It's time to trash the "store of value" function of money

When we first learn about money and banking in high school or university, we are all taught that money has three functions: medium of exchange, unit of account, and store of value. Maybe it’s time for educators to throw out this triumvirate. It’s not very accurate. 

We need a simple and teachable device to take the triumvirate’s place. I propose the money Venn diagram.

Before I explain the money Venn diagram, let’s revisit the textbook triumvirate.

When something is a medium of exchange, what is meant is that it is generally acceptable in trade. You can use it to buy stuff at the grocery store, or purchase stocks on the stock market, or get things online. 

The quality of being a medium of exchange is really more of a gradient than a matter of either/or. Banknotes, for instance, are good at brick and mortar shops, but useless online. Your debit card works great at shops, but forget trying to buy shares with it. But both are sufficiently widely accepted to qualify as a medium of exchange.

Because cryptocurrencies like Bitcoin and Litecoin aren’t widely accepted, they don’t make it across the line to qualify as a medium of exchange. Neither do Walmart or Target gift cards. Cigarettes don’t qualify either, but that wasn’t the case in 1950 when Milton Friedman used them to buy gas:

Milton Friedman describes the time he used cigarettes as money. (I get this from his book "Money Mischief".) pic.twitter.com/1NSjY9vZNX

— John Paul Koning (@jp_koning) November 6, 2020

The unit of account function of money refers to the fact that our economic conversations and calculations are couched in terms of a given monetary unit, whether that be the $, ¥, or £. In Canada and the US, prices are expressed in grocery aisles with dollars, our salaries use dollar units, and our debts are denominated in dollars. We don’t express prices in terms of government bonds, or Microsoft shares, or cigarettes or bitcoins. These things don’t function as a unit of account.

Thirdly, when money acts as a store of value we mean that it preserves value over time and space. Whereas the first two functions are quite useful, the store of value isn’t. Every asset functions as a store of value: houses, diamonds, banknotes, deposits, bitcoins, LSD tabs, lentils, cars, spices. And so it is meaningless to cast store of value as a unique function of money. Monetary economists such as Nick Rowe and George Selgin have proposed, and I concur, that we just chuck store of value from the definition of money.

But we are still left with two useful definitions for money, unit of account and medium of exchange. Which gets us to the money circle.

Note that the two circles in the diagram, medium of exchange and unit of account, don’t perfectly overlap. About 99% of the time the things we use as media of exchange are also the things we use as a unit of account. So the contents of our wallets or our bank accounts, dollar banknotes and dollar deposits are functionally equivalent to the $ units displayed in signs in grocery aisles.

But for the remaining 1% of the time, the unit of account and medium of exchange are separated. The idea of a separation is tough to get one’s head around. Luckily we’ve got a nice example. In Chile the prices of many things, particularly real estate, are expressed in terms of the Unidad de Fomento. But no Unidad de Fomento notes or coins circulate in Chile. It is a purely abstract unit of account.

Apartments for sale in Chile, priced in Unidad de Fomento

If a Chilean wants to buy an apartment that is priced at 840 Unidad de Fomento, she must use a separate medium of exchange, the Chilean peso, to make the payment. The peso is issued by Chile’s central bank, the Banco Central de Chile, in both paper and account form.

How many pesos must she pay? Every day the Banco Central de Chile publishes the exchange rate between the Unidad de Fomento and the peso. Right now one Unidad de Fomento is equal to 28,969 pesos. If an apartment were priced at 840 Unidad de Fomento, a Chilean would have to hand over 24 million Chilean pesos today.

Why has Chile separated its unit of account from its medium of exchange? I have discussed the issue at length. But the short answer is that it was a trick the government used to help cope with high inflation in the 1960s. Chilean inflation has been well under control for decades now. The practice of using the Unidad de Fomento as a unit-of-account has continued nonetheless.

You can see why it’s rare for these two functions to be separated. It’s awkward to do conversions every time one wants to pay for something. For the sake of ease, we tend to evolve towards systems where the medium of exchange and unit of account are united. But these exceptions are still important enough that we need a Venn diagram.

To sum up, money isn’t best thought of as a medium of exchange, unit of account, and store of value. Let’s just think of it as just a medium of exchange and a unit of account. For the most part these circles overlap, and the two functions are united. But this isn’t always the case. 

[My article was originally published at AIER's Sound Money Project in 2020 under the title A Simpler and More Accurate Way to Teach Money to Students]

The lower limit to silver's usefulness in coinage

A detectorist in Suffolk, England recently found a beautiful halfpenny minted some time between 1625-1649, during the reign of King Charles I. This coin, captured in the video below, illustrates an important feature of coinage: the lower limit to silver's usefulness as a monetary metal.

As you can see, the halfpenny is tiny compared to the fingers holding it, which would have made it difficult to count, handle, and transfer. Storing it away in a pocket or purse would have been a nuissance, since it might have gotten lost in the folds.

Just chilling this afternoon and pottering about.
So here's a lovely little Charles I halfpenny, simple yet elegent ☺️

Found 2020https://t.co/PiKJjooe7D pic.twitter.com/87BRG2s69u

— Suffolk Detectorist (@SDetectorist) June 11, 2023

The root of the problem is that silver has always had a relatively high value-to-weight ratio, (i.e. it is good at "condensing value," as I once described here) and so attempts to embody lower denomination coins with silver don't function very well, since what is required for low denominations is a material that dissipates rather than condenses. Silver change is just too damn small.

According to the Portable Antiquities Scheme, this particular halfpenny – which is in great shape – weighs 0.27 grams and has a diameter of 10 mm. Compare that to a U.S. dime, already annoyingly small, which weighs 2.3 grams and has a diameter of 18 mm. Doing the calculation for you, a modern dime weighs almost ten times (!) as much as a Charles I halfpenny.

How much was a halfpenny worth in 1625? In short, I'd describe it as the dollar bill of its day.

In England, one penny could buy a penny loaf of bread, the weight of which was regulated by law. In Sheppard and Newton's The Story of Bread (1957), a loaf weighing 4 pounds would have cost 5 pennies in London in 1625. These days, a loaf sold in a grocery aisle usually weighs around 1 pound, so putting things into a modern context, a single 1625 penny was capable of buying one modern-day loaf of bread, and so a halfpenny was worth half a modern-day loaf. Given that a loaf currently retails at Walmart for around US$2 to US$2.50, that means a halfpenny was equivalent to a dollar bill, give or take.

As the dollar bill of its day, a halfpenny would have served a crucial role in England's day-to-day commerce. But being so delicate, it must have done a poor job of it. Even worse would have been the silver farthing, England's smallest coin, worth a quarter-penny, or half a halfpenny. "A still more egregious case [of too small coins] was that of the silver farthings the Royal Mint issued in 1464. Weighing only three troy grains each, these were 'lost almost as fast as they were coined,'" writes George Selgin in Good Money.

How to solve silver's inability to serve as a good medium for lower-denomination coinage? Here's one of the attempts made by the minting authorities:

Halfpenny of King James II, 1687. Source: Yale University Art Gallery

This James II halfpenny is what is called token coinage. Minted out of tin, which had a very low value, a token coin such as this one was worth far more than the amount of tin residing in it. What gave it its value isn't the metal within, but James II's promise to repurchase the coin at its stipulated rate of a half-penny's worth of silver.

Unlike Charles I's feather-light 0.3 gram halfpenny, James II's halfpenny had some heft to it. Weighing in at 10.11 g, which is equal to two modern American quarters, there was no losing track of this beast. The tin halfpenny would certainly have served as a more durable dollar bill of its day than a Charles I silver halfpenny.

Alas, while tokens such as James II's tin halfpennies solve the too-small problem, they introduce a new problem: counterfeiting. Because the amount of metal in a halfpenny was so cheap relative to the face value of the halfpenny, it would have been very profitable for fraudsters to manufacture fakes. Which is indeed what happened. By the middle of the 18th century, close to half of all the farthings and halfpennies, all of which were token coins by then, were counterfeits, according to Selgin (pg 20).

