What Is Economics?
Google around for a short definition of “economics,” and you’ll have a lot to choose from. Perhaps the best one-sentence version comes from Lionel Robbins’ An Essay on the Nature and Significance of Economic Science: “Economics is the science which studies human behavior as a relationship between given ends and scarce means which have alternative uses.” ChatGPT provides a pretty good answer too: “Economics is a social science that studies how individuals, businesses, governments, and societies make decisions about how to allocate their scarce resources. These resources can include labor, capital, land, and natural resources, and they are considered scarce because there are not enough of them to satisfy all the wants and needs of individuals and societies.” The American Economics Association provides a similar one-liner: “[Economics is] the study of scarcity, the study of how people use resources and respond to incentives, or the study of decision-making.”
Reviewing these and other sources reveals some consistent themes: First and most obviously from the lines above, resources (money, time, labor, etc.) are finite and have many uses. That means economists examine not merely an outcome (“a given end”) but also its “relationship” to a decision or policy devoting the resources to achieving that result and whether, all things considered, it was worth all those resources—in terms of direct costs, opportunity costs (whether the resources could have been better deployed elsewhere in the economy), and the inevitable tradeoffs and unintended consequences that accompany all decisions, political or otherwise.
Thus, economic analysis doesn’t simply point to some event and some subsequent outcome, and boldly proclaim that the former caused the latter. (Indeed, there’s a whole hilarious website that generates these “spurious correlations” on demand.) Economists don’t just declare a policy change—a new tax or subsidy, for example—a “success” or “failure” because something good or bad, respectively, happened thereafter. Doing that ignores whether the result at issue was already happening before the policy was implemented; whether unrelated stuff—wars, recessions, famines, other policies, whatever—occurred around the same time and actually caused the result; whether policymakers actually intended the result (or just got lucky); whether the data at issue are of high quality and truly representative; where there’s a strong and intended connection between a policy and an outcome, how much it all cost (overall and for particular groups); and, relatedly, what didn’t happen as a result of the policy choice.
Adhering to these basic principles, economists develop elaborate, often very clever, methodologies to determine both whether a certain policy likely caused a certain desired outcome (more jobs, more output, etc.), and at what cost—both the direct, “seen” costs to the parties involved (consumers, business owners, taxpayers, etc.) and the indirect, “unseen” ones (including opportunity costs). Economist Tim Taylor recently provided a great, easily accessible example of how this kind of economic analysis is contemplated and carried out with respect to the minimum wage, walking readers through a new study out of Minnesota that used high quality, non-public data from the state and two different analytical techniques to determine the effects of a minimum wage that Minneapolis phased in over time. The study’s results are interesting (spoiler alert: Wages increased, but jobs and hours worked declined; average workers came out even, but workers in the most-exposed jobs came out worse), but Taylor’s main point was to caution against simplistic approaches—“X then Y, so X caused Y”—to complex policy issues and to instead show how real economics works: i.e., “serious studies using a variety of methods” that “show genuine tradeoffs.” Plenty of other examples of this kind of rigorous economic work abound. (I liked this one recently on food deserts.)
Redefining ‘Economics’?
Some of this is technical and jargony, but much of it doesn’t require an economics degree or years of training—just some common sense. Most of us (excluding Homer Simpson) inherently grok the difference between causation and coincidence. And we also consider (usually) unseen costs. Consider, for example, how wealthy Europeans used to grow pineapples: