Discussing Economics through the Wealth of Nations

Stuff like overtime pay, maternity/paternity leave, some aspects of Social Security, perhaps a basic income, safety regulations, environmental regulations etc. Even Obamacare in some respects.

Those are all broad categories and I’m sure there are plenty of unproductive or counterproductive specific examples. That said the idea that capitalism on it’s own would solve for the individual shortcomings in a pure free market isn’t convincing to me at least based on an understanding of human nature and history.

How do you feel about minimum wage laws?

I hate them. I’d rather be more generous with basic income, job training, educational vouchers, etc. than to enact a wage floor that is destructive on so many levels.

The division of labor – engine of our prosperity – is limited by the extent of the market.

The original division of labor was not the result of any direct human wisdom. No ancient king was lounging on his throne, thinking up ideas for increasing the number of pins available to his subjects. The division of labor was an accidental outgrowth of other human activities, and it is only after it sprang into being that people noticed what had happened and were astounded by the power of it.

Let’s go back to that pin factory.

We’re going to use the power of IMAGINATION and pick up the factory, along with its ten workers, and set it down on an isolated island somewhere. Same factory, same equipment. Plenty of inputs for the ten workers to continue making fucktons of pins for at least five more years. But they are cut off from the rest of their species.

How many pins do they decide to make? Not even a single day’s worth. Any more would be a waste of time.

A pin factory in the middle of a vibrant society has a use. The workers can take those pins and find people who want them. The workers can trade the output of their own labor for the output of other people’s labors. These people, specialized in the task at hand, can create pins in quantities well beyond their own desired use. On an island with no connection to the productive output of other people specialized in different things, there would be no purpose in building a pin factory in the first place. There is nobody to trade with.

It is the possibility of trade with many other people that leads to possibility of the division of labor. It is the division of labor that leads to prosperity.

It is trade that leads to prosperity.

We live in an interdependent society. We cannot produce for ourselves even the one thousandth part of the items that we acquire for ourselves. Most of the stuff that we gain comes from other people, and most of us don’t rely on the charity of others in order to get these necessary items. In order to get our groceries, or rent an apartment, or redirect the free flow of electrons into our gadgets, we promise the providers of these services that they will get value in return. They provide us with the service we want, and we provide them with the purchasing power that they will use to get their own desired goods.

We trade. And it is this trading of our output for the output of other people that allows us divide our labor, and – again – it is this division of labor (accompanied by the machines) that makes us so amazingly wealthy compared to the lifestyle of our ancestors. Trade leads to wealth.

And it is the desire to better our condition which is the driver of trade. We trade our labor for income according to our desire to be paid well and to work reasonably interesting jobs. Not all of us succeed in those objectives. Our job might be paid poorly, and the work might suck, but there is always the possibility of being paid even more poorly, for an even suckier job.

No matter how bad we have it today, it could always be worse.

A great number of people on this planet work for less than two dollars a day. With some careful legal finagling, we could decrease our wage to that level as well. But we’re not going to do that. We declined that most heinous job for one that was somewhat less sucky, and we made that decision so instinctively that we might not have even realized a real decision had been made. No matter how bad your work is, you could do much worse, if you set your mind carefully on searching for the opposite of opportunity out there in the world. You would be guaranteed to find it, if you wanted to find it.

We don’t. We position ourselves for our advantage. We trade in an attempt to improve our situation.

And when we deal with other people in this impersonal market context, we are also continually acknowledging that they are engaged in the same process of trying to achieve their own interests.

Digression into the Nature of Self-Interest

Adam Smith’s first book, the one that originally made him famous, was The Theory of Moral Sentiments. It starts with this sentence:

Some people who, in my estimation, did not read both books with the sufficient level of care thought they saw a contradiction between the two. Joseph Schumpeter, an Austrian writer, called it The Adam Smith Problem (das Adam-Smith-Problem). If so much of the Wealth of Nations is focused on people angling for their own interest, then why is the first book focused so intently on our emotional dependence on the happiness of other people? Why does the first book talk at such length about the paradoxical problems of the blind pursuit of wealth and fame? Why does the first book emphasize our desire not only to be loved, but also to be worthy of the love of others?

The Theory of Moral Sentiments might be even harder to access for a modern reader. Which is a shame, because it might even an even greater work of genius. Russ Roberts has an absolutely excellent book, How Adam Smith Can Change Your Life which is basically just a re-telling of Adam Smith’s first book but in a more modern and easily accessible form. (Highly recommended.) I’ve been searching for thirty minutes for a pithy quote from Adam Smith that could make more sense of self-interest, and I can’t do it. The arguments are too long and extended. But Russ Roberts has a fantastic shorthand.

He calls it the Iron Law of You.

Think of the single most altruistic person that you’re aware of, a person who seemed to devote their existence to the benefit of others.

These people – no matter who you’re considering – spent the majority of their life thinking about themselves. Most of our mental powers must, by necessity, be concerned with our own situation. When we are hungry, we’re the first to know. When we stub our toe, no one else feels the pain more instantaneously or keenly. We know what books we like to read, what our favorite methods of relaxation are, how best to spice our favorite meals, what the most comfortable place for a nap is. We are the foremost expert on one particular person above all others.

In the overwhelming majority of everyday cases, we are the people best suited to understand what our own interest is, and by mental necessity – the Iron Law of You – we are concentrated more on our own position in the world than we are on anybody else’s. From the input of my own sensory perceptions, the perspective is that I am the center of the universe. Intellectually, we all know this is false. But how false? Human beings believed for thousands of years that the earth was literally at the middle of everything. This perversion of perspective comes naturally to us, as easy as breathing. It is how we are built.

Yes, human beings are idealistic. We care about other people. We would almost all of us want to create an age of cream and dumplings in which everyone could partake freely and to satiation. But when we act, we necessarily act with our own perspective shifted to the center. Even a world of altruists will be a world of people acting in their own self-interest, because each altruist will necessarily be more familiar with their own interest than with that of others.

And what the vast majority of us manage to do, the vast majority of the time, is convince ourselves of the belief that what is good for us personally is good for everyone else as well. “What’s good for GM is good for America.” Our own self-interest becomes, from the nature of our skewed perspective, good for the rest of the world as well.

We actually feel that this is true. The entire world turns grey when our heart is broken. So if we want the universe to break out of that bleakness, it necessarily means (from our perspective) that we must become happy again and for our heart to be mended. The world will exist in living vibrant colors again after our personal problems are fixed. “What is good for me personally is good for America.” What is good for us feels like it is good for the whole world as well. Just part and parcel of the Iron Law of You.

Human beings are not all of us grasping, greedy blobs aimed unerringly at pure personal gain. No. We care about other people. But we angle most precisely at our own interest, simply from the fact that we understand our interest with the shining light of pure and direct insight, whereas our knowledge of the interest of others is paltry and imperfect even in the best of cases. More than that, we assume that what’s good for us is good for the rest of the world as well. Looking at people’s self-interest is a good shorthand for how they will interact in a large impersonal society, despite the clear presence of our many altruistic urges. Even our desire for altruism is going to be twisted by our own personal perspectives.

Some of the biggest failures of politics don’t come from selfishness, but from the lethal effects of altruism acted on out of ignorance.

This concern was Adam Smith’s as well. From much, much later in the book:

Adam Smith believed that the variation among people based on natural ability was much less than the variation caused by their relative circumstances. The following excerpt is directly from the early sections of the book we’re discussing now.

We know a lot more now about this kind of thing than we did then. Nowadays, a lot of research in psychological is devoted to questions along similar sorts of lines.

But I’m not the person to fairly summarize their findings.

At one point, Jared Diamond was arguing that the development of agriculture might have been the biggest mistake that humanity ever made. It’s interesting that Wealth of Nations also has arguments about the mental benefits of living in “barbarous societies”, given the fact that people had many varied tasks to attend to since labor had not yet been so finely divided as in an early industrial society.

Again, from late in the book:

There are interesting reports from the American colonies about prisoners captured by the American Indians, compared to prisoners captured by the colonists. At least according to some reports, captured Indians were quick to rejoin their own people at earliest opportunity. Captured colonists, in contrast, were often very reluctant to return to “civilization”. Here’s a paper on some of these early writings (PDF warning). The excerpt from Benjamin Franklin is interesting:

There are other similar contemporary reports in that link.

But modern anthropologists also have estimates of the mortality rates, including the murder rates, among many hunter-gatherer societies. Death by violence seemed to be extremely common, especially for men, well above current rates.

Modern factory work is naturally better than it was. People often rotate positions on the assembly line to avoid the monotony of one job, and the risk of repetitive stress injuries. A helluva lot more of us have the privilege of engaging in more stimulating work than was previously the case. But still, grunt work is never easy. It’s certainly possible that the lives of early hunter-gatherers were on average happier than our own, except for the last few minutes of extreme pain and terror after getting a spear through the stomach. Maybe their lives were both happier and of briefer duration, on average. Hard to say for certain.

