Back to the Drawing Board : Economics

Away From Distributive Justice, Towards Collective Responsibility

Donny with an A — Sat, 30 Aug 2008 06:52:00 GMT

Here's another cool Hayek quote, from chapter 5 of his New Studies in Philosophy, Politics, Economics and the History of Ideas, entitled "The Atavism of Social Justice":

"...there can be no distributive justice where no one distributes. Justice has meaning only as a rule of human conduct, and no conceivable rules for the conduct of individuals supplying each other with goods and services in a market economy would produce a distribution which could be meaningfully described as just or unjust. Individuals might conduct themselves as justly as possible, but as the results for separate individuals would be neither intended nor foreseeable by others, the resulting state of affairs could neither be called just nor unjust" (58).

I've been arguing basically that point of view for a while, and this is far from the first time I've heard it articulated by someone else, but I really like the way Hayek put it here. But it also got me thinking. Hayek does use as support for his argument the fact that the results of the market process are not foreseeable. And it does seem to me that a great many people see certain regrettable outcomes of the market process as quite foreseeable enough to dodge this argument.

"Perhaps the precise outcomes of the process are not foreseeable," someone might argue, "but we can easily foresee that certain things will likely occur, like the occasional occurrence of instances of extreme need. Even if, as a society, we think ourselves justified in 'playing the game' of catallaxy (as Hayek puts it on page 60 and later throughout the essay), we nevertheless might be able to point to certain predictable and regrettable outcomes of that game and demand that they be 'cleaned up.' It's on those grounds that I claim that we have some sort of obligation to ensure that no one is left behind 'by' our playing the game of catallaxy. I cannot articulate, necessarily, exactly what that obligation entails, or what is its nature, but to deny the existence of any such obligation seems simply wrong."

I think that would be a pretty fair line of attack, and I think it deserves an answer. I'm not sure what I'll find, but the question seems to become one which is perfectly tractable within my notion of rights and duties. So I pose for myself the following questions: Do we have a duty to help those in desperate need, either collective or individual? How might we understand such a duty, and what would it entail?

I'll be working on an answer to those questions over the coming months.

Law and the Knowledge Problem, a First Glance

Donny with an A — Fri, 29 Aug 2008 02:05:00 GMT

Update at the bottom of the post

Here's an interesting quote from Hayek's essay, "The Results of Human Action but not of Human Design," from his book, Studies in Philosophy, Politics and Economics:

"...the natural law concept against which modern jurisprudence reacted was the perverted rationalist conception which interpreted the law of nature as the deductive constructions of 'natural reason' rather than as the undesigned outcome of a process of growth in which the test of what is justice was not anybody's arbitrary will but compatibility with a whole system of inherited but partly inarticulated rules" (101).

This does seem like a relatively accurate positive assessment of how law has evolved over time. But it does beg the question, then, of whether or not a centralized attempt to administer justice, which would rely on some understanding of what people will accept as just, would be akin to trying to plan an economy. The idea, in other words, is that if our recognition of justice relies on a partly inarticulated set of internalized rules, and those rules change over time and are sometimes contradictory, then the acceptability of any legal judgment will be in some some sense bound to the circumstances in which that attribution was made, and will necessarily fail to reflect the unanimous will of the people. If that's true, then it would seem almost impossible to determine what would be the proper standard of justice within a society at any given time, and so would be impossible to administer justice "properly" in much the same way as it's impossible to allocate resources "properly" through a centralized method of planning.

To make my case, I'll draw on a number of different quotes which I think paint a better picture of the issue than I might be able to do myself (especially given the "reason as I go" approach that generally characterizes these posts). First, from the beginning of David Schmidtz's book, Elements of Justice:

"I have become a pluralist, but there are many pluralisms. I focus not on concentric "spheres" of local, national, and international justice nor on how different cultures foster different intuitions, but on the variety of contexts we experience every day, calling in turn for principles of desert, reciprocity, equality, and need. I try to some extent to knit these four elements together, showing how they make room for each other and define each other's limits, but not at the cost of twisting them to make them appear to fit together better than they really do. Would a more elegant theory reduce the multiplicity of elements to one?" (4).

I jump over to the beginning of Rawls' Justice as Fairness: A Restatement:

"...I believe that a democratic society is not and cannot be a community, where by a community I mean a body of persons united in affirming the same comprehensive, or partly comprehensive doctrine. The fact of reasonable pluralism which characterizes a society with free institutions makes this impossible. This is the fact of profound and irreconcilable differences in citizens' reasonable comprehensive religious and philosophical conceptions of the world, and in their views of the moral and aesthetic values to be sought in human life" (3).

And with that, I jump back to Schmidtz, a few pages later:

"In effect, there are two ways to agree: We agree on what is correct, or on who has jurisdiction - who gets to decide. Freedom of religion took the latter form; we learned to be liberals in matters of religion, reaching consensus not on what to believe but on who gets to decide. So too with freedom of speech. Isn't it odd that our greatest successes in learning how to live together stem from agreeing on what is correct but from agreeing to let people decide for themselves?" (6).

And back to Hayek, this time in his essay, "The Use of Knowledge in Society":

"The peculiar character of the problem of a rational economic order is determined precisely by the fact that the knowledge of the circumstances of which we must make use never exists in concentrated or integrated form, but solely as the dispersed bits of incomplete and frequently contradictory knowledge which all the separate individuals possess" (519).

He continues:

"In ordinary language we describe by the word "planning the complex of interrelated decisions about the allocation of our available resources. All economic activity is in this sense planning; and in any society in which many people collaborate, this planning, whoever does it, will in some measure have to be based on knowledge which, in the first instance, is not given to the planner but to somebody else, which somehow will have to be conveyed to the planner. The various ways in which the knowledge on which people base their plans is communicated to them is the crucial problem for any theory explaining the economic process. And the problem of what is the best way of utilizing knowledge initially dispersed among all the people is at least one of the main problems of economic policy--or of designing an efficient economic system" (520).

And more:

"Today it is almost heresy to suggest that scientific knowledge is not the sum of all knowledge. But a little reflection will show that there is beyond question a body of very important but unorganized knowledge which cannot possibly be called scientific in the sense of knowledge of general rules: the knowledge of particular circumstances of time and place" (521).

Just like how attributions of justice are contingent on a set of partly inarticulated rules, economic actors make their decisions according to their personal interpretations of circumstances, in light of their own value systems. And as they are inarticulated and often contradictory, they cannot be aggregated to form a "social" standard. Hayek writes:

"...the sort of knowledge with which I have been concerned is knowledge of the kind which by its nature cannot enter into statistics and therefore cannot be conveyed to any central authority in statistical form" (524).

So we've sort of gotten to the point I'm trying to make. Basically, if society's acceptance of certain things as just is, as Hayek says, based on compatibility with an internalized, partly inarticulated set of rules, and if these sets of rules are subject to reasonable pluralism and continuous flux, then it's as impossible to get law perfectly right through central planning as it is to get an economy perfectly right through central planning. But then the question becomes, so what? In looking at the economy, Hayek writes:

"We cannot expect that this problem will be solved by first communicating all this knowledge to a central board which, after integrating all knowledge, issues its orders. We must solve it by some form of decentralization" (524).

But is this the right answer for law? That's something I'll have to leave for another day.

Update:

Hahahahahahahaha! So this post was written in a sort of "Ah hah!" moment while reading Hayek's "The Results of Human Action but not of Human Design," causing me to jump up from the book and hammer out the above. Turns out that if I had kept reading, I would have discovered Hayek making a nearly identical point in the essay itself. So I'd almost say to forget about this post and go pick up the book.

On Subjective Valuation and Intrinsic Value

Donny with an A — Sun, 10 Aug 2008 17:00:00 GMT

Some more on this never-ending debate...

In ascribing value to certain things, we acknowledge that they matter to us -- they have weight in our calculations about what we should do. But it seems to me that there are two (not mutually exclusive) ways in which we do this. The first is the way that we mean when we talk about matters of "taste." When we evaluate things in this way, the account of why we value them is autobiographical. For example, I like coffee because it tastes good to me; it makes me feel cheerful and alert; it helps me focus on tasks that I want to perform.

In order to dispute my evaluation, someone would need to similarly couch their objections in features about me. For example, I might announce that I want to eat a cheeseburger, because I like the way they taste. In order to argue with my choice, someone would need to alert me to some feature about my tastes that they believed I was failing to acknowledge. For example, they might point out that the last time I ate a cheeseburger, I felt sick, and told everyone how I never wanted to eat a cheeseburger again (this is, of course, a fictional story; cheeseburgers are delicious). The point is that with regard to discussing matters involving my own tastes, the entire focus is on me, the valuer.

