I agree, finding the right balance is definitely difficult.
However, the different versions of this parable of the grasshopper and the ant may not yet go far enough in subtlety.
Indeed, the ants are presented as champions of productivity, but what exactly are they producing? An extreme overabundance of food that they store endlessly. This completely disproportionate and non-circulating hoarding constitutes an obvious economic aberration. Due to the lack of significant consumption and circulation of wealth, the ants’ economy—primarily based on the primary sector, to a lesser extent the secondary sector, and excessive saving—while highly resilient, is far from optimal. GDP is low and grows only sluggishly.
The grasshoppers, on the other hand, seem to rely on a society centered around entertainment, culture, and perhaps also education or personal services. They store little, just what they need, which can prove insufficient in the event of a catastrophe. Their economy, based on the tertiary sector and massive consumption, is highly dynamic because the wealth created circulates to the maximum, leading to exponential GDP growth. However, this flourishing economy is also very fragile and vulnerable to disasters due to the lack of sufficient reserves—no insurance mechanism, so to speak.
In reality, neither the grasshoppers nor the ants behave in a rational manner. Both present two diametrically opposed and extreme economic models. Neither is desirable. Any economist or actuary would undoubtedly recommend an intermediate economy between these two extremes.
The trap, stemming from a long tradition since Aesop, is to see a model in the hardworking ant and a cautionary tale in the idle cicada. If we try to set aside this bias and look at things more objectively, it actually stems from the fact that until the advent of the modern economy, societies struggled to conceive that wealth creation could be anything other than the production of goods. In other words, the tertiary sector, although it existed, was not well understood and was therefore undervalued. Certainly, the wealthy paid to attend performances or organized lavish festivities, but this type of production was not fully recognized as such. It was just seen as an expense. Services were not easily perceived as work, which was often associated with toil, suffering, and hardship (e.g. “Labour” etymology).
Today, it is almost the opposite. The tertiary sector is highly valued, with the best salaries often found there, and jobs in this sector are considered more intellectual, more prestigious, and more rewarding. In today’s reality, a cicada or grasshopper would more likely be a famous and wealthy dancer in a international opera, while an ant would be an anonymous laborer toiling away in a mine or a massive factory in an underdeveloped country (admittedly, I am exaggerating a bit, but the point stands).
In any case, it would be an illusion for most readers of this forum to identify with the ants in the parable. We are probably all more on the side of the cicadas, or at least a mix of both—and that’s a good thing, because neither of these models constitutes an ideal.
The optimum clearly lies in a balanced, reasonable path between these two extremes.
Another point I would like to highlight is that the question of not spending resources today and instead accumulating them for a future date is far from trivial to grasp at the level of an entire society—for example, humanity as a whole. GDP is a measure of flows over a given period, somewhat like an income statement. However, when considering wealth transfers to future generations, we would need an equivalent tool to a balance sheet. But there is no proper tool for this. There is no consensus on how to measure patrimonial wealth at the scale of humanity.
Natural resources should certainly be valued. Extracting oil today increases GDP, but what about the depletion of oil reserves? And what about the valuation of the oceans, the air, or solar energy? Not to mention other extraterrestrial resources. We plunge into an abyss of complexity when considering all these aspects.
Ultimately, the problem lies in the difficulty of defining what wealth actually is. For ants, it is food. For cicadas, it is more about culture and entertainment. And for us? And for our children? And for human civilization in a thousand years, or for an extraterrestrial or AI civilization?
Many will likely be tempted to say that available work energy constitutes a common denominator. As a generic, intermediate resource—somewhat like a universal currency—perhaps, but not necessarily as a form of wealth with inherent value. Knowledge and information are also likely universal resources.
But in the end, wealth exists in the eye of the beholder—and, by extension, in the mind of an ant, a cicada, a human, an extraterrestrial, and so on. Without falling into radical relativism, I believe we must remain quite humble in this type of discussion.
