Ulysses S. Grant, Personal Memoirs of Ulysses S. Grant — May 1, 2016

Ulysses S. Grant, Personal Memoirs of Ulysses S. Grant

I can recommend reading this book if you either

a) can somehow get your hands on just the highlights; or
b) are really into military minutiae.

It’s a highly detailed account of Grant’s time in the military, basically from the Mexican-American War through the end of the Civil War. Scattered throughout is this kind of thing:

About four in the afternoon I sent for the corps commanders and directed the dispositions to be made of their troops. Sherman was to remain in Jackson until he destroyed that place as a railroad centre, and manufacturing city of military supplies. He did the work most effectually. Sherman and I went together into a manufactory which had not ceased work on account of the battle nor for the entrance of Yankee troops. Our presence did not seem to attract the attention of either the manager or the operatives, most of whom were girls. We looked on for a while to see the tent cloth which they were making roll out of the looms, with “C. S. A.” woven in each bolt. There was an immense amount of cotton, in bales, stacked outside. Finally I told Sherman I thought they had done work enough. The operatives were told they could leave and take with them what cloth they could carry. In a few minutes cotton and factory were in a blaze. The proprietor visited Washington while I was President to get his pay for this property, claiming that it was private. He asked me to give him a statement of the fact that his property had been destroyed by National troops, so that he might use it with Congress where he was pressing, or proposed to press, his claim. I declined.

This man is cold-blooded. But then you get this sort of passage that I find devastating:

There was no time during the rebellion when I did not think, and often say, that the South was more to be benefited by its defeat than the North. The latter had the people, the institutions, and the territory to make a great and prosperous nation. The former was burdened with an institution abhorrent to all civilized people not brought up under it, and one which degraded labor, kept it in ignorance, and enervated the governing class. With the outside world at war with this institution, they could not have extended their territory. The labor of the country was not skilled, nor allowed to become so. The whites could not toil without becoming degraded, and those who did were denominated “poor white trash.” The system of labor would have soon exhausted the soil and left the people poor. The non-slaveholders would have left the country, and the small slaveholder must have sold out to his more fortunate neighbor. Soon the slaves would have outnumbered the masters, and, not being in sympathy with them, would have risen in their might and exterminated them. The war was expensive to the South as well as to the North, both in blood and treasure, but it was worth all it cost.

I learned a lot from this book. For instance, Grant says bluntly that “The Southern rebellion was largely the outgrowth of the Mexican[-American] war,” and that “The occupation, separation and annexation were, from the inception of the movement to its final consummation, a conspiracy to acquire territory out of which slave states might be formed for the American Union.” And while I’d seen it referred to in other works (e.g., David Herbert Donald’s biography of Lincoln), I’d never appreciated just how consistently the Union refused to treat the South as a real nation: Grant consistently refers to “to so-called Confederate government,” and explains “that their object was to negotiate terms of peace between he United States and, as they termed it, the Confederate Government.”

Grant believed that the war could have been over in mere months had his bosses been willing to take advantage of their early successes; instead he and the chief military officer, Henry Halleck, were in conflict throughout the war, with Halleck constantly taking a cautious approach. Grant’s reserve throughout his memoirs makes me wonder what he really thought of Halleck; Grant must have believed that Halleck’s slow pace cost tens of thousands of Union lives.

Ta-Nehisi Coates quotes a number of other passages, including a long must-read passage about the lead-up to the Civil War, about a purported Constitutional right to secede from the Union, and about much else besides. It was the passages Coates quotes that drew me to read Grant’s book. I’m very glad I did.

One bit toward the end really puzzled me. Grant says that President Andrew Johnson started out wanting to treat the South as contemptible criminals — to punish them and isolate them. Soon, though,

Mr. Johnson, after a complete revolution of sentiment, seemed to regard the South not only as an oppressed people, but as the people best entitled to consideration of any of our citizens. This was more than the people who had secured to us the perpetuation of the Union were prepared for, and they became more radical in their views.