The other way that people often ascribe value to things is to claim (or implicitly claim) that they are the appropriate objects of valuation, and to ascribe to them the value -- the weight in our moral calculations -- that we believe is fitting of their nature or properties. Not only are these things valued, but they are seen as valuable: to "fail" to value these things would be, in some sense, inappropriate, unbecoming, or wrong. The reason given here for an evaluation is no longer autobiographical, but cites some quality inherent in the valued object as if it were the explanation for the evaluation. For example, a parent feeds his child "because" she is hungry, and her health and wellbeing depends on being fed. The implication here is that the parent thinks that to fail to feed the child would demonstrate insufficient consideration of the fact of the child's hunger. Clearly, this sort of valuation is inherently normative: it is understood as involving an acknowledgment of how we ought to act.

When I talk about actions that are "self-interested," I refer to those actions where the account of why the action was undertaken makes reference to the first kind of valuation (the one which identifies the tastes, wants, and desires of the valuer as the explanation for the valuation). When I call an action "non-self-interested," I refer to actions taken for reasons understood in terms of the second sort of valuation (where objective features of a set of circumstances are cited to explain the valuation). As I suggested before, these sorts of valuations need not be mutually exclusive. But there is a sense in which they are taken as being separate from each other. For example, we might find someone saying "He's a really nice guy, and he's never done anything bad to me, but I just don't like hanging out with him." The implication here is that niceness and blamelessness are being seen as somehow worthy or demanding of consideration and positive valuation, but that the negative valuation conveyed by the person's "tastes" is acting as a counterweight. Now, if the person who made the above statement decided to hang out with the guy who she discussed, we might imagine her saying, "He was just so nice; when he asked, I had to say yes." Her action here would be non-self-interested. If, on the other hand, she decided not to hang out with the guy, we might imagine her saying, "As nice as he was, I just couldn't bring myself to put myself through spending another minute with him." Here, her action would be self-interested.

When I talk about something having "intrinsic value," I'm making reference to qualities or objects identified by the normative kind of valuation as providing justification for a choice. Most ethical theories (those with a "realist" component) rely on this sort of valuation to provide a basis for their claims: ethics involves the acknowledgment or recognition of the appropriate responses to certain features of things or situations. (I should mention, in passing, that one need not claim that there actually are appropriate responses or anything like that; see, for example, quasi-realism.)

It's important to distinguish here between intrinsic value and what might be called "objective value" or the "objective component" of value. When we talk about objective values, we mean that a thing can be valuable independently of anyone valuing it. This does not seem possible to me, as value seems to be, by nature, a relationship between an evaluating mind and some object (I don't mean physical object, just a "something" which is being valued). If I'm correct about this, there could be no such thing as objective value. But the concept of an objective component of value is different. This idea relies on the possibility that certain features of objects (especially where objects can be taken to also refer to concepts in our minds) cause a reaction in us which leads us to value those objects. For example, a guy might meet a beautiful, intelligent, and entertaining woman at a bar, and come to want certain things not because he chose to want them, or something more mysterious, but rather because it was natural for him to want those things upon acknowledging certain features of the woman. Her objective features caused a reaction in the man, whose value judgments would thereby be affected (though, of course, the valuation still only exists in the man's mind; it is still subjective).

It might be immediately clear that a parallel exists between the concept of an objective component of value and the concept of intrinsic value, as I alluded to in identifying the realist component of many ethical theories. But the two concepts are not necessarily identical. The man in the bar might desire a particular beer, for example, because he wants a drink and because it strikes him as satisfying the criteria of being a drink. But it would be slightly odd for him to attribute any intrinsic value to the idea of him having a drink: He would need to say, "I want that beer, and therefore it would be immoral of me to not go get it." Certainly there are people who would be comfortable saying this (anyone who would call themselves an "egoist" or a "hedonist" would immediately come to mind). But I take it that most people don't think that way. There is a difference between what we want (what is a matter of our tastes) and what we ought to want (what is a result of our attributions of intrinsic value).

There's clearly a lot more to say on this, but I figure this will do for now.

The Pitch (a First Draft...)

Donny with an A — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 05:08:00 GMT

On a fundamental level, political philosophy exists to pursue a better understanding of how society ought to be organized. So it is rather unsurprising that students of the subject tend to view themselves as proponents of a certain kind of social order: socialists, social democrats, minarchists, anarcho-capitalists, etc. And to some degree, within communities of political philosophers and those who seek to emulate them, it makes sense to adopt these comprehensive positions and to debate their merits with those who advocate opposing views.

But in a world where most people do not think in terms of any coherent and complete political paradigm, this kind of approach to advancing one’s ideas makes less sense. It is, in a sense, like trying to get a person to buy into a particular diet as the objectively correct diet for human beings. Even if there were such a thing, most individuals would not even know how to begin to evaluate the idea being presented to them. They would immediately search for flaws, and cling to any lack of clarity or certainty as reason to reject the diet completely. And tellingly, we might expect this from someone whose existing diet is in all likelihood a really bad diet by any reasonable standard!

In advancing the cause of liberty, we have all experienced exactly this sort of thing. People don’t understand certain features of our standpoint, and accordingly reject the whole thing. I submit that this is not because of some flaw in our argument, or a persistent indoctrinated stubbornness on their part. Rather, it is simply a normal part of dealing with people who are not, and do not want to be, political philosophers.

Up to this point, I think that libertarians have largely focused on the idea that central governments should not be involved in various parts of our lives. The justification for these positions generally takes two forms, often advanced simultaneously in the same argument. First, there is a moral position that argues that there is something unjust about using the State mechanism to bring about a desired solution, and that people must realize this fact and respond accordingly. The second is a pragmatic position which points out that central governments are inherently ill-suited for dealing with the kinds of tasks with which they are entrusted, and accordingly, we should be not rely on them in the capacity under consideration.

It occurs to me that by making these two positions part of the same argument, libertarians have created a major hurdle for themselves. This is because the moral position they have been advancing is one which requires one to put herself into the role of political philosopher, and ask what sorts of principles ought to govern our social relationships. Most people are inherently ill suited for this kind of thing, and will too often either become recalcitrant or brainwashed.

Ultimately, neither is desirable. But by making the moral position a part of the core of their viewpoint, libertarians have created a set of circumstances where practically the only lay-people who acknowledge the other part of the core – the practical position – are the people who are on board with the moral argument. Those who reject the moral argument overwhelmingly seem to be ignoring or rejecting the practical argument.

There are a number of reasons why this is a regrettable state of affairs. Perhaps most significant of these is the fact that the practical part of the core is completely consistent with almost every other viewpoint. It is uncontroversial even among socialists that we cannot always know the best policy solutions to social problems, and that there are problems with entrusting centralized governments with the reigns of society. It is therefore perfectly in line with everyone’s viewpoint to consider the possibility that decentralized action might be the best way to deal with social issues, by their own standards. And if libertarians are right about the idea that decentralized solutions are more effective than centralized ones, this will appeal to everyone.

This leads to another critically important reason why the current state of debate is unfortunate. In a world where people understood that decentralized decision-making is often superior to central planning, we could reasonably expect people to be substantially more open to the possibility that freedom to determine one’s own course of action is a good thing. The person that says, “There’s no objective solution to this problem, so let’s try and work something out together,” is going to be someone who can easily be shown that imposing solutions on other people is a problematic way to deal with social problems. Essentially, what I am saying is that coming to terms with the practical part of libertarianism is actually a really effective way to get people to see the virtue of the moral part.

So what I’m proposing is that we organize ourselves to study how decentralized solutions can be found for social problems, and how government action is not necessarily the best way to deal with things. This seems like something that can appeal to people way outside of the libertarian circle, and I think we should take full advantage of that fact to bring the discussion into the mainstream arena. What I have in mind, essentially, is something like an Institute for the Study of Decentralization.

The appeal here, again, is twofold. First, it would serve the cause of liberty by helping to foster a mindset which seems likely to bring people closer to being open to the philosophy of freedom as a moral position. And second, it could help to bring a core part of the libertarian agenda – getting central governments out of their roles in social decision-making – into the mainstream policy arena, where it could form a basis for consensus between libertarians and even their most bitter opponents.

To be perfectly clear, I’m not saying that we could do this as a sneaky way to get people to be more vulnerable to being converted. My point is that we can legitimately argue that even if we’re wrong in our moral positions, our practical ideas are important and deserving of consideration. And further, we can say without controversy that once people come to appreciate our practical ideas, they’ll probably be able to see why we take the moral positions that we do.

On the Use of the Term "Self-Interest" in Economics

Donny with an A — Thu, 26 Jun 2008 06:12:00 GMT

[Cross-posted on the parent blog]

I've been repeatedly embroiled in an argument for the last few weeks over the term "self-interest" as it is used in economic discussion, and I wanted to hammer out my position once and for all so that I don't have to keep trying to start from the beginning. Here's the deal. I am told that within the discipline of economics, what it means to say that a person "acted in her own self-interest" is that a person "acted according to her own interests." The idea here is that all action demonstrates preference, and that this necessarily means that the actor preferred the action that was taken to all other actions. So if I jump on a grenade in order to save my friends, what I have demonstrated is that I preferred to jump on the grenade over all other alternatives that I considered, and it's fair to say that I wanted to jump on the grenade; that out of all available alternatives, the one I consider the best is the one where I jump on the grenade so that my friends live. I'm down with that.

