In our last post devoted to the mathematics of finance, we mentioned that the standard deviation of a bell curve showing the range of possible returns from an asset can be employed as a surrogate for its risk. I'd like to pursue that point a bit.
It is the chanciest corporations, the ones that do have significant risk, that have to bribe you into buying their bonds with a higher return than their safer brethren need offer: thus, a trade-off.
One way of looking at the trade-off is this: suppose I come into your neighborhood and offer to play a simple game. You will roll a pair of dice I provide and I will give you $1,000 times the number shown on the dice when they come to rest. I require only that you pay me $1,000 before we begin.
The lowest possible score is 2, so the lowest possible pay-out is twice what you’ll pay me up front. This, then, (if I am honest and actually have the money I’m offering to pay) is a can’t-lose proposition for you. The worst outcome is you gain $1,000. The best outcome is that you gain $11,000 [(12x1,000) - $1,000.] In this case, the variance among the outcomes doesn’t amount to risk in the intuitive sense of the word at all.
Eventually, I will be playing only with those in the neighborhood who are most tolerant of risk, and my operation, which began as so blatant a money-losing extravagance, may even start turning me a profit. The possibility of that big $12,000 return is what is drawing people to my auctions, rendering them willing to take some risk: and in such cases the variance of results is, as Markowitz noted, a convenient way to quantify that risk.
It is the chanciest corporations, the ones that do have significant risk, that have to bribe you into buying their bonds with a higher return than their safer brethren need offer: thus, a trade-off.
One way of looking at the trade-off is this: suppose I come into your neighborhood and offer to play a simple game. You will roll a pair of dice I provide and I will give you $1,000 times the number shown on the dice when they come to rest. I require only that you pay me $1,000 before we begin.
The lowest possible score is 2, so the lowest possible pay-out is twice what you’ll pay me up front. This, then, (if I am honest and actually have the money I’m offering to pay) is a can’t-lose proposition for you. The worst outcome is you gain $1,000. The best outcome is that you gain $11,000 [(12x1,000) - $1,000.] In this case, the variance among the outcomes doesn’t amount to risk in the intuitive sense of the word at all.
But in finance (as in life
generally) such no-lose propositions are rare and fleeting. Suppose I start
offering to let you and your neighbors bid on who will play the game next.
Wouldn’t you, or someone else in the group, be likely to bid something higher
than $1,000? Something higher, even,
than $2,000? If the winner bidder agrees to pay $2,001, then he has agreed to
risk $1. It is possible, after all, that he will roll snake eyes, and collect
only $2,000 back from me after paying that $2,001.
Eventually, I will be playing only with those in the neighborhood who are most tolerant of risk, and my operation, which began as so blatant a money-losing extravagance, may even start turning me a profit. The possibility of that big $12,000 return is what is drawing people to my auctions, rendering them willing to take some risk: and in such cases the variance of results is, as Markowitz noted, a convenient way to quantify that risk.
In order to give some formal
elegance to the idea of a risk-return trade-off, economists often talk about
the risk-free rate of return, which is called r. Until quite recently, and
throughout the period when economists were busily formulating the key notions
of modern finance theory, the return on U.S. Treasury bills served as an
empirically-observable proof of r. In
a formula that contains that letter, simply plug in that return as r and carry on.
In 2011, though, the world changed.
After a months-long political deadlock brought the U.S. close to default, and
produced a debt-ceiling deal promising further work on fiscal issues in a way
that seemed to many observers just … not credible, one of the big three credit
rating companies downgraded U.S. Treasuries, from AAA to AA+.
Through simple inertia, T-bills are
still often used for r, but when this is done explicitly, it is done almost
apologetically. Howard Marks, co-founder of Oaktree Capital, told me soon
thereafter (“speaking as a non-quant”) that there may be no riskless place in
the world, but that short T-bills are still “essentially” riskless.
Irene Aldridge, managing partner at
ABLE Alpha Trading, has said that she would lean toward the use of a basket of
the bonds of the most secure U.S. municipalities as the better risk-free
benchmark.
But let’s get back to the question
with which we began: what moves stock prices. The trade-off we’ve discussed
worked among asset classes and within any asset class. Thus, on the one
hand, the world of stocks is (in accord
with the ideas we’ve outlined thus far) both higher risk and higher return than
the world of sovereign or corporate bonds. Within stocks as an asset class,
there is again a wide variation as to both risk and return.
If ECMH is valid, then one would
expect that the price of a stock will reflect its risk, both its historical
volatility and all publicly available information that bears on that risk. We
should accordingly redefine alpha. We defined it above at a first approximation
as the excess (or deficit) of an actively managed performance beyond what an
investor could get from a passively managed investment. We should add here that
alpha as a technical term also includes a risk premium. So it is the risk
adjusted excess (or deficit) return that an investor can get in reference to a
passive benchmark.
ECMH is only valid (indeed, it is
only even plausible) for highly liquid, high-volume markets. We can see this if
we state the argument in its favor carefully.
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