So Johnson’s about-face caused a counter-reaction among Northerners? At the time Grant wrote — 1885, completing the book just days before his death — all his readers must have known what he was talking about; 130 years on, I do not. Nor do I understand Grant’s reference to “legislation enacted during the reconstruction period to stay the hands of the President”. Joan Waugh’s Grant biography is next in queue, so perhaps she’ll explain these things to me. Or perhaps I need to reread Foner.

In lieu of reviewing Henry George — April 30, 2016

In lieu of reviewing Henry George

…I’d like to direct you to a particularly good episode of my favorite podcast, Vox’s The Weeds. They discuss land taxes, soda taxes, and carbon taxes, and regrettably find themselves unable to produce a list of three things without concluding “…oh my!” One day some brave soul will figure out how to do that, but that day is not yet.

As with every episode of The Weeds, I agree with a lot, want to argue with some, and wish they had time to dive more into all. The discussion of Henry George‘s single tax is very good, and really had my head spinning. The soda-tax stuff was interesting, though the “paternalism” framing is less productive than they think it is. It’s “paternalistic” when the government tries to tell you what to do via tax policy; it’s not paternalistic when cigarette companies tell you what to do via advertising. I’d like to dispense with this word altogether. For similar reasons, actually, I’d like to dispense with “unintended consequences”. This term is used as a catch-all by which government policies are rejected with a shrug: “We’d love the government to do x, but, y’know, unintended consequences.” There are unintended consequences to everything; why single out unintended consequences from what the government does on our behalf?

One of these days I will review Henry George properly. I’ve just gone back and reread a lot of the passages I highlighted from Progress and Poverty, and I’m reminded both of how brilliant it is and how crankish. Definitely worth reading, thinking about, and reviewing.

A meta-note on reading biographies — April 19, 2016

A meta-note on reading biographies

I’m reading a very, very, very good biography of Atatürk by Lord Kinross, which I’ll review when I’m finished. But a point about biographies in general occurs to me: you’d never really expect a biographer to have a negative or indifferent viewpoint toward his subject; you’d never expect the Kinross biography to be called Atatürk: the Grotesque Mediocrity.

So then maybe the best way to approach a subject like Atatürk is indirectly, via books in which he isn’t the main actor. You’ll get less detail about your specific subject that way, so you’ll need to read more books than just a single biography; for instance, Atatürk appears in Paris 1919 as just one of the figures — albeit a very significant one — controlling events while the allies grind through negotiations.

This approach will only get you so far: if you want to read about the creation of the modern Turkish state, about Kemalism, etc., it’s hard to think of an indirect way to achieve that. A book about the Ottoman empire, such as Caroline Finkel’s, will only touch on Atatürk at the end, and only up to the point when the sultanate disappears. Maybe there are books about Central Asia that I’ve not read, which treat Turkey as an important actor but not the only one. Or maybe I should read books about modern Greece? The Greeks surely don’t feel positively toward Atatürk.

Does this indirect approach seem correct to others? If so, is there some systematic way to apply it to any given subject?

What’s the argument against windowless hovels? — April 18, 2016

What’s the argument against windowless hovels?

A New York Times article asking what Manhattan’s capacity is — which starts with the observation that its population was much higher during the tenement era, and ends with a ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ — leads to a fascinating Wikipedia entry about Kowloon Walled City. It looked like this:

or like this:

It was demolished in 1994.

Presumably we have zoning limits on the sort of houses people can inhabit in Boston and New York. They presumably include access to clean water and ample sunlight; mandatory sewage connections; minimum square footage; and so on.

The argument against these sorts of limits would be that if people want to live in a closet, they should be able to. More generally — and this is an argument I think I saw in Ed Glaeser’s book Triumph of the City — if people are willing to pay good money to live in a closet, closets must be better than the other options that are available to them. And who are we to say that that’s not an option they should have? As terrible as favelas seem to us, they must be better than the alternatives available to those who live near Rio; if we forbid slums, we actually make life worse for those who believe that they’d have a better life in the slums.

Current Massachusetts law requires that

In each kitchen landlords must provide a sink sufficient for washing dishes and kitchen utensils, stove and oven in good working order, unless the written rental agreement states the tenant must provide this, and electrical hook-ups for installation of a refrigerator. The landlord is not required to provide a refrigerator, but if s/he does, it must be maintained by the landlord in good working order.

