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This guest post is by Corbin K. Barthold, Litigation Counsel at Washington Legal Foundation.

Complexity need not follow size. A star is huge but mostly homogenous. “It’s core is so hot,” explains Martin Rees, “that no chemicals can exist (complex molecules get torn apart); it is basically an amorphous gas of atomic nuclei and electrons.”

Nor does complexity always arise from remoteness of space or time. Celestial gyrations can be readily grasped. Thales of Miletus probably predicted a solar eclipse. Newton certainly could have done so. And we’re confident that in 4.5 billion years the Andromeda galaxy will collide with our own.

If the simple can be seen in the large and the distant, equally can the complex be found in the small and the immediate. A double pendulum is chaotic. Likewise the local weather, the fluctuations of a wildlife population, or the dispersion of the milk you pour into your coffee.

Our economy is not like a planetary orbit. It’s more like the weather or the milk. No one knows which companies will become dominant, which products will become popular, or which industries will become defunct. No one can see far ahead. Investing is inherently risky because the future of the economy, or even a single segment of it, is intractably uncertain. Do not hand your savings to any expert who says otherwise. Experts, in fact, often see the least of all.

But if a broker with a “sure thing” stock is a mountebank, what does that make an antitrust scholar with an “optimum structure” for a market? 

Not a prophet.

There is so much that we don’t know. Consider, for example, the notion that market concentration is a good measure of market competitiveness. The idea seems intuitive enough, and in many corners it remains an article of faith.

But the markets where this assumption is most plausible—hospital care and air travel come to mind—are heavily shaped by that grand monopolist we call government. Only a large institution can cope with the regulatory burden placed on the healthcare industry. As Tyler Cowen writes, “We get the level of hospital concentration that we have in essence chosen through politics and the law.”

As for air travel: the government promotes concentration by barring foreign airlines from the domestic market. In any case, the state of air travel does not support a straightforward conclusion that concentration equals power. The price of flying has fallen almost continuously since passage of the Airline Deregulation Act in 1978. The major airlines are disciplined by fringe carriers such as JetBlue and Southwest.

It is by no means clear that, aside from cases of government-imposed concentration, a consolidated market is something to fear. Technology lowers costs, lower costs enable scale, and scale tends to promote efficiency. Scale can arise naturally, therefore, from the process of creating better and cheaper products.

Say you’re a nineteenth-century cow farmer, and the railroad reaches you. Your shipping costs go down, and you start to sell to a wider market. As your farm grows, you start to spread your capital expenses over more sales. Your prices drop. Then refrigerated rail cars come along, you start slaughtering your cows on site, and your shipping costs go down again. Your prices drop further. Farms that fail to keep pace with your cost-cutting go bust. The cycle continues until beef is cheap and yours is one of the few cow farms in the area. The market improves as it consolidates.

As the decades pass, this story repeats itself on successively larger stages. The relentless march of technology has enabled the best companies to compete for regional, then national, and now global market share. We should not be surprised to see ever fewer firms offering ever better products and services.

Bear in mind, moreover, that it’s rarely the same company driving each leap forward. As Geoffrey Manne and Alec Stapp recently noted in this space, markets are not linear. Just after you adopt the next big advance in the logistics of beef production, drone delivery will disrupt your delivery network, cultured meat will displace your product, or virtual-reality flavoring will destroy your industry. Or—most likely of all—you’ll be ambushed by something you can’t imagine.

Does market concentration inhibit innovation? It’s possible. “To this day,” write Joshua Wright and Judge Douglas Ginsburg, “the complex relationship between static product market competition and the incentive to innovate is not well understood.” 

There’s that word again: complex. When will thumping company A in an antitrust lawsuit increase the net amount of innovation coming from companies A, B, C, and D? Antitrust officials have no clue. They’re as benighted as anyone. These are the people who will squash Blockbuster’s bid to purchase a rival video-rental shop less than two years before Netflix launches a streaming service.

And it’s not as if our most innovative companies are using market concentration as an excuse to relax. If its only concern were maintaining Google’s grip on the market for internet-search advertising, Alphabet would not have spent $16 billion on research and development last year. It spent that much because its long-term survival depends on building the next big market—the one that does not exist yet.

No expert can reliably make the predictions necessary to say when or how a market should look different. And if we empowered some experts to make such predictions anyway, no other experts would be any good at predicting what the empowered experts would predict. Experts trying to give us “well structured” markets will instead give us a costly, politicized, and stochastic antitrust enforcement process. 

Here’s a modest proposal. Instead of using the antitrust laws to address the curse of bigness, let’s create the Office of the Double Pendulum. We can place the whole section in a single room at the Justice Department. 

All we’ll need is some ping-pong balls, a double pendulum, and a monkey. On each ball will be the name of a major corporation. Once a quarter—or a month; reasonable minds can differ—a ball will be drawn, and the monkey prodded into throwing the pendulum. An even number of twirls saves the company on the ball. An odd number dooms it to being broken up.

