More fiatsplainin': let's play fiat-or-not

The (Great) Tower of Babel, 1563, Bruegel the Elder. "Therefore is the name of it called Babel; because the Lord did there confound the language of all the earth"

People bandy the term fiat currency around a lot, but what exactly does it mean? None of us wants to live in a Babel where people use fiat to indicate twenty different thing. So let's try to zero in on what most people mean by playing a game called fiat-or-not. I will describe a monetary system as it evolves away from a pure commodity arrangement and you will tell me when it has slipped into being a fiat system. (The technique I am using in this post cribs from a classic Nick Rowe post).

So let's start the game.

1) An economy in which gold coins circulate as the medium of exchange.

Fiat or not? I think we can all agree that there is nothing fiat at all here. (For simplicity's sake let's assume for the duration of this post that taxes can be paid with anything, and that there is no legal tender.)

2) A government-owned central bank begins to issue banknotes that are redeemable into a fixed amount of gold. Owners of banknotes need only line up at the central bank's redemption window to convert their $1 notes into 1 gram of the yellow metal. The central bank ensures that its vaults contain 100% gold backing for its notes.

Fiat or not? Some people associate fiat with the invention of paper money or IOUs, but in general I don't think very many of us would say that these banknotes qualify as fiat.

3) The central bank sells off a chunk of its gold and invests in safe bearer bonds. Its banknotes are no longer 100% backed by gold coins, but are backed 70% bonds/30% gold. The central bank continues to redeem notes on demand with gold at a rate of $1 to 1 gram.

Say the public suddenly wants to hold more coins. A lineup develops at the central bank's redemption window and eventually the central bank uses up its coin reserves as it meets redemption requests. To continue meeting additional requests, it need only sell some of the low-risk bonds from its vault and use the proceeds to buy additional gold coins.   

Fiat or not? Since low-risk bonds have now become part of the backing for the banknote issue, a few readers may choose step 3 banknotes as the entry point for fiat money. But this would be unconventional, since most note-issuing central banks in the 1800s were running this sort of 70%/30% system, and we usually call the monetary system that prevailed in the 1800s a gold standard, not a fiat standard.

4) The central bank announces that it  will undergo extensive renovations. As a result, its redemption window will have to be shut for two months. People can no longer redeem their $1 for 1 gram of gold on demand, but will have to wait until the renovations are over.

Fiat or not? Two months is a long time. But it could be that the central bank already closes its doors on the weekends anyways, banknotes being inconvertible for 48-hours. I doubt many of us would describe the weekend as a fiat currency episode. Should we think of the renovation closure as an extended weekend, or is it long enough that it generates fiat money?

5) Unfortunately the central bank chose an incompetent construction company. Renovations will take another two years!

To make up for the inconvenience of the redemption window being closed for such a long time, the central bank promises to send agents to the local gold market who will ensure that the market rate stays fixed at $1/gram. These agents will buy & sell whatever amount of gold is necessary to maintain the peg (by selling and buying banknotes).

Fiat or not? Thanks to the strategy of buying and selling in the local gold market, the $1/gram price holds just as well as it did in steps 2 and 3. So the public notices no difference in the purchasing power of the money in their wallets. On the other hand, two years without a redemption window at the central bank may be long enough for many readers to tick the fiat money box.    

6) The central bank is still undergoing renovations, but instead of dispatching agents to the market to buy and sell gold to enforce the peg, they go with bonds in hand.

If the market price for gold threatens to rise from $1/gram to $1.01/gram, because there is too much money chasing too few goods, the agents sell bonds and withdraw banknotes, thus reducing pressure on the exchange rate and bringing it back to $1/gram. And when the exchange rate threatens to fall below $1/gram to $0.99/gram, because there is too little money chasing goods, agents buy bonds with banknotes.

Fiat or not? Not only are notes not redeemable in gold, but now the central bank no longer operates directly in the gold market. With this step we are getting a bit closer to modern central bank money. The Federal Reserve, the Bank of Canada, and other major central banks all regulate the purchasing power of money by purchases and sales of bonds. The $1/gram peg still holds thanks to bond purchases and sales, so step 6 money does almost everything that step 2 and 3 money does.

7) With the renovation dragging on, the central bank decides that it doesn't need a redemption window after all. So what was initially a temporary suspension of convertibility becomes permanent. But the central bank continues to send agents to the market to buy or sell whatever quantity of bonds are necessary to maintain the $1/gram peg.

Fiat or not? You tell me. Perhaps permanent inconvertibility is the very definition of fiat. However, if steps 2-6 didn't qualify as fiat money, because gold stayed at $1/gram, why would step 7 be any different?

8) The central bank decides that, rather than fixing the market price of gold at $1/gram, it will set the market price of a typical consumer basket of goods and services (i.e. meat, car repairs, school, etc). 

This is a bit trickier to think about than the other steps. So for example, say that the central bank is currently setting the price of gold at $1/gram. And people can buy a consumer basket for $1000. But the price of that basket starts to rise to $1010, $1020, and then $1030. To stop this inflation, the central bank will announce its intention to reduce the price of gold to $0.99/gram. It does this by selling bonds and withdrawing money from the system, so that there is less money chasing goods. It keeps repeating gold price decreases/money withdrawals until it has successfully reigned in the inflation and brought the consumer price basket back to $1000. The net effect is that consumers are always guaranteed that the money in their pocket has constant purchasing power.

Fiat or not? This is pretty much the monetary system we have now in the U.S. and Canada where central banks target inflation. Well, there are a few small differences. Instead of temporarily setting the price of gold in order to regulate the value of a consumer price basket, the Fed and Bank of Canada temporarily set the price of a very short-term debt instrument to hit their target for the basket. And rather than shooting for constant consumer goods and services prices, these central banks prefer one that shrinks by 2% a year.

Given that step 8 describes something close to modern money, and it is common practice to refer to modern money as fiat, then it would only make sense that many readers raise their hands at this point. Complicating matters is that step 8 money isn't really that different from steps 2 to 7. After all, the central bank is establishing a fixed price for banknotes, the only difference being that the fix has been adjusted from gold to a basket of consumer goods and services. 

9) The central bank donates all of its assets to charity, closes its doors and shuts down for good. But it leaves all its banknotes outstanding. Money floats around the economy without a tether to reality. Or as Stephen Williamson says, money is a bubble.

