If the bargain is indeterminate, the orthodox theory of the wage may be read as a long effort to make it determinate — to replace Smith's contest of patience with a calculation that yields, for any worker, a single right number. The instrument of that calculation is the margin, and its claim is startling in its precision: the wage is not haggled over at all, but equals the value of the marginal product of labor — the worth of what the last hour worked adds to the product. Pay a worker more than that, and the last hour loses the firm money; pay less, and a competitor bids the worker away. The wage is squeezed, from above and below, onto a single point.
The theory arrived late in the nineteenth century, worked out near-simultaneously and independently by several hands, and given its most influential and most confident statement by the American economist John Bates Clark. In Clark's hands the marginal principle applied to every factor at once: labor is paid the value of its marginal product, capital the value of its marginal product, land the value of its marginal product, each agent of production receiving the worth of what its last unit contributes. The distribution of income ceased to be a matter of custom, struggle, or law and became a matter of differential calculus — the partial derivatives of a production function, read off and paid out.1
Clark did not present this as a morally empty result. He drew from it a doctrine of natural justice: if each factor is paid the value of what it adds, then each receives exactly what it creates, and the wage is nothing but the worker's own product handed back to him. Exploitation, on this view, is not merely absent but impossible in a competitive market, because no one takes from another what that other has made. It is a remarkable inversion of Smith — where Smith saw an unequal contest, Clark saw an exact and impartial accounting — and it gave the orthodox theory not only determinacy but a conscience.2
The elegance is real, and the theory remains the working core of how economists think about labor demand. But it rests on three supports, each of which has been shown to be less solid than it looks, and the cumulative effect is to turn an apparent law into a special case. The first difficulty is arithmetical, and was noticed almost at once. If every factor is paid the value of its marginal product, do those payments, added up, exactly exhaust the total product — no surplus left over, no deficit to be covered? They do, but only on a condition: that the production function exhibit constant returns to scale, so that doubling every input doubles the output. This is a theorem of Euler's, and it is a knife-edge. Under increasing returns the marginal payments sum to more than the product; under decreasing returns, to less; and in neither case can every factor be paid its marginal product without something — a pure profit, a pure loss — appearing from nowhere to balance the books.3
The second difficulty is more corrosive, and it concerns the measurement of capital. To speak of the marginal product of labor, one holds the other factors fixed; chief among them is capital. But to do the arithmetic one must say how much capital there is, and capital — unlike hours of labor or acres of land — is a heterogeneous heap of machines and buildings and inventories that can be added together only by their value. And their value depends on the rate of profit used to discount what they will earn — which is the very thing the marginal theory sets out to determine. The reasoning runs in a circle: the marginal product of capital is supposed to fix the rate of profit, yet the quantity of capital whose marginal product is taken cannot be known until the rate of profit is already fixed. A long controversy established that this is not a technicality to be waved away.4
The third difficulty is the one this volume is built around, and it is the simplest of the three. The whole result — that the wage equals the value of the marginal product — holds only if the firm is a price-taker in the labor market, able to hire as many workers as it likes at a wage it cannot itself affect. Grant the firm any power over the wage, any need to raise its offer in order to attract more hands, and the equality breaks at once: the wage falls below the marginal product, by a margin that measures the firm's power. The competitive labor market is not a mild simplification here but the entire load-bearing assumption, and it is exactly the assumption the eighth plate will deny.5
Read with these three reservations in view, marginal-productivity theory is not refuted but resized. It is the correct account of labor demand in a competitive market, a genuine and indispensable benchmark, and the ceiling it identifies — that no firm will long pay a worker more than he adds — is real. What it is not is a law of the wage as such, still less a proof that the wage is just. It is a description of one case, the frictionless and competitive one, presented for a century as though it were the nature of things. The wage equals the marginal product where no one has power; the volume's wager is that someone almost always does.