What we do know is that there’s no turning back the clock on this. We have to work with what we have.

“Water Carriage”

If you look at a map of the early American colonies, you’ll see that the settlements were dotted exclusively along the coast, or along the navigable rivers which could be accessed from the coast.

It was water transport, in those days, that most speedily connected distant cities. It was only along those water routes that people could connect with the broader markets of the world. It was only along those water routes that access to these markets allowed sufficient division of labor to support the existence of a town. It was only along those water routes that cities actually developed.

In Adam Smith’s day, a single ship manned by eight people could carry between London and Edinburgh the same amount of goods that would have required fifty wagons, a hundred workers, and four hundred horses. And this land transport would be entirely dependent on roads sufficiently well maintained that the wagons could navigate it.

Water transport was the shit.

It remains amazing today. It’s cheaper to transport a shipping container full of goods from a Chinese to a US port, than it is to transport the same container from the US port to podunk Kansas. I’m trying to look up these numbers on the fly, so they might be a little wrong. But still: A Panamax containership with 20 or so crew can transport approximately 2,500 forty-foot shipping containers. Loading those same 2,500 containers for truck shipping could an individual worker and rig for each container, meaning that you would need over two thousand workers and trucks to transport the same same shipment that twenty can do over the ocean. Water has always been accommodating to the movement of mass in a way that the land can’t quite compare.

All the major settlements of early civilization were along the water. We’re still talking about division of labor here. The subject hasn’t changed. Even most of our major cities today remain along the coast, or along major rivers. There aren’t many exceptions, and those exceptions are themselves based on technology. It wasn’t until the invention of the steam locomotive that we saw major development in cities like Denver, the last railhead before the Rocky Mountains.

Cities are hot patches of the division of labor.
The division of labor is limited by the extent of the market.

The extent of the market is limited by transportation technology.

More efficient means of transport make us richer by facilitating trade. Trade facilitates the division of labor. The division of labor makes us wealthier.

This isn’t much of a discussion. Might be time to let the thread drop?

I’m open for ideas for how to make things more lively. We could maybe begin a new thread on modern economics – closer to current political discussions, and therefore more likely to engender conversation and rancorous debate.

We trade our output with each other.

Some people produce tons of pins.

Other people make wheat, or shoes, or houses, or lines of code stored as electrons on a server warehoused hundreds of miles from where they do their typing. The broader the market, the more we can divide our labor and specialize. We focus on one thing, so that our productivity in creating that one small thing is large. We’re better at making pins, and we’re better at making houses. Instead of a maker of pins selling just a few crudely machined pins with primitive industrial processes in order to trade the output of those pins and procure a small, crudely constructed domicile, the modern maker of pins sells large numbers of high-quality pins from a superior production process in order to procure a much nicer, safer, and better constructed domicile from another person whose specialization in the creation of housing has also allowed them to produce bigger and higher quality houses more efficiently.

We create more of everything, and so are able to trade more of our output for more of other people’s output. However, we do not trade our output directly with the output of other people. The pin maker does not trade fifty-thousand pins to their landlord in exchange for this month’s rent. The pin maker gathers up little tokens of value from a large number of people, one small sale of pins at a time, and then trades these tokens for rent.

So yeah. Today we’re going to start talking about money.

Money

There was, according to the anthropologists, a complex process that led to the development of money as we know it and use it today. Hunter-gatherers did not have the same notions of property that we had. They exchanged favors. My limited understanding of the process is that it went something like this:

“Hey, that’s a nice spear.”

“Oh, do you like it? I will give it to you!”

“Oh no no, I was just admiring your craftsmanship.”

“I insist! Please take it.”

“Well okay. Thank you for this marvelous spear.”

In everyone’s heads, a tally has shifted. People kept track internally of the people who gave the most compared to the people who took the most. It was, from what I gather in my limited readings of the subject, a complex series of inter-relationships. These relationships were an early system of obligations, which might be considered an early form of “debt”.

This sort of “debt”-based system is necessary, because barter is an absolute disaster.