Fiat or not? By this stage, everyone will probably have ticked the fiat money box. 

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Here is a collection of unconnected thoughts on the fiat-or-not game.

A) My guess it that readers will have chosen different stages as their preferred debut for fiat money. This is a bit tragic, since with no commonly-accepted definition for the term, most debates about fiat money have been and will continue to be meaningless.

B) We apply our definitions like cookie cutters to the real world. So if you chose step 7 (when banknotes became permanently irredeemable) as your flipping point, then 1971 would be a very important date in your scheme of the world since this is when the U.S. permanently removed gold convertibility.

But if you chose step 9 as your transition point to fiat, then the global monetary system is not currently on a fiat standard, since central banks have neither closed their doors nor donated their assets to charity. So 1971 really isn't an interesting date. I'm aware of only one country on a step 9 fiat standard: Somalia. Its central bank burned down yet Somali shilling banknotes continued to circulate. And ironically enough, if we choose to adopt a step 9 definition of fiat money, then bitcoin—which was designed to destroy central bank "fiat" money—is itself fiat, because it is unbacked, whereas most central bank money is not fiat.

What I've described is the Borges problem. Categories pre-digest the world for us. We get very different results depending on what definition we use and how we apply it to the world.

C) I think many readers associate fiat with hyperinflatable. For instance, here is Dror Golberg:

Was Canada ground zero for fiat money? This paper claims that fiat money was independently invented by French Canadians in 1685, copied by Massachusetts in 1690, adopted in Europe, and diffused to the rest of the world: https://t.co/bSXyYLYzwp pic.twitter.com/kWVWbi43hH

— JP Koning (@jp_koning) March 14, 2018

Readers who conflate fiat and hyperinflatable will probably have played the fiat-or-not game by gauging each step to see if it introduced (or removed) a set of features perceived to be conducive (inhibitory) to high inflation. They probably toggled the fiat button somewhere in the murk of temporary inconvertibility (step 4) and permanent inconvertibility (step 7). The thinking here is that convertibility into specie imposes a more imposing restriction on a central bank than a mere promise to hold gold's value at $1/gram by using open market operations (step 6). With the removal of convertibility, hyperinflatability is activated and thus money has become fiat.

There are certainly some good historical reasons for assuming that inconvertibility leads to hyperinflatability. Some of the most famous hyperinflations occurred after redemption was removed, including John Law's paper money scheme, the American Greenback episode, and the Wiemar inflation. But there is no inherent reason that these systems must lead to hyperinflation, or that step 1 (coin-based systems) and step 2 (fully convertible) systems aren't themselves hyperinflatable. In the case of coin-based systems, all that it takes is a rapid series of reductions in the silver content of coins to set off inflation, Henry VIII's consistent debasement of the English coinage being one example. And there is no reason that a fully convertible step 2 banknote system can't undergo a series of large devaluations leading to hyperinflation. 

D) Fiatness, fiatish? If we can't agree on what constitutes fiat-or-not, maybe we can agree that there might be a fiat scale, from pure fiat to not fiat at all, with most monetary systems existing somewhere in between. I am already on record advocating moneyness over money, so this fits with the general them of the blog. On the other hand, fiatness seems a bit of a cop-out.

E) We don't need gobbledygook like fiat. The term carries too much baggage. Let's select a more precise set of words, then apply them to the real world in order to understand what our monetary systems were like, how they are now, and where we are going. Until we settle on these words, let's avoid all conversations with the term fiat in them.

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P.S. I have a recent post about the desirability of coin debasements at the Sound Money Project and another post on money as a measuring stick at Bullionstar. 

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.

Why hasn't Canadian Tire Money displaced the Canadian dollar?

Canadians will all know what Canadian Tire Money is, but American and overseas readers might not. Canadian Tire, one of Canada's largest retailers, defies easy categorization, selling everything from tents to lawn furniture to hockey sticks to car tires. Since 1958, it has been issuing something called Canadian Tire Money (see picture above). These paper notes are printed in denominations of up to $2 and are redeemable at face value in kind at any Canadian Tire store.

Because there's a store in almost every sizable Canadian town, and the average Canadian make a couple visits each year, Canadian Tire money has become ubiquitous—everyone has some stashed in their cupboard somewhere. Many Canadians are quite fond of the stuff—there's even a collectors club devoted to it. I confess I'm not a big fan: Canadian Tire money is form of monetary pollution, say like bitcoin dust or the one-cent coin. I just throw it away.

It's the monetary oddities that teach us the most about monetary phenomena, which is why I find Canadian Tire money interesting. Here's an observation: despite the fact that it is ubiquitous, looks like money, trades at par, and is backed by a reputable issuer, Canadian Tire money doesn't circulate much. Stephen Williamson, a Canadian econ blogger, had an entertaining blog post a few years back recounting unsuccessful efforts to offload the coupons on Canadians. Sure, from time to time we might encounter the odd bar or charity that accepts it, or maybe a corner-store in Wawa. But apart from Canadian Tire stores, acceptability of Canadian Tire money is the exception, not the rule.

Why hasn't Canadian Tire money become a generally-accepted medium of exchange? One explanation is that Canadian law prevents it. Were the government to remove the strict rules that limit the ability of the private sector to issue paper money, bits of Canadian Tire paper would soon be circulating all across the nation, maybe even displacing the Bank of Canada's paper money.

A second hypothesis is that even if the law were to be loosened, Canadian Tire would remain an unpopular exchange medium. Some deficiency with Canadian Tire money, and not strict laws, drives their lack of liquidity. Nick Rowe, another Canadian econ blogger (notice a theme here?), once speculated that this had to do with network effects. Canadians have long since adopted the convention of using regular Bank of Canada-issued notes, and overturning that convention by accepting Canadian Tire money would be too costly. David Andolfatto (not another Canadian econ blogger!), would probably point to limited commitment as the deficiency. IOUs issued by Canadian Tire simply can't be trusted as much as government money, and so they inevitably fail as a medium of exchange.