What if I eat all my meals out?

Taken to its logical conclusion, this would seem to say that if I want to live in Boston but don’t care about using a toilet or brushing my teeth (meh; I can shower at work), I should be able to pay less for rent to make that happen. There should be a spectrum of housing available, including windowless hovels (“PUBLIC TOILET MERE STEPS FROM THE FRONT DOOR!”). Whereas current law says that

Landlords must maintain the foundation, floors, walls, doors, windows, ceilings, roof, stairwells, porches, chimneys and all structural elements so as to exclude wind, rain, and snow; so as to be rodent-proof, weather tight, watertight, and free of chronic dampness, in good repair and fit for human habitation at all times

, you can imagine the argument that tenants should be allowed to rent structurally weak buildings so long as the tenants are completely aware of the risks they’re taking. Matt Yglesias made what sounded to many people like a similar argument in an international context after the deaths of many people in a Bangladeshi factory:

Bangladesh may or may not need tougher workplace safety rules, but it’s entirely appropriate for Bangladesh to have different—and, indeed, lower—workplace safety standards than the United States.

A lot of people, myself included, objected to this. Matt’s reply was that different U.S. states have different safety regulations, so it’s not absurd to have this sort of regulatory flexibility in the U.S.

Well, if that‘s not absurd, why stop with U.S. states? Why not allow flexibility between cities? Why not allow flexibility within cities?

One tautological response is that Boston shouldn’t allow regulatory flexibility because that’s not something that Boston does. The people, in their wisdom, have decided that Boston is the sort of place with high standards for housing safety.

Another argument would be to ask what this sort of flexibility is meant to obtain. Is the point just to create more cheap housing? If so, then we should create more cheap housing — either by building more housing, period (which means building up), or by subsidizing existing housing for those who can’t afford the high-safety-standard housing we have.

In general, there’s what the economists would call a “distributional problem”; this is a fancy way to put what Anatole France famously called the majestic equality of the law, “which forbids rich and poor alike to sleep under bridges, beg in the streets and steal loaves of bread.” Allow landlords to build subpar buildings, and it won’t be the rich who die when their floors collapse.

On the other hand, maybe you have to assume that people have agency: they know the risks available to them, and they make decisions appropriately. Suppose that in this libertarian paradise, the government doesn’t regulate building construction, but does honestly evaluate the risk of building collapse, and then provides this risk assessment to potential tenants: “You have a 10% chance of dying in a fire,” say. Even suppose the government frames this in a suitably severe way: “If you live here for ten years, you can expect to die in a fire.” What then? Are we happy with this?

It seems pretty clear to me that we’re not happy with this. Even if we brush away various economic trifles, I still think we’re not happy with this. Suppose there are no unpriced externalities, for instance — that when my apartment burns down, it doesn’t take yours down with it. And suppose that corruption isn’t a problem — that if we allow slumlords to build defective buildings, they won’t bribe local politicians into underrating the risk of a fiery death. I suspect that people still don’t believe that different cities should have different safety standards; and they especially believe that safety standards shouldn’t vary within a city. Even the thought that different states have different safety standards, I would wager, strikes most Americans as offensive.

If I’m reading the public’s intuitions correctly, shouldn’t that same moral outrage extend to international safety standards? Shouldn’t we be upset that the accident of having been born in the United States buys you a safer workplace than someone who’s born in Bangladesh?

At the same time, why not reason as follows? Different nations are differently wealthy. As their incomes rise, they choose to spend their money on different things. Maybe (I can’t speak to the details) Bangladesh as a society has chosen to spend its limited funds on control of infectious diseases, on sewage treatment, and on clean drinking water. As it gains more money, perhaps it will spend some of that money on improving workplace safety. After that, maybe it will spend some money on guaranteeing retirement income. And after it’s solved public-health problems, maybe it will spend money on the diseases of affluence, like heart disease and diabetes. Should we object to their workplace safety any more than we do to their not providing 401(k)s? My intuition to this line of argument is no, we should allow them to spend their money where they wish. I think most Americans would agree, and I’ve just conducted a thought experiment (thought poll) where 99.2% of Americans agreed with me.