When I jump on the grenade because I want to save my friends, I take it to be uncontroversial that I do so according to my own interests. How could it be otherwise? And if what we mean by "self-interest" is simply that I act according to my own interests, then yes, my jumping on the grenade is self-interested.

But when presented with the claim that jumping on the grenade is a self-interested behavior, the average person tends to become perplexed. It's only after a thorough explanation of the "economic" meaning of the term that it becomes clear how this could be the case. Why does this happen? The reason, I contend, is that economists mean something completely different by the term "self-interested" than lay people do. This, I will argue, is a problem, and should be remedied in order to prevent completely unnecessary confusion and error.

Let me explain. In talking about any interest or preferred scenario, there must be a subject and an object. The subject, generally speaking, is the person who has the interest or the preference. So if we're talking about my preference for eating an apple, the subject is me. It is I who prefers the apple, and the preference for the apple is incoherent without the fact that the preference is my preference. The object of the preference, on the other hand, is the end which the subject is seeking to promote. In our example, I prefer the apple, but the object of my preference is not simply the apple: I don't value the apple for itself. I want to eat the apple. The object of my preference, then, is something along the lines of my having eaten the apple (perhaps we might say that I want "the experience" of eating the apple, or "the happiness" produced by my eating the apple; the exact way we phrase this is not critical).

The critical thing to note here is that the economists' definition of "self-interest" simply refers to the idea that interests are subjective: the subject of all interests is the interested individual. It is my understanding, however, that when lay people use the term "self-interest," what they have in mind is, minimally, that the object of the preference has something to do with the interested individual. So if my sister were sick, I might go get her some medicine. To say that my getting the medicine is "self-interested" would mean, to the lay person, that I get the medicine in order to promote some self-directed end. That is, I get the medicine because, perhaps, I am happier when my sister is not sick, or my sister is irritating when she's sick, or there's a cute pharmacist who will think I'm sweet for taking care of my sick sister. The lay-person, then, would call "non-self-interested" or "selfless" an interest with an object which does not directly involve the actor. So I act selflessly if the reason I go get the medicine is that I value my sister's health for its own sake, and am willing to take on the costs necessary to promote her health.

Note that this lay definition of self-interest is not incoherent or contradictory. And note also that the "selfless" act identified by the lay definition is labeled as "self-interested" by the economist definition. Indeed, the notion of "selflessness," as identified by the lay definition, is defined out of existence by the economist definition. Because the economist identifies as "self-interested" all actions where the subject is the actor, and because all actions demonstrate an interest on the part of the actor, it becomes clear that there can be no such thing as a "non-self-interested" or "selfless" action.

A number of problems immediately present themselves. The first problem is that the economist definition completely eliminates what I take to be an extremely useful distinction between "self-interested" and "selfless" actions, which is captured very well in the lay definition, without providing an adequate substitute. One might object that the term "selfish" captures the layman's "self-interested," but to most people, the term "selfish" is emotionally charged with negative connotations. Observe the struggles of the Objectivists to try to divorce this emotional
connotation from the term! By contrast, the layman's "self-interest" is relatively neutral and already conveys the sort of thing that the economist would be trying to bend "selfish" into meaning. Further, the economist would then need a new word for the layperson's "selfish"!

Another reason that the fundamental difference between the lay person's and the economist's definition is undesirable is that the economist's definition of "self-interested" means exactly the same thing as the lay person's "interested." Because all interests are subjective, and the "self" in "self-interested" refers only to this fact, the term becomes redundant. The only thing that could conceivably be added by using the term "self-interest" would be if the addition of the "self" served to remind people that preferences are subjective. But as we have discussed, the term "self-interested" already means something, and it has nothing to do with subjectivity. If anything, the use of the term crowds out more useful terminology like "subjectively-interested."

Yet another problem with the economists' definition is that now we have a situation where the technical definition of the term "self-interested" is fundamentally different from the normally accepted definition of the word. That means that in order to actually communicate their points to lay people, economists will need to first make clear what they mean by self-interested, and ensure that their audience keeps this definition firmly in mind so as to avoid drawing bad conclusions. This also creates a systematic likelihood that people will be misled by economists who fail to properly emphasize their use of the redefined term. Nowhere is this problem more apparent than in the field of Public Choice economics. We might imagine an economist going before a crowd of lay persons and announcing that "The problem with governments is that they are run by self-interested people." We might imagine that what the economist means here is that politicians act according to their own preferences, and do not magically take on "society's" preferences when they are elected to office. They are, after all, human! And this would be a good and important point. But upon hearing the economist say that politicians are self-interested, a number of lay people might interpret the economist as making the argument that politicians are "in it for themselves" and are simply involved in politics in order to accrue benefits for themselves, regardless of whether others are harmed in the process. If it's true that the economists' use of the term "self-interest" does not offer any new or important insight into anything, as I argued above, it's unclear why we wouldn't want to simply avoid this problem altogether.

The final problem with the economists' use of the term "self-interested" is that economists themselves may end up misusing the term and reverting to the normal definition without noticing. Remember, economists are lay persons before they are economists, and have generally grown up with a meaning of the term "self-interested" which is very different from the meaning they've been trained to adopt in their profession. As a result, you end up with phenomena like economists saying things along the lines of "Because all actions are self-interested, it's clear that the reason you jump on the grenade is because you would be miserable if you didn't, and you expect that the misery would be way worse than dying." And I assure you, having heard that point made today, the risk of this sort of thing occurring is very real.

So in conclusion, I say that economists should quit their ridiculousness and give us back "self-interest." Their definition takes away a useful distinction which is captured by the normal meaning of the word, doesn't explain anything new, and doesn't accomplish anything except confusing everyone, including the economists themselves.

Cap and Trade vs. the Carbon Tax

Donny with an A — Fri, 13 Jun 2008 22:09:00 GMT

[Cross-posted on the parent blog]

So I've been addressing the issue of anthropogenic climate change for some time now, and I haven't said much in the way of addressing specific policy proposals. But I was just given a delightful present by one of my fellow FEE associates: a copy of the American Institute for Economic Research's latest Economic Education Bulletin, entitled "The Global Warming Debate: Science, Economics, and Policy." I didn't read the whole thing, but my favorite part was definitely when William R. Cotton, a professor of atmospheric science at Colorado State, closed his completely science-oriented essay, "Summary View of Climate Change," with:

There are strong indications that our global climate is warming. But the question is, is the warming due to anthropogenic greenhouse gases, or is it due to some other forcing mechanisms (or their transient absence) and natural variability. As human population on Earth continues to increase, the chances of human-induced changes in climate due to greenhouse gases, aerosol pollution, or alterations in land use become increasingly likely. Thus, rather than consider climate engineering, we should devise methods of encouraging the reduction of population growth through economic and quality-of-life incentives.

Period, end of conversation. No comment on that gem anywhere else in the entire essay. Who's got two thumbs and loves it? This guy.

But anyway, that's not the point. Later in the publication was an essay by Kenneth P. Green, a resident scholar at the American Enterprise Institute, where it was argued that a carbon tax is superior to a cap-and-trade system. I bounced between frustration, amusement, and glee as I read it, and felt an immediate need to comment. Not because Green did a bad job--he did just fine--but because he was guilty of something which is very common among people who discuss climate change: he discussed the possible "solutions" to climate change without addressing the reasons that a policy was to be implemented in the first place, and how the different solutions worked to address those reasons. His argument for a tax scheme over a cap-and-trade scheme was simply that a tax scheme could achieve the same goals, but with better economic side-effects and less potential for failure. Fine, I'll even grant it. But taxes and caps are fundamentally different policies, which only make even a little sense when confronted by specific sorts of problems.

I should explain what I mean. I've discussed elsewhere the idea that in order to make any sense from an ethical point of view, pollution taxes need to be based on the idea that an individual is justified in polluting if and only if she pays compensation to her victims for any damage done to them. That idea is controversial, but for our purposes we don't need to address that controversy. The point is only that even if we accept that idea as true, there are still only certain kinds of instances in which the injustice of pollution can legitimately be dealt with through a tax on pollution. The paradigm cases are those instances in which the damage caused by pollution is directly proportional to the amount of pollution that there is, so that the tax becomes the "price" of compensating the victims of one's actions for the costs one imposes upon them.

Cap and trade schemes, on the other hand, are built for an entirely different kind of problem. In a paradigm cap and trade situation, there is a threshold level of pollution with which policymakers are concerned, and at the threshold, a certain amount of damage is anticipated. The cap and trade scheme accordingly sets the cap at the relevant amount of pollution, and then distributes "shares" of the "environmental space" below that threshold in some way (e.g., auction, grandfathering system...). Because the allocations may be economically inefficient for whatever reason, the shares can then be traded in accordance with the wishes of their owners in order to ensure that the right to pollute is distributed to those individuals who are willing to pay the most for it (note that the normal objections to the "willingness to pay" criterion are avoided by passing the buck to the distribution process, which of course must be justified separately).

