The archive.

"It is high time," Rothbard announces, that someone blew the whistle on Women's Liberation. His 1970 polemic answers Betty Friedan and NOW with Austrian economics rather than sympathy: women's lower average wages, he contends, reflect interrupted careers, childrearing, turnover costs, and marginal productivity, not irrational discrimination—which a competitive market would punish anyway, since a biased employer forfeits profit and labor to rivals. He dismisses the feminist "brainwashing" thesis as unfalsifiable, recasts domesticity as a freely chosen division of labor, and reinterprets marriage as a contract binding men to support women and children. Turning from Friedanite liberalism to the anti-family "New Feminism" of Valerie Solanis and Robin Morgan, he treats objections to women as "sex objects" as an assault on heterosexual attraction itself. The result is a combative fusion of libertarian theory and cultural backlash.

Woman as “sex objects”? Of course they are sex objects and, praise the Lord, they always will be.

Education, in Rothbard's account, is the whole lifelong forming of a person's reason, values, and knowledge, and schooling only a narrow slice of it — one that compulsion perverts into an instrument of rule. Because children differ radically in ability, pace, and temperament, he holds that individualized parental or tutorial instruction outperforms the classroom, which must impose a single curriculum on unlike minds. The historical chapters trace mandatory schooling from Luther and Calvin, who wielded it to enforce religious uniformity, to Prussia, where a militarized bureaucracy standardized language and manufactured obedient subjects. America, in his telling, is only a softer republican version of the same transfer of authority from family to state — a compulsory public press for the child's mind, breeding dependence where it claims to build citizens.

The key issue in the entire discussion is simply this: shall the parent or the State be the overseer of the child?

Freedom, inequality, and the division of labor are not separable social accidents but mutually supporting conditions of civilization, so runs the thesis of an essay first delivered to a 1970 symposium and reissued in 1991 with a combative new introduction. Because each person is a unique, non-interchangeable individual, Rothbard argues, liberty is the precondition of human development; and only a developed division of labor, rooted in the natural diversity Mises made central, gives individuality the scope to flourish. Egalitarianism, Marxist, Romantic, primitivist, he treats as a single anti-differentiating impulse, from Marx's fantasy of hunting, fishing, and criticizing at will to the lookism and quotas of what the new introduction calls political correctness. Equality taken literally means sameness; against it he defends the older liberal equality of liberty, and natural aristocracies that rise through voluntary excellence rather than force.

He must, in short, be free in order that he may be fully human.

Oskar Lange had been Mises's most formidable socialist antagonist; his final, posthumous treatise, Rothbard argues, quietly retreated toward the praxeology it once opposed. Reading Lange's late Political Economy, Rothbard tracks the concessions: that monetary calculation and profit-seeking made rational conduct explicit, that economic laws can be deduced from broad axioms of rational action, that Austrian utility theory is ordinal preference rather than hedonistic psychology. Each admission carries a threat Lange cannot face—if economics simply is praxeology, Marxism forfeits its claim to be the foundational science of historical economic forms. So Lange widens praxeology to swallow cybernetics, programming, and input-output analysis, grafting institutional categories onto the logic of choice. Rothbard reads the maneuver as evasion, and draws the larger point: the calculation debate was always also a contest over the foundations of economics.

In this way, Lange accepts the essential deductive Misesian methodology for economic theory: beginning with broadly general praxeological principles as axioms and from these elaborating necessary laws by logical deduction.

Borrowing Thomas Kuhn's account of scientific revolutions while refusing its relativism, this essay diagnoses modern economics as a discipline capable of forgetting its own discoveries. Lacking laboratory tests and saturated with ideology, it entrenched a false paradigm through mathematics, positivist testing, and professional prestige — burying the Austrian School in the process. Rothbard reads the eclipse of Menger, Böhm-Bawerk, and Mises not as refutation but as collective amnesia, sharpened by late translations and Mises's denial of a prestigious American post. Yet criticism alone topples no paradigm; it must be replaced. Mises supplies the replacement through praxeology, the deductive science of human action, from which follow the critique of cumulative interventionism, commodity money as a check on inflationary credit, and the calculation argument that an economy without private ownership has no real prices to reason with.

But the work of Ludwig von Mises furnishes that “something”; it furnishes an economics grounded not on the aping of physical science, but on the very nature of man and of individual choice.

Can a market-oriented reform make government more powerful rather than less? In this essay, first published in 1971 and reprinted here in 2011, Murray N. Rothbard turns that question against Milton Friedman’s reputation as a champion of economic liberty. Tax withholding, guaranteed income, and a fixed monetary-growth rule become tests of the difference between limiting coercion and improving its administration. Writing from an Austrian and libertarian perspective, Rothbard argues that freedom in individual markets cannot be insulated from state control over taxation and money. His polemic exposes a fault line within free-market thought: whether predictable rules and competitive provision suffice, or whether compulsory financing and monetary monopoly compromise the project itself. Readers can discover why proposals defended as market-friendly attract resistance from within the libertarian camp.

