sweeping definitions

What is a ‘good’?

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One very important concept in economics is ‘goods’. They’re one of the most fundamental building blocks of the tangible side of economics. If economics is about resource allocation, ‘goods’ are what the resources are being allocated towards. What is a ‘good’?

It’s not quite so simple as just a thing, like a TV or a sandwich; ‘goods’ are anything – any thing – that one can allocate resources towards that contains value for that allocator (rather confusingly, ‘services’ are ‘goods’ too, by this definition; so is something like ‘charitable contributions’). Yes, we’re going to have to plunge into the pool of abstraction. First of all, we have to think about time and space: is a hot coffee in the morning in winter in New England the same as a hot coffee in the afternoon at a swim-up bar in the summer in the Caribbean? Doubtful.

We have two broad strategies, as economists, for dealing with that problem. One might be to say, well, people have different preferences at different places, at different times. That’s difficult to work with because we have to try and hit a moving target, so to speak, and since we can’t know preferences for sure anyway we sure can’t know changes in them either. A second might be to say, those two coffees are different goods. That’s also difficult to work with because then it’s difficult to compare things at all.

In fact, in either case it will be very difficult to generalize. On the individual level, knowing how you allocated your resources in this situation at that time doesn’t help me describe what you did or predict what you’ll do in the future: if I see what you did at 11a.m. on Thursday when faced with the decision of coffee versus tea, how can that help me figure out what you might do at 10a.m. on Friday when faced with the same decision. These aren’t necessarily the same ‘goods’ at both times, and in any case, the difference might not just be the time or something else that I can measure; it might be your mood or whether you’re especially tired or just feel like a nice cup of tea for some mystical reason.

Seems trivial, but raise that to the level of the market for coffee, or the global coffee industry, or the impact of consumer decisions on the American economy, and the difficulty of defining a ‘good’ has snowballed into modeling chaos. For example, it’s impossible to properly think about the current climate in the market for oil without thinking of the market for oil in the future. Of course, in the real world, the financial world, it’s well understood that things vary in space and time: that’s why we have things like futures markets, which let you buy ‘thing X at time Y’ (which is just a special case of ‘good X now’, really). These things are considered separate (though connected) markets, with separate prices.

And that’s just how they were treated by economists as we developed microeconomics. The definition of a good was allowed to be very, very flexible and abstract, so that these ‘things’ don’t just vary in physicality but in time, space, functionality, and so on and so forth.

It’s not just time and space, though. An example: think of a college education. Is the good being sold by universities a ‘college education’? Is it a ‘degree from college X’? Is it a ‘college education of quality Y from college X’? The signaling model by Michael Spence wondered (and I obviously paraphrase wildly) if people would still pay for a college education if it the education was intrinsically worthless but had the value of ‘signaling’ that you were willing to give up four years to prove that you were great.

Should it be surprising that the cost of a college education has been rising despite there being a bigger supply of colleges? Maybe not, if our definition of the ‘good’ includes ‘quality’, perceived or actual; it’s easy to build a new college, but impossible to build a new college with a reputation to rival Oxbridge or the Ivy League. The supply of that good, whatever it is, is fairly well fixed. Econ 101 is obsessed with ‘supply and demand’ analysis; the fact is, supply and demand analysis takes you very, very far if you’re prepared to speculate properly on what a ‘good’ is.

This is all quite similar to the corporate strategy mantra of identifying your ‘core competencies’ and defining the industry. For example: railroads and train companies aren’t ‘the railroad industry’, but ‘the transport industry’, competing with airlines and buses, and maybe even ‘the food industry’ if they serve food, etc etc. That leads us dangerously close to the kind of ‘provider of transport services’ corporate-speak euphemisms that plague so many firms, but it’s pretty much the same question as how to define a good in economics.

Microeconomics in six words

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This is certainly frivolous, but in the spirit of the addictive six word memoir (see here and here), I got to wondering about the six word memoir for the traditional undergraduate Intermediate Microeconomics course. My best effort is:

“Markets work, except when they don’t.”

Intermediate Microeconomics is a course I have both taken and lectured. It’s the gateway drug to economics electives, in a way that the Principles courses I hate so well are not: it is dry and musty with terminology, calculus and diagrams. Relating student to material is the difficult part, as with all of these positivist courses. When I took the course, it was split half and half between the dry stuff and policy debates that applied it, which was perhaps a good idea.

A six word syllabus for Micro?

“People, firms, markets: now with calculus!”

The technical parts of the course are about the foundations of all scientific theoretical economics: how we can model people, how we can model firms, how we can model interactions. It builds, in my opinion, towards the two monumental political economic results in our canon, our intellectual arguments for and against markets as a resource allocation mechanism. They are the first and second theorems of welfare economics. The first one sets out the conditions under which markets will give a Pareto efficient allocation of resources, and the second one sets out the conditions which would make lossless redistribution of resources possible.

First of all, these are tremendously elegant, in the mathematical sense. Second, they are utterly unrealistic. Together, this makes them a fascinating and infuriating jumping-off point for all debate about the appropriate way to allocate resources, in specific situations and in the wider sense. They don’t answer the questions. They beg us to ask when we can do better; they beg us to ask what better even means. All philosophical, moral and political debate on economic policy bursts fractal-like from these seeds, the painstaking culmination of the “how”, the layering of the interactions of all the actors in the economy.

That’s when technicalities can become interesting. It made me want to follow those paths where they led.

Is John McCain an economist?

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I think John McCain’s being a little too hard on himself:

“They are complicated,” McCain said of economic issues, “and I freely admit I am not an economist.”

It probably depends on whether he’s thinking of economics or economic policy. Senator McCain also says:

“But I know there are some people who have literally immersed themselves on issues of economics, how Congress works on it, the tax code, that sort of thing. I would look for that kind of talent not in a vice president but in close advisers.”

What economist doesn’t like the sound of that? However, studying or doing research in economics is very different from formulating economic policy.

“Economic policy” is simply policy that influences the way we organize our use of resources, and I think Senator McCain is probably a lot better at it than he gives himself credit for.

If Senator McCain asks his advisers “What would happen if I did this?”, we need to figure out the chain of causes and effects that trickle through the whole country’s decisions and their response to the proposed change in policy. If he asks “How can I achieve that?”, we need to do the same thing backwards to somehow ask if there’s any action the policymaker can take to alter the end product. These are positive economics questions: what’s going to happen? I think this is what McCain might be worried about answering.

Deciding what policy is best is where it gets tricky; we have to somehow compare countless options, many of which have outcomes which aren’t even certain. Then we have to deal with the familiar problem of measuring the satisfaction of the people, at least notionally, if we’re to make any headway in choosing the “best” policy. These are normative economics questions, and I think John McCain is just as qualified as anyone to answer these.

In the ideal world where our policymaker – or anyone – has figured out or been appraised of the true and full consequences of a policy, it’s out of the hands of “science” and becomes all about a value judgment. In a democratic society, who better than our elected representatives to make the value judgment on behalf of his constituents?

Being a normative economist is easy: all you need is an opinion. How informed that opinion is relies on the honest work of true positive economists. The study of economics should never confuse the two. The perception of economics might be inescapably tied to capitalism, but economics is not about promoting one system of organizing our resources over another. It’s about figuring out what the consequences of the system would be (positive), seeking a means to compare them (normative) and then asking “what do you want?”.

Of course, it is election season. Maybe McCain, normative economist of the people, is just trying to distance himself from economists – it makes him more likeable, I imagine…