Barter requires not just a single coincidence that the person in front of me has a particular item that I need in exactly the quantity that I would like to acquire it. It requires, too, a second ridiculous coincidence that I happen to have in my own possession an item that the other person also needs in exactly the quantity that they would like to acquire it. What’s more, we must both believe that the relative value of the one item matches sufficiently well with the value of the other that neither person feels that they have lost in the trade. And even on top of that, it requires at least some rudimentary notion of property, where a person feels fully justified and comfortable in refusing any particular trade and maintaining possession of their own property, to the exclusion of the other person who might want to make use of it.

In violently egalitarian hunter-gatherer societies, this last point in particular was not the case. People shared. A person might work long hours on building beautiful and useful objects, but to build up an inventory of belongings that was one’s own personal property, not freely available to others, seems to have problematic for group cohesion. Status was acquired from gifting, not from accumulating.

After the domestication of animals and the eventual development of agricultural, there developed a more natural sense of personal property, and therefore a toleration for inequality that a violently egalitarian hunter-gatherer group would not have abided. This development of the notion of property in a modern modern sense is important for exchange as we know it today,

But even after cultural norms shifted, barter is still a disaster. It can’t work. The ridiculous double-coincidence necessary for a pure barter transaction is too rare to make it the foundation of any system of exchange.

What happened, then, was the development of a “key good”. Say one set of people creates clothing, and another set of people wheat. In order to trade one for the other, it helps to have a common unit of measure for the value of each. One of the earliest recorded key goods is cattle. If they observe in the markets that a certain amount of clothing normally trades at around one and a half head of cattle, whereas such-and-such weight of wheat trades at nearly the same amount of cattle, then the price between the two is equivalent. 1.5 head of cattle worth of each item can fairly be exchanged.

You don’t even necessarily need to use cattle as an intermediate good in order to price your wares in how many heads of cattle it’s worth. This is a benefit, too, since if you measure everything with its value priced in living, mooing creatures, then you’re going to have use discrete numbers. It’s no good trading 1.6 heads of cattle when you possess only three healthy adult specimens. You’re going to have to buy more, or less, of the item that you wanted if you’re trading full animals.

A large number of alternative key goods have been used to facilitate exchange in history. In addition to cattle, we have clearly recorded salt, dried cod, tobacco, cowrie shells, sugar, hides, and Adam Smith even mentions one village in Scotland where a person could take nails to the butcher in exchanged for meat. Prisoner-of-war camps often used cigarettes as their key good, readily and happily accepted in payment by people who didn’t smoke because they knew the cigarettes would purchase anything else in the camp. Cigarettes can be “liquid” – easily convertible into other items through trade – in a place where no banknotes exist.

Our metaphors for money are based on this easy and free movement. We speak of money as the most liquid asset. Currency – from the current or flow of money – is the name we give to different denominations that are used in different countries.

The ancient world was figuring out this stuff for the first time. It wasn’t even necessarily a conscious process by which many countries tended to gravitate toward certain goods over others. But if there is to be some common medium of exchange, through which people can most easily trade their output today without having to go through the near impossibility of barter, there is a certain kind of good that historically lent itself most readily to the business at hand.

The desired properties of this good were, first, its great density of value. You want to have a lot of purchasing power in a very small space. Cattle are nice and all, but if you want to trade internationally, carrying the cows over the sea isn’t the nicest piece of business. Better something small and easy to carry that still packs a punch in markets. Small things that are worth a lot are high value density.

A second desirable property is the ability to subdivide this good as many times as is needed, in any arbitrary fraction that is needed. This is another criterion in which which cattle fall well short. If you have cows to sell, then you can sell one, or you can sell two, but selling 1.75 is a more difficult proposition.

Related to this problem, a third desirable property is that the quality of the good is easily measured, and easily compared against other samples of the good. Maybe one good cow and one mediocre cow would add up to 1.75 cows. It’s possible. But how do you manage to fairly measure the quality of one cow vs another in a consistent fashion? Two heads of cattle that are used in trade might not actually be worth, well, two heads of cattle. A robust and healthy specimen might trade somewhat above the value of “one head of cattle”, and sickly old example might trade well below the rate for a standard head of cattle. A more ideal good would be more easily comparable, which is to say fungible, so that one specimen would be just as good as any other specimen.

A final desirable property of early money is the ability to avoid spoilage, which is to say, the key good should ideally maintain its quality even over long voyages or extended periods of storage. Close a cow in a sealed vault for a few months, and what remains when you look again later will not be nearly as valuable as what originally walked in. (Ewwww…)

What was originally a matter of exchange becomes, in essence, a matter of chemistry.