So then turn the lens back around: if it’s perfectly okay for poor nations to choose where to spend their scarce resources, why isn’t it okay for poor people in the United States to choose where to spend their scarce resources? The tautological answer that Boston isn’t the sort of city that allows poor people to live in substandard dwellings doesn’t feel complete: “Boston” doesn’t make decisions. Its voters make decisions through their elected representatives, and the question is why its elected representatives shouldn’t allow tenements for those who believe that tenements are their best option.

Maybe the best answer I can come up with is not a normative one (which is what I’m looking for above — an answer about what we should do), but rather empirical and historical. The argument comes in two parts. First, some decisions are collective and some are individual. We, as a society, have decided that food safety and building quality, among many other things, are too important to be left to the whims of individuals. The scope of what is collective increases with affluence. And in the United States, at least, a choice’s becoming collective means, sometimes, that we set universal floors: merely labeling Sinclair brand sausage with “caveat emptor: may contain rat droppings” no longer suffices once food safety has become a collective decision. This is still uncomfortably tautological: it doesn’t answer whether a certain decision should be collective; it only predicts, on the basis of recent history, that certain decisions do become collective as affluence rises.

What happens as markets become interconnected? Consider the international food system, for instance. As a legal matter, I imagine that food which could end up on U.S. consumers’ plates is subject to U.S. food-safety regulations, because U.S. food-safety has become a collective decision with a universal floor. How about food produced in the United States for consumption in other countries? Can U.S. manufacturers produce ground beef with rat droppings in it for consumption in China? Or does the scope of this collective decision extend both to U.S. consumers and U.S. producers?

Have I missed any arguments for allowing everyone to choose the safety standards that fit them best?

Laniel on Krugman on Bernie — April 15, 2016

Laniel on Krugman on Bernie

What annoys me about Krugman’s Bernie take is that he’s not even said, “Yeah, I’m a real supporter of single-payer health care, but Bernie is just going about it the wrong way. If he’d change x, y, and z, it would be a realistic plan.”

The positive approach to addressing Bernie would be to offer him constructive policy ideas. If Krugman felt like Democrats needed to be realist in their policy proposals, he’d try to work out realistic numbers for Bernie’s single-payer and college-education plans. But Krugman isn’t doing that. Instead he’s just pointing to every bit of anti-Bernie writing that comes his way, taking it as conclusive, and shutting down the debate there. Worse, Petulant Krugman is coming out, as when — in this latest column — he writes:

But never mind. As you know, I’m only saying these things because I’m a corporate whore and want a job with Hillary.

My problem with his anti-Bernie columns isn’t that I think he’s a corporate shill. My problems are twofold. First, his mind seems made up. And second, look through Krugman’s older blog posts for times when he’s mentioned single payer. Clearly he supports single payer. I assume he supports universal college education. Well then, why not push for those things? If he believes that Bernie is an unelectable, impractical candidate, and hence that he’s going to support Hillary, why not do what he can to bring Hillary more toward the left? Bernie has clearly pulled Hillary leftward; maybe now Bernie needs to be pulled in the direction of realism. Why isn’t Krugman acting as the agent of realism here? Instead he’s acted, since the beginning, as someone whose mind is made up against Bernie. I don’t get it.

(For the record: I voted for Hillary in the primary, but I’m still conflicted about that decision. I believe that any liberal who’s thought about this Democratic primary should also be conflicted. These are both strong candidates, both with obvious weaknesses, and I’d be happy with either of them in the White House.)

