixed markup to it, in both cases. It’s just that in the steeply upward-sloping section, price determines cost rather than vice versa.

Another point here is that once we are facing quantity constraints, the markup over average cost (which is all that we can normally observe) is going to rise. But this doesn’t necessarily reflect an increase in the markup over (unobservable) marginal cost, or any change in producers’ market power or pricing decisions.

We might think of this at the level of a firm, an industry or the economy as a whole. Normally, production is at a point like a — capitalists will invest to the point where capacity is a bit greater than normal levels of output. As long as production is taking place within the normal level of utilization, marginal costs are constant. But once normal capacity is exceeded by more than some reasonable margin, costs rise rapidly.

This framework does a couple of things. First, it clarifies that demand can lead to higher prices in two different ways. First, it shifts the demand curve (not shown here, but you can imagine a downward-sloping diagonal line) up and to the right. Second, insofar as it raises wages, it shifts the cost curve upward. The first effect does not matter for prices as long production is within normal capacity limits. The second effect does not matter once production has exceeded those limits.

Second, it helps explain why shifts in the composition of output led to a rise in the overall price level. Imagine a situation where most industries were at a position like a, operating at normal capacity levels. A big change in the mix of demand would shift some to b and others to c. The first would see lower output at their old prices, while the latter would see little increase in output but a big rise in prices. This has nothing to do with price stickiness or anything like that. It simply reflects the fact that it’s easy to produce at less than full capacity and very hard to produce much above it.

ETA: One of the striking features of the current disinflation is that it is happening without any noticeable weakening of the labor market. We could see that as just one more piece of evidence for the Stiglitz-Regmi position that it was transitory supply problems all along. But if you really want to credit the Fed, you could use the framework here to do it. Something like this:

In a sustained situation of strong demand, businesses will expect to be able to sell more in the future, and will invest enough to raise capacity in line with output. So the cost curve will shift outward as demand rises, and production will remain In the normal capacity, constant marginal cost range. In this situation, the way that demand is raising prices is via wages. (Unlike business capacity, the labor force does not, in this story, respond to demand.) Rising wages raise costs even at normal utilization levels, so the only way that policy can slow process growth is via weaker labor markets that reduce wage growth. But, when demand rises rapidly and unexpectedly, capacity will not be able to keep up in the short run, and we’ll end up on the righthand, steeply upward sloping part of the cost curve. At this point, price increases are not coming from wages or the cost side in general. Businesses cannot meaningful increase output in the short run, so prices are determined from the demand side rather than as a markup. In this context, price stability calls for policy to reduce desired purchases to what business can currently produce (presumably by reducing aggregate income). In principle this can happen without higher unemployment or slower wage growth.

I personally am not inclined to credit the Fed with a soft landing, even if all the inflation news is good from here on out. But if you do want to tell that story, convex supply curves are something you might like to have in your toolkit.

Slides on “Rethinking Supply Constraints”

On December 2-3, 2022, the Political Economy Research Institute at the University of Massachusetts-Amherst (where I did my economics PhD) will be hosting a conference on “Global Inflation Today: What Is To Be Done?”²

I will be speaking on “Rethinking Supply Constraints,” a new project I am working on with Arjun Jayadev. Our argument is that we should think of supply constraints as limits on the speed at which production can be reorganized and labor and other resources can be reallocated via markets, as opposed to limits on the level of production determined by “real” resources. The idea is that this makes better sense of recent macroeconomic developments; fits better with a broader conception of the economy in terms of human productive activity rather than the exchange of pre-existing goods; and points toward more promising responses to the current inflation.

I was hoping to have a draft of the paper done for the conference, but that is not to be. But I do have a set of slides, which give at least a partial sketch of the argument. Feedback is most welcome!

At Barron’s: Rate Hikes Are the Wrong Cure for Rising Housing Costs

(I write a monthly opinion piece for Barron’s. This is my contribution for November 2022.)

How much of our inflation problem is really a housing-cost problem?

During the first half of 2021, vehicle prices accounted for almost the whole rise in inflation. For much of this year, it was mostly energy prices.

But today, the prices of automobiles and other manufactured goods have stabilized, while energy prices are falling. It is rents that are rising rapidly. Over the past three months, housing costs accounted for a full two-thirds of the inflation in excess of the Federal Reserve’s 2% target.

Since most Americans don’t rent their homes, the main way that rents enter the inflation statistics is through owners’ equivalent rent—the government’s estimate of how much owner-occupied homes would rent for. The big cost that homeowners actually pay is debt service on their mortgage, which the Fed is currently pushing up. There is something perverse about responding to an increase in a hypothetical price of housing by making actual housing more expensive.