The point I want to make here is that global climate change is a very different phenomenon than the sorts of phenomena for which either of these policies is built to provide a solution. As noted elsewhere, climate change is an emergent problem. That is, climate change is not the result of any individual's actions, but rather is the consequence of many individuals acting separately, so that no individual can reasonably be said to have been able to prevent climate change from occurring, and no individual could have caused climate change singlehandedly. Accordingly, it does not make sense to talk about the consequences of climate change in terms of marginal contributions. The amount of damage caused by climate change will not likely change recognizeably with an additional increment of CO2 (or any other forcing agent), so it's not reasonable to try to put a price on how much damage "a unit of climate forcing" (expressed, perhaps, in terms of GWP, or Global Warming Potential, as defined by the IPCC?) causes.

A tax on contributions to climate change, therefore, seems like a policy which would require a bit of shoehorning. Individuals paying the tax would not be paying the "social cost" of their particular contribution, taken in isolation, because that would be basically zero. They would need to be charged for their "portion" of the total amount of damage done by climate change. So what policymakers would need to do would be to determine the total amount of damage which would be done at the equilibrium price for pollution permits, and then sell the permits at that price. The problem then becomes one of economic calculation. It could be done to some degree, but it would be inherently imprecise. And remember: the end result needs to be that the victims get compensated, so the government would have to go into its own pockets (that is to say, the pockets of its treasury or, more realistically, the pockets of its Federal Reserve printing press) to take care of the balance if it aimed low. And as my wonderful economist friends would point out, there would be a considerable incentive to aim high, creating a surplus revenue stream for the government which would almost certainly not be returned. So the tax is doable, kind of, but the problem is not the kind of thing that the tax is designed for. It's just that you can use the tax to accomplish the end goal if you want.

The cap and trade system is a little harder to adapt to the task, but there are a number of ways that the idea can be useful. First, there is a level to which we could collectively exert a forcing on the climate system without producing objectionable consequences. This level of climate forcing is a threshold which could be amenable to a soft cap and trade scheme (soft like the baseball salary cap). In this kind of policy, the cap would be set at the level of forcing which would produce no negative consequences, and this "environmental space" would be allocated somehow (or, if people find this to be a bad idea, we would simply say that these shares should be allocated in proportion to one's contribution to climate change, so that the soft cap has no effect). People not receiving these shares, or polluting in excess of their shares, would be filling environmental space which represented something like "harmful social emissions". Because these emissions would not be legitimated by the soft cap, they would be the ones which would be subject to the obligation to compensate the victims (again, if the soft cap isn't being used, as mentioned above, it would just be that everyone would have to participate in compensating the victims).

Here a potential for another cap would become apparent: We might imagine that policymakers would decide on a level of pollution (corresponding to some amount of total damage) which was determined to be "socially desirable" somehow. Perhaps, using the same reasoning involved in the tax scheme discussed above, the policymakers would arrive at the level of pollution which would clear the market if everyone paid some price for it. Or perhaps the policymakers would identify a level of pollution beyond which unacceptable results would occur, and the cap would be set there. In any case, you would then have to set a cap and allocate the shares. So again, the policy could be made to work. But the problems are simply that it's difficult to identify a level of "unacceptable" pollution, it's just as difficult to identify a market clearing price in this scheme as it is with the tax (assuming that the shares are auctioned, of course), and any other way of running the scheme is sure to carry either difficulties of its own, or charges of arbitrariness which would sever the connection between the problem and the solution.

So ultimately, what we're faced with is a situation in which the only two policy suggestions that are on the table are not particularly well suited to the task of "solving" the problems arising from climate change (and I haven't even begun to address the question of how the compensation process would even work, or whether compensation could make climate change legitimate!), and the only way to make either of them work is to basically stretch and contort them until they are made to do the job acceptably. Doing so, it will be noted, requires in both cases that government decision-makers possess knowledge and foresight which they almost certainly do not have, and even then it's unclear that the policies would work properly.

Obviously, there's a lot more to say about this. I just wanted to get some preliminary thoughts down, and I think this was a good start.

Can the Free Market Solve the Problems Posed by Climate Change?

Donny with an A — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 22:22:00 GMT

[Cross-posted on the parent blog]

When confronted by the possibility of climate change, many libertarians default to the position that the free market, with its ability to mobilize the ingenuity of the economy for the satisfaction of the desires of the people, will provide the solutions we desire. I want to discuss this view, because I think it is the result of a mistaken understanding of the nature of the free market. For an example of this view, consider George Reisman's comments in his essay, "Environmentalism in the Light of Menger and Mises":

The appropriate answer to the environmentalists is that we will not sacrifice a hair of industrial civilization, and that if global warming and ozone depletion really are among its consequences, we will accept them and deal with them--by such reasonable means as employing more and better air conditioners and sun block, not by giving up our air conditioners, refrigerators, and automobiles.

In his essay, "Global Warming Is Not a Threat But the Environmentalist Response to It Is," Reisman elaborates:

...if global warming is a fact, the free citizens of an industrial civilization will have no great difficulty in coping with - that is, of course, if their ability to use energy and to produce is not crippled by the environmental movement and by government controls otherwise inspired.

He goes on to say that global warming

...would certainly not be too great a problem for tens and hundreds of millions of free, thinking individuals living under capitalism to solve. It would be solved by means of each individual being free to decide how best to cope with the particular aspects of global warming that affected him.

Reisman makes an important point. When it comes to allocating resources efficiently, the free market is unparalleled in its effectiveness. In his essay, "The Use of Knowledge in Society," Hayek explained:

...knowledge of the circumstances...never exists in concentrated or integrated form, but solely as the dispersed bits of incomplete and frequently contradictory knowledge which all...separate individuals possess. The economic problem of society is thus not merely a problem of how to allocate "given" resources--if "given" is taken to mean given to a single mind which deliberately solves the problem set by these "data." It is rather a problem of how to secure the best use of resources known to any of the members of society, for ends whose relative importance only these individuals know. Or, to put it briefly, it is a problem of the utilization of knowledge not given to anyone in its totality.

Hayek points out that

...there is...a body of very important but unorganized knowledge which cannot possibly be called scientific in the sense of knowledge of general rules: the knowledge of the particular circumstances of time and place. It is with respect to this that practically every individual has some advantage over all others in that he possesses unique information of which beneficial use might be made, but of which use can be made only if the decisions depending on it are left to him or are made with his active cooperation.

He concludes:

If we can agree that the economic problem of society is mainly one of rapid adaptation to changes in the particular circumstances of time and place, it would seem to follow that the ultimate decisions must be left to the people who are familiar with these circumstances, who know directly of the relevant changes and of the resources immediately available to meet them. We cannot expect that this problem will be solved by first communicating all this knowledge to a central board which, after integrating all knowledge, issues its orders. We must solve it by some form of decentralization.

This decentralization is the free market. Hayek explains that

...in a system where the knowledge of the relevant facts is dispersed among many people, prices can act to coordinate the separate actions of different people in the same way as subjective values help the individual to coordinate the parts of his plan.

And indeed, it's been demonstrated in practically every instance that the free market has the capacity to satisfy the wants of the population better than centrally organized alternatives. So I think Reisman is largely right in saying that when it comes to adapting to new problems, the market does do great work.

But when we talk about the free market, we generally have two things in mind. The first, which Reisman focuses on, is a system in which property titles are traded voluntarily in a mutually beneficial way, resulting in a continuous progression towards a more efficient allocation of resources. But the second, which underpins the first, is a system in which rights are enforced, so that individuals who infringe on the rights of others are punished, and those whose rights are infringed are compensated for the harm they suffer. It is my contention the Reisman's argument breaks down by completely brushing off this second feature of the market.

Imagine if we were trying to discuss the proper social response to a particular theft. It might be true that of all social systems, a victim of theft would be best equipped for dealing with her loss in a capitalistic free market. She would not need to consult a central planning board in order to replace the things that were taken, and her higher purchasing power, enabled by her participation in a thriving market economy, would enable her to afford the replacement with comparative ease.

And yet we would obviously not be satisfied with this "solution." The reason is simple. The thief did something wrong, and therefore, the thief ought to be held responsible for fixing it, never mind that we should perhaps have tried to stop the theft from happening in the first place. Accordingly, by suggesting that we simply allow the free market to operate so that adaptation will be easier, Reisman is smuggling in the claim that we do nothing wrong to the victims of climate change.

This seems obviously contentious. The question should not be, as Reisman seems to want to make it, whether or not the free market is the best system for facilitating adaptation to changing conditions. The question is whether we do something unjust by contributing to climate change. To be fair, Reisman briefly addresses this issue, as I discussed here. But my point is that by glossing quickly over the issue of justice, many libertarians have completely missed the point. If the free market is to be relied on to provide a "solution" to climate change, it must be through a strict adherence to the principles of justice. If we simply ignore injustice, and define fairness in terms of mere participation in the market, then we cannot claim to be advocating libertarianism.