In support of the first view, which is known in the economics literature as the legal restrictions hypothesis, Neil Wallace and Martin Eichenbaum (yep, another Canadian) recount an interesting anecdote. Back in 1983, competitor Ro-Na (since renamed RONA), a major hardware chain, started to accept Canadian Tire coupons at face value. I've found an old advertisement of the offer below:

RONA advertisement in La Presse, 1983 (source)

Eichenbaum and Wallace say that this is evidence that Canadian Tire money isn't just a mere coupon but readily serves as a competitive medium of exchange among Canadians. After all, if a major store like RONA accepted the coupons, then their acceptance wasn't just particular—it was general.

The story doesn't end there. Here is an interesting 1983 article from the Montreal Gazette:

The article mentions how in retaliation Canadian Tire sought an injunction against RONA to prevent it from accepting Canadian Tire money. We know this tactic must have been somewhat successful since RONA does not currently accept said coupons. Eichenbaum & Wallace slot this into their legal restrictions theory, noting that the injunction was probably motivated by Canadian Tire's desire to comply with legal prohibitions on the private issuance of currency, a damaging law suit helping to inhibit general use of their coupons. Remove these legal restrictions, however, and Canadian Tire would probably not have sued RONA, and usage of Canadian Tire coupons as a medium of exchange would have expanded. Presumably if Tim Horton's took up the baton from RONA and accepted Canadian Tire money, and then Couche-Tard joined in, you'd end up with a new national currency.

So we have two competing theories to explain Canadian Tire money's lack of acceptability. Which one is right? Let's introduce one more story arc. Zoom forward to 2009 when Canadian Tire lawyers sent a notice to a NAPA car parts dealer asking him to stop accepting Canadian Tire money. The reason cited by Canadian Tire: trademark infringement. As the article points out, Canadian Tire Money constitutes intellectual property, and if companies do not sufficiently police their trademarks against general usage, they may lose control of them. For instance, over the years Johnson & Johnson has had to vigorously defend its exclusive rights to the name "Band-Aid." If it hadn't, it might have lost claim to the name in the same way that Otis Elevator lost its trademark on the word "escalator" because the word fell into general use. That the 1983 RONA challenge probably had less to do with currency laws than trademark infringement damages Eichenbaum &Wallace's argument.

The last interesting Canadian factoid is the observation that a number of community currencies circulate in Canada. Salt Spring dollars, a currency issued by the Salt Spring Island Monetary Foundation, located off the coast of British Columbia, is one of these. Other examples include Calgary Dollars and Toronto Dollars. According to Johanna McBurnie, Salt Spring dollars are legal because they are classified as gift certificates. If so, I don't see why the use of Canadian Tire money as a medium of exchange wouldn't fall under the same rubric. This puts the final nail in Wallace & Eichenbaum's argument that restrictions on circulation of competing paper money have prevented broad usage of Canadian Tire paper. Rather, if laws are to blame for the minimal role of Canadian Tire Money's as currency, then it is the company's desire to protect its trademark that is at fault.

That local IOUs like Salt Spring dollars can legally circulate but lack wide acceptance (even in the locality in which they are issued) means we need something like the Nick Rowe's network effects or David Andolfatto's limited commitment to  explain why incumbent paper money tends to exclude competing paper money from circulation. Which isn't to say that Canadian Tire money would never circulate. As Larry White and George Selgin have pointed out, private paper money has circulated along with government paper money in places like Canada. But the bar for Canadian Tire money is probably a high one.

Does the Fed lack the technical means to dive into negative rate waters?

The Federal Reserve may be in a bit of a bind.

With the Bank of Japan reducing rates to -0.1%, many commentators are calling on the Fed to reverse its policy of rate normalization and follow Japan into negative territory.  The problem is this. Thanks to the rules laid out in the Federal Reserve Act, the Fed may lack the technical means to dive into negative rate waters. Let me restate this in different terms. If the Federal Reserve were to reduce the rate at which it pays interest on reserves (IOR) to -0.25% or so, the overnight rate may not follow very far. Monetary policy is useless, or at least less effective than it would otherwise be.

Not only would monetary policy lose some of its potency when IOR falls below 0%, but an unapproved fiscal transfer from the Fed to another set of government institutions could occur. This is because negative IOR has the potential to provide a large subsidy to a narrow range of governments sponsored-entities that are allowed to keep 0%-yielding deposits at the Fed. At deeply negative rates, this subsidy could get very large, turning the Fed's substantial profits into large losses. The result, a steady fall in its share capital, might undermine Fed independence and the credibility of monetary policy.**

Why these odd effects? As Nick Rowe says in this delightful post, in a world with negative interest rates everything old is new again, only it's a mirror image. And in a world of negative U.S. rates, the mirror image of the Fed's leaky floor is a sticky ceiling. And just like the leaky floor (more on this later) dragged the overnight rate down to 0% when IOR was positive, the sticky ceiling effectively pulls the overnight rates back up to 0% when IOR is negative. To see why this would happen, we need to take a quick tour of the legal and technical history behind IOR.

Until October 2008 the Fed was legally prohibited from paying interest to banks. Any bank manager who left reserves on deposit at the Fed earned 0%. This changed with the passage of the  Financial Services Regulatory Relief Act of 2006 which bolted Section 19(b)(12) onto the Federal Reserve Act allowing banks to "receive earnings to be paid by the Federal Reserve Bank." As a direct result of 19(b)(12), the Fed has been paying interest of 0.25% for a number of years, a rate that was recently increased to 0.5%.

Not only did Section 19(b)(12) provide the Fed with the ability to pay interest on reserves, it also gives it the technical means to pay negative rates on reserves. Now there is some controversy whether the wording in Section 19(b)(12) authorizes a negative rate; for instance, it mentions the paying of earnings to banks, not the payment of negative earnings:

World is cascading to - rates. Does Congress need to authorize Fed to "charge" IOR? ('06 law says "pay") @dandolfa @jp_koning @mileskimball

— Diego Espinosa (@dvespinosa) January 29, 2016

...and here is Stephen Williamson on the issue.

Ex-Fed official Narayana Kocherlakota points out that various members of the Fed Board of Governors, including William Dudley and Stanley Fischer, have already hinted at negative rates as a potential tool, the implication being that the Fed has high confidence in a certain interpretation of the Act that would legally justify the move, otherwise they would not have spoken. Don't forget that Fed general counsel Scott Alvarez will have to sign off on the question of legality. Alvarez is the one who allowed a truck to be driven through Section 13.3 during the credit crisis, legalizing the bailout of Bear Stearns and AIG via Maiden Lane.

