1
ROBERT
E. LUCAS,
Jr.
I was born in 1937, in Yakima, Washington,
the oldest child of Robert Emerson Lucas and Jane Templeton Lucas. My
sister
Jenepher was born in 1939 and my brother Peter in 1940. My parents had
moved to
Yakima from Seattle, to open a small restaurant,
The
Lucas Ice Creamery. The restaurant was a casualty of the 1937-38
downturn, and
during World War II our family moved to Seattle,
where my father found work as a steamfitter in the shipyards and my
mother
resumed her earlier career as a fashion artist. My brother Daniel was
born in Seattle
in 1948.
My parents were admirers of President Roosevelt and the New Deal. Their
parents
and most of our relatives and neighbors were Republicans, so they were
self
conscious in their liberalism and took it as emblematic of their
ability to
think for themselves. The idea that one could decide for oneself what
kind of
person to be, and that one ought to think about these decisions, was
not
limited to politics. I remember discussions, with my mother especially,
of
religion (she was a liberal protestant), of decor (she favored hardwood
floors
and oriental rugs), even on how to choose what kind of cigarette to
smoke.
After the war, my father found a job as a welder at a commercial
refrigeration
company, Lewis Refrigeration. He became a craftsman, then a sales
engineer,
then sales manager, and eventually president of the company. He had no
college
degree and no engineering training, and learned the engineering he
needed from
the people he worked with and from handbooks. I remember many technical
and
managerial discussions with him, as well as our ongoing political
arguments.
When I took calculus in high school, he enlisted my help on a
refrigeration
design problem he was working on-and actually used my calculations! It
was my
first taste of real applied mathematics, and an exciting one.
I attended Seattle Public Schools, graduating from Roosevelt High
School
(where my parents had graduated in 1927) in 1955. I was good at math
and
science, and it was expected that I would attend the University
of Washington in Seattle
and become an engineer. But by the time I was seventeen I was ready to
leave
home, a decision my parents agreed to support if I could obtain a
scholarship. MIT
did not grant me one but the University of Chicago
did. Since Chicago
did not have an engineering school, this ended my engineering career.
But when
I began the 44 hour train trip "back east" to Chicago, I was pretty sure something
interesting would turn up.
What to do instead? I took some mathematics at Chicago, but lost interest soon after
my
courses got past the material I had half learned in high school. I did
not have
the nerve to major in Physics, which is what you did at Chicago in those
days if you thought you
could make it. The real excitement for me was in the liberal arts core
of the Chicago
College, courses
from the Hutchins era
with names like History of Western Civilization, and Organization,
Methods, and
Principles of Knowledge. Everything in these courses was new to me. All
of them
began with readings from Plato and Aristotle, and I wanted to learn all
I could
about the Greeks. I took a sequence in Ancient History, and became a
history
major. Though I had no real idea what a professional historian does, I
had
learned that one can make a living by pursuing one's intellectual
interests and
writing about them. I began to think about an academic career.
I obtained a Woodrow Wilson Doctoral Fellowship, and entered the
graduate
program in History at the University of California.
With no Greek or French and minimal Latin and German, I was in no
position to
pursue my classical interests, so I began work at Berkeley with little
more
than an open mind. The most exciting modern historian I had read at Chicago had been
the
Belgian historian Henri Pirenne, whose account of the end of the Roman
era
stressed the continuity of economic life in the face of major political
disruptions. For me, Pirenne's shift of focus away from emperors and
dreary
Merovingian kings and on to the daily lives of private citizens was
novel and
exciting, and fit my sense of what was important. At Berkeley, I took
courses in Economic History
and audited an economic theory course. I liked economics at once, but
it was
obvious that to apply it with any confidence I would need to know much
more
than I could pick up on the side as a history student. I decided to
move into
economics and, since there appeared to be no hope of financial support
from Berkeley's Economics Department, I
returned to Chicago.
During the rest
of that academic year I took some undergraduate economics at Chicago and one
or two graduate courses, to
prepare for my real start as a graduate student the next fall.
It was lucky for me that one of my undergraduate texts referred to Paul
Samuelson's Foundations of Economic
Analysis as "the most important book in economics since the war."
