Monday, April 30, 2012

Non-Comprehensive Analysis (4b)


Ideally, rational-comprehensive analysis leaves out nothing important. But it is impossible to take everything important into consideration unless ' important ' is so narrowly defined that analysis is in fact quite limited. Limits on human intellectual capacities and on available information set definite limits to man's capacity to be comprehensive. In actual fact, therefore, no one can practice the rational-comprehensive method for really complex problems, and every administrator faced with a sufficiently complex problem must find ways drastically to simplify.
An administrator assisting in the formulation of agricultural economic policy cannot in the first place be competent on all possible policies. He cannot even comprehend one policy entirely. In planning a soil bank program, he cannot successfully anticipate the impact of higher or lower farm income on, say, urbanization — the possible consequent loosening of family ties, possible consequent eventual need for revisions in social security and further implications for tax problems arising out of new federal responsibilities for social security and municipal responsibilities for urban services. Nor, to follow another line of repercussions, can he work through the soil bank program's effects on prices for agricultural products in foreign markets and consequent implications for foreign relations, including those arising out of economic rivalry between the United States and the USSR.
In the method of successive limited comparisons, simplification is systematically achieved in two principal ways. First, it is achieved through limitation of policy comparisons to those policies that differ in relatively small degree from policies presently in effect. Such a limitation immediately reduces the number of alternatives to be investigated and also drastically simplifies the character of the investigation of each. For it is not necessary to undertake fundamental inquiry into an alternative and its consequences; it is necessary only to study those respects in which the proposed alternative and its consequences differ from the status quo. The empirical comparison of marginal differences among alternative policies that differ only marginally is, of course, a counterpart to the incremental or marginal comparison of values discussed above.

The Test of 'Good' Policy (3b)


In the root method, a decision is 'correct', 'good', or 'rational' if it can be shown to attain some specified objective, where the objective can be specified without simply describing the decision itself. Where objectives are defined only through the marginal or incremental approach to values described above, it is still sometimes possible to test whether a policy does in fact attain the desired objectives; but a precise statement of the objectives takes the form of a description of the policy chosen or some alternative to it. To show that a policy is mistaken one cannot offer an abstract argument that important objectives are not achieved; one must instead argue that another policy is more to be preferred.
So far, the departure from customary ways of looking at problem-solving is not troublesome, for many administrators will be quick to agree that the most effective discussion of the correctness of policy does take the form of comparison with other policies that might have been chosen. But what of the situation in which administrators cannot agree on values or objectives, either abstractly or in marginal terms? What then is the test of `good' policy? For the root method, there is no test. Agreement on objectives failing, there is no standard of 'correctness'. For the method of successive limited comparisons, the test is agreement on policy itself, which remains possible even when agreement on values is not.
It has been suggested that continuing agreement in Congress on the desirability of extending old age insurance stems from liberal desires to strengthen the welfare programs of the federal government and from conservative desires to reduce union demands for private pension plans. If so, this is an excellent demonstration of the case with which individuals of different ideologies often can agree on concrete policy. Labor mediators report a similar phenomenon: the contestants cannot agree on criteria for settling their disputes but can agree on specific proposals. Similarly, when one administrator's objective turns out to be another's means, they often can agree on policy.
Agreement on policy thus becomes the only practicable test of the policy's correctness. And for one administrator to seek to win the other over to agreement on ends as well would accomplish nothing and create quite unnecessary controversy.
If agreement directly on policy as a test for `best' policy seems a poor substitute for testing the policy against its objectives, it ought to be remembered that objectives themselves have no ultimate validity other than they are agreed upon. Hence agreement is the test of best' policy in both methods. But where the root method requires agreement on what elements in the decision constitute objectives and on which of these objectives should be sought, the branch method falls back on agreement wherever it can be found.
In an important sense, therefore, it is not irrational for an administrator to defend a policy as good without being able to specify what it is good for.