To counter the counterfeiters, James II's 1687 halfpennies have a strange feature on them: a small copper plug. In the image above this plug has fallen out, but this link illustrates what a complete coin would have looked like. By adding a plug to the coin, mint officials were trying to increase the complexity and thus the cost of manufacturing fakes, thus reducing their attractiveness to fraudsters. In concept, we can think of these plugged halfpennies as a clumsy predecessor to Canada's toonie, which has a nickel outer rim and an aluminum-bronze central plug.

Alas, James II's tin halfpennies never worked out. The tin was quick to erode and the copper plug was prone to falling out. If the solution to silver's lower limit was to make token coinage, better to manufacture those tokens out of a tougher substrate like copper. By the 1690s, England's tin halfpenny experiment had ended.

Classifying cryptocurrencies

Whenever biologists stumble on a strange specimen, they first try to see if it fits into the existing taxonomy. If it doesn't fall within any of the pre-existing categories, they sketch out a new one for it.

For people like myself who are interested in monetary phenomena and finance, Bitcoin and other cryptocurrencies like Dogecoin and Litecoin have presented us with the same challenge. How can we classify these strange new instruments?

Because they have the word 'currency' in them, the knee-jerk reaction has been to put cryptocurrencies in the same bucket as so-called fiat money, i.e. instruments like bank deposits and banknotes. But this is wrong. Bitcoin, Dogecoin, and other cryptocurrencies are fundamentally different from $100 bills or Citibank deposits. 

To see why, here is a chart I published last year at Sound Money Project:

I've located cryptocurrencies in the zero-sum outcome family. Banknotes and deposits are in a different family, win-win opportunities. The property that binds all zero-sum games together is that the amount of resources contributed to the pot is precisely equal to the amount that is paid out of the pot. Jack's ability to profit from his cryptocurrency is entirely dependent on the next player, Jill, stepping forward and taking them off him at a higher price. Likewise, the amount Jack wins from the lottery is a function of how much Jill and other players have contributed to the pot.

Compare this to a stock or a bond. As long as the firm’s managers deploy the money in the pot wisely, the firm can throw off more resources than the amount that shareholders and bondholders originally contributed.

People have been asking me to extend this classification to other assets. Below I've made a more extensive chart:

Similar to the first chart, I've put Bitcoin, Dogecoin, and other cryptocurrencies in the bets & hedges category along with insurance, futures & options, and various gambles such as lotteries. I describe the members of this family as sterile uses of wealth. Unlike more productive uses of wealth, which increase society's resources, bets and hedges transfer existing resources from one person to another.

I disagree with you, JP

No doubt others will disagree with my classification scheme. For instance, why not put cryptocurrencies in the consumer goods section? After all, aren't cryptocurrencies sort of like collectibles? Don't people primarily collect sports cards, old coins, and crocheted doilies because they expect these objects to rise in value, just like the people who buy cryptocurrencies?

Collectibles and other knick-knacks have sentimental, symbolic, ornamental, and ceremonial value. Even if they can't be sold (most knick-knacks can't), they are still valuable for the above reasons. Not so Bitcoin, Dogecoin, and Litecoin. Cryptocurrencies are pure bets on subsequent people accepting or buying them. If no one steps up, the tokens don't have any other redeeming features that can salvage their value.

Are cryptocurrencies like art? Leonardo da Vinci's Salvator Mundi sold for $450 million to a Saudi prince in 2017. Surely Salvator Mundi's consumption value isn't that high. It would seem that its value is entirely predicated on what the next aesthete will pay, in the same way that bitcoin's value hinges on whether another bitcoiner arrives.

Perhaps. But most art pieces aren't Leonardo's Salvator Mundi. The great mass of paintings that have been created over time are relatively cheap. Secondly, prices in high-end art markets may seem to be disconnected from the consumption value they provide, but that's only because these prices are being drive by the preferences and tastes of consumers who are far richer than most of us. It is this ability to consume the beauty and meaning of art that separates it from cryptocurrency.

What about categorizing cryptocurrencies as commodities? For instance, Bitcoin is often described as digital gold. Or consider George Selgin's reference to bitcoin as a synthetic commodity. Selgin's argument is that cryptocurrencies are commodity-like because they are scarce. And they are synthetic because, unlike commodities, they have no value apart from what other people will pay for them (i.e. they have no nonmonetary value).

I agree with Selgin's analysis. But because cryptocurrencies are synthetic—i.e. their purchasing power is entirely predicated on another person entering the game—I've put them in the bets & hedges category along with other zero-sum games, not the commodity family. Sure, the supply of cryptocurrencies is fixed, say like copper. But that only makes it a very special type of bet, not a commodity.

Blurred lines

The categories in my classification scheme do sometimes blur. At times the stock market becomes incredibly speculative. People start buying shares not because they expect the underlying business to produce higher cash flows, but because they expect others to buy those shares at a higher price, these buyers in turn expecting others to purchase it at a higher price. Thus buying stocks becomes for like betting on a zero-sum game than an effort to appraise the earnings potential of an underlying business.

The same applies to gold:

I'd argue that gold's price can be decomposed into two components 1) its value as a commodity and 2) the value of the lottery-like zero-sum game being played on top of its commodity value. Bitcoin lacks 1), it is purely 2). So it is sort-of like gold, but exactly like a lottery.

— JP Koning (@jp_koning) September 8, 2018

There is another type of blurriness. Notice that neither chart has a category for money. That's because I prefer to think of money as an adjective, not a category. More specifically, moneyness is a characteristic that attaches itself by varying degrees to all of the instruments in the chart above. A more money-like instrument is relatively more tradeable, or marketable, than a less money-like instrument.

So we can have money-like commodities, bonds with high degrees of moneyness, and heck, money-like lottery tickets. Even some types of banknotes will be more money-like than others. For example, you'll have much better luck spending fifty C$20 bills than you will one C$1000 banknote. Or take the example of choice urban land, which is a lot more saleable than property in the middle of nowhere. Lastly, spending bitcoins is probably much easier to do than spending Dogecoins.

For the last few centuries, the most money-like instruments have tended to be in the debt category. There are many reasons for this. Debt instruments are stable, they are light and thus convenient for transporting, they can be digitized and used remotely, they are fungible, they are difficult to counterfeit, and they can be efficiently produced.

All of you folks with some spare funds who are mulling a big cryptocurrency purchase: be careful. There are plenty of people on the internet who are aggressively marketing crypto as some sort of new society-transforming elixir, or tomorrow's money. But much of their marketing is unfounded. It is unlikely that Bitcoin or Dogecoin will ever attract the same degree of moneyness as the most popular debt instruments. Their zero-sum game nature will always interfere with their ability to attract usage as a medium of exchange. But I could be wrong.

While there are elements of cryptocurrencies that are really neat, they aren't fundamentally new. Rather, they fit quite nicely in the traditional 'bets and hedges' category. If you wouldn't bet all your savings in a zero-sum game like poker, neither should you do the same with cryptocurrencies. A bond or equity ETF is naturally productive, as is an investment in human capital. Consider them first.

Should we have to line up for money or not?

I finally had some time to read George Selgin's excellent Floored! over the Christmas holiday.

Some family members saw me reading the book and asked me what it was about. The subject that George is tackling—two types of central bank operating systems—is quite technical, so I wasn't sure how to break it down for them. But in hindsight, here's how I would go about it. I'm going to explain what the issues are in terms of an instrument we all use and understand: good ol' fashioned banknotes. 

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Imagine that when you go to your bank this morning to withdraw $200 in cash, you can only get $100 out of the ATM. The bank manager says that it is expecting another shipment of cash later in the day, so come back then. But be early, he warns, since a lineup is sure to develop.

What explains this odd situation? The central bank has started to ration the amount of banknotes it issues. For instance, the Bank of Canada currently supplies Canadians with $85 billion in banknotes. But say it has decided to only provide half that, $45 billion.

