The archive.

Why do businessmen report that borrowing costs scarcely affect investment when economic theory gives interest rates a central role? In this 1946 article, G. L. S. Shackle locates the tension in the difference between equipment’s physical durability and the period over which its earnings can credibly be forecast. Lower interest rates give particular weight to distant receipts; uncertainty can make those receipts count for little. Reading business questionnaire responses alongside valuation calculations, Shackle shows why high required returns matter only when doubt has a particular temporal pattern. He also distinguishes an influence on decisions from one entrepreneurs consciously notice. The result is a conditional account of interest-rate policy: weak effects where future earnings are doubtful need not imply weak effects for relatively predictable investments such as houses.

Written weeks after Keynes's death, this memoir refuses to separate the theory from the man who made it: a Cambridge and Eton mind, mathematically gifted yet impatient with technique that did not bear on public action. Schumpeter reads the whole career as the slow forging of a single vision, first glimpsed in The Economic Consequences of the Peace, that laissez-faire capitalism had ended in 1914 and that thrift no longer served accumulation. The General Theory supplies that vision its machinery, reducing the economy to three schedules: the consumption function, the marginal efficiency of capital, and liquidity preference. Admiring the elegance yet insisting on the narrowness, Schumpeter accepts Hicks's verdict that this is the economics of depression, and grants Keynes a genuine school rivaling the Physiocrats and Marxists.

It does not make us Keynesians, it makes us better economists.

Empirical critics of the 1940s claimed that interviews and questionnaires had caught firms behaving in ways marginal analysis could not explain; the reply here is that they had misunderstood the theory they meant to refute. Economic theory, Machlup argues, is essentially a theory of adjustment to change, and its variables are the entrepreneur's own expected costs and revenues, not the observer's accounting magnitudes — a driver overtaking a truck responds to speed and distance without computing them. Reports of 'full-cost' pricing dissolve on inspection: average cost may smooth fluctuations over time, discipline a cartel, or hint at rivals' demand elasticity without contradicting marginalism. He is hardest on Richard Lester's wage-employment surveys, whose 'importance' ratings confuse frequency with marginal effect. The theory has not been disproved, he insists, though better empirical work, grounded in theory, is badly needed.

The business man does what he does on the basis of what he thinks, regardless of whether you agree with him or not.

Anti-Prussian sentiment ran high in the monarchy of 1870, yet at the Crown Council of 18 July—Franz Joseph, Andrássy, Beust, Kuhn, and Potocki around the table—Austria-Hungary chose neutrality with only preparatory armament. Engel-Janosi reads that choice not as simple weakness but as the sum of converging constraints. Potocki's federalist ministry, which would have granted the crownlands almost the status of American federal states, had deepened rather than resolved the monarchy's internal paralysis, while the Eastern Question tied any western war to Russia's designs on Constantinople and to unrest in Serbia, Romania, and Egypt. Drawing on ministerial protocols and American diplomatic reports, the essay presents neutrality not as grand design but as the only policy the Dual Monarchy's divided structure could sustain.

Prokesch hatte recht: es war, als seien die Segel eines Schiffes so gesetzt, daß sie gegeneinander wirkten.

English translation: “Prokesch was right: it was as though the sails of a ship had been set so as to work against one another.”

Agreement with a cause need not mean accepting its evidence. In this short review of John R. Baker’s Science and the Planned State, Felix Kaufmann supports scientific independence but challenges Baker’s use of an Oxford-generated list of discoveries to establish the harmful effects of Soviet state control: other factors could explain the comparison. Writing amid debates over atomic research, Kaufmann also shifts the grounds of opposition from scientific productivity to human freedom. His particular concern is the social sciences, where political supervision threatens inquiry into rulers’ own doctrines. The review offers a compact encounter with a critic who separates sympathy from proof—and asks whether the strongest defense of free research rests on the discoveries it produces or the liberty it preserves.

A statistical relationship may predict well without explaining what happens when economic policy changes. This distinction gives Gerhard Tintner’s 1946 article its central tension. Working through commodity prices, production indexes, and agricultural markets, he shows how multivariate methods can classify observations, construct aggregate measures, and connect sets of variables—while asking when those constructions have economic meaning. His wheat-market example makes the stakes concrete: a historical price–quantity regression need represent neither supply nor demand, yet price intervention requires precisely that distinction. Readers can discover both the possibilities of structural estimation when all variables contain disturbances and the limits imposed by identification, uncertain error estimates, and aggregation. Tintner’s doubts about an economy-wide production function keep statistical ingenuity from becoming unwarranted economic certainty.