Let's assume that there is no legal controversy and the Fed sets negative IOR of -0.25% tomorrow. That's where the Fed's real problems start. Because as I said at the outset, the overnight rate won't follow IOR down in lock-step, it may even stick to the 0% ceiling. On top of this is the aforementioned subsidy provided to those institutions that have access to interest-free deposits at the Fed, namely the government-sponsored entities Freddie Mac, Fannie Mae, and the Federal Home Loan Banks (I'll describe this subsidy later).

As I said at the outset, the sticky ceiling problem is the opposite of the well known leaky floor problem. Over the last few years the various U.S. overnight rates have traded below IOR. These leaks are odd since IOR is supposed to set a lower bound to the overnight rate. After all, why invest your funds at 0.05% overnight when you can get 0.25% at the Fed? We can blame the leakage on our three government-sponsored entities (GSEs): Freddie, Fannie, and the Federal Home Loan Banks. These GSEs are allowed to keep accounts at the Fed but are prohibited from collecting interest. Rather than earn nothing, the GSEs have been lending their reserves overnight to banks who have access to IOR. These banks have been engaging in arbitrage whereby they borrow GSE funds at 0.05%- 0.15% and invest them at 0.25%, a nice gig if you can get it.

From whence this prohibition on interest? 19(b)(12), the same bit of legalese that authorizes IOR, emphasizes that only "depository institutions" can receive interest, and since Freddie, Fannie, and the Federal Home Loan Banks are not depositories, they do not qualify (this article speculates why).

Which means that if the Fed is going to stretch Section 19 authority for payment of interest  to allow for the payment of negative interest rates, then the GSE prohibition on receiving positive interest means that they will likewise be exempt from paying negative interest.

The ultimate effect of all this is that if and when the Fed decides to brings IOR to -0.25%%, the overnight rate is going to do a flip—rather than trading below IOR it will start to trade above it. Why the inversion? In positive rate land the IOR exemption meant that it really sucked to be the GSEs. But in negative rate land it's great to be a GSE. When all other banks must endure a -0.25% penalty, an exemption from IOR becomes an asset, not a liability. Banks, sensing a way to improve their returns, will compete to purchase 0% shelter from the GSEs. Say they offer to lend funds to the GSEs in the overnight market at  -0.17%, an 8 basis point improvement to IOR of -0.25%. GSEs would be hard-pressed to not accept this gift. After all, they'd be borrowing at -0.17% in order to lend to the Fed at 0%, which means 17 basis points in risk free profit. Taken to the extreme, a profit-maximizing Fannie, Freddie, and the Federal Home Loan Banks will compete to borrow the entire $3.3 trillion in reserves held at the Fed, driving overnight rates back up towards 0%. No matter how deep the Fed brings IOR into negative territory, the overnight rate stays stuck at a shallow level thanks to the GSEs.

You may recognize that the sticky ceiling problem is just another (perhaps weaker) version of the good old zero-lower bound problem, but in the role of 0% cash as antagonist, 0% deposits held at Fannie, Freddie, and the Federal Home Loan Banks have been substituted.

Now it could be argued that GSE arbitrage will force the overnight rate within a hair of negative IOR. For instance, if  IOR is at -0.25%  the overnight rate might trade at -0.24%. If so, the problem is less about monetary policy impotence and more about the massive subsidy being granted to the GSEs. These institutions have a large incentive to hoover all the reserves held by non-GSEs in order to earn risk free returns. Rather than earning 0.25% on reserves held by banks, the Fed will get 0%. And since the Fed's profits--what economists call seigniorage--typically flows to the taxpayer via the Treasury, taxpayers would be subsidizing Fannie, Freddie, and the Federal Home Loan Banks to the tune of millions, a fiscal transfer lacking the appropriate Congressional approvals.*

If the GSEs take the free gift, this will have very real effects on the Fed's financial health.  With IOR at -0.25% the steady rolling-over the Fed's assets will result in a decline in their yields, maybe even negative returns. As the spread between the return on assets and cost of liabilities shrinks, the Fed's seigniorage will drop dramatically. In  normal times, a certain portion of this seigniorage goes to rebuilding any impairments to the Fed's capital base while the rest flows through the Treasury to the taxpayer, either in the form of reduced taxes or services. With a 0% loophole being offered to the GSEs, the Fed risks running permanent operating deficits which in turn will lead to a steady erosion in its capital base. If the equity writedowns gets too large this may reduce the Fed's credibility in the eyes of the market, thus reducing the effectiveness of monetary policy.**

The Fed will have to plug this hole if it doesn't want to find itself neutered and/or subsidizing the GSEs. Maybe Fed officials can cap the amount of reserves that the GSEs are allowed to borrow, or use moral suasion to get the GSEs to drop out of the market. Better yet, maybe Fed Chair Janet Yellen can ask Congress to change 19(b)(12) so that, like all other banks, GSEs get to receive IOR (and are forced to pay it). Alternatively, maybe the laws can be altered so that the GSEs are prevented from keeping deposits at the Fed to begin with.

The legal option is a good idea for two reasons. First, it means that negative IOR effectively sets the overnight rate, restoring the pass-through from negative rates into financial markets and the real economy. It also removes the subsidy to the GSEs and the potential for large hits to share capital. Secondly, it fixes the Fed's leaky floor problem at positive rates of IOR. The Fed has already set up an overnight reverse repo agreement (ON RRP) facility to borrow from those ineligible to receive IOR, the idea being to keep a sterner floor under overnight rates. But as Marvin Goodfriend writes, ON RRP

violates the minimal intervention principle of central banking by turning the Fed into a financial intermediary operating directly on a large scale beyond the banking system with the potential to distort short term credit allocation and enable disruptive flight-to-quality flows during periods of financial distress.

Far less obtrusive to fix the leak with a quick change to legislation than fully arming a new battle station.

In closing, if the Fed wants to go negative, it may have some technical details to worry about. Fed officials no doubt already know this. If they don't, the blame can be attributed to their all-out focus on so-called normalization. By throwing all their organizational capital into the creation of a mechanism for keeping rates on an upward trajectory (the ON RRP), the Fed has diverted resources and attention away from the design of a complementary mechanism necessary for a downward rate trajectory. In hindsight, perhaps the Fed should have been tasking half its lawyers, accountants, financial architects, and media personnel to the rate normalization project, and the other to the negative rate project. Time to play catch-up?

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Due to the difficulty of this subject matter, I've altered this post a few times since initially publishing it. The general idea has remained the same.

* In my original post, this paragraph didn't appear but was in the footnotes. I think it's important enough to bring up to the body of the text.
** Added on January 4.
*** Since originally posting this, I've softened my position on the sticky ceiling. I originally thought that the overnight rate would stay stuck at 0%, but I now feel it is likely to move closer to negative IOR. It would remain above IOR, however, so the idea of a sticky ceiling, while muted, is still relevant.

Liquidity as static

In his first blog skirmish, Ben Bernanke took on Larry Summers' secular stagnation thesis, generating a slew of commentary by other bloggers. If the economy is in stagnation, the econ-blogosphere surely isn't.

I thought that Stephen Williamson had a good meta-criticism of the entire debate. Both Bernanke and Summers present the incredibly low yields on Treasury inflation protected securities (TIPS) as evidence of paltry real returns on capital. But as Williamson points out, their chosen signal is beset by static.

Government debt instruments like TIPS are useful as media of exchange, specifically as collateral, goes Williamson's argument. Those who own these instruments therefore enjoy a stream of liquidity services that gets embodied in their price as a liquidity premium. Rising TIPS prices (and falling yields) could therefore be entirely unrelated to returns on capital and wholly a function of widening liquidity premia. Bernanke and Summers can't make broad assumptions about returns on capital on the basis of market-driven yields without knowing something about these invisible premia. (Assiduous readers may remember that I've used a version of the liquidity premium argument to try to explain the three decade long bond bull market, as well as the odd twin bull markets in bond and equity prices.)

Riffing on Williamson, liquidity premia are a universal form of static that muddy not only bond rates but many of the supposedly clear signals we get from market prices. Equity investors, for instance, need to be careful about using price earnings ratios to infer anything about stock market valuations. The operating assumption behind something like Robert Shiller's cyclically adjusted PE (CAPE) measure is that rational investors apply a consistent multiple to stock earnings over time. When CAPE travels out of its historical average, investors are getting silly and stocks are over- or undervalued.

But not so fast. Since a stock's price embodies a varying liquidity premium, a rise in equity prices relative to earnings may be a function of changes in liquidity premia, not investor irrationality. Until we can independently price these liquidity services, CAPE is useless as a signal of over- or undervaluation, a point I've made before. Hush, all you Shiller CAPE acolytes.

Liquidity also interferes with another signal dear to economists and finance types alike; expectations surrounding future inflation. The most popular measure of inflation expectations is distilled by subtracting the nominal yield on 10-year Treasuries from the equivalent yield on 10-year TIPS. The residual is supposed to represent the value of inflation protection offered by TIPS. But it is a widely known fact that this measure is corrupted by the inferior liquidity in TIPS markets. See commentary here, here, and here. The upshot is that a widening in TIPS spreads—which is widely assumed to be an indicator of rising inflation expectations—could be due to a degeneration  improvement in the liquidity of TIPS relative to the liquidity of straight Treasuries.

Interestingly, the Cleveland Fed publishes a measure of inflation expectations that tries to "address the shortcomings" of rates derived from TIPS by turning to data from a different source: inflation swaps markets. In an inflation swap, one party pays the other a fixed rate on a nominal amount of cash while the other returns a floating rate linked to the CPI. Given the market price of this swap, we can extract the market's prediction for inflation. According to the people who compile the Cleveland Fed estimate, inflation swaps are less prone to changes in liquidity than TIPS yields, thus providing a true signal of inflation expectations.

But how can that be? Surely the prices of swaps and other derivatives are not established independently of market liquidity. After all, like stocks and bonds, derivatives are characterized by bid-ask spreads, buyers strikes, and runs. Sometimes they are easy to buy or sell, sometimes difficult. When I first thought about this, it wasn't immediately apparent to me what liquidity premia in derivative markets would look like. With bond and equity markets, its easy to determine the shape and direction of the premium. Since liquidity is valuable, buyers compete to own liquid stocks and bonds while sellers must be compensated for doing without them. A premium on top of a security's fundamental value develops to balance the market.

Derivatives are different. Take a call option, where the writer of the option, the seller, provides the purchaser of the option the right to buy some underlying security at a certain price. In theory, the more liquid the option, the higher the price the purchaser should be willing to pay for the option. After all, a liquid option can be sold much easier than an illiquid one, a benefit to the owner. But what about the seller? I risk repeating myself here, but a seller of a stock or bond will require a *higher* price if they are to part with a more liquid the security. However, in the case of the option, the writer (or seller) will be willing to accept a *lower* and inferior price on a liquid option. After all, the writer will face more difficulties backing out of their commitment (by re-selling the option) if it is illiquid than if it is liquid.

This creates a pricing conundrum. As liquidity improves, the option writer will be willing to sell for less and the purchaser willing to buy for more. Put differently, the value that the writer attributes to the option's liquidity and the concomitant liquidity premium this creates drives the option price down, while the value the purchaser attributes to that same liquidity engenders a liquidity premium that drives the option price up. What is the net effect?

I stumbled on a paper which provides an answer of sorts (pdf | RePEc). Drawing on data from OTC options markets, the authors finds that illiquid interest rate options trade at higher prices relative to more liquid options. This effect goes in the opposite direction to what is observed for stocks and bonds, where richer liquidity means a higher price. The authors' hypothesis is that the liquidity premium of an option is set by those investors who, on the margin, are most concerned over liquidity. Given the peculiarities of OTC option markets, this marginal investor will usually be the option writer (or seller), typically a dealer who is interested in reversing their trades and holding as little inventory as possible, thus instilling a preference for liquidity. Buyers, on the other hand, tend to be corporations who are willing to buy and hold for the long term and are therefore less concerned with a fast getaway. The net result is that for otherwise identical call options, the overriding urgency of dealers drives the price of the more liquid option down and illiquid one up.