I agree, finding the right balance is definitely difficult.
However, the different versions of this parable of the grasshopper and the ant may not yet go far enough in subtlety.
Indeed, the ants are presented as champions of productivity, but what exactly are they producing? An extreme overabundance of food that they store endlessly. This completely disproportionate and non-circulating hoarding constitutes an obvious economic aberration. Due to the lack of significant consumption and circulation of wealth, the ants’ economy—primarily based on the primary sector, to a lesser extent the secondary sector, and excessive saving—while highly resilient, is far from optimal. GDP is low and grows only sluggishly.
The grasshoppers, on the other hand, seem to rely on a society centered around entertainment, culture, and perhaps also education or personal services. They store little, just what they need, which can prove insufficient in the event of a catastrophe. Their economy, based on the tertiary sector and massive consumption, is highly dynamic because the wealth created circulates to the maximum, leading to exponential GDP growth. However, this flourishing economy is also very fragile and vulnerable to disasters due to the lack of sufficient reserves—no insurance mechanism, so to speak.
In reality, neither the grasshoppers nor the ants behave in a rational manner. Both present two diametrically opposed and extreme economic models. Neither is desirable. Any economist or actuary would undoubtedly recommend an intermediate economy between these two extremes.
The trap, stemming from a long tradition since Aesop, is to see a model in the hardworking ant and a cautionary tale in the idle cicada. If we try to set aside this bias and look at things more objectively, it actually stems from the fact that until the advent of the modern economy, societies struggled to conceive that wealth creation could be anything other than the production of goods. In other words, the tertiary sector, although it existed, was not well understood and was therefore undervalued. Certainly, the wealthy paid to attend performances or organized lavish festivities, but this type of production was not fully recognized as such. It was just seen as an expense. Services were not easily perceived as work, which was often associated with toil, suffering, and hardship (e.g. “Labour” etymology).
Today, it is almost the opposite. The tertiary sector is highly valued, with the best salaries often found there, and jobs in this sector are considered more intellectual, more prestigious, and more rewarding. In today’s reality, a cicada or grasshopper would more likely be a famous and wealthy dancer in a international opera, while an ant would be an anonymous laborer toiling away in a mine or a massive factory in an underdeveloped country (admittedly, I am exaggerating a bit, but the point stands).
In any case, it would be an illusion for most readers of this forum to identify with the ants in the parable. We are probably all more on the side of the cicadas, or at least a mix of both—and that’s a good thing, because neither of these models constitutes an ideal.
The optimum clearly lies in a balanced, reasonable path between these two extremes.
Another point I would like to highlight is that the question of not spending resources today and instead accumulating them for a future date is far from trivial to grasp at the level of an entire society—for example, humanity as a whole. GDP is a measure of flows over a given period, somewhat like an income statement. However, when considering wealth transfers to future generations, we would need an equivalent tool to a balance sheet. But there is no proper tool for this. There is no consensus on how to measure patrimonial wealth at the scale of humanity.
Natural resources should certainly be valued. Extracting oil today increases GDP, but what about the depletion of oil reserves? And what about the valuation of the oceans, the air, or solar energy? Not to mention other extraterrestrial resources. We plunge into an abyss of complexity when considering all these aspects.
Ultimately, the problem lies in the difficulty of defining what wealth actually is. For ants, it is food. For cicadas, it is more about culture and entertainment. And for us? And for our children? And for human civilization in a thousand years, or for an extraterrestrial or AI civilization?
Many will likely be tempted to say that available work energy constitutes a common denominator. As a generic, intermediate resource—somewhat like a universal currency—perhaps, but not necessarily as a form of wealth with inherent value. Knowledge and information are also likely universal resources.
But in the end, wealth exists in the eye of the beholder—and, by extension, in the mind of an ant, a cicada, a human, an extraterrestrial, and so on. Without falling into radical relativism, I believe we must remain quite humble in this type of discussion.