The archive.

Ten executives gather around the table of a fictional XYZ Corporation, and each proposes a different use for the same surplus — plant expansion, higher dividends, basic research, university gifts, worker bonuses, price cuts — while insisting that his preferred policy serves the company and the national interest alike. From this staged meeting Machlup builds a satirical assault on the doctrine of corporate social responsibility, showing that once profit maximization under competition gives way to an open-ended mandate to serve society, almost any managerial preference can be dressed as public duty. His remedy is competition, which narrows discretion and forces attention back to product and efficiency. The comedy also skewers behavioral theories of the firm, where a surplus of equally plausible motives makes any single corporate decision impossible to predict.

Perhaps they illustrate the enormous difficulties of “behavioral theories”: ten participants in corporate decision making propose ten different courses of action, and there is no warrant for any generalization as to what they are likely to decide after the coffee break.

Machlup’s presidential address returns to the 1946 American Economic Review battlefield twenty years on, asking not which theory of the firm is realistic but what each is built to explain. The governing distinction is between the firm as an analytical construct and the firm as an actual organization: competitive price theory uses a deliberately simplified agent to infer how prices and outputs move when wages or taxes change, and treating that fiction as a miniature General Motors commits the “fallacy of misplaced concreteness.” Behavioral and managerial models — Baumol’s sales maximization, Williamson’s expense preference — are not refutations but tools for different problems, above all monopoly and oligopoly, where discretion widens. His verdict is a disciplined pluralism that matches each model to the question it was designed to answer.

Thus, instead of a heated contest between marginalism and managerialism in the theory of the firm, a marriage between the two has come about.

The Rio Agreement on Special Drawing Rights succeeded, on Machlup's reading, precisely because it refused to call a spade a spade: by avoiding contested words — credit, loan, reserve, repayment — it let France read SDRs as a repayable credit facility while Britain and America read them as new reserve assets. Reconstructing the negotiations among the IMF and the Group of Ten, he explains SDRs as a closed giro system among monetary authorities, money created by allocation rather than lending, whose acceptability rests on mutual willingness rather than collateral. He endorses the design while insisting on its limits: added liquidity works only indirectly, easing the pressure that pushes governments toward import restrictions and deflation, and it leaves the dollar overhang, gold speculation, and rigid exchange rates unresolved.

Money needs takers, not backers; the takers accept it, not because of any backing, but only because they count on others accepting it from them.

Education and income rise together, but which drives which? Machlup's compact study, expanded from a 1969 lecture, insists the causation runs both ways and on different clocks: schooling may raise productivity only after long lags, while prosperity quickly raises the demand for education — and, crucially, its cost. He is skeptical of residual-growth accounting that credits education with large unexplained gains, warns that in poor agrarian societies schooling can breed aversion to manual work and urban frustration, and separates the long payoff of formal schooling from the faster returns of on-the-job training. His most durable point is structural: because teaching is labor-intensive and resists productivity gains, education grows dearer as wages climb in the sectors that do, the logic later christened Baumol's cost disease.

Educational efforts may be regarded as consumption, investment, waste, or drag.

Suppose the molecules in a physics laboratory suddenly began to speak — disputing the textbook account of Brownian motion, offering their own versions of events. Machlup’s parable dramatizes the one methodological difference he thinks genuinely separates social from natural science: the social scientist studies beings who talk, interpret, theorize, and lie about themselves. Rejecting both a wholly separate logic for social inquiry and the claim that no real difference exists, he refines Verstehen into the disciplined construction of models of purpose and belief that must also treat actors’ own testimony as data — data that may mislead. Bankers deny they create credit; businessmen reject profit-maximization; yet economics, he insists, cannot be learned by watching or interviewing, only through abstract constructs of purposeful action.

It is one of the characteristics of the natural sciences that their subjects of investigation do not talk about themselves.

A word that means one thing in Vienna and nearly its opposite in Washington cannot anchor a coherent politics — and liberalism, Machlup argues, has drifted until an American liberal would count as an anti-liberal in Europe. Originating as a Hayek lecture, the essay traces that drift from Lockean individualism through the reinterpretation of freedom as effective power, and dissects two governing confusions: being free to act versus being free from want, and what one may do versus what one can do. Against the slogan that freedom is indivisible he sets a catalogue of some two dozen distinct liberties — economic, political, intellectual, moral — that routinely collide. The genuine liberal, he concludes, ranks freedoms and restricts one only to secure another, and refuses to let welfare be relabeled as liberty.

Food is not liberty, and liberty is not food. Medical care is not liberty, and liberty is not medical care.