Krugman’s beef seems to be that Bernie’s campaign is irremediably flawed by the same sort of unreality that plagues the Republican candidates’ tax plans. (Krugman has also accused the Sanders campaign of having gone off the rails. I blame this on the ludicrous length of the election season, which eventually causes everyone to lose his mind. And again, I think Krugman is grasping at whatever straw he can find. Matt Taibbi responds appropriately.) But here’s a question: is reality in campaign proposals really all that important? The Obama campaign in 2008 advanced a health-insurance plan that lacked an individual mandate, which we know now — and which Hillary knew then — is unworkable because of adverse selection. What virtue does reality have here? The man got into office and fought for what he promised us he’d fight for. Does it matter that he couldn’t make the numbers work out during the campaign? I’m really not convinced by realism as a virtue during a campaign. When it comes time to produce an actual budget that gets scored by the CBO: yes, I want realism then. At that time, Bernie will have a staff whose full-time job is to put together a budget that makes sense. I hope he chooses appropriate staff. But during a campaign? What I want to know is that my guy is fighting for what I care about.

(To the extent that it’s unrealistic, people have criticized Bernie’s plans for costing more than he says. I am willing to pay a lot to get a Northern European social-insurance state here. That is, even if he were more realistic about what it costs, I’d still support him.)

And again: if realism in fact does matter, it seems to me that it’s Krugman’s job to point out what could make Bernie’s numbers more realistic. Does Krugman want single-payer in his lifetime? Does he want us to return to a world where we provide free world-class tax-financed college education? If not now, when? I’m not asking that question rhetorically; I assume that Krugman really believes that now is not the time for single-payer health care, that getting single-payer would require Congressional action, that Congressional action is not plausible, and that only a Clinton presidency which will achieve incremental reform through executive action will succeed in attaining anything. But clearly Krugman’s heart is with Bernie; so why doesn’t Krugman act that way?

And let’s address head-on that point about the need for Congressional action: yes, it’s true. But I think people have a static picture of U.S. government. They envision that Sanders will inherit a Republican majority in both houses of Congress and a conservative majority on the Supreme Court. But things change. Maybe the Trump candidacy will bring liberals to the polls. Maybe we’ll replace Scalia with a more-liberal justice; maybe Kennedy will leave the Court and be replaced by someone liberal. There’s a not-implausible political theory by which Sanders stands some chance of passing real progressive legislation. And in either case, I think Krugman is obliged to lay out his political theory. Because it seems pretty clear that Krugman made up his mind about Bernie well before former CEA chiefs declared Bernie’s budget unrealistic. So it seems to me that Krugman needs to declare what his actual problem is.

Kasich beats Clinton handily — April 13, 2016

Kasich beats Clinton handily

If this is true, it’s further evidence for my claim that we need a different ballot, and need to dispense with the primary system altogether. If Kasich really could beat Clinton as lopsidedly as the article claims, then we have a voting system that is manifestly not designed to choose candidates whom the people would vote for.

The alternative is obvious: put all choices before all voters on a single ballot.

I wonder how many things that we ascribe to “polarization” — which seems like a large, intractable problem — could in fact be solved by a small-bore change in how our ballots look.

#France — April 6, 2016

#France

From Gabriel Zucman’s The Hidden Wealth of Nations: The Scourge of Tax Havens, page 58:

The law, however, was not passed. Conservatives, who were in the majority in the Sénat, despised [finance minister Joseph] Caillaux — it was a hatred, moreover, that would push his wife, Henriette, in 1914 to assassinate the director of the right-wing newspaper Le Figaro following a final press campaign.

Somehow this reminds me of a bit in an article I think of a lot: a piece called “Bitter Brew”, about a man’s failed dream of starting a cute café:

Pastries, for instance, are a monetary black hole unless you bake them yourself. We started out by engaging a pedigreed gentleman baker with Le Bernardin on his résumé. Hercule, as I’ll call him, embodied every French stereotype in existence: He was jovial, enthusiastic, rude, snooty, manic-depressive, brilliant, and utterly unreliable. His croissants were buttery, flaky, not too big, and $1.25 wholesale. We sold them for $2 and threw away roughly 50 percent—in other words, we were making a negative quarter on each croissant. After a couple of months of this, we downgraded to a more Americanized version of the croissant (vast and pillowy). The new croissants ran 90 cents each and made us feel vaguely dirty. We sold them for the same $2.