Interpersonal Comparisons of Utility

Donny with an A — Tue, 18 Mar 2008 22:21:00 GMT

[Cross-posted on the parent blog]

So as I said earlier, I've been getting involved in a whole bunch of debates involving value theory, and I wanted to sketch out a few of my views in order to have a starting point for discussion, so I don't have to keep explaining myself over and over again. In this post, I want to address the idea that because there is no way to objectively measure utility, it is impossible to coherently make claims which involve comparisons of utility between people.

But before addressing this point, I anticipate that it will be necessary to offer something by way of disclaimer. It occurs to me that by suggesting that something can be more valuable to one person than to another person, I will be accused of being a Utilitarian--of claiming that the person to whom the thing would be most valuable should be the one to have it. An example of a view like this can be found in Peter Singer's famous essay, "Famine, Affluence, and Morality," where he wrote:

When we buy new clothes not to keep warm but to look "well-dressed" we are not providing for any important need. We would not be sacrificing anything if we were to continue to wear our old clothes, and give the money to famine relief. By doing so, we would be preventing another person from starving...we ought to give money away, rather than spend it on clothes which we do not need to keep us warm. To do so is not charitable, or generous. Nor is it the kind of act which it would be good to do, but not wrong not to do. On the contrary, we ought to give the money away, and it is wrong not to do so.

I do not wish to comment on exactly to what extent I disagree with Singer, except to say that I think that for very many people, maintaining a good appearance is a very serious interest, and should not be brushed off with such little care. I will also say, in passing, that I find slightly disturbing Singer's view that morality requires us to give to others "...unless in doing so we would be sacrificing something of comparable moral significance..." I simply can not assent to the idea that we have no right to indulge in pleasures of our own (even if we've earned those pleasures!), as long as there are others who are worse off than we are. The source of this objection is obviously Kantian: my life is an end in itself, and I need not justify my pursuit of personal fulfillment by reference to anything else but the notion that I am an individual with a right to live my life according to my own desires. I do, however, find plausible the idea that we have some obligation to help those in need, and that neglect of this duty is immoral (though perhaps, as Nozick pointed out, we would not be justified in enforcing morality in this sense). But all of this is beyond my point.

The purpose of this discussion is not to explain the ethical consequences of interpersonal comparisons of utility. It is simply meant to give some reason for thinking that we are not necessarily incoherent to make claims which rely on comparisons of utility between people. Accordingly, my disclaimer is this: My argument is positive, and not normative. In saying that interpersonal utility comparisons are, in at least some cases, possible, I am not saying anything about what ought to be done in cases where these comparisons show that one person would benefit more than another from some policy, or where one person would gain more than another would lose.

So with that protracted disclaimer out of the way, I'll get on to the issue at hand. Perhaps the most famous reason for thinking that utility can't be compared between individuals is discussed by R.F. Harrod in his essay, "Scope and Method of Economics." He writes:

Whether the nth unit of X has greater or less utility than the mth unit of Y to a given individual may be made the subject of test. He can be given the choice. But there are no scientific means of deciding whether the nth of X has greater or less utility to individual P than the mth of Y has to another individual Q. The choice can never be put.

This point is entirely true. But notice what Harrod says next: "This implies that we cannot in fact decide whether two pense have more utility to a millionaire or a beggar. Yet we may have a shrewd suspicion. But this, we are told, is "unscientific," for lack of a test." He continues, "Can we afford to reject this very clear finding of common sense? Of course great caution must be exercised in not pushing the matter too far. Since the evidence is vague, we must not go farther than a very clear mandate from common sense allows."

This, I think, is the crux of the issue. When I walk home from class, sometimes I feel like grabbing a cup of coffee from Espresso Royale. I can't remember exactly what it costs me for a medium cup of coffee, but however much it is, it wildly eclipses the amount it would cost me to make a cup at home. We have a pretty good coffee maker here, and we grind our own beans. I love coffee, and can definitely tell the difference between good coffee and bad coffee, but I honestly don't think there's a difference in quality between what I can make at home and what I can buy at the coffee shop. The difference is really that I have to wait; I have to walk all the way home and wait for the darn stuff to brew. I also have to grind the beans, put water in the machine, and find my own cup. But to be honest, the difference is pretty negligible; I'm honestly not sure it's even rational for me to ever buy coffee from the shop, and usually I don't.

Then again, sometimes I do. The dollar or two difference buys me a small amount of convenience and instant gratification. But imagine if every time I was going to buy coffee from Espresso Royale, I stopped myself and put the money in an envelope and sent it to help desperately poor people in Africa. For a few dollars, you can buy quite a bit over there, even after those altruistic leeches in the non-profit agencies skim off their "administrative costs." In many countries, people live off of that much money per day. Someone who might have starved would be fed; someone who might have suffered horribly from an easily curable illness would be given the medicine they need.

Quick, tell me which will result in a greater increase in utility: (a) I get my cup of coffee at Espresso Royale instead of making it at home; (b) A child in Sierra Leone doesn't die from tetanus because she is given a vaccine paid for by me. To preempt the inevitable objections: let me reiterate, I am not saying anything about whether or not I should get the coffee. I am only appealing to the notion that it would be pretty ridiculous of me to say that I can't determine whether (a) or (b) results in more utility gained, because there's no scientific way to compare them. As Amartya Sen famously said, "Why must we reject being vaguely right in favor of being precisely wrong?"

That being said, I want to return to something important that I quoted Harrod as saying earlier: "Of course great caution must be exercised in not pushing the matter too far. Since the evidence is vague, we must not go farther than a very clear mandate from common sense allows." It is key to keep in mind that when we make interpersonal comparisons of utility, we are not measuring utility in a cardinal manner for each individual and comparing these measurements to each other. We can not coherently say that vaccinating the child in Sierra Leone produces 50 more utils than me getting my Espresso Royale coffee. We cannot even say that the vaccination produces 10 times more utility than I gain from my coffee. At least not with any hope of accuracy, we can't. Given this inability to precisely compare utility between individuals, it should be clear that while we might justifiably engage in interpersonal comparisons in extreme situations, we must be very careful when we approach the margins.

Hopefully that's enough to establish my point of view. As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.

The Subjectivity of Value

Donny with an A — Fri, 14 Mar 2008 21:47:00 GMT

[Cross-posted on the parent blog]

For some reason, the past few weeks have found me embroiled in more debates about value theory than I can remember in the past year. Accordingly, I figured I'd post something on the subject as a starting point for those debates, so that I don't have to repeat my entire view in every conversation.

The problems people seem to be wrestling with are twofold. First, people have been arguing that because value is subjective, we can't say anything about how much value something has except by saying how much someone values it. Second, people have been claiming that because there is no acceptable way to objectively measure utility, it is impossible to coherently make claims about utility which compare utility between one individual and another. I want to address both issues, but this post will only discuss the former; I'll deal with the latter another time.

To begin, I want to make clear that I don't deny that utility is subjective. But what does it mean to say this? One uncontroversial, but relatively weak, way of interpreting this is to say that without people (or other valuers) to value things, nothing would have value. While this shouldn't offend anyone, it also doesn't tell us very much. It only means that value must be value to someone; the cake is not valuable, it is valuable to people. If there were a cake on a planet with nothing else on it, so that no sentient being would ever come across the cake or even know that it existed, it would seem odd to attribute any value to the cake.

But it's clear that this isn't what people mean when they say that value is subjective. It seems like what people are saying is that something becomes valuable because someone values it. George Reisman might seem to have embodied this sort of view when he said, "...the starting point both of goods-character and of the value of goods is within us--within human beings--and radiates outward from us to external things, establishing...goods-character and value..." It also might seem to have been present in Mises' thought, when he said, "Judgments of value are voluntaristic. They express feelings, tastes, or preferences of the individual who utters them. With regard to them there cannot be any question of truth and falsity. They are ultimate and not subject to any proof or evidence."

Mises continued, "What the theorem of the subjectivity of valuation means is that there is no standard available which would enable us to reject any ultimate judgment of value as wrong, false, or erroneous in the way we can reject an existential proposition as manifestly false. It is vain to argue about ultimate judgments of value as we argue about the truth or falsity of an existential proposition." It is on the back of statements like these that people argue that we are unable to posit value in anything apart from the value placed on it by some individual.

But this immediately leads to some problematic conclusions. For one, it means that if we cannot say that it would be good for the alcoholic to avoid taking another drink, or that the person in an abusive relationship would be better off leaving his partner, unless they believed that to be the case. If it is the nature of value that it does not exist except as it is placed on certain things by people, then it would be impossible to be mistaken about the value of something. Clearly the alcoholic values the drink, and the abused partner values his relationship, but there seems to be a sense in which we want to say that the alcoholic shouldn't value the drink, and the abused partner should leave.

