Since the advent of Keynesianism, economics has been plagued by faulty assumptions and methodologies, and—given the influence of economists in government and on the Federal Open Market Committee—it’s not surprising that a big question mark hangs over our economic future.
Complicating this situation is how the people who write laws understand what they are doing. Passing a minimum wage increase, for instance, sounds like politicians are sympathizing with working people. Yet such a measure would hurt some workers for the benefit of others, and may price labor out altogether for some firms.
The Fed could print more money to allow employers to raise the wages of their employees, but the downsides should be obvious. Since politics trumps economic reasoning, we get policies that put a shine on politicians. Trainers of economists are obliged to comply with political reality. It’s all short-run considerations.
If you are in a doctorate degree program in economics, or hope to join one, what should you do? If you’re truly brilliant and ambitious, you could take a free market path and seek recognition without the aid of certification. But keep in mind it could be a rough road you’ve chosen.
If You Can Do the Job, You’ve Got It — But
Back in the prehistoric days of computing, when there were IBM mainframes and no desktop computers, when AI was science fiction, when people with degrees in computer science were rare, our project leader challenged us to create a program that would let non-programming personnel write programs.
We had PhD-holding mathematicians, physicists, and others whose job it was to analyze the results of Anti-Ballistic Missile launches. The prototype operations took place in a remote part of the Pacific Ocean, not far from Micronesia, and were tracked by a phased-array radar that captured missile flight data on CDC high-speed magnetic tapes. The data traveled by satellite to IBM tapes back in the mainland US where a staff of degree-holding Fortran programmers in Western New York wrote programs in consultation with the analysts.
Although the programming staff had developed a library of commonly-used algorithms—saving program development time—to the analysts it was still a frustrating and expensive experience waiting for the results. If only they had a user-friendly software tool that would allow them to get a few answers on their own, leaving the more challenging tasks to the programmers.
Our project leader declared it might be possible to write a special compiler that was so simplified the analysts could use it without learning the intricacies of programming. Was his idea feasible? After a meeting encompassing about 50 people, we discovered no one at the company knew how to write a compiler. Hiring outside experts would take time and money, and we had a tight DoD schedule and budget. And compilers weren’t written overnight. Pursuing this idea would ruin the project’s budget and the careers of those responsible. The idea of a project-specific compiler was thus rejected—almost.
After the meeting, the Fortran programmers and the rest of us went back to our cubicles, but Charlie—one of the project leader’s supervisors—decided he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He approached a young special-assignment programmer named Hank and asked him to design a program the analysts could use. Hank had a solid reputation but no degree. The kid took the assignment stoically but a week later told Charlie sorry, it was beyond his skills.
Apparently Hank didn’t like disappointing his boss, so he decided one afternoon to visit Dave, the department’s resident genius. Dave was working on his PhD in EE and had actually taken a course in compilers. He graciously loaned Hank the textbooks from his class and, in what has to be a miracle on its own, one of the books presented a clear explanation of how compilers worked. At least this was what Hank said. And included in the explanation was a close relative of compilers called an interpreter. Eureka!
Writing a compiler was out of the question. Writing an interpreter was not.
Hank disappeared for three-plus months working on the interpreter. He designed and coded in the trailer where he lived, then came in during second shift to keypunch and test his code, thereby using the lower rates of after-hours computer time.
He was gone so long we almost forgot he was still part of the project. Then, one day, he arrived on first shift and showed his bosses some test runs of the interpreter. The darn thing worked. It worked even better than expected because he added features of his own. It worked at our computer facility, a facility in another state, and the one in the Pacific where the missiles took off.
Weeks later, in Hank’s presence our project engineer announced to me and others the reason Hank had succeeded—“He was too dumb to know it couldn’t be done.” Let truth be told.
We could tell Hank was not used to the attention he was receiving, which eventually reached executive levels. People who had never written a program before could write one using his interpreter. It was fast, easy to use, and forgiving—everything our project engineer wanted. Hank had made his managers look good—possibly great. If he wanted a career at our company, he was in an enviable position.
Why, then, did Hank suddenly turn in his resignation? His merit review lacked recognition of his accomplishment. Almost no one was surprised, except Hank. He said he had no job offers but was confident he could find something. I wasn’t so sure. He knew computers but lacked official certification. At our company, you were nobody if you didn’t have the right degrees. But, as we saw, they would gladly let nobodies do the job if no one else could.
Conclusion
What was true for corporate programmers fifty-five years ago is still true today for anyone seeking recognition in their field. With few exceptions, a fundamental requirement is an advanced degree, and colleges are allegiant to their paymasters, the interventionist government. Ray Kurzweil reached the top with only a BS from MIT. But not everyone is a Ray Kurzweil.
Economics is ruled by pretenders to knowledge, armed with intimidating equations and pseudo-scientific jargon. They are united in their rejection of free markets and sound money. Yet, as Mises has written:
The market economy needs no apologists and propagandists. It can apply to itself the words of Sir Christopher Wren’s epitaph in St. Paul’s: Si monumentum requiris, circumspice. [If you seek his monument, look around.]
The status quo in economic theory doesn’t look around. To do so would be in conflict with reality. Both government and the economics professions supporting it are rackets and—as the decimation of the monetary unit makes painfully clear—they’re both headed for the graveyard.
Perhaps you can articulate why they will fail in sufficient detail and clarity that the lay public will wake up. But don’t count on a fat paycheck if you’re not sufficiently credentialed.