Particular elements of the periodic table actually do have the properties above, and some elements in particular meet each and every individual criterion quite successfully. Many metals are able to resist spoilage over time compared to other kinds of elements, and some metals are more dense in value than the others owing directly to their relative rarity in the earth’s crust, or the relative difficulty in finding them and excavating them out of the earth.

The earliest coins seem to been a variety of electrum, a naturally occurring alloy of gold and silver. The most common denominations of Roman currency were copper. The original English pound was a specified weight of silver, which is why it was a pound sterling. Even after they shifted to an official gold standard, their money still carried the historical appellation of sterling, and of course it remains the pound sterling today, though their currency is now fiat and their monetary authority will not give you any amount of any precious metal if you take the banknotes to their monetary authority. The etymology is silver, but the reality today is computer and paper.

In the Ore Mountains of then-Germany (now part of the Czech Republic), there was the valley of Saint Joachim, Joachimsthal, where there existed a silver mine. The coins minted out of this silver mine were given a nice -er ending after the name of their valley of origin, Joachimsthaler, a word that was thankfully shortened to the more convenient Thaler. But language change is a continual process, and these thalers came to be pronounced in English in a slightly different way. People started calling a coin of this kind a dollar. The Spanish pieces of eight dug out of the mines of the new world were struck at a very similar weight to those old German coins, a weight that had become a sort of international standard, and so were sometimes called Spanish dollars.

The early American colonies were not blessed with mines of great fertility, and so relied on whatever forms of money were most readily available. Spanish dollars were present, and therefore useful, and therefore used.

These Spanish silver coins were legal tender in the United States until 1857.

This was very much Marx’s point, as Gillian Anderson explains here.

I think the contrast between this and your Labour Theory of Value is that so much of what you say here seems like common sense, making it very difficult to formulate a discussion point other than “Yep, that seems about right.” This is no doubt both a reflection of Smith’s perspicacity but also the extent to which his ideas have become the bedrock of our understanding of the world - even for those of us who never formally studied economics.
However, I think the co-existence of the two threads does suggest something interesting.

Smith and Marx seem to have agreed on quite a lot, up to a point (Marx following Smith, for obvious temporal reasons): The division of labour creates wealth; it also creates a large amount of routine drudgery. This drudgery is alienating, limits men’s potential and encourages a specious view that some men are intrinsically worthier than others. (Stop me when I go adrift, please). This wealth then, comes at a price both of lost potential and artificial divisions between classes.

It doesn’t seem a long way from here to the (or a) Labour Theory of Value. Labour may not be solely responsible for wealth creation, but divided labour certainly is. And yet those who carry out the divided labour not only pay a high price in alienation and lost potential, but they see a pitifully small share of the extra wealth their divided labour has created. The wealth goes instead to those who create the conditions for dividing labour (e.g. the engineers, managers and investors - who also get the upsides of class division to boot).

(Under the classic Rawlsian veil of ignorance, this isn’t a system most people would sign up to, one imagines… I’d guess something like an 80% chance of alienating drudgery and toil, 19% chance of a respectable bourgeois profession and c.1% chance of living off investments?)

There are good reasons for it to work out like this - the relative paucity of people with the skills and resources to get non-drudgery work being the main one. But as a class, it’s not entirely out of order for the drudges to point out that this great engine of wealth creation is utterly reliant on a mass of poorly paid labour, without which those at the top of the tree would have far less.

I disagree with any form of labor being the sole source of value. It doesn’t reflect reality in any way.

What this misses is that just as the wealth of those at the top depends on the labor of those at the bottom, the wealth of those at the bottom depends on the labor of those at the top.
Without those in manager type occupations and the capitalists, the factories never get built and the undifferentiated mass of labor goes back to subsistence farming where bad weather can mean starving to death. I’m no Rawlsian but that seems unlikely to be a better outcome.

It’s not about the form of labour, it’s about the organisation of labour. Division of labour makes us more productive. Vastly more productive. But dividing labour as we do means (or meant in the 18th/19th century, for sure) that a) we generate an enormous amount more wealth than we could have done otherwise and b) that wealth generation relies on a large mass of people performing drudge work. That drudge work isn’t the sole source of value (see, engineers, managers, investors above) but it’s an inevitable result of, as well as necessity for, the division of labour.

Once you’ve accepted that division of labour is the source of greater wealth, as Smith argues, it’s easy enough to see how people (e.g. Marx) would focus on labour generally as being the critical component of that wealth.