The problem arises from the fact that we can talk about something's being "valuable" in two ways. One is positive: "I value X; X is valuable." The other is normative: "X would help me to achieve my ends; X is valuable." When my opponents talk about the subjectivity of value, they slip into the former kind of thinking. That is, they take the view that what is desired is the same as what is desirable. But it is my contention that what is desirable, in discussing the value of some object, is what ought to be desired, given the ends of the agent in question. So while I agree that ultimate ends can't be disputed (if you want to be a devout Christian, I can't tell you that you're wrong), I can dispute the means you choose for obtaining your ultimate ends.

This is played out in Mises' discussion when he says, "The characteristic mark of ultimate ends is that they depend entirely on each individual's personal and subjective judgment, which cannot be examined, measured, still less corrected by any other person. Each individual is the only and final arbiter in matters concerning his own satisfaction and happiness." He continues, "Means are judged and appreciated according to their ability to produce definite effects. While judgments of value are personal, subjective, and final, judgments about means are essentially inferences drawn from factual propositions concerning the power of the means in question to produce definite effects. About the power of a means to produce a definite effect there can be dissension and dispute between men. For the evaluation of ultimate ends there is no interpersonal standard available." Accepting this view of value, it seems clear that we can indeed make claims about how valuable something is as a means for achieving some end, even though we can't actually say that the end in question is valuable.

In passing, I want to preempt an obvious objection. In practice, I (and I think most people) do tend to assume that individuals have certain ultimate ends, and that under this assumption, I can largely ignore the issue of the subjectivity of ends. For example, I don't tell the alcoholic, "If you desire the sort of life I find that most people do, you shouldn't have that drink." I simply say, "You shouldn't have that drink." If I were to discover that the alcoholic actually thought that his purpose on the Earth was to explore the effects of alcoholism, producing knowledge for himself and the rest of humanity in the process, then I couldn't criticize his choice of drinking in the same way. But recognizing this possibility doesn't preclude me from assuming that they alcoholic is making a poor decision (in the absence of evidence to the contrary). That I could be wrong because of a faulty assumption, doesn't prove that the position outlined here is wrong.

One thing that I should address, but I won't, is the issue of justice as it relates to value. It's fully possible that someone could do something which would actually produce the effect of promoting her ends, but we would still want to say that there's something wrong with it. Mises seemed to think that justice could be completely explained in utilitarian, contractarian terms, saying, "The ultimate yardstick of justice is conduciveness to the preservation of social cooperation. Conduct suited to preserve social cooperation is just, conduct detrimental to the preservation of society is unjust. There cannot be any question of organizing society according to the postulates of an arbitrary preconceived idea of justice. The problem is to organize society for the best possible realization of those ends which men want to attain social cooperation. Social utility is the only standard of justice. It is the sole guide of legislation." I completely disagree with this assertion, and I am supported in this by a considerable tradition in philosophy. But how this relates to the discussion of value is beyond the scope of this post. I think that what I've said so far is good enough for my purposes.

Asymmetry Between Positive and Negative Externalities

Donny with an A — Tue, 11 Mar 2008 21:27:00 GMT

[Cross-posted on the parent blog]

I want to discuss an asymmetry between positive and negative externalities which I think might be important when thinking about how to use the enforcement of justice to determine which actions should be permitted. Sometimes, we let individuals impose costs on others, provided compensation is payed, because their actions produce net social benefits. As Nozick writes in Anarchy, State, and Utopia, "The reason one sometimes would wish to allow boundary crossings with compensation...is presumably the great benefits of the act; it is worthwhile, ought to be done, and can pay its way." In its Climate Change 1995: Economic and Social Dimensions of Climate Change, the IPCC elaborates on this idea, explaining that if an action "...yields positive net benefits, then those made better off could compensate those made worse off with something extra left over. As long as the compensation is paid, the result is an unambiguous gain in welfare, without the necessity of weighing effects on different individuals."

It's worth pointing out that this is not entirely uncontroversial. Nozick writes, "...a system permitting boundary crossing, provided compensation is paid, embodies the use of persons as means; knowing they are being so used, and that their plans and expectations are liable to being thwarted arbitrarily, is a cost to people..." For this reason, Nozick suggests that "Any border-crossing act which permissibly may be done provided compensation is paid afterwards will be one to which prior consent is impossible or very costly to negotiate...But not vice versa." For our purposes, however, we will ignore this problem, and limit our discussion to only those compensated boundary crossings which are not problematic in this way.

So what's the asymmetry? It should be clear that the preceding discussion was directed only at negative externalities. That is, cases where I do something that results in costs being imposed on other people, where I haven't obtained their consent in advance. An entirely different framework applies to positive externalities: cases where, without being asked or promised anything, I do something which results in positive outcomes for other people.

Where we think of negative externalities as demanding of compensation, we generally don't think that we are entitled to payment for the positive outcomes we have generated for others as a result of positive externalities. So when we impose costs without consent, we owe compensation, but when we "impose" benefits without "consent," we are not entitled to payment. This is the asymmetry.

But on the surface, this doesn't seem to be problematic. If I unilaterally decided to do something which had positive consequences for you, then it doesn't seem like you suddenly take an obligation to compensate me for my trouble; I'm the one who decided to do the thing that I did, and presumably I would have decided to do it, even if you weren't around. On the other hand, if I unilaterally do something that has negative consequences for you, then I do take on an obligation to compensate you; you didn't decide for me to do what I did, and presumably you wouldn't have in the absence of compensation. The asymmetry seems simply to reflect the idea that we are not entitled to make people worse off without their consent in the execution of our plans.

However, there are two implications of this asymmetry which might be worth noting. The first can be shown by the following illustration. Imagine that on Bill's roof, there is a machine which produces laser light shows on the bottoms of clouds at night. Bill lives in a large town, but most of the people don't really care one way or the other about the laser light shows; they're typically asleep when they're going on. A few people do enjoy the shows, but not to a huge degree. If put on the spot, they would probably pay a small sum to allow them to continue, but tracking these people down and collecting money from them would be relatively difficult, and they probably wouldn't respond to mass mailers, newspaper ads, or other public fund raising efforts.

On the other hand, Bill's laser machine generates a certain kind of green smoke which is not a health hazard in any way, but which tends to drift into Terry's yard and stain his house a particularly ugly color. The stain can be cleaned, but doing so is somewhat costly, and as Terry does not typically watch the laser light show, he is rightly irritated by Bill's behavior. Being a reasonable person, Terry takes Bill to court to demand that he either pay for his house to be cleaned periodically, or else stop putting on the show.

Now, perhaps the people who enjoy the show would be collectively willing to pay enough to completely cover the costs of cleaning Terry's house. But without their contributions, Bill would not be willing to pay this amount. What would end up happening is that Bill would put a stop to the show, and though they'd be disappointed, the people who enjoyed the show would likely not be motivated enough to get together and pay the amount necessary to get it going again.

Let's imagine that Bill knew who these people were. Even though he knows that they were benefiting from his show, the burden is on him to convince them to voluntarily contribute to getting the show going again. The effort necessary might be prohibitive. On the other hand, this burden does not seem to be on Terry; Bill has the obligation to compensate Terry for whatever costs are done to him. This illustration shows that if we say that one is obliged to compensate for negative external effects, but one is not entitled to payment for positive external effects, then the costs of organizing people would result in the cessation of an entire class of net beneficial effects.

Confronted with this possibility, we might shrug our shoulders and say, "That's a shame, but we're not particularly concerned." We might point to the fact that our alternatives are somewhat limited. We can try to calculate net benefits and then either fine or tax alleged beneficiaries in order to pay compensation to harmed parties, or else we can simply allow allegedly "net beneficial" acts to be undertaken without any compensation for the victims.

Both of these alternatives seem objectionable. As we said before, my decision to do something which benefits you doesn't seem to generate an obligation in you to pay me. And as Nozick writes, "Using...[someone] for the benefit of others, uses him and benefits the others. Nothing more. What happens is something is done to him for the sake of others. Talk of an overall social good covers this up...To use a person in this way does not sufficiently respect and take account of the fact that he is a separate person, that his is the only life he has. He does not get some overbalancing good for his sacrifice, and no one is entitled to force this upon him..."

We find ourselves in a situation where we are forced to choose the best of a set of evils. Nozick writes, "Because great transaction costs may make the fairest alternative impracticable, one may search for other alternatives...These alternatives will involve constant minor unfairness and classes of major ones." As far as "unfairnesses" go, the ones we face here seem rather minor.

[It has come to my attention that I'm an idiot and apparently can't tell the difference between the word "defendant" and "plaintiff." I apologize to anyone who may have been confused by the rest of this post.]