Making citation-chasing easier with Kindles — April 1, 2016

Making citation-chasing easier with Kindles

When I was reading The Case Against The Supreme Court, there were plenty of citations that I wanted to chase to their sources. Here, for instance, Erwin Chemerinsky quotes RBG:

“one-third of private sector employers have adopted specific rules prohibiting employees from discussing their wages with co-workers; only one in ten employers has adopted a pay openness policy.”

Turns out that’s a quote from Ledbetter v. Goodyear Tire & Rubber Co., Inc., within which RBG was quoting someone else. Great. So we find the cite within Ledbetter:

See also Bierman & Gely, “Love, Sex and Politics? Sure. Salary? No Way”: Workplace Social Norms and the Law, 25 Berkeley J. Emp. & Lab. L. 167, 168, 171 (2004) (one-third of private sector employers have adopted specific rules prohibiting employees from discussing their wages with co-workers; only one in ten employers has adopted a pay openness policy).

We go looking for “Love, Sex and Politics? Sure. Salary? No Way”, and we find it. Within there:

One-third of United States private sector employers have reinforced this norm by adopting specific rules prohibiting employees from discussing their wages with co-workers, rules known as pay secrecy/confidentiality (“PSC”) rules.4

Footnote 4 reads:

See More Employers Ducking Pay Confidentiality Issue: HRnext.com Survey Shows Many Employers View Issue as Hot Potato, available at http://www.hrnet.com (last visited Nov. 16, 2003) [hereinafter “HRnext Survey”]; Mary Williams Walsh, The Biggest Company Secret; Workers Challenge Employer Policies on Pay Confidentiality, N.Y. Times, July 28, 2000, at Cl.

The up-to-date link for the first cited article is this one. The ultimate source of the thing that Chemerinsky cites is this:

An online survey conducted in March 2001 at hr.blr.com found that a majority (51 percent) of HR managers report their companies have no policy about pay confidentiality. Some 36 percent have policies forbidding such discussion, and 15 percent have policies that say discussing pay with co-worker is permissible.

The Times article is this one; on a quick scan, it doesn’t say anything about salary-silence policies.

Some thoughts on this process:

  1. Chasing even a single citation to its source is nontrivial. I was lucky here, in that all of the cited sources were created during the Internet age.
  2. Had one of the citations led to a book, the odds would have been quite good that the book would not be available online. Amazon’s Search-Inside-the-Book feature is useful here. Google Books is sometimes useful. But both those sources often hide pages from you.
  3. Kindles should allow some kind of privileged access to Search-Inside-the-Book it’s a citation from inside a Kindle book. I realize there are a million difficulties here. But it’s a thought.
  4. When I finally did track down the ultimate source, it was not a good source: “An online survey concludes…” is not how you begin a persuasive sentence. If the ultimate sources of citations were always really easy to obtain — if, indeed, you could find the ultimate source just by hovering over the text you want to check — I wager that we’d get a lot fewer tenuous claims.
  5. We could crowdsource this, if all else fails. I’d be glad to contribute this citation chain back into some database, à la the Kindle’s existing Public Notes feature. It wouldn’t work to submit footnote chains through the Kindle itself (interacting with the device is slow and aggravating for anything other than flipping pages), but it could be done through the iPad or a desktop browser.
Two wrong ways to do endnotes —