Still, the housing cost problem is real. Market rents are up by over 10% in the past year, according to Zillow. While homeownership rates have recovered somewhat, they are still well below where they were in the mid-2000s. And with vacancy rates for both rental and owner-occupied homes at their lowest levels in 40 years, the housing shortage is likely to get worse.

Housing is unlike most other goods in the economy because it is tied to a specific long-lived asset. The supply of haircuts or child care depends on how much of society’s resources we can devote to producing them today. The supply of housing depends on how much of it we built in the past.

This means that conventional monetary policy is ill-suited to tackle rising housing prices. Because the housing stock adjusts slowly, housing costs may rise even when there is substantial slack in the economy. And because production of housing is dependent on credit, that’s where higher interest rates have their biggest effects. Housing starts are already down 20% since the start of this year. This will have only a modest effect on current demand, but a big effect on the supply of housing in future years. Economics 101 should tell you that if efforts to reduce demand are also reducing supply, prices won’t come down much. They might even rise.

What should we be doing instead?

First, we need to address the constraints on new housing construction. In a number of metropolitan areas, home values may be double the cost of construction. When something is worth more than it costs to produce, normally we make more of it. So, if the value of a property comes mostly from the land under it, that’s a sign that construction is falling far short of demand. The problem we need to solve isn’t that people will pay so much to live in New York or Los Angeles or Boston or Boulder, Colo. It’s that it is so difficult to add housing there.

Land-use rules are set by thousands of jurisdictions. Changing them will not happen overnight. But there are steps that can be taken now. For example, the federal government could tie transportation funding to allowing higher-density development near transit.

Second, we need more public investment. Government support—whether through direct ownership or subsidies—is critical for affordable housing, which markets won’t deliver even with relaxed land-use rules. But government’s role needn’t be limited to the low-income segment. The public sector, with its long time horizons, low borrowing costs, and ability to internalize externalities, has major advantages in building and financing middle-class housing as well.

If we look around the world, it isn’t hard to find examples of governments successfully taking a central role in housing development. In Singapore, which is hardly hostile to private business, the majority of new housing is built by the public Housing Development Board. The apartment buildings built by Vienna’s government between the world wars still provide a large share of the city’s housing. Before the privatizations under Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, some 30% of English families lived in publicly owned housing.

In the U.S., public housing has fallen out of favor. But governments at all levels continue to support the construction of affordable housing through subsidies and incentives. Some public developers, like the Housing Production Fund of Montgomery County, Md., are finding that with cheap financing and no need to deliver returns to investors, they can compete with private developers for mixed-income housing as well. The important thing is to channel new public money to development, rather than vouchers for tenants. The latter may just bid up the price of existing housing.

Third, we should revisit rent regulation. The argument against rent control is supposed to be that it discourages new construction. But empirical studies have repeatedly failed to find any such effect. This shouldn’t be surprising. The high-rent areas where controls get adopted are precisely those where new housing construction is already tightly constrained. If not much is getting built in any case, rent regulation merely prevents the owners of existing housing from claiming windfall gains from surging demand.

No, rent control won’t boost the supply of housing. But it can limit the rise in prices until new supply comes on-line. And it’s a much bettertargeted response to rising housing costs than the policy-induced recession we are currently headed for.

At Jacobin: Review of Beth Popp Berman’s Thinking Like an Economist

(This review appeared in the Summer 2022 edition of Jacobin.)

After the passage of Medicare and Medicaid, universal health insurance seemed to be on its way. In 1971, the New York Times observed that “Americans from all strata of society … are swinging over to the idea that good health care, like good education, ought to be a fundamental right of citizenship.” That same year, Ted Kennedy introduced a bill providing universal coverage with no payments at the point of service, on the grounds that “health care for all our people must now be recognized as a right.” The bill didn’t pass, but it laid down a marker for future health care reform.

But when Democratic presidents and congresses took up health care in later years they chose a different path. Rather than pitching health care as a right of citizenship, the goal was better-functioning markets for health care as a commodity. From the “consumer choice health plan” proposed by Alain Enthoven in the Carter administration, though the 1993 Clinton plan down to Obama’s ACA, the goal of reform was no longer the universal provision of health care, but addressing certain specific failures in the market for health insurance.