A world in which banknotes are rationed would be very different from our actual world. When we march up to an ATM, we are accustomed to getting as much cash as we want. If everyone in my neighbourhood were to suddenly decide that they wanted to cash out their bank accounts, the Bank of Canada will print whatever amount of currency is necessary to meet that demand. Central bank don't keep cash scarce, they keep it plentiful.

Strange things happen in a world with rationed cash. Imagine that everyone wants to hold $200 in banknotes in their wallet but can only get $100 from the ATM. Further, assume that people need to hold a bit of cash because certain transactions can only be consummated with banknotes. To cope with this chronic cash shortage, a spare-cash market will emerge. For a fee, those who have a bit of extra cash on hand will lend to those who are short.

The spare-cash market would look a bit like this. To top her existing cash balance of $100 up to her desired $200, Jill makes a deal with Joe to lend her $100 in cash. She provides security for the loan by transferring $100 from her bank account to Joe's bank account. A day later Jill repays Joe with $100 in banknotes, and he returns her $100 security deposit, less a $1 fee. Jill has effectively paid $101 to get $100. Or put differently, she has paid Joe 1% in interest to get $100 in cash for a day.

We could even imagine informal person-to-person trading posts springing up outside of popular ATMs where those who are short of cash meet up with lenders like Joe who specialize in locating and lending spare cash. An Uber-style app would be created where the credit history of borrowers are documented, reducing the risk to lenders. People might be able to order up cash from home, delivered by bike courier.

The spare-cash market that I've just described is not a market we are accustomed to. As I said earlier, central banks keep cash plentiful. But it's similar to another market we are all familiar with: the secondary market for concert tickets. Tickets are necessarily rationed because there are only so many seats in a concert venue. Professional ticket scalpers line up ahead of time and buy these tickets so they can on-sell them at a premium.

Like the scalped ticket market, the spare-cash market is a natural response to scarcity. Those who can't spare enough time to stand in an ATM queue but need banknotes, like Jill, can pay those with spare time to stand in line, like Joe. Both are made better of. Joe's lot has improved because he earns more standing in ATM lines and lending cash than he did in his previous occupation. Jill is better off because she attains her desired amount of cash.

Once cash stops being a free good, cash payment delays emerge. Say that Jill prefers to go shopping in the morning for groceries and other necessities, before her hair dressing salon opens. But because acquiring cash is costly, she sometimes delays her shopping trip till later in the day, in the hope that someone might walk into her salon and pay with cash. That way she can avoid paying interest to Joe. 

However, if over the course of the day no one pays Jill with banknotes, she will have to borrow in the spare-cash market at the last minute. If everyone is following the same strategy as Jill, there will be an end-of-day spike in cash demand. Joe may run out of cash to provide his customers, and so Jill may have to go without food that night.

So now that we've outlined the contours of a world where cash is rationed and ATM lineups develop, would it be preferable to a world in which cash is plentiful and there are no lineups?

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Let me start by arguing why an alternative world in which cash is rationed might be more desirable than our current world with plentiful cash.

Thanks to cash rationing, Joe and Jill are forced to transact with each other. Perhaps a 'citizen-lender' like Joe can get additional incites insights into Jill's capacity to bear credit, the sorts of incites insights that a banker cannot. This extra bit of person-to-person monitoring may prevent folks like Jill from over- or underborrowing. 

This oversight function that Joe fulfills never emerges in the plentiful cash world since the two aren't forced into an economic relationship. And thus the credit market in a plentiful cash world may be less efficient than it would be if cash were rationed.

Now let me argue the opposite, why the world of plentiful cash may be superior.

There is an underlying logic to rationing concert tickets. A venue has just x seats, and so only x tickets can be sold. But there is no equivalent reason for a central bank to limit the size of its banknote issue. It does not face a capacity restraint, and the extra cost involved in printing new banknotes is tiny. And so any decision to ration cash is a purely arbitrary one.

Under rationing, citizens are forced to engage in a host of time-consuming activities that they wouldn't otherwise have to engage in, including locating a reliable cash lender, providing personal and potentially intrusive credit data to this lender, and then setting up an appointment to settle the debt at a later date. To avoid the hassles and expenses of dealing in the spare-cash market, folks like Jill may try to avoid making cash trades until later in the day, but that means she can't follow her preferred shopping schedule. 

If cash were plentiful, the millions of citizen-hours spent in coping with these annoyances would be freed up for alternative uses. Jill might be able to enjoy the extra minutes she now has with her children, or work on upgrading her salon. Instead of paying for Joe to stand in an ATM line-up, she can hire him to help in the construction, surely a much more socially useful activity than lining up.   

So which world do you prefer? Joe's extra credit monitoring is certainly beneficial. But does it outweigh all of the costs and nuisances that a cash shortage imposes on people's lives? This is a tough calculation to make. If you support cash rationing because you like the fact that it leads to a secondary market in cash loans (and thus more credit monitoring), why not create shortages in other financial markets, say by forcing banks to also ration deposits?

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Let's wrap this all up. We've explored the difference between a world in which cash is rationed and one in which it is plentiful.

But George's book isn't about cash, it's about another instrument issued by central banks: reserves. Unlike cash, reserves are an exclusive financial instrument. Only banks can hold them. Since reserves aren't part of our day-to-day experience, I've tried to explain things in terms of banknotes, a far more mundane central bank-issued instrument. 

George argues in his book for rationing reserves. It would be as-if he were arguing for the rationing of cash in the scenario I sketched out above. Note that I am not saying that George wants cash to be rationed (as a free banker he would probably be against it), but I am saying that many of his arguments in favor of reserve rationing can be recast in terms of a banknote rationing.

In particular, George speaks favorably of the secondary market in reserves that springs up thanks to rationing. In the U.S., this is usually referred to as the fed funds market, but more generally it is known as the interbank market. The interbank market is exactly like the spare-cash market that I've described above. Just as Joe lends to Jill in the spare-cash market, banks lend reserves to each other in the interbank market. George provides much evidence that the self-monitoring that banks engage in by transacting in the interbank market is a valuable function. 

What George doesn't touch on is that this increase in the amount of credit monitoring, far from being free, comes at the cost. Like Jill, banks must spend time and resources coping with a perpetual reserve scarcity. If this artificial shortage was removed, banks could stop allocating internal resources to this coping effort and deploy it instead to other uses. In the same way that plentiful money meant that Jill could hire Joe to upgrade her salon rather than paying him to stand in line, a bank can move employees from its defunct fed funds department to bolster its lending department, or customer service, or technology effort.

The question shouldn't be: do we want interbank peer monitoring? Rather, do we want interbank peer monitoring at all costs? I think this makes the calculation much more difficult.

Paying interest on cash

Freigeld, or stamp scrip, is designed to pay negative interest, but it can be re-purposed to pay positive interest.

Remember when global interest rates were plunging to zero and all everyone wanted to talk about was how to set a negative interest rate on cash? Now that interest rates around the world are rising again, here's that same idea in reverse: what about finally paying positive interest rates on cash? I'm going to explore three ways of doing this. As for why we'd want to pay interest on cash, I'll leave that question till the end.

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The first way to pay interest on cash is to use stamping. Each Friday, the owner of a bill—say a $50 note—can bring it in to a bank to be officially stamped. The stamp represents an interest payment due to the owner. When the owner is ready to collect his interest, he deposits the note at the bank. For example, say that 52 weeks have passed and 52 stamps are present on the $50 note. If the interest rate on cash is 5%, then the banknote owner is due to receive $2.50 in interest.

Alternatively the note owner can collect the interest by spending the $50 note, say at a local grocery store. The checkout clerk will count the number of stamps, or interest due, and tack that on to the face value of the note. With 52 stamps, the owner of a $50 note should be able to buy $52.50 worth of groceries, not $50. After all, the store has the right to bring the $50 note to its bank and collect the $2.50 in interest for itself.

