I’ve been a dad now for a little less than two years, and I’m still trying to figure out how it is shaping my approach to economics. I think the answer is: A lot.
I learned economics in my twenties, before I became a dad. You know the drill: We learned hard math and complex models. Forget the Greek letters, they are just complicated ways of exploring the basic idea informing economics—that people are purposeful, analytic decision makers. And this idea just seemed entirely natural to me. I had always believed in the analytic self; I was rational, calculating, and tried to make smart decisions. Of course real people don’t use math, but I figured that we’re still weighing costs and benefits just as our models say. Or at least that was my understanding of the world.
Today, I’m not so sure.
Justin Wolfers and his daughter Matilda after a White House Easter egg roll.
My feelings toward my daughter Matilda aren’t easily expressed in analytic terms. I struggle to express it, just as I struggle to understand it. I think about my daughter, and I smile. Her laugh is the greatest joy, and it thrills me that she shares it with me. I’m fiercely protective of her, love (as you can tell) talking about her, and she’s central not only to my life, but to who I am. (You can hear more from me and Matilda in the second episode of the hour-long Freakonomics Radio show, “The Economist’s Guide to Parenting.”)
There’s something new and strange about all this. Today, I feel the powerful force of biology. It’s visceral; it’s real; it’s hormonal, and it’s not in our economic models. I’m helpless in the face of feelings that overwhelm me. Yes, I know that a twenty-something reader will cleverly point out that I just need to count kids as a good which yields utility, or perhaps we need to add a state variable to the utility function as in rational addiction models. But that’s not the point. I’m surprised by how little of this I’ve consciously chosen. While the economic framework accurately describes how I choose an apple over an orange, it has had surprisingly little to say about what has been the most important choice in my life.
And it’s not for want of trying. Today, I find myself wondering: Is parenthood a constant returns technology? That is: Would a second child bring as much joy as a first? But how could it? Since meeting Matilda, my heart is bursting with joy. Will it explode? Are the returns diminishing then? And if so, how fast? Forget self-interest; I’m not the only stakeholder in this debate. Beyond my better half, there’s Matilda, and the dozens of others she has brought joy to—her grandparents, aunts, uncles, and caregivers. There are the old ladies who smile as she walks down the street, the dads I share a knowing glance with, and all the good that will come from whatever lies ahead for my baby.
I’m a committed neoclassical economist. I learned it when I was at a point in my life when rational self-interest (broadly defined) seemed the right way to understand the world. But what kind of economists would we be if we learned our economics only after we were parents? It’s an interesting thought experiment, and truth is, I don’t know the answer. But slivers of evidence—my own introspection, conversations with other economist-parents, and even intriguing research showing the impact that daughters have on Congressman-dads—all tell me that it would be different.
And if you are also struggling to understand these issues: Happy Father’s Day.
and 
. You can also watch it on 
Pick up a copy of Richard Dawkins – The Selfish Gene. Anyone is the biology department should have an extra copy. It will explain things for you.
Those feeling of joy are just the way evolution encourages you to spread your genes. You’ll find out why all of the stakeholders are willing to work for your kid. You’ll see why parents are willing to do more than grandparents, and why grandparents are willing to do more than aunts and uncles.
Everything your feeling does make perfect sense, once you understand whats really steering the ship.
Well-loved. Like or Dislike:
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Justin, what a wonderful “Valentine” for your child. I think that coming to fatherhood at a mature age (my son came when I was 41) has the benefit of all the powerful, visceral emotions of youth mixed with having our heads on straight(er). I’ve seen many young fathers still locked into trying to become men–staying out late with the boys, playing with their “toys,” and so forth–and missing out on what is truly the most glorious thing about life–CHILDREN! No wonder they can speak of children as “goods.”
When I was a young man, I would “inform” my married friends of just how I would do this, that, and the other, when I was married or had kids. Ha! I thought marriage (and its, um, benefits) had to surely make up for any difficulties one experienced. I couldn’t understand when my married buddies would sigh and say, “Aaron, I sure miss being single.” What? But you get to go to bed–TO BED!!!!–with a beautiful woman each night. Now that I’m married, I see that error of my ways (smile). As “Desperado” sings to us, “you always want the one you can’t get.” When single, we want companionship. When married, we want our single freedoms.