Anyone who has dabbled in futures markets may see the similarity in the story just recounted to a much older idea, the theory of normal backwardation. The intuition behind normal backwardation is that a futures contract, much like a call option, has two counterparties, both of whom need to be rewarded with a decent expected return in order to encourage them to enter into what is otherwise a very risky bet. If both require this return, then how does an appropriate "risk premium" get embodied in a single futures price?

None other than John Maynard Keynes hypothesized that the two counterparties to a futures trade are not entirely symmetrical. Hedgers, say farmers (who are normally short futures), simply want a guaranteed market for their goods come harvest and are willing to provide speculators with the extra return necessary to induce them to enter into a long futures position. Farmers create this inducement by setting the current price of a futures contract a little bit below the expected spot price upon delivery, thus providing speculators with a promise of extra capital returns, or a risk premium. That's why Keynes said that futures markets are normally backwardated.

Options writers who desire the comforts of liquidity are playing the same game as farmers who desire a guaranteed price. They are inducing counterparties to take the other side of the deal, in this case the liquid one, by pricing liquid options more advantageously than illiquid but otherwise identical options. And while I don't know the peculiarities of the various counterparties to an inflation swap, I don't see why the same logic that applies to options wouldn't apply to swaps.

So returning to the main thread of this post, just as the signals given off by TIPS spreads are beset by interference arising from liquidity phenomena, the signals given off by inflation swaps are also corrupted. A widening in inflation swap spreads could be due to changing liquidity preference among a certain class of swap counterparties, not to any underlying change in inflation expectations. Its not a clear cut world.

What about the most holy of signals given off by derivative markets: the odds of default as implied by credit default swap spreads? A CDS is supposed to indicate the pure credit risk premium on an underlying security. But if the marginal counterparty on one side of a credit default swap deal is typically more interested in liquidity than the other counterparty, then CDS prices will include a liquidity component. According to the paper behind the following links ( pdf | RePEc ), it is the sellers of credit default swaps, not the buyers, who typically earn compensation for liquidity, the theory being that sellers are long-term players with more wealth than buyers. The paper's conclusion is that CDS spreads cannot be used as frictionless measures of default risk.

Liquidity is like static, it blurs the picture. The clarity of the indicators mentioned in this post—Bernanke & Summers' real interest rates, stock market price earnings ratios, inflation expectations implied by both TIPS and swap markets, and finally the odds of default implied in corporate default swap spreads—are all contaminated by liquidity premia that vary in size over time. Models created by both economists and financial analysts contain abstract variables that map to these external data sources. I doubt that this data is irrevocably damaged by liquidity, but it may be warped enough that we should be wary about drawing strong conclusions from models that depend on them as input.

Before I slide too far into economic nihilism, there may be a way to resuscitate the purity of these indicators. If we can calculate the precise size of liquidity premia in the various markets mentioned above, then we can clean up the real signals these markets give off by removing the liquidity static.

One way to go about calculating the size of a liquidity premium is by polling the owners of a given security how much they must be compensated for doing without the benefits of that security's liquidity for a period of time. Symmetrically, a potential owner of that security's liquidity is queried to determine how much they are willing to pay to own those services. The price at which these two meet represents the pure liquidity premium. Problem solved. We can now get a pure real interest rate, a precise measure of inflation expectations, a true measure of credit default odds, or a liquidity-adjusted price-to-earnings multiple.

Unfortunately, its not that easy. The only way to properly discover the price at which a buyer and seller of a particular instrument's liquidity services will meet is by fashioning a financial contract between them,  a financial derivative. These derivatives will trade in a market for liquidity or 'moneyness' that might look something like this. And therein lies the paradox. Much like the option and CDS of our previous example, this new derivative will itself be characterized by its own liquidity premium, thus impairing its ability to provide a clean measure of the original instrument's liquidity premium. We could fashion a second derivative contract to measure the liquidity premium of the first derivative contract, but that too will be compromised by its own liquidity premium, taking us down into an infinite loop of imprecision.

So... back to economic nihilism. Either that or a more healthy skepticism of those who confidently declare the economy to be in stagnation or the stock market to be a bubble. After all, there's a lot of static out there.

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Note: David Beckworth has also written about the difficulties of using bond yields as indicators of secular stagnation. (1)(2)(3). And now Nick Rowe has a post on secular stagnation and liquidity.

Deep money, the coexistence puzzle, and the legal restrictions hypothesis

WWI Liberty bonds, which according to Neil Wallace circulated alongside Federal Reserve notes [source]

What follows are some thoughts on the coexistence puzzle as well as the folks who find it interesting.

There is plenty of hyperbole over the difference between freshwater and saltwater economists, but one peculiarity that surely distinguishes a freshwater economist from his saltier cousin is that they tend to be interested in the underlying motivations guiding monetary exchange, the so-called microfoundations of money. (Saltwater economists tend to be content with broad assumptions about monetary phenomena). Representatives of the microfounded approach, which includes the blogosphere's own David Andolfatto as well as Stephen Williamson—who has anointed his approach New Monetarism—like to refer to their models as "deep models of money".

One of the classic questions that continues to interest deep money types is the so-called coexistence puzzle. Zero-yielding financial assets like central bank-issued banknotes are "dominated" in terms of rate of return by interest-yielding financial assets created by governments. The puzzle that needs explaining is why these dominated instruments can continue to coexist with the instruments that do the dominating.

A quick answer is that a lower-yielding asset can coexist with the higher-yielding asset because the first is more liquid than the second. In an uncertain world, the stream of liquidity services that an asset provides over its lifetime is a valuable service. An asset that provides a little less income can still be demanded in the marketplace as long as it provides a little more liquidity. Deep money folks would say that my answer is a bit shallow. It avoids exploring both the qualities of the assets being used and the frictions that characterize the world in which those assets trade that might render one asset more liquid than the next.

Let's explore the setup of the coexistence problem in more detail. In a 1982 paper, deep money pioneer Neil Wallace defined the problem thusly; if the government were to issue small denomination bearer bonds, say in units of $5, $10, and $20, and these instruments were to yield interest, just like their larger denomination relatives, why would anyone carry 0% Federal Reserve notes in their wallets when they might own an interest-yielding replica instead? These two instruments shouldn't coexist—cash should be driven out of existence or, if they are to coexist, then bearer bonds should yield no more than the 0% rate on cash.

