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The decision to undergo an adult circumcision is obviously a deeply personal one. We would hardly presume to counsel anyone in either direction. But for those who do choose circumcision, a simple word of advice: before the doctor gets anywhere near you, please make sure he washes his hands.

SuperFreakonomics

EPILOGUE

MONKEYS ARE PEOPLE TOO

The branch of economics concerned with issues like inflation, recessions, and financial shocks is known as macroeconomics. When the economy is going well, macroeconomists are lauded as heroes; when it turns sour, as it did recently, they catch a lot of the blame. In either case, the headlines go to the macroeconomists.

We hope that after reading this book, you’ll realize there is a whole different breed of economist out there—microeconomists—lurking in the shadows. They seek to understand the choices that individuals make, not just in terms of what they buy but also how often they wash their hands and whether they become terrorists.

Some of these microeconomists do not even limit their research to the human race.

Keith Chen, the son of Chinese immigrants, is a hyper-verbal, sharp-dressing thirty-three-year-old with spiky hair. After an itinerant upbringing in the rural Midwest, Chen attended Stanford, where after a brief infatuation with Marxism, he made an about-face and took up economics. Now he is an associate professor of economics at Yale.

His research agenda was inspired by something written long ago by Adam Smith, the founder of classical economics: “Nobody ever saw a dog make a fair and deliberate exchange of one bone for another with another dog. Nobody ever saw one animal by its gestures and natural cries signify to another, this is mine, that yours; I am willing to give this for that.”

In other words, Smith was certain that humankind alone had a knack for monetary exchange.

But was he right?

In economics, as in life, you’ll never find the answer to a question unless you’re willing to ask it, as silly as it may seem. Chen’s question was simply this: What would happen if I could teach a bunch of monkeys to use money?

Chen’s monkey of choice was the capuchin, a cute, brown New World monkey about the size of a one-year-old child, or at least a scrawny one-year-old who has a very long tail. “The capuchin has a small brain,” Chen says, “and it’s pretty much focused on food and sex.” (This, we would argue, doesn’t make the capuchin so different from many people we know, but that’s another story.) “You should really think of a capuchin as a bottomless stomach of want. You can feed them marshmallows all day, they’ll throw up, and then come back for more.”

To an economist, this makes the capuchin an excellent research subject.

Chen, along with Venkat Lakshminarayanan, went to work with seven capuchins at a lab set up by the psychologist Laurie Santos at Yale–New Haven Hospital. In the tradition of monkey labs everywhere, the capuchins were given names—in this case, derived from characters in James Bond films. There were four females and three males. The alpha male was named Felix, after the CIA agent Felix Leiter. He was Chen’s favorite.

The monkeys lived together in a large, open cage. Down at one end was a much smaller cage, the testing chamber, where one monkey at a time could enter to take part in experiments. For currency, Chen settled on a one-inch silver disc with a hole in the middle—“kind of like Chinese money,” he says.

The first step was to teach the monkeys that the coins had value. This took some effort. If you give a capuchin a coin, he will sniff it and, after determining he can’t eat it (or have sex with it), he’ll toss it aside. If you repeat this several times, he may start tossing the coins at you, and hard.

So Chen and his colleagues gave the monkey a coin and then showed a treat. Whenever the monkey gave the coin back to the researcher, it got the treat. It took many months, but the monkeys eventually learned that the coins could buy the treats.

It turned out that