Both the mathematics and the economics in Foundations were way over my
head,
but I was too ambitious to spend my summer on the second most important
book in
economics, and Samuelson's confident and engaging style kept me going.
All my
spare time that summer went in to working through the first four
chapters, line
by line, going back to my calculus books when I needed to. By the
beginning of
fall quarter I was as good an economic technician as anyone on the Chicago faculty.
Even
more important, I had internalized Samuelson's standards for when an
economic
question had been properly posed and when it had been answered, and was
in a
position to take charge of my own economic education.
In the fall of 1960, I began Milton
Friedman's price theory sequence. I had
been looking forward to this famous course all summer, but it was far
more
exciting than anything I had imagined. What made it so? Many Chicago students
have tried to answer this
question. Certainly Friedman's brilliance and intensity, and his
willingness to
follow his economic logic wherever it led all played a role. After
every class,
I tried to translate what Friedman had done into the mathematics I had
learned
from Samuelson. I knew I would never be able to think as fast as
Friedman, but
I also knew that if I developed a reliable, systematic way for
approaching
economic problems I would end up at the right place.
Friedman's course ended my long career as a conscientious,
near-straight A
student. Now if a course did not promise to be a life-changing
experience, I
lost interest and attended only sporadically. I accumulated many C's,
but also
a lot of time to pursue what I found interesting. I took my first
rigorous
analysis courses, and a statistics course using Volume I of Willam
Feller's An
Introduction to Probability Theory and Its Applications. I still
pick up
Feller's book from time to time, as I do Samuelson's, just for the
pleasure of
the author's company.
There was also plenty of interesting economics going on at Chicago. My
interest in probability and
statistics stemmed from an interest in econometrics, stimulated by
courses of
Zvi Griliches and Gregg Lewis. Donald Bear, a new Assistant Professor
from Stanford,
taught a valuable mathematical economics course, and gave valuable
encouragement to technically inclined students. Arnold Harberger's
sequence in
public finance was a lasting influence on
1
me too. My thesis, which used
data from
U.S. manufacturing to estimate elasticities of substitution between
capital and
labor, was written under Harberger and Lewis, and was part of a larger
project
of Harberger's analyzing the effects of various changes in the U.S. tax
structure.
There was a terrific collection of students at Chicago in the early 1960s. My
closest
friends were Glen Cain, Neil Wallace, Sherwin Rosen, and G.S. Maddala,
and
there were many others who now have international reputations. For many
of us,
the shock wave of Friedman's libertarian-conservative ideas forced a
rethinking
of our whole social philosophy. Intense student discussions ranged far
beyond
technical economics. I tried to hold on to the New Deal politics I had
grown up
with, and remember voting for Kennedy in 1960. "Nixon? Bob, you
couldn't," my sister had said, and she was right (for then!). But
however
we voted, Friedman's students came away with the sense that we had
acquired a
powerful apparatus for thinking about economic and political questions.
In 1963 Richard Cyert, the new Dean of the Graduate School of
Industrial
Administration at Carnegie Institute of Technology (nowCarnegie-Mellon University), offered me
a
faculty position. I had met Allan Meltzer and Leonard Rapping at my job
seminar
there, and I knew GSIA would be a stimulating and congenial place for
me.
GSIA's leading intellectual figure was Herbert Simon.
Although
Simon was no longer working in economics when I came to Carnegie, he
was always
ready to talk about economics (or any other area of social or
management
science) at lunch or coffee. He gave all of us at GSIA the feeling of
being in
the major leagues, and helped us to outgrow the sense that all the
important
work was going on at Chicago or Cambridge.
Once my thesis was finished, I began theoretical work on the decisions
of
business firms to invest in physical capital and in improved
technology. Dale
Jorgenson had served on my Chicago
thesis committee, and his work on investment had stimulated me. I spent
a lot
of time in my first years at Carnegie Tech learning the mathematics of
dynamical systems and optimization over time, and trying to see how
these
methods could best be applied to economic questions. Economists of my
cohort
all over the world were engaged in this enterprise in the 1960s, and I
remember
exciting conferences on this theme at Chicago and Yale, led by Hirofumi
Uzawa.
