The archive.

A single corrective letter to a Vienna newspaper, dated 23 January 1920, defends the fine print of a financial program its author had not yet been able to present in public. Provoked by the finance secretary's remarks, Schumpeter clarifies what he had actually proposed: tax concessions on the wealth levy for those who secure fresh credit abroad for the state, not for foreign currency already circulating inside Austria. The distinction is the whole point. Rewarding domestic holdings of foreign exchange would only raise their local price and feed the black market, whereas privileging credit obtained abroad expands the state's external purchasing power. Brief and polemical, the note reveals a characteristic sensibility: incentives must be aimed with precision, and a carelessly framed tax preference can deepen the very scarcity it means to relieve.

Overthrowing a monarchy does not establish the capacity to govern—or to keep production running. In this 1920 essay, Friedrich von Wieser interprets the revolutions in Germany, Austria-Hungary, and Russia chiefly as collapses of authority under wartime defeat, rather than eruptions of new social strength. His distinctive concern is the gap between political sovereignty and economic power: revolutionary governments still depend on managerial competence, credit, supplies, and public allegiance. Yet his defence of productive leadership also demands changes to property rights that acknowledge labour’s dignity. The resulting programme of “social reformation” exposes a tension between social reconciliation and hierarchical authority. Read critically, including for its nationalist assumptions and antisemitic account of Bolshevik leadership, the essay offers a concrete encounter with an economist’s attempt to connect revolutionary legitimacy, economic interdependence, and postwar reconstruction.

When the Habsburg monarchy dissolved, its unified currency shattered into a spread of national monies, and every successor state raced to stamp the notes of the Austro-Hungarian Bank as its own. Kerschagl tracks that fragmentation country by country—Czechoslovakia's pioneering stamp and Rašín's forced-loan experiment, Yugoslavia's crown-dinar compromise, Poland's chaos of marks, rubles and crowns, Hungary under Béla Kun—while forged stamps spread panic across the region. At its core stands a scathing critique of Article 206 of the Treaty of Saint-Germain, whose confused provisions for liquidating the Bank he judges both unjust and technically impossible, treating Austria as sole successor and the Bank as a state institution. Left unrevised, he warns, the arrangement risks becoming a Central European economic problem in its own right.

Der Traum der Donaukonföderation war der letzte Traum der Österreichisch-ungarischen Bank.

English translation: “The dream of a Danubian confederation was the last dream of the Austro-Hungarian Bank.”

Money permits unlike goods and activities to be calculated in common units—but what gives those units purchasing power? In this article, Karel Engliš develops his answer through a critical engagement with Robert Liefmann’s monetary theory. He treats economic activity as the purposeful use of means, distinguishing the satisfaction money brings an individual from the goods it can actually procure. This distinction connects household calculation to a larger problem: why higher money incomes need not yield greater command over real goods. Engliš’s account separates relative prices from the monetary price level and asks how commodity convertibility constrains income expansion. The result offers a concrete way to examine both gold-linked and inconvertible money without assuming that either regime supplies the definition of money itself.

Abolish private ownership of the means of production, Mises argues, and you abolish the market prices of producer goods along with it—and without money prices there is no common denominator by which a planning authority can weigh one production method against another. This 1920 essay, which opened the socialist calculation debate, grants that a socialist commonwealth could still let consumers exchange and even use money for consumption goods, but insists that subjective use value cannot be measured and that labor cannot serve as a unit, since labor is heterogeneous and ignores scarce material inputs. State and municipal enterprises only appear calculable because they float within a surrounding market. Technical efficiency, he concludes, is not economic rationality: deprived of calculation, socialist production must grope in the dark.

Sozialismus ist Aufhebung der Rationalität der Wirtschaft.

English translation: “Socialism is the abolition of rational economy.”

Obsolete as policy the moment the peace terms arrived, yet indispensable as a diagnosis of the state's bare skeleton, the 1919/20 budget is here defended before the Constituent National Assembly on 28 July 1919. The finance secretary sets expenditures of roughly 6.5 billion crowns against revenues of 2.5 billion, a four-billion deficit, and traces the vicious circle in which rising prices force rising spending, which weakens the crown, which raises prices again. With extraordinary charges stripped out and a capital levy cutting war-debt interest, he argues Deutschoesterreich could have worked its way out of deficit finance in three arduous years. Then comes the indictment: the treaty's allocation of debts and war loans is not merely harsh but an economic riddle, intelligible only as a deliberate death sentence, worse than unacceptable and simply impossible.

Allein wie politisch, so ist auch ökonomisch dieser Friedensvertrag ein Rätsel, es sei denn, daß er ein gewolltes und beabsichtigtes wirtschaftliches Todesurteil sei.

