It’s Okay to Like College (Even If Your Economist Doesn’t)

My kid goes to the University of Oklahoma.

Maybe you think that’s stupid. Maybe you want — no you “need” — to lecture me on the ills of college. Wasteful degree, high tuition, long-term debt … the usual suspects.

Likely you’ll explode if I don’t listen, but save your breath; I don’t care.[1] Because I like college (and so does my kid).

Your “Value” Isn’t Necessarily My “Value”

To me, college has much more value than just “value.” Of course, some only have eyes for the “v” word.” Lock me in a room with Bryan Caplan, author of The Case against Education, and I’m sure he’d foam at the mouth when arguing “value”:

Learning doesn’t have to be useful. Learning doesn’t have to be inspirational.[2] When learning is neither useful nor inspirational though, how can we call it anything but wasteful. — Bryan Caplan

Basically, Caplan’s “wasteful” argument goes something like this: the cost of “learning” doesn’t necessarily equal the value of the product (i.e., a degree). This is because:

1. a degree doesn’t guarantee knowledge, skill, or employment,[3] and

2. employment success doesn’t necessarily require “more” education.[4]

College Value: The Robots Can Have Their Numbers

In rebutting “wasteful,” a college marketer might double down on “value” … that a degree over time returns on monetary investment. As I said earlier, value is important, but this focus (if it’s the only focus or the top-of-mind focus) becomes a numbers game. And higher ed opponents like Caplan thrive on numbers.

Without the whole story, the argument devolves into data set A vs. data set B. It’s a bunch of 0s (the price of college) vs. a bunch of 0s (lifetime earnings). But higher education is so much more than the droll comparison of dispassionate x and unemotional y. Beyond the numbers, college offers more in terms of experience, growth, and opportunity.

Some Experiences — Even Imperfect Ones — Are Worth the Investment

Even if something is “wasteful” in the strictest and most unimaginative sense, that doesn’t mean it lacks return. In fact, Caplan’s value test — Is it useful or inspirational? — turns many subjective experiences into objective waste: buying Super Bowl tickets, watching Stranger Things, reading the novels of Stephen King, playing Monopoly, vacationing in Branson, owning a Labradoodle, climbing Mt. Everest, painting a sunset, etc.[5] Ultimately, each of these investments (in the coldest, most analytical sense) is neither useful nor inspirational. To a computer, they’re all calculable as “waste,” but computers are poor barometers of subjective experience.

Climbing Mt. Everest is neither useful (it produces nothing of value) nor inspirational (it is a painful process). But it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and for many, this return has immense value, making it worth the “waste.” And this is true (subjectively) for millions of college graduates because college — and here is where college marketing should focus — is an experience like no other.[6] For a young adult, there is only one opportunity ever[7] to be young, to be free, to be untethered, and to grow in a community of similar young adults … it’s called college. Heartless data won’t show this, but that doesn’t mean the experience isn’t there.[8]

Not everyone wants to pay $500,000 for a private spaceflight, but because it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience, some do. Those who don’t want to fly to space make other investments that are subjectively rewarding, and one of those investments is college.[9] Despite Caplan’s take on higher education, the college experience offers an entanglement of rewards, some universal to all and some personal to individual students. This is the bigger picture of college; this is where college marketing needs a sharper focus.

Recently, I visited the University of Oklahoma as a new member of its Parent Board. I met a student who found his leadership passion serving in the University’s food pantry. Looking ahead, will this student’s college investment earn him happiness and a six-figure salary? I can’t answer that. But looking at now, is he happy and growing? Yes … yes he is!

You’re welcome to rebut that he can do the same thing away from college and without the price of tuition. True, but would he do it? Could he do it with a mortgage, a full-time job, and a family? Or is he more likely to do it when immersed in a community of similar people testing similar freedoms? Or more generally, is a young adult likely to grow, change, and experience in the utopia of college or in the drudgery of life?

Every College Experience Won’t Be Useful and Mind-Blowing

Think about all the useless[10] classes you ever took. How many failed to teach you any useful skills. … Most college majors don’t even pretend to teach job skills. If you apply your knowledge of Roman history,[11] Shakespeare, real analysis, or philosophy of mind on the job, you have an odd job.