Presented frankly as a mystery story, this essay treats the explosive growth of Euro-dollar deposits as a conceptual puzzle before an empirical one. Machlup's verdict is a disciplined agnosticism: Euro-banks may have created dollar money, but the statistics cannot say how much, because the debate keeps confusing deposits with loans, credit with money, and flows with stocks. He polices those categories relentlessly — distinguishing legal form from economic function, primary from derivative deposits, genuine money creation from the interbank redepositing that inflates gross totals through London-Zurich-Milan chains. His preferred analogy is the American nonmember bank, holding claims on member banks as reserves and building liabilities atop them. Offshore dollars, he concludes, are real, regulation-sensitive, and largely invisible to any national money-stock measure — stateless money.

Words guide the attention of the audience; the use of the word "market" may divert attention from the important nonmarket aspects of the Euro-dollar system.

When Washington stopped buying and selling gold in August 1971, the official thirty-five dollars an ounce ceased to be a price and became a mere bookkeeping entry — and most of the ensuing debate, Machlup contends, mistook that accounting figure for an operative economic force. Devaluing the dollar in gold would change nothing real: trade, employment, and competitiveness turn on exchange rates set in the market, not on how governments label their gold stocks. He dismisses the talk of burden sharing as claptrap, separates genuine transfer burdens from the mercantilist pseudo-burden of forgone reserves, and warns that raising gold's book value would keep alive the illusion of restored gold convertibility. What matters instead is purchasing power: no asset serves as a reserve unless its holder knows what he can get for it.

Where there are no sales, no purchases, and no exchanges of gold against dollars, there can be neither a price nor an exchange value of gold in dollars.

Persistent payments imbalance, when it will not soon correct itself, is best met by realigning the exchange rate rather than by controls, reserve losses, borrowing, inflation, or deflation — so run these two Horowitz Lectures. Machlup distrusts the notion of a single equilibrium rate, since money, wages, productivity, and capital flows shift too continually, and prefers to speak of alignment and disalignment. The first lecture reduces the choice to its essentials: adjust supply and demand to the rate, or adjust the rate to supply and demand, counting deflation's unemployment and inflation's distortions as the real costs. The second is political economy, explaining why governments delay until a small early move becomes a wrenching late one, and defending crawling pegs, wider bands, and temporary floating.

Currency speculation is a function of disaligned exchange rates that are expected to undergo adjustment by large jumps.

Two classic claims for socialism — that it produces more efficiently and distributes more justly — organize this pointed commentary, in which Machlup largely concedes Bergson's empirical comparison of Soviet and Western performance in order to train his fire on Tinbergen's case for income equalization. Egalitarian welfare economics, he argues, cannot smuggle equality in as a technical result: it rests on ethical postulates that can be assented to but never proved, on an implausible welfare thermometer of interpersonal utility, and on a neglect of incentives, envy doing much of the work solidarity is supposed to do. Push Tinbergen's logic to the globe, Machlup adds, and it demands a redistribution between rich and poor nations no wealthy electorate would ratify. His closing witness is Stalin, quoted condemning wage-leveling.

In a worldwide referendum I would expect a majority to vote for radical redistribution, so that the poor can share the wealth with the rich—with the result that all would be equally poor.

Economic Man — homo oeconomicus — stood accused of materialism, greed, and a degraded picture of humanity, and Machlup treats that hostility as the real subject of inquiry. Sampling the denunciations of Barton, the Historical School, Carey, and Ruskin, he grants that economists often described the construct badly, equating wealth with material goods and maximization with selfishness. But poor descriptions of a model do not refute the need for one. Reconstructing the methodological quarrel among Mill, Senior, Bagehot, Cairnes, and Wicksteed, he argues that maximization is not egoism and that Economic Man is no portrait of the whole person but a premise within a hypothetico-deductive system — a homunculus, not a man, built to explain how agents react when prices, incomes, and costs change.

The ‘bogey’ to whom this essay will be devoted is Economic Man.

Behind the fashionable slogan of “international liquidity,” Machlup finds a cluster of distinct problems the phrase conveniently blurs: reserve adequacy, exchange-rate adjustment, the status of gold, and the institutional meaning of Special Drawing Rights. Replying to Teschner in a tightly timed conference intervention, he refuses any single-cause story of the Bretton Woods collapse — rapid reserve growth let countries postpone adjustment, but shrinking American gold cover mattered too. He defends the original SDR as an unbacked reserve asset distributed gratis, warns against schemes that would smuggle back the notion of “coverage,” and turns his “Mrs. Machlup’s wardrobe” parable against simplistic reserve-demand estimates. The lecture’s force lies in dismantling the pseudo-precision of monetary reform and asking what its concepts actually measure.

Die Währungsbehörden sind in der Regel optimistisch und glauben immer, daß der gegenwärtige Kurs auch der richtige ist.

English translation: “The monetary authorities are as a rule optimistic and always believe that the prevailing rate is also the correct one.”