But this leads to the second implication of the asymmetry between positive and negative externalities, which I find significantly more troubling. This problem arises from an interesting fact about the way that rights are enforced. In his essay, "Science, Public Policy, and Global Warming: Rethinking the Market Liberal Position," Edwin Dolan writes, "Certain defenses are allowed against a charge of assault or trespass. Consent of the victim is one. Also, if no causal relationship can be shown between the action of the defendant and the offense to the victim, the tort is not proved. However, certain attempted defenses are not recognized as legally valid..." Of these, one is "A showing that the defendant gained benefits from the tort, the value of which exceeds the costs to the victim."

This means that an individual can perform an action which is beneficial to everyone, and still be required to compensate people for any individual negative effects resulting from the action. It is important to note that the issue is not whether it could be proven that the action produced beneficial consequences for the victim that were more significant than the costs imposed. Rather, even if this were proven, the boundary-crosser would still be required to pay the victim.

I'm struggling to figure out what I think about this. I need some time to think; any thoughts or opinions would be very welcome.

Monetary Compensation for Future Generations

Donny with an A — Tue, 11 Mar 2008 19:03:00 GMT

[Cross-posted on the parent blog]

I've been talking a lot about whether or not we could have obligations to future people, and it occurred to me that I should say something about what it would mean for us to have those obligations, if we did have them. For example, let's say (as I discussed here) that it is wrong to act in such a way that a person comes into existence, upon whom the consequences of your actions will impose costs, but who will not have been provided with proper compensation for those costs. It should be obvious that one way to act permissibly would be to avoid that sort of action. But another way to act permissibly would be to provide compensation to the person your actions bring into existence.

What kind of compensation would this be? The obvious answer seems to be that we should leave them some amount of money which would sufficiently make up for the costs they'll have to endure as a result of our actions. But I wanted to point out an interesting feature of monetary compensation across time periods which might be significant to the way we think about the issue.

Let's say I harm you today, and give you money to compensate you for it. Basically, what I've done is give you power for directing the allocation of social resources which formerly belonged to me. As Hayek wrote in his essay, "The Use of Knowledge in Society," "...in a system where the knowledge of the relevant facts is dispersed among many people, prices can act to coordinate the separate actions of different people in the same way as subjective values help the individual to coordinate the parts of his plan." Providing someone with compensation has the effect of removing power to direct the market from one person, and giving it to another. It seems fair to say that this is exactly what we want to do when we make someone compensate someone else.

But something very different happens when someone leaves compensation for someone in the distant future. There are two steps in this process which occur at significantly different times. The first step is that someone loses their purchasing power. Influence on the market is lost by the compensating individual, and is essentially given to the rest of the actors in the economy. Basically, money is taken out of the economy, and therefore the rest of the money becomes more valuable: it gains more power for coordinating the market.

The second step is that in the future, an individual comes into existence and is given the money that had previously been taken out of the economy. This has the effect of increasing the money supply. Predictably, the rest of the money in the economy becomes less valuable. In other words, power for market coordination is transferred from the rest of the economy to the individual who is being compensated.

It should be clear that this is fundamentally different from monetary compensation which occurs instantaneously. But the significance of this difference might not be immediately apparent. Purchasing power is released into the economy in the first step, and then essentially recaptured in the second; it might seem like things ultimately balance out. But the problem comes into focus when we recognize that the economy is populated by different people when the purchasing power is released than it is when the purchasing power is recaptured.

Essentially the problem is this. When we compensate someone instantaneously, purchasing power is transferred directly from us to them. But when we compensate someone in the distant future, we transfer purchasing power from ourselves to the other members of our generation, and then in the future, purchasing power is transferred from the other members of the future person's generation to the future person. The purchasing power is not transferred directly from us to the person to whom we are obligated.

What does this mean? I'm not sure. I just thought it might be worth pointing out.

Cost-Benefit Analysis in Light of the Non-Identity Problem

Donny with an A — Tue, 19 Feb 2008 17:48:00 GMT

[Cross-posted on the parent blog]

So earlier I wrote about the role played by discounting in doing cost-benefit analyses on the impacts of climate change. I concluded that discounting of future damage is unethical because it treats future people as if their interests matter less than present people's. But recently, I've also been discussing the implications of the Non-Identity Problem, and it should be clear that cost-benefit analysis needs to explain its relevance in light of this problem.

For those who haven't been paying attention (or have only recently begun seeing my blog at its spiffy new alternative location), I explained the relevance of the Non-Identity Problem like this:

If we were to act to prevent or mitigate climate change, we would bring it about that people would spend their money on different things, travel to different places, meet different people, get different jobs, and most importantly, have different children (just think how tiny are the chances of a particular spermatozoon fertilizing a particular egg!). In 100 years, it's likely (if not certain) that the world would be populated by an entirely different set of people.

As a consequence of this "fact" (I will accept it as one), we are pretty much forced to say that the people who inherit a world affected by climate change are no worse off than they could have been, because if we had caused less climate change, they wouldn't have existed. Accordingly, it seems difficult to see how we could say that climate change "harms" anyone; if we did anything differently "to" them, they'd simply not exist.

So if the people who would face climate change will be different people than the ones who would have existed if we didn't cause climate change, how can we reasonably talk about costs being incurred as a result of climate change? It seems like when we talk about costs, we do rely on some sort of counterfactual, based on what would have happened if the event in question hadn't happened. For example, let's say I'm talking about a cost imposed on me by a car accident. What I have in mind is that there is a difference between what actually happened to me and what would have happened to me if the accident hadn't happened.

And when we talk about costs imposed by climate change, it seems like we're using the same sort of thinking: the costs imposed by climate change represent the difference between what happens to people in a climate change scenario, and what would have happened to them in the absence of climate change. But as I've said, what would happen to them in the absence of climate change is that they wouldn't exist. So how can we say that a cost has been imposed?

It's my view that this is actually not a problem for cost-benefit analyses at all. When we talk about what would have happened if a particular event had not occurred, I don't think it's necessary that it would actually have been possible for the event not to have occurred. I might say, "What costs and benefits did I incur as a result of being born male instead of female?" I couldn't have been born female; if my parents had a female child, it wouldn't have been me. But I still think we can ask such a question without speaking utter gibberish.

Some might be quick to point out that doing so would involve a lot of serious difficulties, because we'd have to hypothesize exactly what kind of life "I" would have lived, and we'd need to somehow compare that life to the one I already have. In the same way, it's extremely difficult to establish what someone's life would have been like if climate change hadn't affected them, and probably harder still to compare that hypothetical life to the one that actually happens. But it's important to see that this problem isn't confined to situations characterized by the Non-Identity Problem. The same kind of difficulties seem to be present when we ask, "What costs and benefits did I incur as a result of majoring in philosophy?" And it seems to me that any cost-benefit analysis is going to have to face these problems.

So back to the real question: does the Non-Identity Problem create any new problems for cost-benefit analysis? It does if we think of costs as representing harmful deviations from alternative possibilities. As I pointed out earlier, the concept of harm seems to include the idea of being moved away from a baseline, and the sort of baseline we'd need to refer to here is one where the individual couldn't possibly be on the baseline. If you couldn't exist if certain things didn't happen, then it's hard to see why we would say that you're harmed by their happening. But costs don't need to be thought of as harmful to people. As I alluded to earlier, I wouldn't want to say that I was harmed by being born a male instead of a female. My being male seems to be a necessary condition for my existence. But I can still try to determine what costs being a male has imposed on me.

So the fact that we can't consider the costs involved in future cost-benefit calculations to be harmful doesn't prevent us from being able to conduct the cost-benefit analysis. But one thing we have to keep in mind is whether the costs that we'd be measuring have any ethical significance. I want to think more about that, so I'll stop here.

Does the Fact that Individuals Discount Entail the Existence of a Social Discount Rate?

Donny with an A — Fri, 15 Feb 2008 22:09:00 GMT

[Cross-posted on the parent blog]

In my last post, I discussed the idea of discounting as it relates to cost-benefit analysis. I reached the conclusion that discounting treats future people's interests as if they were less significant than our own, and that if cost-benefit analysis aims to make people the best off, then this seems like a bad practice. I received a reply from a fellow with the handle of TokyoTom, which said the following:

Donny, I don't think that you've at all demonstrated that we don't discount - viz., that we try to make decisions on the basis that the preferences of people who do not exist today should weigh as much as our own.

I would disagree with that conclusion myself. Clearly individuals act on the basis of their own preferences, which preferences may take into consideration the supposed preferences of others, including future generations. These others simply don't have a vote on what my preferences are - and is the collective actions of billions of individuals alive today that similarly make decisions that bring about tomorrow.

Tom (at least I assume his name is Tom) is absolutely right to say that individuals clearly act as though value in the future is worth less than the equivalent value today. If I were trying to argue that people actually do make decisions as if future people matter just as much as they do, I would be easily refuted. In fact, I would be hard pressed to believe even that people behave as though future people matter very much at all, never mind as though their interests were equal to their own.