This system will punish success just as haphazardly as anything our brightest neo-Brandeisian scholars can devise, while avoiding the ruinously expensive lobbying, rent-seeking, and litigation that arise when scholars succeed in replacing the rule of law with the rule of experts.

All hail the chaos monkey. Unutterably complex. Ineffably simple.

A panelist brought up an interesting tongue-in-cheek observation about the rising populist antitrust movement at a Heritage antitrust event this week. To the extent that the new populist antitrust movement is broadly concerned about effects on labor and wage depression, then, in principle, it should also be friendly to cartels. Although counterintuitive, employees have long supported and benefited from cartels, because cartels generally afford both job security and higher wages than competitive firms. And, of course, labor itself has long sought the protection of cartels – in the form of unions – to secure the same benefits.   

For instance, in the days before widespread foreign competition in domestic auto markets, native unionized workers of the big three producers enjoyed a relatively higher wage for relatively less output. Competition from abroad changed the economic landscape for both producers and workers with the end result being a reduction in union power and relatively lower overall wages for workers. The union model — a labor cartel — can guarantee higher wages to those workers.

The same story can be seen on other industries, as well, from telecommunications to service workers to public sector employees. Generally, market power on the labor demand side (employers) tends to facilitate market power on the labor supply side: firms with market power — with supracompetitive profits — can afford to pay more for labor and often are willing to do so in order to secure political support (and also to make it more expensive for potential competitors to hire skilled employees). Labor is a substantial cost for firms in competitive markets, however, so firms without market power are always looking to economize on labor (that is, have low wages, as few employees as needed, and to substitute capital for labor wherever efficient to do so).

Therefore, if broad labor effects should be a prime concern of antitrust, perhaps enforcers should use antitrust laws to encourage cartel formation when it might increase wages, regardless of the effects on productivity, prices, and other efficiencies that may arise (or perhaps, as a possible trump card to hold against traditional efficiencies justifications).

No one will make a serious case for promoting cartels (although Former FTC Chairman Pertshuk sounded similar notes in the late 70s), but the comment makes a deeper point about ongoing efforts to undermine the consumer welfare standard. Fundamental contradictions exist in antitrust rhetoric that is unmoored from economic analysis. Professor Hovenkamp highlighted this in a recent paper as well:

The coherence problem [in antitrust populism] shows up in goals that are unmeasurable and fundamentally inconsistent, although with their contradictions rarely exposed. Among the most problematic contradictions is the one between small business protection and consumer welfare. In a nutshell, consumers benefit from low prices, high output and high quality and variety of products and services. But when a firm or a technology is able to offer these things they invariably injure rivals, typically smaller or dedicated to older technologies, who are unable to match them. Although movement antitrust rhetoric is often opaque about specifics, its general effect is invariably to encourage higher prices or reduced output or innovation, mainly for the protection of small business. Indeed, that has been a predominant feature of movement antitrust ever since the Sherman Act was passed, and it is a prominent feature of movement antitrust today. Indeed, some spokespersons for movement antitrust write as if low prices are the evil that antitrust law should be combatting.

To be fair, even with careful economic analysis, it is not always perfectly clear how to resolve the tensions between antitrust and other policy preferences.  For instance, Jonathan Adler described the collision between antitrust and environmental protection in cases where collusion might lead to better environmental outcomes. But even in cases like that, he noted it was essentially a free-rider problem and, as with intrabrand price agreements where consumer goodwill was a “commons” that had to be suitably maintained against possible free-riding retailers, what might be an antitrust violation in one context was not necessarily a violation in a second context.  

Moreover, when the purpose of apparently “collusive” conduct is to actually ensure long term, sustainable production of a good or service (like fish), the behavior may not actually be anticompetitive. Thus, antitrust remains a plausible means of evaluating economic activity strictly on its own terms (and any alteration to the doctrine itself might actually be to prefer rule of reason analysis over per se analysis when examining these sorts of mitigating circumstances).

And before contorting antitrust into a policy cure-all, it is important to remember that the consumer welfare standard evolved out of sometimes good (price fixing bans) and sometimes questionable (prohibitions on output contracts) doctrines that were subject to legal trial and error. This was an evolution that was triggered by “increasing economic sophistication” and as “the enforcement agencies and courts [began] reaching for new ways in which to weigh competing and conflicting claims.”

The vector of that evolution was toward the use of  antitrust as a reliable, testable, and clear set of legal principles that are ultimately subject to economic analysis. When the populists ask us, for instance, to return to a time when judges could “prevent the conversion of concentrated economic power into concentrated political power” via antitrust law, they are asking for much more than just adding a new gloss to existing doctrine. They are asking for us to unlearn all of the lessons of the twentieth century that ultimately led toward the maturation of antitrust law.

It’s perfectly reasonable to care about political corruption, worker welfare, and income inequality. It’s not perfectly reasonable to try to shoehorn goals based on these political concerns into a body of legal doctrine that evolved a set of tools wholly inappropriate for achieving those ends.