During my years there, Carnegie-Mellon had a remarkable group of
economists
interested in dynamics and the formation of expectations. Foremost, of
course,
was John Muth, my colleague in my first three years there. Morton
Kamien and
Nancy Schwartz had come from Purdue about the time I came from Chicago. Dick
Roll, a student of Eugene
Fama's at Chicago,
brought the ideas of efficient market theory to GSIA. Thomas Sargent
came to
Carnegie-Mellon from Harvard in
the
middle of writing his thesis, and I remember the discussions he and
Roll had
about interest rates (that none of the rest of us could follow). Morris
DeGroot
taught a course in statistical decision theory that influenced Edward
Prescott,
and through Ed, me. John Bossons and later Michael Lovell studied
direct
evidence on expectations. It would be hard to think of a better group
of
colleagues, given my interests in economic dynamics.
At Carnegie I became involved in two collaborations, both of which bore
immediate fruit and also influenced my thinking for years afterward.
One of
these was a project with Leonard Rapping, my closest friend and
colleague at
that time, in which we undertook to provide a neoclassical account of
the
behavior of U.S.
wages and employment from 1929 to 1958. The paper was a bolder step
into new
territory than I would have taken then on my own, and the project never
would
have been undertaken or completed without Leonard's confidence and his
expertise in labor economics.
Edward Prescott had come to GSIA as a doctoral student in the same year
I
joined the faculty, and we were immediate friends. A few years later,
when Ed
had become a faculty member at Penn, I enlisted his help on a
theoretical
project I had begun on the dynamics of an imperfectly competitive
industry.
That problem defeated us, but in the course of failing to solve it we
found
ourselves talking and corresponding about everything in economic
dynamics. In a
couple of years we learned large chunks of modern general equilibrium
theory,
functional analysis, and probability theory, and wrote a paper,
"Investment under Uncertainty," that reformulated John Muth's idea of
rational expectations in a useful way . During this brief period my
whole point
of view of economic dynamics took form (along with Ed's), in a way that
has
served me well ever since.
David Cass, who came to Carnegie-Mellon in 1971, had earlier aroused my
interest in Samuelson's overlapping generations model of a monetary
economy. At
about the same time, Edmund Phelps convinced me that Rapping's and my
model of
labor supply needed to be situated in a general equilibrium context.
These
influences, combined with much that I had learned working with Prescott, came
together in my paper,
"Expectations and the Neutrality of Money," which was completed in
1970 and published in 1972. The role of this paper, certainly the most
influential of my writings, is one of the subjects of my Nobel lecture.
In May,
1995, Rao Aiyagari organized a 25th Anniversary Conference for this
paper,
sponsored by the Federal Reserve Bank of Minneapolis.
This occasion ranks high among the professional pleasures and honors I
have
received.
In 1974 I returned to Chicago
as a faculty member. In 1980 I became the John Dewey Distinguished
Service
Professor at Chicago,
the position I hold today. Chicago has been a marvellous place for me,
as I
knew it would be from my student experiences, and I have been
stimulated by
colleagues and graduate teaching into research on monetary theory,
international-trade, fiscal policy, and economic growth: all the basic
topics
in macroeconomics. But the main features of one's approach to science,
like the
main features of one's personality more generally, are set early on.
For me,
the influences of my parents, my undergraduate and graduate years at Chicago, and my
years at
Carnegie Mellon were critical, so it is these influences I have focused
on
here.
I have had a rewarding personal life, intertwined with the intellectual
life
that I have described in these notes. Rita Cohen, also an undergraduate
at
Chicago, and I were married in New York
in
August, 1959, just before I began graduate studies at Berkeley. Our
son Stephen was born in Chicago
in September,
1960. Our son Joseph was born in Pittsburgh
in January, 1966. Steve is now a securities trader at the Chemical Bank
in New York.
Joe is a
graduate student in History at Boston
University,
and his wife Tanya is a resident at Beth
Israel Hospital in Boston.
Rita and I were separated in 1982, and divorced several years later.
Since 1982 I have lived with Nancy Stokey, who is now a colleague of
mine at Chicago.
We have
collaborated in papers on growth theory, public finance, and monetary
theory.
Our monograph, Recursive Methods in Economic Dynamics, was published in
1989.
Since then, our collaboration has been a domestic one only . We have an
apartment on Chicago's north side, and
a summer
house on Lake Michigan, in Door
County, Wisconsin.
|