It’s a source of greater wealth. But not the exclusive source. Robots could do it without labor and that would still be wealth production.

Sure. (Well, I don’t think you meant to say just the labour of those at the top - their capital was pretty important too.) But of the vast amounts of wealth created by this new system, the drudges got just enough to tempt them away from starving to death*; the investors did rather better out of the deal…

And of course, this split changed slowly: labour organised and was able to use social, political and economic power to win a bigger share of the output of this great wealth generation system. (See charts of profit share here, e.g.) At it’s most successful, that involved no more than the threat of revolution, if that.

*The risk of uncompensated injury that left a labourer unfit to labour stayed, I think, quite high for quite a while, which meant starving to death was a definite option under industrialisation too. But it was a better paid risk, for sure.

Absolutely. But this is slightly more practical in the 21st century than in the 18th or 19th, I think.

“Got just enough to tempt them away from starving to death” is not true. If the alternative to factory work is starving to death then the marginal benefit to factory work is much greater than any capitalist could possibly get.

We’re about to start to hit the biggest and most important error in the book.

Next up is Adam Smith’s theory of value. This is where things finally get messy.

Labor doesn’t divide without the “capital”: the equipment, the materials, the stuff.

Capital does not get allocated to particular purposes without an explicit decision to risk the value of the equipment in a given prospect. This is one of the single most important facts in all of economics. If I have a bunch of seeds, I can either enjoy the delicious value of the seeds by consuming them right now, or I can plant the seeds in the hope that they grew into a fruit tree that creates even more seeds than I already started with. The problem is that there is never a guarantee that a seed planted will sprout into fruitful future production, nor even that a plant that was fruitful in the past will continue to be fruitful in the future.

All investment is undertaken in the face of this risk. This is true regardless of the economic system.

A system of crony communism still risks its capital equipment in fundamentally the same fashion. The difference is that the people who make the decisions under such a system have nothing whatever to lose if they fuck it up. It’s all the same to them. Instead, they make their decisions based on their own personal status and prestige within their committee. The Soviet Union had enormously high savings rates. They built a lot of capital equipment. But there was no incentive for that equipment to be allocated to any useful purpose beyond political sloganeering, committee intrigue, and intra-party backbiting. Marx claims that if you compare all commodities to see what they have in common, the only thing you’re left with is that they’re all products of labor. That’s the only necessary condition.

That is patently false.

Risk is omnipresent. It is a necessary condition, always there. Industrial production does not exist without it, yet Marx leaves it out of his analysis (at least in the context of value). An unavoidable decision must be made to allocate our available equipment to one particular purpose instead of another. We should hope that the allocation is made in the anticipation that the fruits of that chosen enterprise will result in something that people will like well enough that it can earn a return over and above the original loss. People risk what they have today in the hope of reward tomorrow. Any system that allows a political elite to make that risky decision, without any possibility of personal loss if the decision is poor, is a system that will actively encourage bad outcomes and the mis-allocation of capital.

Since we can’t turn back the clock on agriculture, maybe it’s better to ask a slightly different question.

Taking as given that we can’t return to a hunter-gatherer lifestyle, what would be the best possible system that would lift up the poorest among us? At least until the magical day when our machines can repair themselves and we can therefore create a robo-commie paradise (if the machines don’t murder us all)?

That’s what The Wealth of Nations is trying to answer.

While it’s not the ultimate instruction book, I think it’s pretty damn good. If nations around the world had immediately and thoroughly followed its advice, I don’t think we’d have a single country on earth where the average wage was under two dollars a day. That might not be a perfect proxy for the plight of the poor, but I think we can fairly say that essentially all of us would choose better paying drudgery over poorer paying drudgery. More than that, it might be that having work is psychologically more satisfying in general than not. PDF: Donovan and Halpern (2002), page 21.

That life satisfaction data holds up among all kinds of workers, not just white collar and managers but also manual workers.

We talk about drudgery because it’s important – some people have legitimately awful jobs, and little prospect of bettering their conditions – but the best way to help those people might very well be to make the nation as a whole more vibrant and prosperous. It might legitimately be better for the personal satisfaction of the average person to have a job of drudgery than no job at all. It might be better to have a system where the bottom jobs are poor-paid drudgery, rather than a system that puts 10% of the labor force out of a job indefinitely, with no hope of any change.

These are big questions, and they don’t have easy answers.