Stamped currency seems like a pretty big hassle to me. The clerk behind the counter must count out the stamps on the note by hand, and the owner of the note has to trek back and forth to the bank each week to get the stamp affixed. Instead, imagine that each banknote has a magnetic strip that records how long the bill had been in circulation. This would remove some of these hassles. Weekly trips to the bank for stamping would no longer be necessary, and a note reader installed at a bank or retailer would automatically record how much interest was due, precluding painstaking counting of stamps.

"They use this magnetic strip to track you." says Byers to Agent Scully, The X-Files

Apart from stoking conspiracy theories, there's still a major problem with a magnetic strip scheme. Because each note has entered circulation at a different time, each is entitled to a varying amounts of interest. And this means that banknotes are no longer fungible. Fungibility—the ability to cleanly interchange all members of a population—is one of the features of money that makes it so easy to use. Remove it and money becomes complicated, each piece requiring a unique and costly effort to ascertain its value.

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Our second way of paying interest on money doesn't destroy the fungibility of banknotes. The central bank needs to sever the traditional 1:1 peg between deposit money and cash, and then have cash slowly appreciate in value relative to deposits.

For instance, a central bank might start by setting an exchange rate of $1 note = $1 deposit on January 1, but on January 2 it adjusts this rate so $1 note is equal to $1.0001 deposits, and on January 3 adjust this rate to $1:$1.0002, etc. So the cash in your wallet is benefiting from capital gains. By December 31, the exchange rate will be around $1 note to $1.0365. Anyone who has held a banknote for the full year can deposit it and will have earned 3.65 cents in interest, or 3.65%. 

The major drawback with this scheme is the calculational burden imposed on the population by breaking the convenient 1:1 peg between cash and deposits. Assuming that retailers price their wares in terms of deposits, anyone who wants to pay in cash will have to make a currency conversion using that day's exchange rate. For instance, if the central bank's peg is currently being set at $1 note = $1.50 in deposits, then a popsicle that is priced at $1 will require—hmmm... let me check my calculator—$0.667 in cash. Phones will make this exchange rate calculation easy, but it is still likely to be a bit of a nuisance.

There are other hassles too. Would a capital gains tax have to be paid on the appreciation of one's cash? How would existing long-term contracts deal with the divergence? For instance, if my employer is paying me $50,000 per year, obviously I'd prefer this sum be denominated in steadily appreciating cash rather than constant deposits, and she will prefer the latter. What becomes the standard unit of account?

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The last way to pay interest (at least as far as I know) is to run lotteries based on banknote serial numbers, an idea independently proposed by Hu McCulloch and Charles Goodhart back in 1986.

It's surprisingly easy to get banknotes to pay interest. Run a lottery based on note serial numbers. Hu McCulloch dreamt this scheme up in 1986, but no central bank has ever tried it. Source: https://t.co/pUUf1liuhH pic.twitter.com/5mil9B62FN

— JP Koning (@jp_koning) January 14, 2018

Central banks would periodically hold draws entitling the winning serial numbers to large cash prizes. For example, if there was $100 billion in banknotes in circulation, the central bank could set the interest rate on cash at 5% by offering prizes over the course of the year amounting to 5% of $100 billion, or $5 billion.

This technique of paying interest on cash solves the fungibility problem that plagues the earlier stamping technique. Every note has the same chance of winning the lottery, and non-fungible winners are immediately withdrawn. And unlike the crawling peg idea, banknotes and deposits remain equal to each other so burdensome exchange rate calculations don't need to me made.

However, it introduces the threat of bank runs. The day before the big lottery is set to occur, everyone will withdraw deposits for cash so that they can compete in the draw. To prevent a bank run, it may be necessary to randomize the date of the big lottery so that no one knows when to withdraw notes, an idea proposed by Tyler Cowen. Another way to preclude bank runs is to have a regular stream of small weekly lotteries rather than one or two big ones each year.

Another drawback to note lotteries is the cost that is imposed on society by having everyone constantly checking serial numbers. As Brian Romanchuk points out, employees who are working behind their employer's tills may be tempted to switch out winning notes with losers. Employers may protect themselves by setting up scanning hardware to read in serial numbers as banknotes enter the tills, maintaining their own internal database of cash inventories so that winners can quickly be isolated and returned. But all of that is costly. Would it be worth it?

Interestingly, there is some precedent for these sorts of lotteries. In Taiwan, receipts are eligible for a receipt lottery, a neat way to incentivize people to avoid under-the-table transactions (ht Gwern). Lotteries can also be useful in attracting depositors, as outlined in this Freakonomics podcast (ht Ryan). George Selgin and William Lastrapes have gone into the idea of lottery-linked money in some detail:

Though the suggestion may appear far fetched, in many countries lotteries are presently being used with considerable success to market bank deposits. According to Mauro Guillen and Adrian Tschoegl (2002), “lottery-linked” deposit accounts have been especially popular with poorer persons, including many who might otherwise remain “outside the banking system.” ... In two popular Argentine schemes, for instance, depositors receive one ticket or chance of winning for every $200 or $250 on deposit (ibid., p. 221). Lottery-linked banknotes, in contrast, would themselves serve as tickets, allowing persons to play for as little as the value of the lowest note denomination, and with no apparent cost to themselves save that of occasionally inspecting their note holdings.

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Some readers may recognize these three techniques for paying interest on cash as the inverse of the three go-to ways of applying negative interest rates to cash being discussed a few years ago. For instance, one of the most well-known ways of imposing negative interest rates on owners of cash is to apply a Silvio Gesell style stamp scheme (see picture at top), whereby a currency owner must buy a stamp and affix it to the note in order to renew the validity of their currency each month. (I once discussed Alberta's experiment with Gesell's "shrinking money" here). Without the appropriate number of stamps, the note is illegitimate. In my first example above, Gesell's stamp tax has been re-engineered into a stamp subsidy. As for the magnetic strip modification, this is Marvin Goodfriend's 1999 update of Gesell, flipped around to award interest rather than docking it.

Miles Kimball has written extensively on escaping the zero lower bound to interest rates by setting a crawling peg on currency. But just as Kimball's crawling peg can impose a negative interest rate on banknotes, it can be used to pay interest, as I described above. Indeed, Miles (along with Ruchir Agarwal) frequently mention this possibility in his blog posts and papers (see this pdf).

Finally, remember Greg Mankiw's controversial 2009 article on imposing negative interest rates by serial number? He wrote:

Imagine that the Fed were to announce that, a year from today, it would pick a digit from zero to 9 out of a hat. All currency with a serial number ending in that digit would no longer be legal tender. Suddenly, the expected return to holding currency would become negative 10 percent.

Mankiw's idea is just the reverse of Goodhart and McCulloch's earlier lottery idea, the lottery replaced by with a demonetization.

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So why pay interest on currency? I can think of two reasons. One is based on fairness, the other on efficiency.

The decision to avoid paying the market rate of interest on currency amounts to a tax on currency users. Who pays this tax? Cash is often the only means for the poor, new immigrants, and unbanked to participate in the economy. So the tax falls on those who can least afford it. This hardly seems fair. By conducting note lotteries or stamping notes, those consigned to the cash economy can get at least the same return on banknotes as the well-off banked receive on deposits.

Now hold up JP, some you will be saying at this point. What about criminals? Yep, the other group of people who suffer from the lack of interest on banknotes are criminals and tax evaders. Rewarding them with interest hardly seems appropriate. One would hope that if central banks did adopt a mechanism for rewarding currency with interest, it would be capable of screening out bad actors. For instance, criminals may be leery of collecting their interest or lottery prize if making a claim at a bank means potentially being unmasked. Another way to set up the screen would be to pay interest or prizes on small denominations like $1-$10 notes, and not on $20s and above. Since criminal organizations prefer high denomination notes due to their compactness, they wouldn't benefit from interest.

As for the efficiency argument, this is nothing but the famous Friedman rule that I described in my previous post. All taxes impose a deadweight loss on society. When a good or service is taxed, people produce and consume less of it than the would otherwise choose, tax revenues not quite compensating for this loss. From a policy maker's perspective, the goal is to reduce deadweight loss as much as possible by selecting the best taxes.