Sunday, April 29, 2012

Relevance as Well as Realism


It is a matter of common observation that in Western democracies public administrators and policy analysts in general do largely limit their analyses to incremental or marginal differences in policies that are chosen to differ only incrementally. They do not do so, however, solely because they desperately need some way to simplify their problems; they also do so in order to be relevant. Democracies change their policies almost entirely through incremental adjustments. Policy does not move in leaps and bounds.
The incremental character of political change in the United States has often been remarked. The two major political parties agree on fundamentals; they offer alternative policies to the voters only on relatively small points of difference. Both parties favor full employment, but they define it somewhat differently; both favor the development of water power resources, but in slightly different ways; and both favor unemployment compensation, but not the same level of benefits. Similarly, shifts of policy within a party take place largely through a series of relatively small changes, as can be seen in their only gradual acceptance of the idea of governmental responsibility for support of the unemployed, a change in party positions beginning in the early thirties and culminating in a sense in the Employment Act of 1946.
Party behavior is in turn rooted in public attitudes, and political theorists cannot conceive of democracy's surviving in the United States, in the absence of fundamental agreement on potentially disruptive issues, with consequent limitation of policy debates to relatively small differences in policy.
Since the policies ignored by the administrator are politically impossible and so irrelevant, the simplification of analysis achieved by concentrating on policies that differ only incrementally is not a capricious kind of simplification. In addition, it can be argued that, given the limits on knowledge within which policy-makers are confined, simplifying by limiting the focus to small variations from present policy makes the most of available knowledge. Because policies being considered are like present and past policies, the administrator can obtain information and claim some insight. Non-incremental policy proposals are therefore typically not only politically irrelevant but also unpredictable in their consequences.
The second method of simplification of analysis is the practice of ignoring important possible consequences of possible policies, as well as the values attached to the neglected consequences. If this appears to disclose a shocking shortcoming of successive limited comparisons, it can be replied that, even if the exclusions are random, policies may nevertheless be more intelligently formulated than through futile attempts to achieve a comprehensiveness beyond human capacity. Actually, however, the exclusions, seeming arbitrary or random from one point of view, need be neither.
Achieving a Degree of Comprehensiveness
Suppose that each value neglected by one policy-making agency were a major concern of at least one other agency. In that case, a helpful division of labor would be achieved, and no agency need find its task beyond its capacities. The shortcomings of such a system would be that one agency might destroy a value either before another agency could be activated to safeguard it or in spite of another agency's efforts. But the possibility that important values may be lost is present in any form of organization; even where agencies attempt to comprehend in planning more than is humanly possible.
The virtue of such a hypothetical division of labor is that every important interest or value has its watchdog. And these watchdogs can protect the interests in their jurisdiction in two quite different ways: first, by redressing damages done by other agencies; and, second, by anticipating and heading off injury before it occurs.
In a society like that of the United States in which individuals are free to combine to pursue almost any possible common interest they might have, and in which government agencies are sensitive to the pressures of these groups, the system described is approximated. Almost every interest has its watchdog. Without claiming that every interest has a sufficiently powerful watchdog, it can be argued that our system often can assure a more comprehensive regard for the values of the whole society than any attempt at intellectual comprehensiveness.
In the United States, for example, no part of government attempts a comprehensive overview of policy on income distribution. A policy nevertheless evolves, and one responding to a wide variety of interests. A process of mutual adjustment among farm groups, labor unions, municipalities and school boards, tax authorities, and government agencies with responsibilities in the fields of housing, health, highways, national parks, fire, and police accomplishes a distribution of income in which particular income problems neglected at one point in the decision processes become central at another point.
Mutual adjustment is more pervasive than the explicit forms it takes in negotiation between groups; it persists through the mutual impacts of groups upon each other even where they are not in communication. For all the imperfections and latent dangers in this ubiquitous process of mutual adjustment, it will often accomplish an adaptation of policies to a wider range of interests than could be done by one group centrally.
Note, too, how the incremental pattern of policy-making fits with the multiple pressure pattern. For when decisions are only incremental — closely related to known policies, it is easier for one group to anticipate the kind of moves another might make and easier too for it to make correction for injury already accomplished.'
Even partisanship and narrowness, to use pejorative terms, will sometimes be assets to rational decision-making, for they can doubly insure that what one agency neglects, another will not; they specialize personnel to distinct points of view. The claim is valid that effective rational coordination of the federal administration, if possible to achieve at all, would require an agreed set of values (7, p. 434) — if 'rational' is defined as the practice of the root method of decision-making. But a high degree of administrative coordination occurs as each agency adjusts its policies to the concerns of the other agencies in the process of fragmented decision-making I have just described.
For all the apparent shortcomings of the incremental approach to policy alternatives with its arbitrary exclusion coupled with fragmentation, when compared to the root method, the branch method often looks far superior. In the root method, the inevitable exclusion of factors is accidental, unsystematic, and not defensible by any argument so far developed, while in the branch method the exclusions are deliberate, systematic, and defensible. Ideally, of course, the root method does not exclude; in practice it must.
Nor does the branch method necessarily neglect long-run considerations and objectives. It is clear that important values must be omitted in considering policy, and sometimes the only way long-run objectives can be given adequate attention is through the neglect of short-run considerations. But the values omitted can be either long-run or short-run.

Relations between Means and Ends (2b)


Decision-making is ordinarily formalized as a means-ends relationship: means are conceived to be evaluated and chosen in the light of ends finally selected independently of and prior to the choice of means. This is the means-ends relationship of the root method. But it follows from all that has just been said that such a means-ends relationship is possible only to the extent that values are agreed upon, are reconcilable, and are stable at the margin. Typically, therefore, such a means-ends relationship is absent from the branch method, where means and ends are simultaneously chosen.
Yet any departure from the means-ends relationship of the root method will strike some readers as inconceivable. For it will appear to them that only in such a relationship is it possible to determine whether one policy choice is better or worse than another. How can an administrator know whether he has made a wise or foolish decision if he is without prior values or objec-tives by which to judge his decisions? The answer to this question calls up the third distinctive difference between root and branch methods: how to decide the best policy.