Defending capitalism need not mean defending powerful businesses. In this chapter, originally published in 1972 and reprinted in 2011, Murray N. Rothbard makes the method of acquiring wealth decisive: voluntary production and exchange belong to the market; government-backed expropriation and privilege belong to statism. This distinction lets him attack corporate subsidies, cartelization, and militarism without rejecting industrial civilization. It also places him at odds with both liberals who seek expanded public provision and radicals who identify technology itself with domination. Readers can follow how his opposition to business privilege leads to a more demanding claim: that money, policing, and courts should also become voluntary institutions. The chapter exposes the distance between Rothbard’s libertarianism and a defense of the existing economic order.

When does economic expertise become a claim to govern other people’s purposes? In this review, originally published in 1972 and reprinted in 2011, Murray N. Rothbard challenges the programme of “Political Economics” discussed in Robert L. Heilbroner’s edited collection. His Austrian perspective turns the dispute on two concrete distinctions: technical feasibility is not economic calculation, and explaining consequences is not forecasting human choices. Rothbard argues that prices reveal opportunity costs that engineering alone cannot assess, while attempts to make conduct predictable threaten the freedom planners reserve for themselves. Equally pointed is his demand that economists defend the ethical premises of their policy recommendations. The review offers a sharp encounter with the boundary between economic knowledge and political authority, rather than a neutral appraisal of the symposium.

How did a promoter of government-business cooperation acquire a reputation as the defender of laissez-faire? Murray N. Rothbard’s essay locates the answer in Hoover’s uneasy position between voluntary industrial coordination and compulsory economic planning. Reading Commerce Department activism alongside Depression-era wage agreements, farm price supports, and business lending, Rothbard argues that Hoover helped build the apparatus Roosevelt would expand. His distinctive target is not intervention alone but the use of federal authority to organize producers and restrain competition. The revealing tension comes when Hoover rejects the Swope plan for compulsory industrial organization after years of encouraging cooperation under government auspices. Readers can examine both Rothbard’s case for continuity between Hoover and the New Deal and his explanation of how resistance to further planning could obscure an interventionist record.

What could children's liberation actually mean—perhaps, Rothbard suspects, little more than a right to kick adults in the shins on a guaranteed income from long-suffering parents? Beneath the joke, his 1972 essay puts a genuine puzzle to libertarian theory: the infant is neither a full self-owner nor an owned object. His move is to shift from vague "freedom" to jurisdiction over property. Parents may set household rules as conditions of residence on their own property, but may never own the child's body; every child must therefore hold an absolute right to run away, forced return amounting to kidnapping. The parent is trustee-owner and guardian, morally bound to rear and educate yet not legally compelled to do so. Rothbard extends the logic to a market in guardianship and against compulsory schooling and child-labor law, liberating child and parent alike from the State.

Therefore, the child must always be free to run away; he then becomes a self-owner whenever he chooses to exercise his right to run-away freedom.

Wartime regulation is often pictured as government imposing discipline on business. In this essay, Murray N. Rothbard reverses that picture: industrial leaders helped design and administer controls that, he argues, protected profits and curtailed competition. Steel price agreements, food licensing, and railroad guarantees make his case concrete, exposing the coercive powers behind ostensibly voluntary cooperation. His central concern is what survived demobilization—not simply agencies, but personnel, techniques, and an ideal of government-backed industrial coordination. Tracing these connections into Hoover’s associationism and the New Deal, Rothbard challenges the distinction between public planning and private privilege. The essay offers readers a pointed account of how emergency economic arrangements can become models for peacetime policy, and why businesses might welcome rather than resist federal intervention.

Conservatives, Rothbard charges, have long ceded the moral high ground to the Left, objecting to egalitarian programs only as impractical—a fatal concession, since ideals move the status quo. His 1973 essay therefore attacks the ideal itself. Equality, he argues, is intelligible only with respect to a specific attribute; taken literally it collapses into identity, and identity would demand coercive leveling of beauty, intelligence, and strength—the dystopias of Hartley's Facial Justice and Vonnegut's "Harrison Bergeron." Grounding human difference in biology as well as culture, he assails egalitarian readings of sex roles, youth quotas, and intelligence, then widens the charge from anthropology to ontology: utopian socialism from Fourier to Lenin becomes a revolt against the very structure of nature. Egalitarianism, he concludes, is not a humane ideal impeded by circumstance but something anti-human at its root.

The egalitarian world would necessarily be a world of horror fiction—a world of faceless and identical creatures, devoid of all individuality, variety, or special creativity.