In the case of cash, the deadweight loss comes from people holding less of it than they would otherwise prefer, incurring so-called shoe leather costs as they walk to the bank and back to avoid holding too much of the stuff. If a 0% return on cash is an inefficient form of taxation relative to other alternatives types of taxes, then it would be better for the government to just pay interest on the stuff and recoup the lost revenues elsewhere, say through consumption taxes or income taxes.

Floors v corridors

David Beckworth argues that the U.S. Federal Reserve should stop running a floor system and adopt a corridor system, say like the one that the Bank of Canada currently runs. In this post I'll argue that the Bank of Canada (and other central banks) should drop their corridors in favour of a floor—not the sort of messy floor that the Fed operates mind you, but a nice clean floor.

Floors and corridors are two different ways that a central banker can provide central banking services. Central banking is confusing, so to illustrate the two systems and how I get to my preference for a floor, let's start way back at the beginning.

Banks have historically banded together to form associations, or clearinghouses, a convenient place for bankers to make payments among each other over the course of the business day. To facilitate these payments, clearinghouses have often issued short-term deposits to their members. A deposit provides clearinghouse services. Keeping a small buffer stock of clearinghouse deposits can be useful to a banker in case they need to make unexpected payments to other banks.

Governments and central banks have pretty much monopolized the clearinghouse function. So when a Canadian bank wants to increase its buffer of clearinghouse balances, it has no choice but to select the Bank of Canada's clearing product for that purpose. Monopolization hasn't only occurred in Canada of course, almost every government has taken over their nation's clearinghouse.

One of the closest substitutes to Bank of Canada (BoC) deposits are government t-bills or overnight repo. While neither of these investment products is useful for making clearinghouse payments, they are otherwise identical to BoC deposits in that they are risk-free short-term assets. As long as these competing instruments yield the same interest rate as BoC deposits, a banker needn't worry about trading off yield for clearinghouse services. She can deposit whatever quantity of funds at the Bank of Canada that she deems necessary to prepare for the next day's clearinghouse payments without losing out on a better risk-free interest rate elsewhere.  

But what if these interest rates differ? If t-bills and repo promise to pay 3%, but a Bank of Canada deposit pays an inferior interest rate of 2.5%, then our banker's buffer stock of Bank of Canada deposits is held at the expense of a higher interest elsewhere. In response, she will try to reduce her buffer of deposits as much as possible, say by reallocating bank resources and talent to the task of figuring out how to better time the bank's outgoing payments. If more attention is paid to planning out payments ahead of time, then the bank can skimp on holdings of 2.5%-yielding deposits while increasing its exposure to 3% t-bills.

Why might BoC deposits and t-bills offer different interest rates? We know that any differential between them can't be due to credit risk—both instruments are issued by the government. Now certainly BoC deposits provide valuable clearinghouse services while t-bills don't. And if those services are costly for the Bank of Canada to produce, then the BoC will try to recapture some of its clearinghouse expenses. This means restricting the quantity of deposits to those banks that are willing to pay a sufficiently high fee for clearing services. Or put differently, it means the BoC will only provide deposits to banks that are willing to accept an interest rate that is 0.5% less than the 3% offered on t-bills.

But what if the central bank's true cost of providing additional clearinghouse services is close to zero? If so, the Bank of Canada should avoid any restriction on the supply of deposits. It should provide each bank with whatever amount of deposits it requires without charging a fee. With bankers' demand for clearing services completely sated, the differential between BoC deposits and t-bills will disappear, both trading at 2.5%.

There is good reason to believe that the cost of providing additional clearinghouse services is close to zero. It is no more costly for a central bank to issue a new digital clearinghouse certificate than it is for a Treasury secretary or finance minister to issue a new t-bill. In both cases, all it takes is a few button clicks.

Let's assume that the cost of providing clearinghouses is zero. If the Bank of Canada chooses to  constrain the supply of deposits to the highest bidders, it is forcing banks to overpay for a set of clearinghouse services which should otherwise be provided for free. In which case, the time and labour that our banker will need to divert to figuring out how to skimp on BoC deposit holdings constitutes a misallocation of her bank's resources. If the Bank of Canada provided deposits at their true cost of zero, then her employees' time could be put to a much better use.

As members of the public, we might not care if bankers get shafted. But if our banker has diverted workers from developing helpful new technologies or providing customer service to dealing with the artificially-created problem of skimping on deposits, then the public directly suffers. Any difference between the interest rate on Bank of Canada deposits and competing assets like t-bills results in a loss to our collective welfare.

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Which finally gets us to floors and corridors. In brief, a corridor system is one in which the central bank rations the number of clearinghouse deposits so that they aren't free. In a floor system, unlimited deposits are provided at a price of zero.

When a central bank is running a corridor system, as most of them do, the rate on competing assets like t-bills lies above the interest rate on central bank deposits. Economists describe these systems as corridors because the interest rate at which the central bank lends deposits lies above the interest rate on competing safe assets like t-bills and repo, and with the deposit rate lying at the bottom, a channel or corridor of sorts is formed.

For instance, take the Bank of Canada's corridor, illustrated in the chart below. The BoC lets commercial banks keep funds overnight and earn the "deposit rate" of 0.75%. The overnight rate on competing opportunities—very short-term t-bills and repo—is 1%. The top of the corridor, the bank rate, lies at 1.25%. So the overnight rate snakes through a corridor set by the Bank of Canada's deposit rate at the bottom and the bank rate at the top. (The exception being a short period of time in 2009 and 2010 when it ran a corridor floor).

Let's assume (as we did earlier) that the BoC's cost of providing additional clearinghouse services is basically zero. Given the way the system is set up now, there is a 0.25% rate differential (1%-0.75%) between the deposit rate and the rate on competing asset, specifically overnight repo. This means that the Bank of Canada has capped the quantity of deposits, forcing bankers to pay a fee to obtain clearing services rather than supplying unlimited deposits for free. This in turn means that Canadian bankers are forced to use up time and energy on a wasteful effort to skimp on BoC deposit holdings. All Canadians suffer from this waste.

It might be better for the Bank of Canada (and any other nation that also uses a corridor system) to adopt what is referred to as a floor system. Under a floor system, rates would be equal such that the rate on t-bills and repo lies on the deposit rate floor of 0.75%--that's why economists call it a floor system. The Bank of Canada could do this by removing its artificial limit on the quantity of deposits it issues to commercial banks. Banks would no longer allocate scarce time and labour to the task of skirting the high cost of BoC deposits, devoting these resources to coming up with new and superior banking products. In theory at least, all Canadians would be made a little better off. All the Bank of Canada would have to do is click its 'create new clearinghouse deposits'  button a few times.

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The line of thought I'm invoking in this post is a version of an idea that economists refer to as the optimum quantity of money, or the Friedman rule, first described by Milton Friedman back in the 1960s. Given that a central bank's cost of issuing additional units of money is zero, Friedman thought that any interest rate differential between a monetary asset and an otherwise identical non-monetary asset represents a loss to society. This loss comes in the form of people wasting resources (or incurring shoe leather costs) trying to avoid the monetary asset as much as possible. To be consistent with the zero cost of creating new monetary assets, the rates on the two assets should be equalized. The public could then hold whatever amount of the monetary asset they saw fit, so-called shoe leather costs falling to zero.

In my post, I've applied the Friedman rule to one type of monetary asset: central bank deposits. But it can also be applied to banknotes issued by the central bank. After all, banknotes yield just 0% whereas a t-bill or a risk-free deposit offers a positive interest rates. To avoid holding large amounts of barren cash, people engage in wasteful behaviour like regularly visiting ATMs.

There are several ways to implement the Friedman rule for banknotes. One of the neatest ways would be to run a periodic lottery that rewards a few banknote serial numbers with big winnings, the size of the pot being large enough that the expected return on each banknote as made equivalent to interest rate on deposits. This idea was proposed by Charles Goodhart and Hugh McCulloch separately in 1986.