The intellectual roots of this shift are the subject of Beth Popp Berman’s new book Thinking Like an Economist: How Efficiency Replaced Equity in U.S. Public Policy. A distinct style of thinking, she argues, reshaped ideas how about how government should work and what it could achieve. This “economic style” of thinking, originating among Democrats rather than on the Right, “centered efficiency and cost-effectiveness, choice and incentives, and competition and the market mechanism… Its implicit theory of politics imagined that disinterested technocrats could make reasonably neutral, apolitical policy decisions.” Rather than see particular domains of public life, like health care or the environment, as embodying their own distinct goals and logics, they were imagined in terms of an idealized market, where the question was what specific market failure, if any, the government should correct.

The book traces this evolution in various policy domains, focusing on the microeconomic questions of regulation, social provision and market governance rather than the higher-profile debates among macroeconomists. Covering mainly the period of the Kennedy through Reagan administrations, with brief discussions of more recent developments, the book documents how the economic style of reasoning displaced alternative ways of thinking about policy questions. The first generation of environmental regulation, for example, favored high, inflexible standards such as simply forbidding emission of certain substances. Workplace and consumer safety laws similarly favored categorical prohibitions and requirements.

But to regulators trained in economics, this made no sense. To an economist, “the optimal level of air pollution, worker illness, or car accidents might be lower than its current level, but it was probably not zero.” As economist Marc Roberts wrote with frustration of the Clean Water Act, “There is no be no case-by-case balancing of costs and benefits, no attempt at ‘fine-tuning’ the process of resource allocation.’”

The book has aroused hostility from economists, who insist that this is an unfairly one-sided portrayal of their profession. I think Berman has the better of the argument here. As anyone who has taken an economics course in college can confirm, there really is such a thing as “thinking like an economist,” even if not every economist thinks that way. Framing every question as a problem of optimization under constraints is a very particular style of reasoning. And, as Berman observes, the most important site of this thinking is not the work of professional economists with their “frontier research,” but undergraduate classes and in schools of public policy where those in government, non-profits, and the press acquire this perspective.

Berman also is right to link this distinctive economic style of reasoning to a narrowing of American political horizons. At the same time, she is appropriately cautious about attributing too much independent influence to it — ideas matter, she suggests, but as tools of power rather than sources of it.

The problem with the book is not that she is unfair to economists; it’s that she concedes too much ground to them. Thinking Like an Economist is attentive to the shifting backgrounds of leaders and staff in federal agencies — if you’re wondering who was the first economics PhD to head the Justice Department’s Antitrust Division, this is the book for you. But this institutional history, while important, sometimes crowds out critical engagement with the ideas being discussed.

Take the term efficiency, which seems to occur on almost every page of the book, starting with the cover. The essence of the economic style, says Berman, is that government should make decisions “to promote efficiency.” But what does that mean?

We know what “efficient” means as applied to, say, a refrigerator. It means comparing a measurable input (electricity, in this case) to a well-defined outcome (a given volume maintained at a given temperature). There is nothing distinct to economics in preferring a more energy-efficient to a less energy-efficient appliance. Unions planning organizing campaigns, socialists running in elections, or public housing administrators all similarly face the problem of getting the most out of their scarce resources.

But what if the question is whether you should have a refrigerator in the first place, or if refrigerators ought to be privately owned? What could “efficient” mean here?

To an economist, the answer is the one that maximizes “utility” or “welfare.” These things, of course, are unobservable. So the measurement of inputs and output that defines efficiency in the every day sense is impossible.

Instead, what we do is start with an abstract model in which all choices involve using or trading property claims, and people know and care about only their own private interests. Then we show that in this model, exchange at market prices will satisfy a particular definition of efficiency — either Pareto, where no one can get a better outcome without someone else getting a worse one, or Kaldor-Hicks, where improvements to one person’s situation at the expense of another’s are allowed as long as the winners could, in principle, make the losers whole. Finally, in a sort of argument by homonym, this specialized and near-tautological meaning of “efficiency” is imported back into real-world settings, where it is used interchangeably with the everyday doing-more-with-less one.

When someone steeped in the economic style of thinking says “efficiency,” they mean something quite different from what normal people would. Rather than a favorable ratio of measurable out- puts to inputs, they mean a desirable outcome in terms of unmeasurable welfare or utility, which is simply assumed to be reached via markets. A great part of the power of economics in policy debates comes through the conflation of these two meanings. A common-sensical wish to get better outcomes with less resources gets turned into a universal rule that economic life should be organized around private property and private exchange.

Berman is well aware of the ambiguities of her key term, and the book contains some good discussions of these different meanings. But that understanding seldom makes it into the primary narrative of the book, where economists are allowed to pose as advocates of an undifferentiated “efficiency,” as opposed to non-economic social and political values. This forces Berman into the position of arguing that making government programs work well is in conflict with making them fair, when in reality an ideological preference for markets is often in conflict with both.