One aspect of the problem, Wallace noted, was that for some obscure reason, governments typically choose not to issue small denomination bearer bonds. The large denomination size of t-bills and t-bonds inhibits their use in trade, thus preventing at the outset any sort of direct competition between government bonds and zero-yielding cash.

However, Wallace pointed out that this doesn't explain why private issuers don't simply buy high denomination government bonds and create their own government bond-backed small denomination bearer notes. If they did so, Wallace believed that two things might happen. These private issuers, by virtue of paying interest on their notes (more specifically by issuing bearer bonds at a discount to face value and allowing them to appreciate in price till maturity, much like treasury bills) would drive inferior 0% yielding banknotes out of existence so that only interest-bearing notes circulate.

Alternatively, the public would allow privately-issued bearer bonds to circulate at par with existing currency. Par acceptance would mean that private bearer bonds no longer paid interest in the form of a steadily rising price. However, Wallace stumbled upon an interesting side effect of par acceptance: nominal rates on government bonds would have to fall to zero. Why? According to Wallace, arbitrage dictates that as long as the rate on long term government bonds is above zero, competing private issuers will flock to buy those term bonds with which to back their 0% bearer notes, putting upward pressure on bond prices and downward pressure on yields. It makes sense for banks to do so because they earn the spread between the 0% notes that they issue and the interest-yielding bonds they purchase. According to Wallace, the arbitrage window will only be shut when banks have driven long term rates close enough to zero that the the opportunity for excess profits disappears. In a free market, the term structure of interest rates disappears. All we have is a flat yield curve.

Here is Wallace: "Thus, my prediction of the effects of imposing laissez-faire takes the form of an either/or statement; either nominal interest rates go to zero or existing government currency becomes worthless."

Of course in the world we live interest-yielding bearer currencies have not kicked out 0% notes nor have private notes driven long term bond rates to zero. Wallace attributed this to various legal restrictions against banks from entering the small denomination bearer bond line of business. Take away these legal restrictions and he believed that his conclusions followed.

Even if we removed these legal restrictions, I'm not convinced by Wallace's arguments. Given free competition in note markets, I don't think that positive-yielding small denomination bearer bonds (issued either by a private bank or a government) must necessarily drive cash into exile, not do I think their coexistence means that the term structure of interest rates must be flat.

To start with, the necessity of calculating interest payments throws a wrench in the smooth transfer of a bearer asset, a point made by Larry White. Say that the bearer bonds are printed with a $10 face value but sold by the government at a discount to face so that their price appreciates over time until maturity, the capital gain being a stand-in for interest payments. Should someone wish to use their unmatured bearer bond to pay for something, they will have to calculate how much of a discount to face to apply to the bond. Such a calculation imposes a burden on the transactors since it will take time to crunch the numbers or require a costly technology to speed up the process. As White has noted, a $20 note held for one week at 5% interest would yield less than 2 cents. Is it really worth it for a banknote user to take the time and trouble to compute and collect such a small amount?

The interest rate feature of bearer bonds also precludes the simple summations that round numbers allow. An owner of a $10, $5, and $20 bearer bond doesn't have $35 in purchasing power. Rather, discounting the bonds will show that their purchasing power is composed of inconvenient sums like $9.33, $4.89, and $19.60. This makes it harder to know how much purchasing power is in one's wallet prior to going to market, thereby inhibiting the usefulness of bearer bonds as a liquid medium. Carrying around 0% currency which trades at its face value allows for certainty of purchasing power, a feature that may more than compensate for lack of a pecuniary yield.

Even worse, having inconvenient non-round bonds in one's wallet or till makes the process of obtaining or providing change a nightmare. If you buy a $10 bottle of wine with an unmatured bearer bond worth $11.56, what are the odds that the cashier will have a $1.56 bearer bond to give you as change? 0% cash may not offer interest payments, but at least the standardized even denominations in which it is available (combined with small change) allow for hassle-free transactions.

Lastly, all transactions in bearer bonds face capital gains taxes. That means on each exchange, the owner of bearer bonds must fish back into their records to find the original price at which they received the bond, determine the price at which it was sold, compute the profit, and then submit all this information to the tax authority. Payments made with 0% banknotes are not taxed, saving those who choose to transact with banknotes time and energy.

So in a nutshell, the previous factors may explain why interest-yielding small denomination bearer bonds will always be less liquid relative to 0% yielding cash, thus preventing the former from kicking the latter out of circulation.

If Wallace's first point is wrong and the payment of interest on banknotes doesn't drive existing 0% cash out of existence, what about his second prediction? Assuming that privately issued bearer bonds are accepted at par, what prevents profit-hungry banks from issuing 0% bankotes and accumulating interest-bearing bonds, eventually arbitraging bond rates down to zero?

As I've already illustrated, interest yielding instruments (especially large and ungainly ones like t-bills) will always be less liquid than cash. This gives rise to an un-arbitrageable wedge between the yield on cash and that on bonds, or a liquidity premium. Note-issuing private banks eager to earn more spread income may be able to temporarily push rates down through bond purchases. However, at these lower bond rates the marginal bond investor will be dissatisfied. They are now holding an asset that offers the same inferior liquidity return as before but less interest. These investors will sell their bonds, in the process pushing interest rate right back up to so that bonds once gain offer an attractive return on the margin. In short, bond-buying banks can't push long term bond rates down to zero because the rest of the liquidity-buying public won't let them.

But if long term rates won't budge when banks buy them, doesn't that mean that banks can continuously earn excess profits by perpetually issuing 0% notes and purchasing risk-free long term bonds? Free dollar bills left on the floor are, after all, the biggest no-no in economics. This ignores the fact that even if rates don't fall to zero, other costs will rise instead as banks compete to enjoy the spread. Larry White refers to this as non-price competition. It might include any number of costly strategies used to attract note-holders, including longer bank operating hours, more tellers, increased advertising expenses to make notes more trusted, and special engraving of notes to make one's bills more attractive relative to the competitions'. Thse mounting costs will soon counterbalance the fat spread income, thereby reducing the window for excess profits.

So contra Wallace, laissez faire doesn't reduce the risk-free bond yield curve to a flat line. Because liquidity differentials between bonds and notes will continue to exist free market or not, bond rates will always have to provide a sufficiently high nominal interest rate in order to attract holders.