Robert Lucas once wrote that implementing the Friedman rule was “one of the few legitimate ‘free lunches’ economics has discovered in 200 years of trying.” The odd thing is that almost no central banks have tried to adopt it. On the cash side of things, none of them offer a serial number lottery or any of the other solutions for shrinking the rate differential between banknotes and deposits, say like Miles Kimball's more exotic crawling peg solution. And on the deposit side, floor systems are incredibly rare. The go-to choice among central banks is generally a Friedman-defying corridor system.

One reason behind central bankers' hesitation to implement the Friedman rule is that it would threaten their pot of "fuck you money", a concept I described here. Thanks to the large interest rate gaps between cash and t-bills, and the smaller gap between central bank clearinghouse deposits and t-bills, central banks tend to make large profits. They submit much of their winnings to their political masters. In exchange, the executive branch grants central bankers a significant degree of independence... which they use to geek out on macroeconomics. Because they like to engage in  wonkery and believe that it makes the world a better place, central bankers may be hesitant to implement the Friedman rule lest it threaten their flows of fuck you money, and their sacred independence. 

That may explain why floors are rare. However, they aren't without precedent. To begin with, there is the Fed's floor that Beckworth describes, which it bungled into by accident. At the outset of this post I called it a messy floor, because it leaks (George Selgin and Stephen Williamson have gone into this). The sort of floor that should be emulated isn't the Fed's messy one, but the relatively clean floor that the Reserve Bank of New Zealand operated in 2007 and Canada did from 2009-11 (see chart above). Though these floors were quickly dropped, I don't see why the couldn't (and shouldn't) be re-implemented. As Lucas says, its a free lunch.

Is the Fed breaking the law by paying too much interest?

George Selgin had an interesting post describing how the Fed appears to be breaking the law by paying too much interest to reserve-holders. This is an idea that's cropped up on the blogosphere before, here is David Glasner, for instance.

I agree with George that the the letter of the law is being broken. That's unfortunate. As Section 19(b)(12)(A) of the Federal Reserve Act stipulates, the Fed can only pay interest "at a rate or rates not to exceed the general level of short-term interest rates." With three month treasury bills currently around 0.33% and the fed funds rate at 0.4%, the current interest rate on reserves (IOR) of 0.5% exceeds the legal maximum.

Unlike George, I don't think the Fed deserves criticism over this. If the letter of the law is being broken, the spirit of the law surely isn't.

If there is a spirit residing in the law governing IOR, it's the ghost of Milton Friedman. Since the Fed's inception in 1913, IOR had been effectively set at 0%, far below the general level of short term interest rates. This has acted as a tax on bankers. They have been forced to hold an asset—reserves—that provides a below-market return. Friedman's big idea was to remove this distortionary tax by bringing IOR up to the same level as other short term interest rates. Banks would now be earning the same rate as everyone else. The Fed would only get the authority to set a positive rate on reserves in 2008, long after most modern central banks like the Bank of Canada had implemented Friedman's idea.

Friedman wanted to remove the tax, but he didn't want to introduce a subsidy in its place. To prevent central bank subsidization of banks, the Federal Reserve Act is explicit that IOR should not exceed other short-term interest rates.

In practice, how might the Fed set IOR in a way that subsidizes banks? This is more complicated than it seems. If the Fed sets IOR at 1%, arbitrage dictates that all other short term rates will converge to that same level. After all, why would a financial institution buy a safe short term fixed income product for anything less than 1% if the central bank is fixing the yield of a competing product, reserves, at 1%?

Short-term yields won't converge exactly to IOR. Some will trade a hair above IOR, others a bit below. This is because each short-term fixed income product has its own set of peculiarities and these get built into their yield. For instance, buying federal funds is riskier than parking money at the Fed; in the latter transaction the Fed is your counterparty while in the former it's a bank, So the fed funds rate should trade a bit above IOR. But we wouldn't say that a higher fed funds rate is a sign of a below-market return on reserves, or that this spread represents an implicit tax on reserve owners. The fed funds rate exceeds IOR only because that is how the market has chosen to appraise the risk of owning fed funds.

Conversely, because a treasury bill is ofttimes less risky then parking money at the Fed, its yield should regularly dip below IOR. When it does, no one would say that the Fed is providing an unfair subsidy to reserve holders by paying IOR in excess of the treasury bill rate. The lower treasury bill rate is simply the free market's way of accounting for the superior risk profile of treasury bills relative to reserves.

Nowadays, with IOR at 0.5% and treasury bills yielding 0.33%, the Fed is clearly contradicting the wording of the Federal Reserve Act. IOR has been set at a rate that "exceeds the general level of short-term interest rates." But this by no means implies that the Fed is breaking the spirit of the law. The spirit of the law only tells the Fed not to pay subsidies to banks. As I explained above, the yield differential may simply reflect the market's assessment of the unique risks of various short-term fixed income products, not  a policy of paying subsidies.

To get the ghost of Milton Friedman rolling in his grave, here is how to structure IOR so that it offers a subsidy to banks. The Fed would have to set up a tiered reserve system where a bank's first tier of reserves earns a higher rate than the next tier. To begin with, assume that Fed officials deem that a 0.5% fed funds rate is consistent with a 2% inflation target. The Fed offers to pays interest of 100% on required reserves (I'm exaggerating to make my point) while offering just 0.5% on excess reserves. Banks will hold required reserves up to the maximum and reap an incredibly 100% yearly return. All reserves above that ceiling will either be parked at the Fed to earn 0.5% or lent out in the fed funds market.

Thanks to arbitrage, the 0.5% rate on excess reserves ripples through to other short term rates. Because a bank can always leave excess reserves at the Fed and earn an easy 0.5%, a borrower will have to bid up the fed funds rate and t-bill rates to at least 0.5% in order to coax the marginal lender away from the Fed.

And that's how the Fed would subsidize banks. The "general level" of rates as implied by the rate on fed funds and treasury bills hovers at 0.5% while banks are earning a stunning 100% on a portion of their reserve holdings. It's highway robbery! Milton Friedman would be furious; the distortionary tax he so disliked has been replaced with a distortionary subsidy.

By the way, if you really want to know what tiering and central bank subsidies to banks look like, this is the exact same mechanism the Bank of Japan and Swiss National Bank have introduced to help banks deal with negative interest rates. See here and here.  

So the bit of legalese that says that IOR should not exceed the "general level of short-term interest rates" is really just a poorly chosen set of words meant to describe a very specific idea, namely, a prohibition against setting a tiered reserve policy where the first tier, required reserves, earns more than the second, excess reserves, the ensuing subsidy flowing through to banks.

At the end of the day, what accounts for the current divergence between IOR and the other short term rates? Because the Fed has not set up a tiered reserve policy, there is simply no way that the divergence reflects a subsidization of banks. There is only one remaining explanation. Peculiar developments in the microstructure of the fed funds and t-bills markets have led traders to discount these rates relative to IOR.

So you can rest easy, Milton.

The peculiarities bedeviling the fed funds market are explained by Stephen Williamson here. There are several large entities, the GSEs, that can keep reserves at the Fed but are legally prevented from earning IOR. Anxious to get a better return, they invest in the fed funds market market, but only a limited number of banks have the balance sheet capacity to accept these funds. This oligopoly is able to extract a pound of flesh from the GSEs by lowballing the return they offer, the result being that the fed funds rate lies below IOR.

As for treasury bills, they are unique because, unlike reserves held at the Fed, they are accepted as collateral by a whole assortment of financial intermediaries. Put differently, treasury bills are a better money than reserves. Because the government is loath to issue too many of them, the supply of treasury bills has been kept artificially scarce so that they trade at a premium, a liquidity premium.

George ends his post by appealing to his readers to sue the Fed. I don't think think a lawsuit will bring much justice. If there are to be any legal battles to be fought, better to petition Congress to adjust the wording of the Federal Reserve Act so that it better fits the spirit of the law. We don't want the law to misidentify a situation involving IOR in excess of the "general level of interest rates" as necessarily implying subsidization when microstructure is actually at fault. While Milton Friedman had a lot of reasons to criticize the Fed, this probably wouldn't be one of them.