English translation: “But just as it is politically, so too economically this peace treaty is an enigma—unless it be a deliberate and intended economic death sentence.”

The last portion of bread a person buys may matter greatly even when another portion would be almost worthless. For Oskar Engländer, this gap exposes a weakness in theories that infer proportionality between prices and marginal utilities from rational choice. In this 1920 article, directed principally against Schumpeter and Liefmann, he argues that choosing the best available action does not necessarily equalize marginal returns. Drawing on Brentano’s psychology, he treats preference as ranking rather than measurable intensity and distinguishes actual sacrifices, such as labor’s discomfort, from benefits forgone. His concrete examples make the stakes of seemingly technical assumptions visible: continuity and substitutability must be established, not smuggled into the economic principle. Readers can discover why rational purchases may constrain price relations without uniquely determining them.

Schumpeter measures Max Weber not by any single doctrine of parliamentarism or social policy but by the seriousness he forced upon a cautious, convention-bound German academy. Written as an obituary in 1920, this appraisal locates Weber's importance in a methodological achievement: the insistence that science cannot tell us what ought to be, that knowledge must be separated from political willing and from metaphysical presupposition. Weber's studies, Politik als Beruf, Wissenschaft als Beruf, and above all Die protestantische Ethik und der Geist des Kapitalismus and Die Wirtschaftsethik der Weltreligionen, are read as comparative inquiries into how belief, interest, discipline, and conduct interpenetrate, extending yet correcting Marx's economic interpretation of history. Economics supplied many of Weber's problems, Schumpeter concludes, but the governing form of his mind was sociological through and through.

Er war nicht konventionell. Er war nicht zugeritten. Er gehörte sich selbst.

English translation: “He was not conventional. He was not broken in. He belonged to himself.”

When does a change of terminology become a change of argument? In this polemical reply to Robert Liefmann, Alfred Amonn makes that distinction a test of economic reasoning. His sharpest example is money: he charges Liefmann with moving between an actual means of payment and an abstract accounting unit without distinguishing the two concepts. Amonn’s perspective is that of a critic who demands continuity of meaning across formulations, not conformity to a preferred vocabulary. His challenges to Liefmann’s claims of originality likewise turn on what predecessors actually wrote. The article offers a concrete encounter with the work of theoretical criticism: separating available resources from actual expenditure, checking quotations against interpretations, and asking whether a newly introduced distinction resolves a contradiction or merely conceals it.

When does an illuminating historical analogy become an unwarranted prophecy? In this 1920 review essay, Siegmund Feilbogen tests Spengler’s diagnosis of Western decline without dismissing his gifts as an interpreter of cultural forms. The decisive problem is the model of a culture’s lifespan: why should it resemble a human life rather than a tree capable of flowering repeatedly? Feilbogen challenges the chronology and selective comparisons supporting Spengler’s prediction, while asking what such predictions encourage readers to do—or abandon. His concern is practical as well as scholarly: a doctrine of inevitable decline may channel ambition into imperial power and commerce while discouraging artistic creation. The essay offers a discriminating encounter with Spengler, separating the capacity to perceive historical patterns from the authority to pronounce a civilization’s fate.

A short foreword to L. Galin's study of Russian courts and penal practice becomes, in Lederer's hands, an occasion to ask what law can be under Bolshevism. He opens by admitting he has never been to Russia and depends on sparse, contradictory reports, then advances a striking claim: even a revolution that ruptures every legal continuity generates continuity of its own, as old institutions, trained specialists, and popular habit reassert themselves. The dictatorship of the proletariat, he argues, has become institutional — sustained by leadership, propaganda, and transformed consciousness — yet has produced no genuinely new legal idea, an answer even Galin can give only unsatisfyingly. From that dissatisfaction he draws the essay's sharpest question: whether the Rechtsstaat itself is possible only within the bourgeois world.

So öffnet diese Darstellung den Ausblick auf die Frage: ob und inwieweit auch der Rechtsstaat nur in der bürgerlichen Welt möglich ist.

English translation: “Thus this account opens up the prospect of the question: whether and to what extent the Rechtsstaat too is possible only in the bourgeois world.”

Promises of equitable commerce sit uneasily beside the exclusion of Germany and Austria from the institutions meant to secure them. In this 1920 article, Emil Perels tests the League of Nations Covenant against German and Austrian proposals for international economic cooperation. His concern is concrete: what protection do transit rights and commercial guarantees offer states denied an equal voice in their administration? Comparing treaty obligations with proposals for a world commercial treaty, he links economic rights to institutional participation rather than treating them as self-enforcing rules. His defence of the defeated powers also has limits: criticism of colonial mandates does not become a rejection of empire. The article exposes the tension between European economic interdependence and a settlement that, in Perels’s judgement, preserves the victors’ instruments of economic leverage.