This is Caplan again, boiling down college to its most basic components … classes[12] and skills. But focusing solely on classes and skills neglects to account for something greater … a “useful” environment/experience/mentor/community, etc.[13] How “useful”? For every individual student, that’s subjective[14] and varies by amount. For me, college was “useful” because it broke me out of my shell; it fostered a new confidence within me. For my son, college has been “useful” because of the like-minded people he’s discovered … young adults who share his passions and interests.

In a nutshell, college isn’t just about “value” or “waste.”

Only the most narrow-minded would argue this.

[1] When I say “I don’t care,” I mean these things won’t convince me that college is a bad decision. Can college be improved around these things — tuition, earnings, and debt? Most definitely. Do we need to think about improving college to better steward taxpayer dollars? Absolutely. But an imperfect system doesn’t forewarn an imperfect (i.e., bad) decision, especially when that decision is 1) subjectively rewarding and/or transformative and 2) strategic and selective so as to limit debt.

[2] In his book, Caplan asserts that pretty much nobody in college wants to learn (not ever, not a single thing):

One could protest that for every disgruntled learner who cuts class, there’s an enthusiastic student sucking the marrow out of college. Wishful thinking … The harsh reality, then, is that most students [emphasis added] suffer in school. Nostalgics who paint their education as an intellectual feast are either liars or outliers.

Despite this broad condemnation, Caplan presents himself as different than “most students,” as that one-in-a-million learner deemed an “outlier.” Within himself, he finds evidence of educational joy, but for everyone else, he turns to external numbers, broad generalizations, and casual observations. About himself, Caplan says:

Once they submit their final exams … the vast majority of students rush back to their low-brow comfort zone. … Anyone reading this book is probably a bird of a different feather. You may even remember the names of the teachers who opened your eyes to the finer things in life. I owe my love of classical music to Mr. Zainer (General Music, seventh grade), and my love of literature to Mrs. Ragus (Honors English, eleventh grade). A quick look at the basic facts, [emphasis added] however, shows our experiences are abnormal.

It’s odd for Caplan to offer his subjective joy but then balance it against an objective and universal suffering that’s based on “a quick look at the basic facts.” The former is personal and internal; it’s a tacit admission that external evidence isn’t necessarily universal when it comes to internal experience, an experience that’s difficult to lay bare.

[3] Caplan seems to think that “useful” learning depends solely on employability and actionability. For example, he says “The arts are rarely useful. We don’t speak of ‘starving artists’ for nothing.” Caplan goes on to say “The staunchest fans of painting, sculpture, and music know pursuing a career in the arts is a ‘Hail Mary’ pass.” Apparently, Caplan can read minds. Regardless, the “staunchest fans” (as college graduates) don’t automatically or always pursue a “career” in these fields. Some become teachers (of which America has a huge shortage), while others become something completely unrelated (but are still fans of the arts) or branch-out in graduate school. Caplan doles out plenty of data to devalue these passions as “careers” (his term is “Low Usefulness”), but his view of value is locked in on “need”:

The staunchest defenders of education reject the idea of sorting subjects and majors by “usefulness.” How do you know Latin, trigonometry, or Emily Dickinson won’t serve you on the job? … Yes, you “might need” Latin one day. Maybe a time machine will strand you in ancient Rome. Still, does it make sense to study a dead language for years to prepare for a scenario you almost certainly won’t face?