But I never argued that individuals don't discount (in fact, I specifically acknowledged that they do), or that individuals consider future individuals to be just as important as themselves. Rather, I argued that discounting future damage in cost-benefit analysis is unjust. What's the difference? I'll try to illustrate with a series of examples.

Let's say that we're trying to decide whether to put a garbage dump in a neighborhood populated exclusively by an ethnic minority (say, Hmong folks). We perform a cost-benefit analysis to see what we should do. In the first scenario, let's say the Hmong folks in the neighborhood would prefer not to have the garbage dump in their neighborhood, and the folks who live outside of the neighborhood would prefer to have it there (not because of any malice, but rather because they would gain use from it). If (once we equalize for different valuation of money and all that) the cost-benefit analysis shows that the outsiders would be willing to pay more to have the dump than the Hmong folks would to not have it, then we'd say that there's a net benefit to putting the dump in; it's worth doing. And as far as we ignore all the problems with cost-benefit analysis (that is, we don't care what we do to the Hmong people as long as it represents a net gain, and we're okay with treating a single metric as properly representing the wellbeing of these people), then that's all there is to it. The cost-benefit analysis has worked exactly as advertised.

But now let's say that the outsiders didn't want the garbage dump because they would benefit from it, but rather because they're evil hillbillies and they despise the Hmong people. The benefit to them is not a self-interested benefit, but rather a benefit derived from the cost to others. Perhaps if we give this kind of benefit equal standing, the garbage dump goes in. But that seems like the wrong conclusion. We might say the same if the garbage dump doesn't go in because the Hmong people don't want the outsiders to get any benefit, even though they wouldn't really mind the dump being there. That's why most people who advocate cost-benefit analysis try really hard to ensure that the costs and benefits they're measuring reflect only the costs and benefits to the individuals they're surveying.

Accordingly, we wouldn't want to say that the importance of future individuals' wellbeing can be accounted for in cost-benefit analysis by seeing how present people value their wellbeing. What matters is how much they value their wellbeing. Once we recognize this, then it becomes clear what we do when we discount their costs and benefits compared to current people's costs and benefits. What we do is to say that their costs and benefits are less significant than those of present people. And it is this practice which I claim to be unjust.

Cost-Benefit Analysis, Discounting, and Climate Change

Donny with an A — Fri, 15 Feb 2008 04:29:00 GMT

[Cross-posted on the parent blog]

I wrote a paper last semester on the notion of discounting future damage (I'll explain what this means below), and I wanted to revisit the issue now that I've done a little more research, to see if I still agree with what I wrote then. Basically, my paper examined how our views of the proper role of discounting are dependent on our views about what social policy is trying to achieve, and what kind of problem climate change poses. Rather than putting my whole paper online and critiquing it, I'm going to split it up into pieces and post each separately. In my paper I examined four paradigms: (1) The goal of social policy should be to allocate resources to their most efficient uses, and climate change represents a challenge to accomplish this task in a changing world; (2) The goal of social policy should be to maximize the overall good, and climate change represents an obstacle in the way of achieving this goal; (3) Climate change represents an externality, and the goal of a climate policy should be to internalize the externalized costs; (4) Climate change represents an overenclosure of the commons, and the goal of a climate policy should be to remedy this injustice. In this post, I will first go over what I mean by "discounting future damage," and then I will address the first paradigm listed above.

So how does discounting play into discussions about climate change? The most significant impacts of climate change will not occur for a significant amount of time: we're talking decades or even centuries. The issue is how important that damage is compared to the equivalent amount of damage today. In his essay, "Global Climate Change: A Challenge to Policy," Kenneth Arrow wrote that the dispute "...surrounds the appropriate value for the social rate of time preference. This...allows for discounting the future simply because it is the future, even if future generations were no better off than we are. The Stern Review [a report released by economist Nicholas Stern discussing the effects of global climate change on the world economy] follows a considerable tradition among British economists and many philosophers against discounting for pure futurity. Most economists take pure time preference as obvious." So when we talk about discounting future damage, what we're concerned with is whether or not it's acceptable to treat future damage as being less important, just because it's going to occur in the future.

So with that in mind, let's look at the paradigm of cost-benefit analysis: policy should allocate social resources in the most efficient manner, and climate change just represents a challenge for doing that. In its most rudimentary form, cost-benefit analysis is a tool which allows decision makers to allocate resources in the way that best matches some relevant set of preferences. For social decision makers, the relevant set of preferences would clearly be those of society as a whole. Since groups are composed of individuals, advocates of the cost-benefit approach feel that it is reasonable to extrapolate society's preferences from the preferences of individuals. This view is implicit in the position taken by economist Jerry Taylor, who favors discounting future damage at a rate of 5% per year, because it "...matches the return on Treasury bills - or, put another way, [it is] the figure people apply themselves when considering the value of money today versus the value of money tomorrow."

Because the simple cost-benefit perspective considers society as if it were a single decision maker, needing only to allocate its own resources according to its preferences, it is immediately clear why discounting would seem obvious. The existence of a preference for value sooner rather than later is a basic economic assumption which is rooted in cold empirical fact. From this mindset, the question is not whether to use a discount rate, rather what discount rate to use. Some, like Jerry Taylor, use the discounting practices of the current marketplace. Others, like economists Richard Newell and William Pizer, try to predict how market discounting practices will vary over the discounting period, suggesting a plausible range of 2-7%. But to debate the validity of using discounting practices at all would be like asking a banker whether she thought she should charge interest on a loan, or asking an investor whether he cared about getting a return on his money.

So if we accept the view sketched above, it's clear that discounting is not only acceptable, but almost obvious. But what should we think of this view? I want to offer a few objections. First, cost-benefit analysis doesn't properly account for the individuality of its subjects, and does not take into consideration the idea that individuals should not be sacrificed for the sake of others. Second, cost-benefit analysis supposes that all harms can be quantified according to a single metric, which doesn't seem right. Third, even if we ignore the first two problems, it seems like discounting is problematic when you consider the goals of cost-benefit analysis. Let me flesh these out a little.

The first objection is basically taken from Anarchy, State, and Utopia, where Nozick writes, "...there is no social entity with a good that undergoes a sacrifice for its own good. There are only individual people, with their own individual lives. Using one for the the benefit of others, uses him and benefits the others. Nothing more. What happens is something is done to him for the sake of others. Talk of an overall social good covers this up...To use a person in this way does not sufficiently respect and take account of the fact that he is a separate person, that his is the only life he has. He does not get some overbalancing good for his sacrifice, and no one is entitled to force this upon him..." I think Nozick is absolutely right here; we can't weigh future people's interests and current people's interests as if they were all held by the same person. Some notion of proper respect for each group as ends in themselves seems necessary, and the paradigm discussed here clearly lacks that.

The second objection, that a single metric is a suspicious way to evaluate wellbeing, is taken from an essay, "Values in the Economics of Climate Change," where Michael Toman wrote, "One other critique of climate change economics as a guide to policy involves the use of a single-dimension new benefit measure for evaluating different outcomes. This reflects the standard assumption in economics that all costs and benefits are commensurable and interchangeable once expressed in a common metric (a monetary metric as a representation of unobservable utility). There may be serious measurement problems in implementing such a reductionist metric, but as a concept the notion of full tradeoffs and thus full potential compensability of losses from climate change is ubiquitous in the economic model. This view differs from alternatives that see different kinds of values as less commensurable, e.g., some losses of natural beauty or function simply cannot be compensated by other welfare gains." Personally, I tend to think that these latter kinds of views are probably closer to being right. For example, if the Hindus of India are forced to abandon the Ganges as a result of climate change, what kind of compensation could we reasonably expect them to be satisfied with?

But even if we ignored the fact that the cost-benefit model is ethically suspect, and that comparing every harm according to the same metric is methodologically suspect (never mind the fact that we could probably never conduct the kind of calculation necessary), there would still be another problem. The third objection arises from the fact that calculations of "costs and benefits" are supposed to reflect utility, and therefore social preferences. The problem is that, as we discussed earlier, the cost-benefit model is perfectly comfortable with the idea of discounting. In his essay, "Environmental Risk, Uncertainty and Intergenerational Ethics," Kristian Skagen Ekeli pointed out that "To discount the future implies that current interests and preferences count for more than those of future generations." When we say that future damage should be discounted, what we're basically saying is that "society," which is supposedly neutral between its individual members, prefers current people to be happy over future people, simply because they live earlier. How this makes sense is beyond me. It seems that if we were trying to allocate resources to impartially reflect their most efficient uses, we would need to weigh people's interests as being equally significant.

So hopefully those objections demonstrate two things. The first is that cost-benefit analysis is a really crappy way to deal with the issue of climate change. But if we use it anyway (which I suspect people will do, because that's how economics is done nowadays), then we shouldn't discount future damage. To do so would treat future people as if they mattered less than present people, and that seems obviously unacceptable. I am, of course, conspicuously ignoring the Non-Identity Problem completely, and I want to deal with that issue, but I guess I'll leave that for later.