Saturday, April 28, 2012

An In-House Wasp


So the three men mainly responsible for corporate policy and planning — David Wright, Ramo, and President H. A. Shepard —seek to bring the company's four groups together as often as possible, and let their leaders develop, on their own initiative, a greater awareness of the interconnection of their interests and a closer coherence in their planning. As chief executive officer, Dave Wright, sixty-one, fully assumes and firmly exerts his ultimate responsibility for determining plans and goals. 'But this is the kind of organization,' he says, `that has to be led, not driven with a bullwhip.' Horace Shepard, fifty-three, was an Air Force general in charge of procurement and engineering at the Pentagon before joining TRW in 1951. He became general manager of company-wide operations in 1961, and president the following year, succeeding Dean Wooldridge. (Wooldridge, who retired to engage in scientific research and writing, remains a director of TRW.) In the course of their Vermont stay, Wright and Shepard, apart from the amenities of office they had to exercise, virtually slipped into the crowd and allowed others to dominate the show. Dr Ramo, fifty-three, is now free from specific administrative duties and is engaged in a continuous study of TRW's relationship to the world around it, and in keeping the company alerted and attuned to a changing environment. Ramo, who was really the architect of this year's conference, buzzed around the fringes, deliberately playing the wasp in an effort to sting the group into livelier debate.
Apart from its general objective, Vermont '66 had a very special mission. Back in 1961, when the company was doing barely $400 million in sales, the Vermont conferees, taking a deep breath  and a long look, set a goal of $1 billion in sales in 1970. It seemed an ambitious aim. But by the summer of 1966 there was every reason to think the goal would be reached in 1968, or earlier. Thus it was determined that Vermont '66 should make a start on articulating a new goal for 1975.
It was not the intention, at this meeting, to settle on a firm quantitative goal for 1975. Rather, an attempt would be made to bring out the pertinent issues, and fork over the material out of which the ultimate plan would be built and shaped. During the ensuing months individual executives would be expected to subject their respective pieces of the program to detailed study and refinement. In July 1967, the group will return to Vermont with the specific objective of constructing a definite 1975 goal.
They are gathered here, therefore, to exchange and argue out ideas, not chew over figures. And the talk runs the gamut —changes in the world power situation, limited war, supersonic planes, city planning, electronic transportation systems and Martian fly-arounds. Nevertheless, there are mountains of figures that have to be cited, comprehended, and carried about in the mind if all this brainstorming is to have substance and direction. To lead off the conference, the heads of the four operating groups take an hour each for an analysis and forecast — minimum, probable, and possible — of their respective markets. As the figures flash by on the screen, the minds of the men gradually adjust to the business dimensions that are implied by a trillion-dollar national economy in 1975. Items:
Executive Vice President Stan Pace of the Equipment group takes the conferees through an analysis of the revivified U.S. aircraft industry, with its prospects of a rise in sales of commercial and military jet engines alone from the recent $1.5 billion to $3.5 billion in 197•. Pace does not spell out, at this session, the figure his group might shoot for in 1975. He will only say that `thanks to these favorable trends, we will reach our internal growth goal for 1970 ($200 million in sales) three years early.' The rough arithmetic, including selective acquisitions, suggests that $500 million to $700 million is an appropriate outside estimate for Pace's group.
Executive Vice President R. F. (Rube) Mettler of Systems, whose principal customer is the government, is more concerned with the enhancement of his profit margins than with his rate of growth, which right now is moving the fastest of any division in the company. 'On a selective basis,' he concludes, we could do $700 million to $800 million in 1975.'
Group Vice President Sid Webb, of TRW Electronics, trying manfully not to let the color-TV boom lend too optimistic a color to his long-term judgments. 'I'm not yet ready to put a figure on our 1975 sales, but it is probably in the magnitude of five times our present size.' This would put Webb's group in the area of $300 million.
Finally, Executive Vice President Ed Riley rings in with his exhaustively researched analysis of the transportation-equipment market. A deliberate man, given to understatement, his minimum forecast, based on a 'normal internal growth rate', lives up to form — a mere $600 million. But Riley's division has recently been pursuing a vigorous acquisition program, particularly in the international field. And with a worldwide market of $62 billion in automotive parts in prospect for 1975, Riley takes a shot at TRW's possible share. The figure: $1.8 billion. (At which a voice from the back of the barn comments, 'Look at conservative Ed Riley copping on to the whole damn company goal for 1975.')