Two wrong ways to do endnotes

  1. These endnotes, which are bog-standard ones, could be better: A couple pages of footnotes from Hacker and Pierson's _American Amnesia_ The only waypoints they leave for the reader are chapter headings. So if I’m in the middle of reading chapter 5, for instance, I first have to figure out which chapter I’m in (not always easy — in many books this requires you to flip back a good many pages); then I need to flip to the start of the endnotes for that chapter; then I need to flip forward to the endnote that I actually want to look up.
    The correct way to do endnotes in printed books is to have “Footnotes to pages A-B” at the top of each page of footnotes. It’s much faster to navigate.
  2. Kindle books, and particularly Kindle books’ footnotes, were clearly designed first in print and then hastily ported over to e-books. The footnotes to Robert Gordon’s book, for instance, just say “Smith (1998)”. It would be mildly annoying to look up Smith (1998) in a paper book; in a Kindle book, it’s annoying enough that no one is going to do it. First, getting to the bibliography is often nontrivial, and then getting within the bibliography to the particular work you’re looking for involves (as it did with Gordon’s book) endless swiping. Then getting back to where you were reading is tedious.
    The correct thing to do here is obvious, once you acknowledge that the cost of a marginal character in a Kindle book is essentially zero: don’t even bother with the classic “footnote pointing to a bibliography” citation form. For that matter, don’t bother with ‘ibid.’ or any of the other holdovers from a time when you needed to save on space. Rather than “Smith (1998)”, include the full cite every time: “Smith, Robert A. Blah blah blah blah. Page 93”. If you absolutely must use the old citation method, can’t you at least provide a hyperlink from “Smith (1998)” to the exact spot in the bibliography? But there’s really no reason to accept old formats for new media. I expect the only reason the old style persists is that publishing workflows can’t produce separate e-books and physical books. But that needs to change; the media are different.

I acknowledge that I’m one of very few people who even bother with the footnotes and endnotes, so this isn’t exactly a market that publishers are going to throw their best people at satisfying. Still, there are right ways to do notes, and there are wrong ways, and publishers do it wrong much more often than they do it right.

Robert J. Gordon, The Rise and Fall of American Growth: The U.S. Standard of Living since the Civil War — March 31, 2016

Robert J. Gordon, The Rise and Fall of American Growth: The U.S. Standard of Living since the Civil War

Sort of an old-tymey painting of Men At Work on a construction project -- bending rebar, pounding steel beams, etc.

This book didn’t need to be written. Having chosen to write it, it needed extensive chopping at the hands of an editor, which it didn’t get. Having been published, it need not be read. Gordon has been writing about this topic for decades, so I can only assume that he’s published the meat of this book in various papers. My advice, should you find yourself interested in reading this book, would be to seek out some of those earlier papers and run away from the book with all deliberate speed.

Gordon is famous as a technological pessimist, arguing that the productivity gains of the mid-twentieth century are not coming again. Since we live in a pessimistic era, I wager that he’s gotten more traction now than he might otherwise have; but he has good reasons for his argument. It’s essentially one argument: most of the major leaps in innovation can only happen once. We nearly eliminated infant mortality. We brought clean water to nearly everyone’s home. We cleaned up cities by building sewage systems, and by replacing horses with automobiles. We were, in fact, so successful in eliminating infectious disease that Americans are now much more likely to die of chronic disease. We electrified virtually the entire country. We connected everyone with a network of high-quality interstate highways. We built first the railroad, then the telegraph, then the telephone.

Compared to this, the last quarter century doesn’t look all that interesting. What we have we got? The Internet is amazing, yes. We have somewhat larger televisions (movies and television were both pre-1950 inventions). Smartphones are remarkable. We dream of self-driving cars. We dream of nanotechnology. We dream of gene therapy. It’s hard to imagine, though, that any inventions on the horizon can compare to those “one time only” inventions that Gordon mentions. Progress in certain areas of public health seemingly can’t go anywhere else: once we’ve driven infant mortality to zero, we’re done. What’s the life-expectancy dream? Do we think we’ll ever be able to get the average human to live to 100 years? 120? And after you’ve electrified the whole country and gotten everyone on the Internet, is bringing average broadband speeds up to 10 megabits per second really a game-changer? So Gordon’s point is intuitively pretty clear. It would take some argument, of course, but the overarching thesis seems legit.

His main analytical tool to demonstrate the slowdown of American productivity growth is Total Factor Productivity, which seems to also be known as Solow’s Residual, after the Nobel-laureate economist Robert Merton Solow. It’s known as the “residual” because it’s what’s left over when you try to explain output by counting labor (that is, humans) and capital (that is, machines) as inputs. First you count all the machines going into GDP; then you count all the people; then you assume that output is x% labor and y% machines. Whatever you haven’t explained is TFP.

