Not just economists, of course. We’re all storytellers.
What else have we got?
“We are basically storytellers,” wrote Lucas, “creators of make-believe economic systems.”
https://timharford.com/2023/07/what-an-amusement-park-can-teach-us-about-central-banks/
I read Tim Harford’s excellent blog post on what amusement parks can teach us about central banks last night, and loved it for more than one reason. But before we get to amusement parks, let’s talk about photography first:
I often say in classes that economic models are like photographs taken by smartphone cameras. They are abstractions of reality. They can’t possibly capture all the nuances, hues, details and features of whatever it is that you are photographing. And looking at the photograph gives you an idea of what it might have been like to actually be there – but you cannot possibly ever experience it yourself.
https://atomic-temporary-112243906.wpcomstaging.com/2021/03/17/the-solow-model-in-action/
Similarly, a model is an abstraction of reality. It cannot possibly capture all that you need to know about the real world. And using a model as a crutch to get to grips with reality is like seeing a photograph and imagining yourself there. As a thought experiment, it’s fun. As a way to reach policy decisions, it is fraught with risk.
A photograph is an abstraction of reality in much the same way that a story is. You could argue, in fact, that a photograph is, in some sense, a story. And whether it is Robert Lucas or I, we’re trying to get across the same point – that we try to grapple with reality by telling ourselves a story. We could do this with words, with visuals, or with equations. It doesn’t matter.
Some economists might tell you that equations is the best way to do it in all circumstances, but I’m not sure I agree. But that’s a story for another day.
But a model built using words, or visuals, or equations, or something else, is just that – a toy model of reality. Toy models are good, because they help us focus on that which we seek to understand, analyze and perhaps change for the better. They help us by removing that which doesn’t aid the analysis, and by focussing on those elements of reality which do aid the analysis.
A toy model of a race-track, for example, is an abstraction of reality. It doesn’t include the dirt and the grime on an actual race-track, it doesn’t replicate the wind, the sun and the rain, and the toy cars themselves are also simplifications of the real thing. But kids playing with a toy-model of a racetrack will agree that it is a good enough representation of reality for their purposes. We can understand that it is a racecourse, we can analyze ways by which victory can be achieved on this toy racecourse, and perhaps we can understand a little bit about how to deal with the key sections on an actual race-track by using the toy model as a reference.
Batting in the nets is a model of batting in an actual match. But as any commentator will tell you, batting in the nets is not at all like the real thing. You can conquer and master the model, sure – but never be under the impression that all your learnings from the model will guarantee a triumph out there in the real world.
In much the same way that even the most excellent of photographs can never substitute for actually being there, no amount of detail in a story can replicate actually seeing events unfold in real life. And that’s why the predictions of almost any economic model will never give you a perfect representation of what actually happens in real life. Any policy-maker will tell you this because they work in the real world, not in the ivory tower world of theory.
There’s nothing wrong with the ivory tower world of theory. It is a most interesting place, full of weird ideas, somewhat plausible hypotheses, and fascinating representations of reality.You can build a version of reality in which people have perfect foresight, for example. Or a world in which their biases trump their rationality. Or a world in which half the people have perfect foresight and the other half don’t. Or something else altogether. One is restricted by only one’s imagination, and allow me to assure you – there are some very impressive imaginations in the social sciences.
But a story, alas, can only take you so far. A story about amusement parks and central banks, for example, cannot at the end of the day be an acceptable substitute for reality:
The disadvantage with such stories, admitted Lucas, “is that we are not really interested in understanding and preventing depressions in hypothetical amusement parks . . . the analogy that one person finds persuasive, his neighbour may well find ridiculous.”
https://timharford.com/2023/07/what-an-amusement-park-can-teach-us-about-central-banks/
So then what to do? “Keep trying to tell better and better stories . . . it is fun and interesting and, really, there is no practical alternative.”
I have known two people to blog without a break, every single day, for about two decades now. A magnificent achievement, and one that is not celebrated enough, if you ask me. I try to emulate them every year, and I fail every year. But the point (I think) is to keep at it regardless, and so onwards we go.
Seth Godin is one of them. He tells a story about parsley in one of his blog posts:
Who eats the garnish? No one does. What a waste, right? But once it’s gone, you notice. You notice that there wasn’t a sprig of parsley or even a strawberry on the plate. It’s a vivid reminder that you were just ripped off.
https://seths.blog/2005/03/think_about_par/
All of us sell parsley. Sometimes, in the race to cut costs and increase speed and figure out how to fight off Wal-Mart, it’s easy to decide to leave off the parsley. No focus group ever asked for parsley!
It’s a very good story, if you ask me. A very good lesson in marketing, and one that I wish more people would adopt.
But it is, at the end of the day, a story. There might have been a dozen great things about the cafe that served Seth this meal, and there might have been ten dozen not so great things about it. Seth abstracted from his entire experience one specific point, and told us a story about it. But putting a sprig of parsley on an omelette by itself will not revolutionize your business. That’d be the wrong lesson to take away from this post. Or rather, it would be wrong on our part to assume that this is the only lesson we need.
It’s a great story, in other words, but it is, after all, only a story. And we should beware of simple stories, says the other person to have blogged everyday for twenty years:
My takeaway from my favorite bloggers is that stories help us build a version of reality, but beware of taking this, well, story too far!
I can’t tell you how excited I was to learn that Tyler was going to have a conversation with Seth. Do listen to the whole thing, or if you like, read the transcript. But once you’re done listening to the whole thing, run a search for the words “story” and “stories”. To use Seth’s phrasing, they danced with the word throughout the conversation, and that made (for me) a great conversation even better.
Tell more stories is an excellent piece of advice. Tell stories using equations, or words, or pictures, or music, or all of these and more. Revel in these stories, for they help you get a better grasp of reality. But never forget one last step: ask in what ways the story falls short of fully describing reality, and in what ways is reality more complex than the stories.
Three final points that didn’t fit anywhere else in this essay:
- Here is one of my all time favorite stories from economics.
- Is the Mahabharat the best story ever told? It is simple and complex, and it is messy and linear. It has complex characters, and the story reads well even when these characters are grossly oversimplified. It reads even better when they’re not, and is that not a point in its favor?
- My favorite line from Tim’s blogpost has nothing to do with economics or telling stories, but is entirely appropriate for the times we live in: “When the people are amusing themselves, they do not think about politics.“
EconForEverybody 