That’s why I like starting with obvious stuff. It can be helpful to start with the stuff that’s not disputable, just so we’re all on the same page. We might not end up at the same place, but at least we can all start from the same general idea. Hopefully. In addition, even if a statement is self-evident after it’s stated does not mean it is similarly self-evident before we have considered it for the first time.

The Wealth of Nations is one of the most misunderstood books out there, and the OP is no exception. People who read the *Wealth of Nations *should be forced at gunpoint to read the Theory of Moral Sentiments first. I know death of the author is a thing in the literary world, and certainly it applies when considering the book as a work of literature… but not as an economic treatise.

Adam Smith wasn’t an economist.
At all.
He was a moral philosopher who only broached economics as a subset, or possibly a consequence, of his work as a moralist. He was also something of an idealist, envisioning a future (but imminent) society where ethics and reason would rule human endeavours - which includes economic actors. But said reason would (to him) necessarily and implicitly first pass by his teachings on morality, grok them, live them. The invisible hand isn’t *just *the law of supply and demand unregulated - to its author, it would be guided by strong morals and ethics with a goal of mutual growth and benefit ; because he saw it as inevitable that rational, moral actors would make up the bulk of society any day now. Rational, moral actors would not enter into unethical transactions by definition, which therefore would bolster moral and fair enterprises and so on, dragging everybody ever higher ; collapsing the remains of the Ancien Régime (though he didn’t call it that).

Of course, it’s patently obvious to any modern man that his vision turned out to be… what’s the word ? Ah, yes : a fat load of horseshit. And since the premise of the book is a bunch of tosh, it follows that while the technical or factual aspects of the book might be on the money in some regards, the conclusions drawn therefrom are, in fact, tosh.

The next idea might be the hardest part of the book. So we’re going to leave the book for a bit to get a modern perspective on the problem before we re-engage.

A Digression into Value
Adam Smith wasn’t the first person to state the diamond-water paradox. But his description is one of the most famous, and he uses it as a bridge between his discussion of money and his own particular theory of value.

The following is in the LTV thread, but it’s worth repeating:

We can rework the vocab here into more familiar terms.

Value-in-use we tend to call today utility. Value-in-exchange is price, or more specifically, the price ratio between different objects. How many boxes of condoms trade for one Ferrari? How does the price of an Ikea table compare to an hour’s of billing by an expert lawyer? The apparent disconnect between utility and price puzzled people well into the 19th century. Water is the most useful stuff on the planet. Without it, we would die. Major league utility there. And yet its price is extremely low compared to something like a shiny piece of carbon.

In the LTV thread, the discussion focused on the long history of people struggling with this problem.

This time? We’re going to solve it.

How many gallons of milk do you buy at the store?

I go to the supermarket. I see a gallon of milk for four dollars. I pick it up and put it in my cart. This means that I’d prefer to have that gallon of milk more than I’d like to have those dollars.

Gallon of milk ≻ four dollars

That symbol there is very similar to a greater-than sign (>), except ever so slightly curved. It indicates a preference relation. In this case, we’re dealing with a revealed preference. By my actions, I have revealed that I prefer having that gallon of milk to having the four dollars. Cow squirt is a fave of mine, actually. I’d still buy it if it were eight dollars, maybe even if it were ten dollars. So altho the rest of you can’t observe this directly until the world has much more sophisticated brain-scan technology, it’s still true in my head: Gallon of milk ≻ ten dollars. I get a lot of value from buying milk when I can get it for a lower price than ten dollars.

But it’s easier to go with what we can see, so let’s just stick with the current price in the store, rounded for convenience. I put it in my cart, and so we all know a fact about me: the milk is preferred to the four dollars.

My question is: do I put another gallon in the cart? We’ve already established the preference above, right? I like the milk better than I like the dollars. So why wouldn’t I put another gallon in my cart? The milk is preferred to the dollars! So I put a second gallon of milk in the cart, reserving a second set of four dollars to pay for them. Ah! But milk is still preferred, according to the preference established above. So obviously I should put a third gallon in my cart. Then a fourth. Then a fifth. I should keep putting more and more gallons of milk in my cart until I completely run out four-dollar sets with which to pay for them. I should empty my wallet paying for milk, because I like the milk better than any four dollars. I should empty my bank account paying for milk. Milk is preferred to four dollars, so when I finish shopping, I’m going to have nothing but milk and 3.99 or less in my possession.

Right?

