Economics is very, very hard.

Such a characterization of the dismal science from a theoretical physicist, a denizen of a world widely regarded as riddled with near incomprehensible levels of mathematical abstraction, might strike one at first glance as curious, perhaps even ironic. But the truth is that economics is frustratingly complex in ways that physics is not – profoundly awkward ways that can affect its very development and impact.

Physics, of course, can be difficult. In our quest to understand the world around us at its deepest level, we have been forced to develop increasingly complex mathematical structures and representations. Just why the underlying laws of nature require the use of such sophisticated concepts is both deeply mysterious and not a little frustrating, but such seems to be our lot. Suffice it to say, there is no a priori desire on the part of theoretical physicists to make the world out to be more complicated than it is – quite the contrary, in fact.

Physicists are continually searching for routes to simplicity. By breaking objects down into their constituent parts and creating idealized scenarios (frictionless ramps, spherical planets, etc) to best assess the primary causes of the phenomenon in question, the physicist is constantly utilizing his reductionistic toolkit to uncover all-encompassing laws, desperately trying to hit bedrock.

Economists, meanwhile, face a much more arduous task, for two distinct reasons.

In the first place, the systems that economists study – large aggregates of people in often widely dissimilar societies – are hardly the simple, abstract systems of fundamental physics. Studying the dynamics of systems of thousands, if not millions, of basic quantities (in this case, people) naturally involves a very different sort of analysis than trying to determine the structure of one central building block – a proton, say. Still, this sort of difficulty, while often extremely messy, is neither unique to economics nor intractable. One encounters precisely the same issue in thermodynamics, where it is de facto impossible to imagine knowing precise details (position, momentum) about any one of the millions of atoms in a gas. Physicists manage to circumvent this impediment by recognizing higher level laws and structures involving properties of the system (pressure and temperature) that can be connected, statistically, to the individual constituents (atoms). In a similar way, economists have devised meaningful distinctions between the microeconomics of individual choices and the macroeconomics of aggregate economic systems.

Economics and physics fundamentally diverge, however, on an entirely different front: people. To a physicist, our existence is profoundly irrelevant to the structure of the universe: we are made of the same basic building blocks as both quinces and quasars and the universe would unfold according to precisely the same structural laws if we were to suddenly disappear¹. Economics, on the other hand, is entirely different. Without people, economics is not merely “abstract”; it is simply non-existent, nonsensical. One obviously can’t study the wealth of nations or the consumption of goods and services without tacitly assuming that there are humans² to produce and consume the goods.

So far, so obvious. The fact that economics is so inextricably tied to people, however, gives rise to several unique consequences:

1. The hope that one can discover an all-encompassing “law of economics” analogous to a law of physics becomes rather dim when one recognizes the diversity, inconsistencies and evolution of both individuals and societies. When careful examination of the notion of “happiness”³, for example, fails to result in a coherent, timeless definition of the term, let alone any consensus as to how best obtain it, it is difficult to imagine how one can eventually discover laws of universal applicability and relevance.
2. Economics is intrinsically political. I don’t simply mean this in the colloquial sense – i.e. that it is a field of inquiry pursued by humans who are themselves naturally subject to the winds of fashion and ego-gratification as they try to elevate themselves from the herd in their race for distinction, research funding and general attention. In this way economics is no different from any other area of human endeavour (certainly including, sadly, theoretical physics). No, what I am referring to here is merely the simple acknowledgment that the investigation of how best to produce and distribute goods, services and natural resources for a collective is naturally deeply affected by the way that society elects to organize itself. Our economic system requires a certain political framework in which it can perform, while the politicians are entrusted with implementing key economic notions.

In a modern liberal democracy, where policy is always typically decided with an eye towards the anticipated reaction of the electorate, one finds oneself in the curious situation where economic theory must to some extent first be embraced by a largely economically illiterate audience before it can actually be implemented.

Take free trade. Virtually all modern economists are in favour of free trade and vigorously opposed to market-distorting subsidies that invariably cater to private interest groups at the expense of the broader citizenry. There seems little doubt that the vast majority of individuals, rich and poor, would benefit from a drastic reduction in trade subsidies across the board. Yet the world is hardly a free-trading panacea, and is perhaps lurching in a rather different direction. Why? Doubtless because, at some level, the economists have not been able to persuade the populace of the merits of their case.

So pity the poor economist. First she has to delve into the human psyche to develop a meaningful way of understanding individual decisions; then she has to somehow generalize this process across countless regional and cultural divides; finally, and hardest of all, she has to find a way of obtaining widespread popular support of her ideas before they can bring any tangible benefits, so as to actually implement them.

Superstring theory, by comparison, is a walk in the park.