To be sure, there are cases where Berman’s frame works. Health care as a right is fundamentally different from a good that should be delivered efficiently, by whatever meaning. But in other cases, it leads her seriously astray. There are many things to criticize in the United States’ thread- bare welfare state. But is one of them really that it focuses too much on raising recipients’ in- comes, as opposed to relieving their “feelings of anomie and alienation”? Or again, there are many reasons to prefer 1960s and ‘70s style environmental regulation, with simple categorical rules, to the more recent focus on incentives and flexibility. But I am not sure that “the sacredness of Mother Earth” is the most convincing one.

That last phrase is Berman’s, from the introduction. It’s noteworthy that in her long and informative chapter on environmental regulation, we never hear the case for strong, inflexible standards being made in such terms. Rather, the first generation of regulators “built ambitious and relatively rigid rules … because they saw inflexibility as a tool for preventing capture” by industry, and because they believed that “setting high, even seemingly unrealistic standards … could drive rapid improvements” in technology. Meanwhile, their economics-influenced opponents like Charles Schultze (a leading economist in the Johnson and Carter administrations, and a central figure in the book) and Carter EPA appointee Bill Drayton, seem to have been motivated less by measurable policy outcomes than by objections on principle to “command and control” regulation. As one colleague described Drayton’s belief that companies should be allowed to offset emissions at one plant with reductions elsewhere, “What was driving Bill was pure intellectual conviction that this was a truly elegant approach — The Right Approach, with a capital ’T’ and ‘R’.” This does not look like a conflict between the values of equity and efficiency. It looks like a conflict between the goal of making regulation effective on one side, versus a preference for markets as such on the other.

On anti-trust regulation, the subject of another chapter in the book, the efficiency-versus-equity frame also obscures more than it reveals. The fundamental shift here was, as Berman says, away from a concern with size or market share, toward a narrower focus on horizontal agreements between competitors. And it is true that this shift was sometimes justified in terms of the supposed greater efficiency of dominant firms. But we shouldn’t take this justification at face value. As critical anti-trust scholars like Sanjukta Paul have shown, courts were not really interested in evidence for (or against) such efficiency. Rather, the guiding principle was a preference for top-down coordination by owners over other forms of economic coordination. This is why centralized price-setting by Amazon is acceptable, but an effort to bargain jointly with it by publishers was unacceptable; or why manufacturers’ prohibitions on resale of their products were accept- able but the American Medical Association’s limits on advertising by physicians was unacceptable. The issue here is not efficiency versus equity, or even centralized versus decentralized economic decision making. It’s about what kind of authority can be exercised in the economic sphere.

Berman ends the book with the suggestion that rebuilding the public sector calls for rethinking the language in which policies are understood and evaluated. On this, I fully agree. Readers who were politically active in the 2000s may recall the enormous mobilizations against George W. Bush’s proposals for Social Security privatization — and the failure, after those were abandoned, to translate this defensive program into a positive case for expanding social insurance. More recently, we’ve seen heroic labor actions by public teachers across the country. But while these have sometimes succeeded in their immediate goals, they haven’t translated into a broader argument for the value of public services and civil service protections.

As Berman says, it’s not enough to make the case for particular public programs; what we need is better language to make the positive case for the public sector in general.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fisher Dynamics Revisited

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As we explained:

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

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

We concluded:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At Barron’s: What’s At Stake in the Labor Market?

(I am now writing a monthly opinion piece for Barron’s. This one was published there in August.)

The labor market is exceptionally tight, at least by the standards of recent history. That matters for monetary policy, but its importance goes beyond inflation, or even material living standards. We are used to a world where workers compete for jobs. A world where businesses compete for workers would look very different.

Today’s 3.5% unemployment rate is lower than any time between 1970 and 2019. While the prime-age employment-population ratio is still shy of its prepandemic level, other measures imply a labor market even hotter than at the height of the late-90s boom. Both the historically high rate of workers quitting their jobs and the nearly two job openings for each unemployed worker suggest that this could be the best time to be looking for a job in most Americans’ working lives.

How long this will continue depends in large part on the Federal Reserve, where the question often comes down to whether inflation expectations are anchored. If businesses and households come to believe that prices will rise rapidly, the argument goes, they will behave in ways that cause prices to rise, validating those beliefs and making it harder to bring inflation back down.