The solution to this is absolutely obvious the moment after the question has been stated clearly. But only after. It took centuries, literal centuries, to get this one right. This is much tougher than it might originally seem. We act instinctively on the margin, but we tend to have intense trouble honestly considering our own behavior. What’s actually happening here is the second gallon of milk does not have the same value as the first gallon of milk. The preference relation above, stated more precise, is this:

First gallon of milk ≻ last four dollars

I like milk a lot, but still, there are limits. The first gallon serves an important purpose. The tenth gallon, not so much. I don’t want to calcify my kidneys. Mind you, if milk were cheap enough, I’m sure I could come up with other uses for it. If it were so cheap that we could have it piped into every building, right next to the water facet, maybe I’d start bathing in the stuff to keep my sexy skin soft and smooth.

The “use-value” of goods is not binary! I’m sure I can think of all manner of uses for milk if it were cheaper. Rather, the value of the first unit of any object tends to be, in the vast majority of cases, much higher than the value of the subsequent units. When we get a new object, different from what we’ve had before, we assign it first to the use that we value most highly. When we get a second unit, and a third, we can no longer assign those additional units to the highest value use, because that particular desire has already been satisfied. The first unit got assigned to the most important purpose, which means additional units get assigned to less and less important things, which means that additional units are less and less valuable to us. The first gallon of milk is great. I might also buy a second gallon of milk if we’re about to run out of half-and-half for coffee.

Second gallon of milk ≻ Second-to-last four dollars

But that’s the limit of the uses of milk, at the current price. It’s not yet cheap enough for me to justify milk baths, no matter how good I think I would look. This week, I’m not going to buy a third gallon at the price of four dollars. The third gallon is less valuable than the second gallon, which was in turn less valuable than the first.

Third gallon of milk ≺ Third-to-last four dollars

And there, for the third unit, we can see that the preference has flipped. I’d rather keep my third-to-last set of four dollars than spend those dollars on a third gallon of milk. In the modern lingo, we say that the marginal value of goods decreases. This “marginal” word is key. It is absolutely, positively, unavoidably necessary to be able to talk about value in two different ways. Water has no substitute. Its first-unit value is without any comparison. But the marginal value of water is extremely low, because I’ve already had a glass to drink today, and a shower, and a use of the sink to wash out a dish, and right now I just don’t need any more water. I don’t even pay for water through my building. The marginal cost of more isn’t even in dollars, it’s just the cost of standing up and walking over to the nearest faucet. But I’m cool for now. I don’t need it. The value of water is infinitely high for its first uses, but the marginal value after those first-unit uses have been satisfied is extremely low.

We’re not going to leave this digression yet. We’re going to hit it again, and again, and again. We need to understand this inside and out in order to understand where Adam Smith kind of went off the rails.

Unlike Smith, later authors tried to apply math. Smith used philosophy and logic, which is a more versatile (though less precise) medium.

The attempt to mathify economics certainly did lead to some strange results and I’d say that, on the whole, things regressed after Smith due to the attempt to mathify everything, and probably won’t come back for another ~20 years, when things like complexity economics, recursive economics, etc. start to take the forefront. But I think that Smith was spared some indignancy by getting in before there was an expectation of mathematical models and he could look at a case like your milk example and say, “No, that’s just being stupid.” Without having to justify it mathematically.

I’ll grant that Smith isn’t perfect. But mostly he’s talking about a wildly different economy than ours and some of the words that he uses have widely different meanings than they do today (capital, for example). If you think he went off the rails, I suspect that you’re either being overly literal with your reading, or misunderstanding the context of the work. But I guess we’ll see. It’s been a while since I read the work, so perhaps I’ve forgotten or scoffed and ignored a part, just to forget it.

Hellestal, I just find it so bizarre that people have a hard time with the fact that arbitrary units of goods or services can’t have an accurate, fixed ratio. Sometimes I wonder if this difficulty comes from the time period of Newtonian physics and a clockwork universe. But in the modern era where turbulent flow cannot be accurately solved analytically; non accurately solvable problems as a class ought to be understood to exist.

I remember reading in The Economist a paragraph that stated the GDP of Los Angeles County was greater than that of Russia. At that point I thought GDP is so useless as no rational person would ever exchange all of Russia for LA County. And that wealth isn’t the sum of the sales price * things for sale because no sale would ever resolve with those quantities at those prices.

I think early economists’ attempts at converting everything to a currency value analytically is akin to alchemy.