Maybe it doesn’t make sense to Caplan, but for a Latin major, the whole of college isn’t limited to just the study of a dead language. To a Latin major, there’s personal value in this study, but there’s also value across the vast expanse of the college experience. Some will question the literal price of it all, but many who do take a Caplan-esque view of things: that if you study something and fail to “use” it, the choice and the investment must be a waste regardless of your broader experiences or where you end up in life. Lacking any lateral thinking, these proponents would condemn Steve Jobs for taking calligraphy in college because he didn’t end up working as a calligrapher:

In 1972, Steve Jobs took a calligraphy class at Reed College based on campus posters he saw after dropping out. …Today, designers and marketers alike have nearly unlimited fonts and creative user interfaces for our digital devices. In a world dominated by ones and zeros, we all owe Jobs a debt of gratitude for bringing creativity into the world of technology. — Crowe, D. (2021, August 8). Why Steve Jobs’s passion for calligraphy is an important example for you. Entrepreneur

[4] This goes to the heart of Caplan’s broad argument that the main value of a college education is “signaling.” The argument goes something like this: that in paying for a college education, you’re paying for a “signal” (e.g., I’m smart) to employers and nothing more:

This book’s [The Case against Education] goal is to emancipate the signaling model from its ghetto — then use the theory to explain the mismatched marriage between school and work.

It doesn’t take an economist (i.e., Caplan) to point out that we are all happily creatures of “signaling” … from the signaling of our clothes to our school districts to the square footage of our homes, etc. All these things create a mismatched marriage between perception and person. Regardless, they are often joyful — even if wasteful — investments, which is what Caplan seems to ignore (e.g., the signal from a Mercedes GLC 300 SUV (starting at $43,850) brings much more joy — though more economic pain — than a 2022 Chevy Trailblazer (starting at $21,800)). In fact, Caplan unapologetically takes advantage of signaling to sell his book (in the same way college graduates signal themselves to employers). On the cover of Caplan’s book is this blurb (i.e., signal) from Forbes’ George Leef: “A book that America has needed for a long time.” (and if George Leef says so, it must be that kind of book).

[5] Take professional football as an example. Useful? In the strictest sense, the three hours I spend watching an NFL game are useless considering I could be doing more important things: spending time with my family, learning a skill, fixing my fence, etc. Plus, as a productive member of society, I produce nothing of value through the mindless act of watching the Packers vs. the Patriots. Thus, “useless” to me and to the world at large. And what about inspirational? A Packers’ win (I’m a Cheesehead) might bring a short-lived burst of happiness, but ultimately, it inspires me to do nothing new with my life nor does it inspire me to think new thoughts. On the flipside, a Packers’ loss actually does the opposite of inspiration; it brings me immense pain (something Caplan pushes (i.e., the pain of boredom) as an argument against higher education). And if you consider the monetary investment some people make in their favorite team (e.g., season tickets, parking passes, team jerseys, over-priced concessions), it’s difficult to see NFL football as anything other than personally and economically “wasteful.”

[6] On his book jacket, Caplan says that “Despite being immensely popular — and immensely lucrative — education is grossly overrated.” This raises the question: Why is education — especially higher education — “immensely popular”? Yes, some of this popularity goes to future opportunity … i.e., college is popular because it leads to a career (thus, falling into Caplan’s “signaling” trap). But college is also popular because for many young people, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for freedom in a once-in-a-lifetime environment.

[7] I will always advocate for lifelong learning, but the true college experience exists for a singular type of student … the 18 to 22-year-old residential student. Miss out on either of these (i.e., youth and residency), and college’s once-in-a-lifetime experience forever passes.

[8] Parents might recoil at my argument that the college experience is part of the return on investment (i.e., you’re dipping into your savings for something wholly intangible). And I would agree if we were talking about “affordability” (as opposed to “value”). I agree that if you don’t have the money for the Stanford “experience,” that’s an experience you shouldn’t invest in. However, I believe the college experience isn’t dependent on academic prestige/reputation and can still be valuable at a smaller, more affordable institution.

[9] Even Caplan found his college investment subjectively rewarding. He says:

College gives students ample time for carefree exploration — time they rarely had in childhood. Plenty of undergrads fritter away their opportunity in a drunken stupor. Yet others sample a medley of fascinating opportunities, acquiring passions that last a lifetime. [emphasis added] My undergraduate years were my favorites precisely because classes were so undemanding. Every day was packed with hours of play, and play I did. I read philosophy, listened to opera, wargamed with my friends, and argued politics with strangers past night. I owe my soul to lax academic standards.