Rising output, falling prices, and uneven prosperity coexist in Schumpeter’s account of the American twenties. In this 1946 article, he interprets that combination through the delayed effects of earlier technological transformations, insisting that national totals obscure the contrasting fortunes of industries and regions. His central distinction separates the pressures that made depression likely from the financial conditions that turned contraction into catastrophe: speculative gains sustaining consumption, a fragmented banking system, and reckless mortgage lending. Readers can discover how a historical diagnosis changes when industrial adjustment and financial fragility are treated as distinct mechanisms—and why, for Schumpeter, agreement about causes need not settle disputes over policy.

Time series never tell the whole tale and must be supplemented by a detailed historical account of what actually happened in the economic organism.

When civilizations seem to repeat one another’s histories, what makes the resemblance an explanation rather than an analogy? Emil Kauder’s 1946 article tests cyclical interpretations of history against this question, placing Vico—not Spengler—at its conceptual centre. For Kauder, Vico’s distinction between an ideal historical structure and its particular realizations offers a firmer foundation than appeals to civilizational souls or destiny. He values Toynbee’s comparative evidence while questioning whether accumulated parallels can establish historical necessity. Writing in the aftermath of war, he also challenges confidence that human cruelty serves a benevolent providential plan. The article makes visible the philosophical commitments behind accounts of civilizational rise and decline: what acts in history, what recurs, and whether recurrence carries any moral meaning.

Agreement with Hayek’s economics need not entail agreement with his explanation of political change. In this 1946 review of The Road to Serfdom, Joseph A. Schumpeter praises Hayek’s defense of personal liberty while questioning the social foundations of his liberalism. Could an economically workable capitalist reform program win support from voters asked to accept insecurity and delayed rewards? More fundamentally, Schumpeter argues that capitalism itself has empowered constituencies whose demands challenge liberal principles. The departure from individualism is thus not simply a victory of mistaken ideas: it reflects a change in whose preferences carry political weight. This brief review offers a pointed distinction between defending liberty, designing economic policy, and explaining the forces that determine either’s political prospects.

Cheap money has a long pedigree of enemies of interest behind it, Bolshevik, Nazi, and easy-money reformers alike who picture creditors as idle rich and debtors as toiling poor. Mises overturns the picture: in a modern financial society the bondholders, savers, and insurance and social-security claimants harmed by depressed interest and depreciated currency are ordinary people. From the distinction between commodity credit, drawn from real savings, and circulation credit, conjured by banks as fiat money, he builds the familiar sequence, artificially lowered rates, false calculation, malinvestment, boom, and then either runaway inflation toward a 1923-style collapse or panic and mass unemployment. The crisis, he stresses, springs not from ending expansion but from the misdirection cheap money already produced. Interest expresses time preference and cannot be legislated away.

The artificial boom is not prosperity, but the deceptive appearance of good business.

The United Nations promised sovereign equality while granting its strongest members privileges unavailable to the rest. In this 1946 published address, William Emmanuel Rappard examines that contradiction from Geneva: a former centre of international organization, in a neutral country excluded from the new wartime coalition. He distinguishes the practical necessity of unequal influence from the more troubling exemption of great powers from obligations binding smaller states. Yet his criticism does not lead to rejection. American participation, he argues, is indispensable, and the UN’s conduct may exceed the standards of its Charter. The address offers a sharply situated account of what smaller states surrender—and what protection they can realistically expect—when a military alliance becomes an institution for peace.

Citizens must judge claims whose technical foundations they cannot fully master. Alfred Schutz’s essay locates this difficulty between specialized expertise and the practical recipes that ordinarily let people get on with their lives. His distinctive question is not simply how much we know, but how we decide what deserves attention—and what happens when other people’s purposes make unfamiliar matters consequential for us. The expert, the everyday actor, and the would-be informed citizen are attitudes one person can adopt in different domains, not separate social classes. By examining both the perspectives of informants and the authority conferred by group approval, Schutz gives readers a precise distinction between knowledge received from others and knowledge warranted merely by social acceptance. His account makes informed judgment a task of scrutinizing relevance as well as evidence.