Kocherlakota on cash

Narayana Kocherlakota, formerly the head of the Federal Reserve Bank of Minneapolis and now a prolific economics blogger, penned a recent article on the abolition of cash. Kocherlakota makes the point that if you don't like government meddling in the proper functioning of free markets, then you shouldn't be a big fan of central bank-issued banknotes. For markets to clear, it may be occasionally necessary for nominal interest rates to fall well below zero. Cash sets a lower limit to interest rates, thus preventing this rebalancing from happening.

I pretty much agree with Kocherlakota's framing of the point. In fact, it's an angle I've taken before, both here and in A Libertarian Case for Abolishing Cash. Yes, my libertarian and other free-marketer readers, you didn't misread that. There is a decent case for removing banknotes that is entirely consistent with libertarian principles. If you think usury laws are distortionary because they impose a ceiling on interest rates—and there are some famous libertarians who have railed against usury—then an appeal to symmetry says that you should be equally furious about the artificial, and damaging, interest rate floor set by cash.

Scott Sumner steps up to the plate and defends cash here. He brings up some good points, but I'm going to focus on his last one. Scott says that a cashless economy would create a "giant panopticon" where the state knows everything about you. I quite like Nick Rowe's response in which he welcomes Scott to the Margaret Atwood Club for the Preservation of Currency. In Atwood's dystopian Handmaid's Tale, a theocratic government named the Republic of Gilead has taken away many of the rights that women currently enjoy. One of the tools the Republic uses to control women is a ban on cash, all transactions now being routed digitally through something called the Compubank:

I agree that we don't want to abolish cash if it is only going to lead to Atwood's Compubank. But Scott misses the fact that even though Kocherlakota wants the government to exit the cash business, he simultaneously wants fintech companies to take up the mantle of anonymity services provider. Like Sumner, Kocherlakota doesn't seem to want a Compubank.

For instance, in a recent presentation entitled The Zero Lower Bound and Anonymity: A Monetary Mystery Tour, Kocherlakota highlights the potential for cryptocoins Zcash and Monero to substitute for central bank cash. Unlike bitcoin, these cryptocoins provide full anonymity rather than just pseudonymity. If you want to learn more about Zcash, I just listened to a great podcast with Zcash's Zooko Wilcox-O'Hearn here. As for Monero, Bloomberg recently covered its spectacular rise in price.

As Monero illustrates, cryptocoins are incredibly volatile. Is anonymity too important of a good to be outsourced to assets that behave like penny stocks? I'm not sure. And as Nick Rowe points out, the concurrent circulation of deposits (pegged to central bank money) and anonymity-providing cryptocoins would create havoc with the traditional way of accounting for prices. Retailers would probably still set prices in terms of central bank money but anyone wanting to purchase something anonymously would have to engage in an inconvenient ritual of exchange rate conversion prior to consummating the deal. Perhaps these are simply the true costs of enjoying anonymity?

Kocherlakota doesn't mention it explicitly, but should cash be abolished in order to remove the lower bound to interest rates, a potential replacement would be a new central bank-issued emoney, either Fedcoin or what Dave Birch has dubbed FedPesa. A good example of a Fedcoin-in-the-works comes from the People's Bank of China, which vice governor Fan Yifei expects to "gradually replace paper money." As for Birch's FedPesa, a real life example of this is provided by Ecuador's Dinero electrónico, a mobile money scheme maintained by the Central Bank of Ecuador (CBE) for use by the public.

Should a government decide to abolish cash and implement a central bank emoney scheme in its place, it would be possible to set negative interest rates on these tokens while at the same time promising to provide both stability and anonymity. One wonders how credible the latter promise would be. The CBE requires that citizens provide national identity card before opening accounts. And consider that the PBoC's potential cyptocoin will be designed to provide "controlled anonymity," whatever that means. Unless significant safeguards are set, it's hard not to worry that a potential Atwood-style Compubank is waiting in the wings.

An alternative way to coordinate a smooth government exit from the cash business is Bill Woolsey's idea of allowing private banks to step into the role of providing banknotes. In this scenario, the likes of HSBC, Bank of America, Wells Fargo, Deutsche Bank, and Royal Bank of Canada would become sole providers of circulating banknotes. Wouldn't this simply re-establish the zero lower bound? Not necessarily. As I wrote back in 2013, the moment a central bank sets deeply negative interest rates, private banks will face huge incentives to either 1. get out of the business of cash or 2. stay in the game while modifying arrangements, the effect being that the zero lower bound is quickly ripped apart.

The provision of anonymity services via the issuance of private banknotes has some advantages over cryptocoins like Zcash. Since they'd be pegged to central bank money, private banknotes would provide 'fixed-price' anonymity. Nor would the public have to constantly do exchange rate conversions between one currency type or the other. On the other hand, Zcash payments can be made instantaneously over long distances; you just can't do that with banknotes. And of course, there's also the stablecoin dream, i.e. the possibility that private cryptocoins like Zcash might themselves be stabilized by pegging them to central bank cash, as Will Luther describes here (for a more skeptical take, read R3's Kathleen B here)

Because of what he calls "over-issue" problems, Kocherlakota is more confident in the prospects for cryptocoins than private banknotes. I'm not so worried. The voluminous free-banking literature developed by people like George Selgin, Larry White, and Kevin Dowd teaches us that as long as silly regulations are avoided, the promise to redeem notes at par in a competitive environment will ensure that the quantity of private banknotes supplied never exceeds the quantity demanded. Don't look to the so-called U.S. Wildcat banking era for proof. During that era, note-issuing banks were too encumbered by strict laws against branch banking and cumbersome backing rules to effectively supply notes, as Selgin points out here. Rather, the Scottish and Canadian banking systems of the 1800s provide evidence that banks can responsibly issue paper money.

Wouldn't the private provision of banknotes require the passing of new laws? Funny enough, U.S. commercial banks can already issue their own banknotes. In a fascinating 2001 article, Kurt Schuler points out that federally-chartered banks have been free to issue notes since 1994 when restrictions on note issuance by national banks was repealed as obsolete by the Community Development Banking and Financial Institutions Act. So the floodgates are open, in the U.S. at least, although as of yet no bank has taken the lead.

If governments are going to remove the zero lower bound by getting out of the business of providing anonymous payments, I say let a thousand flowers bloom. If the void is to be filled, don't put up any impediments to the creation of anonymity-providing fintech options like Zcash, but likewise don't prevent old fashioned banks from getting into the now-vacated banknote game either. Let the market decide which anonymity product they prefer... and celebrate the fact that the government's artificial floor to interest rates has been dismantled.

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P.S. It would be remiss of me to omit pointing out that there are sound ways to dismantle the zero lower bound without removing cash, Miles Kimball's plan being one of them.

The final chapter in the Zimbabwe dollar saga?

Here's an interesting fact. Remember all those worthless Zimbabwe paper banknotes? The Reserve Bank of Zimbabwe (RBZ), Zimbabwe's central bank, is officially buying them back for cancellation. According to its recent monetary policy statement, the RBZ will be demonetizing old banknotes at the "United Nations rate," that is, at a rate of Z$35 quadrillion to US$1. Stranded Zimbabwe dollar-denominated bank deposits will also be repurchased.

As a reminder, Zimbabwe endured a hyperinflation that met its demise in late 2008 when Zimbabweans spontaneously stopped using the Zimbabwe dollar as either a unit of account or medium of exchange, U.S. dollars and South African rand being substituted in their place. Along the way, the RBZ was used by corrupt authorities to subsidize all sorts of crazy schemes, including farm mechanization programs and tourism development facilities.

Upon hearing about the RBZ's buyback, entrepreneurial readers may be thinking about an arbitrage. Buy up Zimbabwe bank notes and fly them back to Zimbabwe for redemption at the RBZ's new official rate, making a quick buck in the process. But don't get too excited. The highest denomination note ever printed by the RBZ is the $100 trillion note. At the RBZ's demonetization rate, one $100 trillion will get you... US$0.003. With these notes selling for US$10 to $20 as collectors items on eBay, forget it—there's no money to be made on this trade. If you've already got a few $100 trillion Zimbabwean notes sitting in your cupboard, you're way better off hoarding them than submitting them to the RBZ's buyback campaign.

