Economics is extremely useful as a form of employment for

Hear the sharp and piercing words of John Kenneth Galbraith, who once said with wit and wisdom: “Economics is extremely useful as a form of employment for economists.” At first glance, these words may seem light, almost jesting, but beneath their humor lies a blade of truth. He was not merely mocking the science of numbers and trade, but warning us of the danger of confusing knowledge for wisdom, and of building great towers of thought that serve more the builders than the people for whom they are meant.

For what is economics if not the attempt to explain the dance of wealth, the flow of goods, the hunger of men, and the structures that bind nations? Yet Galbraith reminds us that this noble pursuit too often becomes a profession more concerned with itself than with the lives of those it claims to guide. The field feeds its own practitioners with endless theories, models, and disputes, while the poor still hunger and the powerful still bend the rules for gain. Thus, he speaks not only to economists, but to all who labor in professions: beware lest your craft exist only to feed itself, and not to serve the world.

To call it employment for economists is to shine a light on the irony of specialization. For centuries, scholars of wealth have sought to predict and manage the tides of prosperity and collapse, yet no formula has saved mankind from the folly of greed or the storms of excess. The Great Depression itself saw brilliant economists on every side, but their debates did not prevent breadlines or despair. Galbraith himself lived through those years and saw clearly how little the common man gained from the endless quarrels of experts. It was in this fire of experience that his wit was sharpened.

History provides countless parallels. The philosophers of Byzantium argued for centuries about the nature of divinity, weaving fine threads of doctrine, while the empire itself crumbled under siege. Their learning gave them honor among themselves, yet it did little to save their city. In the same way, Galbraith warns that a science which exists only to employ its keepers, and not to heal the needs of the people, is but a hollow tree, tall in appearance but rotten at the core.

Yet let us not despise economics, nor any discipline of thought. For every science can be redeemed when it remembers its true purpose: to serve mankind. The work of Keynes, for example, though debated fiercely, helped nations rebuild after wars and crises, offering policies that breathed life into broken economies. Here we see the other side of Galbraith’s irony: economics can be more than self-employment, if its servants remember that their calling is not to themselves, but to the people.

The heart of the teaching is this: every craft, every study, every art must ask itself, Whom do I serve? If it serves only the pride and livelihood of its practitioners, it becomes vanity. But if it serves the many, if it eases burdens, if it creates justice, then it justifies its existence. The words of Galbraith, though playful, strike like a hammer upon the anvil of conscience.

So the lesson is clear: whether you are scholar, builder, artist, or worker of any kind, remember that your work is not for yourself alone. Seek not only to feed your own hands, but to strengthen the hands of others. Let your profession not be a cage, but a gift. Let your knowledge not be a self-sustaining echo, but a light that shines outward.

In practice, this means: look often at the fruit of your labor. Ask whether it nourishes others or only yourself. If your work has become only a shield against hunger, seek a way to make it also a sword against injustice. For in this lies the true usefulness of all labor—not in sustaining the worker, but in sustaining the world.