[10] Despite Caplan’s implication, there is no god of “usefulness,” no deity who decides for us what is useful and what is not. I took organic chemistry in college, and in 25 years, I’ve never applied it as a “skill.” But does that automatically make it “useless”? Or am I allowed to find “usefulness” in the confidence that I gained in earning an “A” and proving I could master a difficult subject? I’m sure Caplan’s retort would be to link “useful” with “job skills,” but I’d argue back that this is the very reason college is a once-in-a-lifetime experience … because everything there isn’t about “job skills.” This is why work is such a drudgery … because the rest of your life is about job skills and only job skills — no Roman history, no Shakespeare, no real analysis, no philosophy of mind, etc.

[11] In a strange twist, Caplan actually applies a bit of Roman history in his book. Caplan writes: “At its best, to quote Roman philosopher Lucretius, it [education] is a ‘voyage in mind throughout infinity.’”

[12] Caplan’s assumption seems to be that all college classes must do one of two things: 1) provide an applicable job skill or 2) be mesmerizing every second of every class hour (e.g., “When learning is neither useful nor inspirational though, how can we call it anything but wasteful.”). Miss out on either, and a college class defaults to useless and painful. But the probability of a skills-based class being universally engaging and universally useful defies reality. Conversely, classes like “American Detective Literature” or “The Principles of Comedic Improv” — despite being “skill less” in the most sterile sense — are difficult to frame as anything other than interesting and engaging.

[13] Again, not every experience is similar and not every experience is optimized. Some will hate college, while others will treat college like a full-time party. But one can assume those experiences are the outliers. In early 2020, brightspot surveyed 500 college students nationally and reported that nearly 75% were “satisfied overall” with their college experience, an experience that included “being challenged in my academics, gaining confidence in myself, developing a relationship with my professors, belonging to a group I identify with, and having a place that feels my own.” The brightspot report goes on to highlight the obvious: “there is no single ‘student experience’ at your college or university but rather a range of them.” [Full disclosure: the brightspot report, while only a few years old, was written with Covid as its backdrop. In terms of “value,” the report showed that “The COVID-19 pandemic has nearly doubled students’ perception that their education is not worth the cost.”]

[14] Subjectively, the college experience — holistically — brings happiness to some (if not many). Caplan doesn’t address this head one, but he does address the happiness of “better-educated” people. He calls the evidence of happiness “mixed and weak,” and because of this, “calculations set the happiness benefit of education to zero.” But then a page later, Caplan is willing to accept “weak” evidence for his renunciation of most (if not all) classroom happiness:

When I look at college students, though, I see little savoring. Excruciatingly bored students fill the classrooms. Well, “fill” isn’t quite right, because so many don’t bother to show up.

To support his observation, Caplan trots out some “weak” evidence:

Research on college boredom is thin [emphasis added] but confirms the continuity of pain. A study of British college students found 59% were bored in half or more of their lectures. … Students loathe class so much that 25–40% don’t show up.

The aforementioned “study,” while fairly current (2009), is thin on the U.S. experience being that it’s a study of British college students. Even thinner, the second statistic (i.e., “25–40% don’t show up”) is from a study published in 1993, nearly 30 years before Caplan’s book. So in the first instance “mixed and weak” evidence just isn’t enough, but in the second instance, thin evidence is more than enough to “confirm.” Based on this “confirmation,” Caplan then goes on to make the broadest of statements:

The harsh reality, then, is that most students suffer [emphasis added] in school.

Really? Most are “suffering” (i.e., physical or mental pain) because (God forbid) classes are (oh no) “boring?” And because this suffering is so great, between 25–40% college students simply “don’t show up” to save themselves the hurt? Could this be true? Caplan’s open-ended “25–40% don’t show up” makes it sound like these students don’t go to any classes … not ever! This implies that at the University of Texas — total enrollment around 52,000 students — between 13,000 (low end) and 21,000 (high end) never, ever go to class. This means that these students, carrying a 12-hour (full-time) course load, don’t go to a single hour of class over a 15-week semester. It begs the question: What are these students doing all day?