TFP seems to capture “making the best use of the resources you have.” If people learn how to use, let’s say, computers better, then the Solow residual goes up if the quantity of computers remains fixed. I imagine that the same is true of labor: if you use a given quantity of labor better, the Solow residual rises; hence to the extent that living in cities makes people more productive (a fairly well-established economic result, as I understand from Ed Glaeser), the Solow residual rises for a given quantity of labor.

For all the analytical importance that he places on Total Factor Productivity, Gordon spends shockingly little time explaining it; I feel like I spent more time explaining it in the preceding paragraphs than he did in his extremely long book. He asks us to take it for granted that TFP is the appropriate way to measure innovation. Maybe it is, but he doesn’t argue that sufficiently.

That’s the deeper problem: I don’t really know whom his book is aimed at. At least 70% of it is a grindingly detailed walk through American consumer history, much of which illustrates that we mismeasure various economic statistics — as when he notes that the Consumer Price Index may not realize that Wal-Mart exists. Hence the CPI may not count the significantly cheaper goods that people buy there. Or, citing William Nordhaus, Gordon writes that “the value of increasing life expectancy in the first half of the twentieth century roughly doubles the growth rate of the standard measure of consumption expenditures”.

These are interesting measurement problems; if Gordon were aiming at an audience that he expected to have some economic curiosity and some quantitative skill, he would focus on these problems. Instead, before he’s spent much time on any one of these issues, he’s off and running with more trivia — as when he spends the time to tell us that

There was still room for a critical masterpiece such as The Godfather to spur millions of Marlon Brando impersonations and for Star Wars to burst onto the scene and become a cultural icon and box office success, to this day trailing only Gone with the Wind in inflation-adjusted domestic gross revenue.

I still have no idea why that’s there. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to conclude from Gordon’s observation that

So rapidly were new versions of WordPerfect released that by 1992, only a decade into the PC era, it reached version 6.0.

Firefox these days increases its version number by 12 every time it corrects a typo. What does that prove?

Gordon has interesting things to say, and he has trivial things to say, and he systematically buries the interesting things beneath the trivial things. In one of his many asides, he writes that “The patent office was fair, respected, impartial, and not subject to bribes or corruption”. Well, that’s great, and that’s interesting. How did the Patent Office get there? It seems much more relevant to American economic history that we have an incorruptible bureaucracy than that our word processors have high version numbers. Or when Gordon writes that “Running water had been achieved by the Romans, but it took political will and financial investment to bring it to every urban dwelling place,” he’s certainly correct; politics is important. It’s far more important than Francis Ford Coppola’s masterwork, as much as I love Coppola. Yet he spends no time at all on the politics. (Here’s the place to recommend that you read Francis Fukuyama’s Origins of Political Order, whose whole point is to understand how countries ever come to have stable governments with functioning, efficient bureaucracies.)

Of course a book like this is obliged to end with a chapter explaining how we can get out of this mess, if at all. Gordon doesn’t seem to think we can. We have demographic problems, with an aging population. Our debt is mounting. Etc. What I find odd is that Gordon never actually explains why we should care. If productivity growth is slowing because certain things can only happen once, then … well, they’ve happened, so why aren’t we happy about that? Give yourself a pat on the back, humanity: you invented penicillin. That’s only going to happen once, so be proud of it.

Gordon does seem to appreciate that we may today be suffering from an excessively robust standard of living. When the U.S. is as obese as it is, the problem might well be that we have too much stuff; the entire advertising industry exists to convince us that we need to shove more of that stuff in our faces. As far as I can tell, though, Gordon doesn’t go down a Galbraith-like road of considering post-scarcity economics. He just seems to take it for granted that productivity growth is good, and that a slowdown in productivity growth is bad.

He then goes beyond a mere slowdown in growth: toward the end of the book, Gordon says that “America’s children will almost certainly not be as well educated, healthy, or wealthy as their parents.” This seems to imply that GDP will not only grow more slowly than it has, but that it will actually decline. The book doesn’t really provide support for this.

So the book is a hot mess. I’m given to understand that many great books are great because they had great editors slicing away patiently in the background. Gordon’s editor could have made this book much shorter, much more focused, and much more concerned with fundamentals than with trivialities. But then it would be a much different book.