But this does give us some interesting data points about the nature of money. Last year I wrote two posts on the topic of whether money constituted an IOU or not. With the gold standard days long gone, central banks no longer offer immediate redemption into some underlying asset. But do they offer ultimate redemption into an asset? A number of central banks—including the Bank of Canada and the Federal Reserve—make an explicit promise that notes constitute a first claim or paramount lien on the assets of the central bank. This language implies that banknotes are like any other security, say a bond or equity, since each provides their owner with eventual access to firm assets upon liquidation or windup of the firm.

George Selgin is skeptical of the banknotes-as-security theory, replying that a note's guarantee of a first claim on assets is a mere relic of the gold standard. However, the Bank of Canada was formed after Canada had ceased gold convertibility. Furthermore, modern legislation governing central banks like the 2004 Central Bank of Iraq (CBI) Law declares that banknotes "shall be a first charge on the assets of the CBI." [See pdf]. So these promises certainly aren't relics of a bygone age. The Zimbabwean example provides even more evidence that a banknote constitutes a terminal IOU of sorts. After all, Zimbabwean authorities could have left legacy Zimbabwe dollar banknotes to flap in the wind. But for some reason, they've decided to provide an offer to buy them back, even if it is just a stink bid.

Given that banknotes are a type of security or IOU, how far can we take this idea? For instance, analysts often value a non-dividend paying stock by calculating how much a firm's assets will be worth upon break up. Likewise, we might say that the value of Zimbabwean banknotes, or any other banknote, is valued relative to the central bank's liquidation value, or the quantity of central bank assets upon which those notes are claim when they are finally canceled. If so, then the precise quantity of assets that back a currency are very important, since any impairment of assets will cause inflation. This is a pure form of the backing theory of money.

I'm not quite willing to take this idea that far. While banknotes do appear to constitute a first claim on a central bank's assets, the central bank documents that I'm familiar with give no indication of the nominal quantity of central bank assets to which a banknote is entitled come liquidation. So while it is realistic to say that the Reserve Bank of Zimbabwe always had a terminal offer to buy back Zimbabwe dollars, even during the awful hyper-inflationary period of 2007 and 2008, the lack of a set nominal offer price meant that the value of that promise would have been very difficult to calculate. More explicitly, on September 30, 2007, no Zimbabwean could have possibly know that, when all was said and done, their $100 trillion Zimbabwe note would be redeemable for only US$0.003. The difficulty of calculating this terminal value is an idea I outlined here, via an earlier Mike Friemuth blog post.

While the final chapter of the Zimbabwe dollar saga is over, the first chapter of Zimbabwe's U.S. dollar standard has just begun. Gone are the days of 79,600,000,000% hyperinflation. Instead, Zimbabweans are experiencing something entirely new, deflation. Consumer prices have fallen by 1.3% year-over-year, one of the deepest deflation rates in the world and the most in Africa. With prices being set in terms of the U.S. dollar unit of account, Zimbabwean monetary policy is effectively held hostage to the U.S. Federal Reserve's 12 member Federal Open Market Committee. Most analysts expect the Fed to start hiking rates this year, so I have troubles seeing how Zimbabwean prices will pull out of their deflationary trend. Few people have experienced as many monetary outliers as the citizens of Zimbabwe over such a short period of time. I wish them the best.

Slow greenbacks, fast loonies

Canada trails the U.S. is a common refrain, but not when it comes to payments. Courtesy of the Interac e-transfer service, Canadians have been able to make person-to-person (P2P) payments in real-time as early as 2002. By person-to-person, think email or mobile phone payments to friends, family, or your landlord, and by real-time, the receiver of a payment can immediately turn around and use those funds to buy something. By contrast, most Americans are still stuck in the nebula of three day delays when it comes to P2P. 

Why this incredible lag? I think it's for the same reason why the U.S. banking system is so much more unstable than the Canadian banking system. Whereas Canada has a small number of strong national banks, the U.S. has a large population of weak undiversified regionals. This lack of size and strength renders U.S. banks prone to failure. It also makes it difficult for them to coordinate together in order to create shared-use systems. 

Part of the problem in providing a real time P2P solution to consumers is that U.S. banks can't use the Federal Reserve's existing small payment network, ACH, to do the job. ACH is a forty year old system that transfers funds with delays sometimes lasting as long as 3-4 days. That being said, the Canadian equivalent small payment system, the ACSS (run by the Canadian Payments Association) isn't much better, with settlement occurring the next business day. Yet somehow we Canadians enjoy real time P2P. 

Over a decade ago, Canadian banks decided to avoid ACSS altogether and set up their own proprietary network to provide real time P2P capability. Run by Interac, a bank-governed non-profit, the e-transfer network processes P2P payments, nets them out across all banks, and provides instant communications among participants. At the end of the day, the banks settle balances owing and owed by trading Bank of Canada clearing deposits via the CPA's Large Value Transfer System (LVTS). 

As a rule, the e-transfer system requires banks to provide customers with instant access to the funds they have received either via email or their smart phone (or, if they have been debited, lose access to these funds). Heck, Royal Bank even has real-time payments via Facebook. [1] Since banks make the funds available before they settle among each other, they are in essence temporarily lending to their customers. Rules about maximum payment size keeps these intraday loans to a small size.

As anyone who has read the free banking literature knows, the U.S. has an awful history of bank regulation. Until recently, law makers forbade banks from setting up national branch systems, with unit banking being the norm. (Here is George Selgin on the topic). As a result, the U.S. is characterized by a patchwork quilt of banks, 6,891 in fact, with the top five banks accounting for only 56% of all deposits. Canadian law, on the other hand, never discouraged national branch banking. As a result, Canada has five dominant banks with broad exposure to all provinces and maybe two dozen smaller banks, the "big 5" accounting for at least 80% of Canadian deposits. 

You can understand now why it would be difficult for U.S banks to set up their own real-time payments system. In Canada, only a handful of bankers needed to be convinced that the time and effort to build a mutually beneficial system was worthwhile before the remaining minority followed. A much larger expense must be incurred in herding U.S. banks towards that same equilibrium. It's sort of like fax machine adoption. A single fax machine is useless, but the value of every fax machine increases as the installed base of fax machines grows, since the total number of people with whom each user can send/receive faxes rises. Ideally, everyone just agrees ahead of time to get a fax, or in the case of P2P, all bank decide to jointly build a shared network. Tough to do when you're a thousand squabbling voices. Enlightened cooperation among a few large banks, the Canadian solution, gets you there quicker.

The result is that in the U.S. most of the P2P solutions haven't been developed by banks, but by technology companies. Finance tech giants Fiserv and Fidelity National Information Services have developed their own networks; Popmoney and People Pay. Upstart Dwolla is trying to convince financial institutions to adopt its FiSync real-time service. This plethora of competing networks reminds me of what I've read about the early days of electrical utilities in the U.S., with multiple competing wire systems running down the streets. To avoid this sort of redundancy, some might say that the best option is to have a regulated monopoly like the Fed take the baton, say by upgrading ACH to real time. And with so many different competing systems, I can't help but wonder how they 'talk' to each other. If there were three or four brands of fax machines, and each brand could only receive its own faxes, how much less useful is the fax network?

So we Canadians have ubiquitous real time P2P and the Americans don't. However, the dark side to the Canadian system is that cooperation among the few needn't always be so enlightened. Just as the chiefs of the big 5 banks can get together in a back room and cobble together a mutually beneficial shared network, it's just as easy for them to set up a mutually beneficial pricing scheme—at the expense of consumers. It costs $1.50 to do an Interac e-transfer. Sounds suspiciously high to me. 


[1] My source for information on the Interac e-payments system is the CD Howe's Mati Dubrovinsky, who briefly describes how the system works here.