Curiously, there is little discussion of all the other expectations that can also be anchored in different ways, which suggest a very different set of trade-offs.

Businesses that expect growth to be weak, for example, are unlikely to invest in raising capacity—which makes strong growth much harder to achieve. Workers who feel it’s impossible to find a job may stop looking for one, making expectations of weak employment growth self-confirming. Both these expectational shifts played a role in the “lost decade” after the 2007 crash.

Today’s tight labor markets are reshaping expectations in a different direction, which could lead to lasting changes in employment dynamics. As economist Julia Coronado observes, one lesson businesses seem to have learned is that staffing up may be slower and more difficult than in the past. This in turn makes businesses more hesitant to lay off workers, even when demand slackens.

Fewer layoffs, of course, contribute to tighter labor markets—another example of self-confirming expectations. But those new expectations also mean a different kind of employment relationship. A business that expects labor to be cheap and abundant has little reason to invest in recruiting, retaining and training its employees. Conversely, a business that can’t count on quickly hiring workers with whatever skills are needed has to focus more on developing and holding on to the workers it has. These qualitative changes in the organization of work aren’t captured in the aggregate numbers on employment and wages.

To be clear, there is not a labor shortage in any absolute terms. One thing we have clearly learned over the past year is that total employment isn’t just a matter of how many people are willing to work. Back in spring 2021, some economists argued that generous pandemic unemployment assistance was holding back job growth. When some states ended unemployment assistance early, that offered the perfect controlled test of this theory. It was decisively refuted. As the labor economist Arin Dube has shown, employment growth was no faster in the states that ended pandemic unemployment relief earlier than in those that kept it longer.

What is true, though, is that the kinds of jobs people will take may depend on their other options. For the economy as a whole, today’s high rate of movement between jobs is a clear positive. A big reason people can get raises by changing jobs is, presumably, that their new work is more valuable than what they were doing before. But from the point of view of employers, this is a process with winners and losers. Some businesses will adapt, offering higher wages—as many food service and retail giants are already doing—and nonpecuniary benefits such as predictable schedules and pathways for advancement. Tight labor markets will also favor higher-productivity businesses, which can afford to pay higher wages. Those that are wedded to a model that treats labor as cheap and disposable, on the other hand, may struggle or fail.

It isn’t only employers that need to adjust to tight labor markets, of course. There is little doubt that the upsurge of union organizing we’ve seen in recent years owes a great deal to labor market conditions. When jobs are plentiful, the fear of losing yours is less of a deterrent to standing up to the boss. And people who are reasonably confident of at least getting a paycheck may begin to wonder if that is all their employer owes them.

Historically, periods of rapid union growth have followed sustained growth, not depressions and crises. During the 1972 strike at GM’s Lordstown plant—one of the high points of 1970s labor militancy—one union leader explained why the younger workers were so ready to walk off their jobs:

“None of these guys came over from the old country poor and starving, grateful for any job they could get. None of them have been through a depression …They’re just not going to swallow the same kind of treatment their fathers did. That’s a lot of what the strike was about. They want more than just a job for 30 years.”

Strikes like Lordstown are rooted not just in conditions at the particular workplace, but also in the ways a prolonged high-pressure economy shifts what workers expect from a job. Significantly, the Lordstown strikers’ demands included a say in the design and organization of the plant, as well as better pay and benefits.

Not everyone would welcome a revived U.S. labor movement, of course, or a move toward German-style co-determination. While some people see unions as a pillar of democracy and counterweight to corporations’ political power, others see them as an illegitimate intrusion on the rights of business owners. Either way, whether organized labor can reverse its decline is a question with consequences that go far beyond next month’s inflation numbers. And it depends a great deal on how long today’s tight labor market lasts.

It might seem utopian to imagine a transformation of the workplace when the headlines are dominated by inflation and recession fears. But the real fantasy is to imagine we could reap the benefits of a high-pressure economy—faster productivity growth, a more equal distribution of income, more resources to solve our most pressing problems—without making any changes to how firms and labor markets are organized.

In his most recent press conference, Federal Reserve Chair Jerome Powell said, “we all want to get back to the kind of labor market we had before the pandemic.” Do we really all want that, or could we aim higher? But in any case simply turning back the clock isn’t an option. An economy adapted to slow growth and cheap, abundant workers can’t adjust to tight labor markets without changing in profound ways.

Some may welcome an economy where chronically scarce labor means that businesses are under constant pressure to raise productivity and attract and retain employees. Others may hope for a deep recession to reset expectations about the relative scarcity of workers and jobs. One way or the other, those are the stakes.