What makes Wallace's conclusion about the yield curve in a free market interesting is its pleasing counter-intuitiveness. Many of the theories that deep money people come up with have this same quality, including one of my favorites: the irrelevance of open market operations, or what some call Wallace Neutrality. Stephen Williamson's odd theory that central bank's need to fight inflation by lowering rates, not increasing them, is in this same tradition, although in this case I think he's probably wrong.

Empirical evidence is the best way to test deep money theories. In the case of Wallace's legal restrictions theory, reality is not kind. For instance, we know that in the 18th and 19th centuries Scottish banks were not burdened by legal restrictions on the issue of notes, yet the Scottish yield curve was not a flat one. Indeed, interest bearing bills-of-exchange circulated freely with notes. Despite dominating notes, bills of exchange did not drive them to oblivion. Makinen and Woodward report on the coexistence of small-denomination interest-paying "bons" in 1920s France with the franc currency, and Wallace himself points to evidence that Liberty bonds circulated concurrently with Fed cash during WWI. (I should note that David Andolfatto is skeptical of these instances since they are commonly associated with periods of fiscal distress.)

As for some of the more modern deep money efforts like Stephen Williamson's, reality remains a hard customer. One wonders how Rudolph Havenstein's tight interest policy would have created the Wiemar hyperinflation, for instance. While I'm being tough on the deep money folk, I want to sign off on a positive note. Figuring out the underlying nature of monetary exchange is no doubt an important endeavor. Anyone who wants to learn more about monetary phenomena and central banking should probably be reading what the deep money people have to say.

Milton Friedman and moneyness

Steve Williamson recently posted a joke of sorts:

What's the difference between a New Keynesian, an Old Monetarist, and a New Monetarist? A New Keynesian thinks no assets matter, an Old Monetarist thinks that some of the assets matter, and a New Monetarist thinks all of the assets matter.

While I wouldn't try it around the dinner table, what Steve seems to be referring to here is the question of money. New Keynesians don't have money in their models, Old Monetarists have some narrow aggregate of assets that qualify as M, and New Monetarists like Steve think everything is money-like.*

This is a interesting way to describe their differences, but is it right? In this post I'll argue that these divisions aren't so cut and dry. Surprisingly enough, Milton Friedman, an old-fashioned monetarist, was an occasional exponent of the idea that all assets are to some degree money-like. I like to call this the moneyness view. Typically when people think of money they take an either/or approach in which a few select goods fall into the money category while everything else falls into the non-money category. If we think in terms of moneyness, then money is a characteristic that all goods and assets possess to some degree or another.

One of my favorite examples of the idea of moneyness can be found in William Barnett's Divisia monetary aggregates. Popular monetary aggregates like M1 and M2 are constructed by a simple summation of the various assets that economists have seen fit to place in the bin labeled 'money'. Barnett's approach, on the other hand, is to quantify each asset's contribution to the Divisia monetary aggregate according to the marginal value that markets and investors place on that asset's moneyness, more specifically the value of the monetary services that it throws off. The more marketable an asset is on the margin, the greater its contribution to the Divisia aggregate.

Barnett isolates the monetary services provided by an asset by first removing the marginal value that investors place on that asset's non-monetary services, where non-monetary services might include pecuniary returns, investment yields and consumption yields. The residual that remains after removing these non-monetary components equates to the market's valuation of that given asset's monetary services. Since classical aggregates like M1 glob all assets together without first stripping away their various non-monetary service flows, they effectively combine monetary phenomena with non-monetary phenomena—a clumsy approach, especially when it is the former that we're interested in.

An interesting incident highlighting the differences between these two approaches occurred on September 26, 1983, when Milton Friedman, observing the terrific rise in M2 that year, published an article in Newsweek warning of impending inflation. Barnett simultaneously published an article in Forbes in which he downplayed the threat, largely because his Divisia monetary aggregates did not show the same rise as M2. The cause of this discrepancy was the recent authorization of money market deposit accounts (MMDAs) and NOW accounts in the US. These new "monies" had been piped directly into Friedman's preferred M2, causing the index to show a discrete jump. Barnett's Divisia had incorporated them only after adjusting for their liquidity. Since neither NOW accounts nor MMDAs were terribly liquid at the time—they did not throw off significant monetary services—their addition to Divisia hardly made a difference. As we know now, events would prove Friedman wrong since the large rise in M2 did not cause a new outbreak of inflation.**

However, Friedman was not above taking a moneyness approach to monetary phenomenon. As Barnett points out in his book Getting it Wrong, Friedman himself requested that Barnett's initial Divisia paper, written in 1980, include a reference to a passage in Friedman & Schwartz's famous Monetary History of the United States. In this passage, Friedman & Schwartz discuss the idea of taking a Divisia-style approach to constructing monetary aggregates:

One alternative that we did not consider nonetheless seems to us a promising line of approach. It involves regarding assets as joint products with different degrees of "moneyness" and defining the quantity of money as the weighted sum of the aggregate value of all assets, the weights varying with the degree of "moneyness".

F&S go on to say that this approach

consists of regarding each asset as a joint product having different degrees of "moneyness," and defining the quantity of money as the weighted sum of the aggregate value of all assets, the weights for individual assets varying from zero to unity with a weight of unity assigned to that asset or assets regarded as having the largest quantity of "moneyness" per dollar of aggregate value.

There you have it. The moneyness view didn't emerge suddenly out of the brains of New Monetarists. William Barnett was thinking about this stuff a long time ago, and even an Old Monetarist like Friedman had the idea running in the back of his mind. And if you go back even further than Friedman, you can find the idea in Keynes & Hayek, Mises, and as far back as Henry Thornton, who wrote in the early 1800s. The moneyness idea has a long history.

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* Steve on moneyness: "all assets are to some extent useful in exchange, or as collateral. "Moneyness" is a matter of degree, and it is silly to draw a line between some assets that we call money and others which are not-money."

...and on old monetarists: "Central to Old Monetarism - the Quantity Theory of Money - is the idea that we can define some subset of assets to be "money". Money, according to an Old Monetarist, is the stuff that is used as a medium of exchange, and could include public liabilities (currency and bank reserves) as well as private ones (transactions deposits at financial institutions)."

** See Barnett, Which Road Leads to Stable Money Demand?