ABOUT A SECOND CHILD…. I would love to have at least twelve sons just like my current one, but I would be dead within months. I can BARELY keep up with him. I have heard it said that you can pour more of yourself into fewer children (I think the Duggars prove this point, seeing as their kids have to schedule an appointment to be with their parents). I have also heard it said that instead of your love being divided when you have another child, it is MULTIPLIED. I can believe that.
THE BAD NEWS…. You think you have it bad for your daughter now? I could not have IMAGINED that I would ever–could ever!–love my son more than when he was a year old. Then he turned two…and I loved him more. Then he turned three…and the love kept on growing. Today, he’s seven, and my heart has grown to love him even more. Believe it or not, as incredibly beautiful as he was as a young child, I now look at those pictures and go, “Neh, he’s cute, but NOW he’s INCREDIBLE.” But it’s all good!
Rational? Not when it comes to our kids. No wonder they sing a song called “A Crazy Little Think Called Love.” And if anyone really is rational, well, that’s not the person I would want raising my kid. It’s not rational to run into a burning house to save a child. But it is wondrous and noble.
All the best to you!
Dear Justin,
happy father’s day too.
The greatest contributor to the study of such sentiments you mention about economics came from a guy who did not have children himself (Smith) . The other guy, Darwin, did have some (10) and also experienced these emotions and probably incorporated his own personal life into the research agenda he had.
What I’m trying to argue is that you don’t have to be a father to become a better economist as you seem to have. Instead you can make your students read more of the theory of moral sentiments, and maybe more of darwin’s work to give them a greater and deeper scope of economics.
Also, grad schools could start balancing such acquired knowledge and reflection with the GRE scores.
juan-camilo
The history of economic thought
Brings a tear to the eye.
Damned fine piece.
Welcome to parenthood…models and math don’t always work or make sense when dealing with one’s own…just with other people’s kids.
“But what kind of economists would we be if we learned our economics only after we were parents? ”
My interest in Economics came late, much later than fatherhood – my youngest daughter was twelve when I first read The Armchair Economist (and almost immediately became one!).
Perhaps because my introduction to the dismal science was not via the usual academic route, I don’t experience the tension Justin so neatly and movingly describes. It started for me from trying to understand human behaviour, particularly how we make choices and trade-offs. Models predicated on rational, utility-maximizing beings weren’t the early foundation to economic understanding that I guess it is for proper, academic, economists. I’d almost say that ‘behavioural economics’ is a tautology: *all* economics is behavioural.
Should we expect to be happier with two children than with one? Do we get diminishing returns on subsequent children? Does it mean that we love them less? I can see why an economist would be compelled to ask such questions, but they kind of miss the point if you look at it from the other end.
I do believe human behaviour is strongly guided by making trade-offs akin to economic cost-benefit analysis. The thing is that often, for real people rather than for businesses, at least one part of the cost-benefit balance doesn’t involve easily quantifiable elements like money, working capital or market share.
That part of the equation then loses its property of being linear – which is why trying to work out whether two children brings twice as much happiness as just he one makes, literally, no sense.
I have no doubt that I am happier with my two fantastic daughters than I would be with just the one, but that happiness is just not divisible.
Perhaps it’s worth reconsidering how economic frameworks describe choices – whether it’s between apples and oranges, or between 0, 1, 2 or more children. People make choices on the basis of what they believe will make them happier, and that can often simply not be captured in linear mathematics.
Happy Father’s day to one and all!
becoming a dad is a amaing thing in the life.
Lovely, good for you.
I have been wondering if I too (in my twenties, without children) find it easier to approve of what might be seen as cold-hearted views. Perhaps with children I’ll become happier about “nanny state” regulations, for example. I wonder are there statistics comparing parents and non-parents for political stances?