Although James Mill considered production and education to be two objectives of global welfare, he claimed that the former was not always consistent with the latter. On the one hand, production is necessary to provide humankind with the means of subsistence; on the other hand, if individuals allocate all their time to labor to the detriment of their own education, “neither intellect, virtue nor happiness can flourish upon the earth” (Mill [1819] 1825, p. 30). Mill argued that this problem might be solved by finding what he called “the precious middle point.” This point deserves special consideration: it acknowledges that there is a way in which education and production might be distributed in society in order to promote the greatest global welfare. The aim of this paper is to explain the relation between production and education through the working of the precious middle point.

Polly Hill spent her long, productive, and at times controversial career crossing and contesting disciplinary boundaries. She graduated in economics at Cambridge, but her doctorate was in social anthropology—with economist Joan Robinson as dissertation supervisor. Her thirteen years at the University of Ghana were initially in economics, then in African studies, and her readership at Cambridge was in Commonwealth studies. As a woman in several male-dominated academic disciplines without a secure base in any (and with distinctive, unorthodox opinions in each), she never obtained a tenure-track appointment despite ten books and fifty scholarly articles. Her books drew attention to the underrecognized agency of indigenous entrepreneurs while her Development Economics on Trial: The Anthropological Case for the Prosecution (1986) critiqued a discipline, disciplinary boundaries, and outside experts, both mainstream and radical.

Among the most controversial of David Ricardo's contributions to policy debate was his scheme for the redemption of the public debt by means of a “capital levy,” a one-time tax on the property of the nation. Public debt policy had been the subject of sporadic debate throughout the eighteenth century, but faced increased scrutiny by the time Ricardo came to address the subject. While government revenues were suffering from the repeal of the temporary income tax which had been imposed during the Napoleonic Wars, revenue requirements remained high, as the savings in terms of military expenditures were being offset by the need to make interest payments on a debt which had grown during the latter years of the war. Ricardo's analysis of public debt was not novel; nor was the proposal for a capital levy to achieve its redemption.

When William Stanley Jevons first presented his theory of exchange, he used the example of two trading bodies (A and B) holding stocks of corn and beef (goods X and Y), but he was eager to show how the basic results could be applied to a variety of situations. After considering the relatively simple introduction of transport costs, Jevons added three subsections (Jevons 1957, pp. 111–19) which demonstrated his confident handling of his approach. There have been many critical comments on Jevons's handling of mathematics, including those of Alfred Marshall in his review of the Theory of Political Economy (Jevons 1872; see Black 1981). However, these examples show that Jevons produced a clear and succinct statement of the mathematical structure of the theory of exchange.

In 1951, Nobel Laureate Wassily Leontief put his finger on what was wrong with economics. It had remained a “deductive system resting upon a static set of premises,” when what was needed was an economics that would “combine economic facts and theory.” The new economics would be called “interindustry” or “input-output” analysis (Leontief 1966, p. 14). According to Leontief it is easy to “compute the complete table of input requirements at any given level of output, provided we know its input ratios.” These input ratios could be calculated from “engineering data on process design and operating procedure” (ibid., pp. 24–26). For Leontief and, I suspect, a large number of economists in 1951, the technological facts dependent only on the chemical and physical laws of nature—what I shall call “Leontief coefficients”—were indisputable. It would take so many units of coke to produce a ton of pig iron whether or not there was a human being alive on earth to witness that transformation. The Leontief coefficients were the bedrock of subsequent economic analysis. They were analogous to what the philosopher John R. Searle has termed “brute facts” (Searle 1995, p. 27).

Most historians know Robert Lowe (1811–1892) as W. E. Gladstone's first Chancellor (1868–73) and the leading orator against the Reform Bill of 1867. Educationists to this day criticize or praise his Revised Code of 1862, which introduced payment by results in schools. Historians of economic thought add Lowe's critique of relativism (evinced by his views on Ireland) and his stridently classical statements of the role of political economy from his later dispute with the English historical school.

I wrote this address during the first weeks of the murderous and devastating invasion of Russia in Ukraine, in a fluctuating mood of anger and sadness. My aim was addressing the issue of the use of history to legitimize ideology, and I was contemplating how I could convince you of the urgency of this issue, and then this war broke out.

As with most papers written for occasions of this kind, this one has elements of self-indulgence. In this Society, at least, one has a captive audience, some (or most?) of whom may have come for another purpose. At the same time, one has no prescribed theme: if one had one, one organised last year's meeting around it. True, there are constraints: it is after all the History of Economics Society, which constrains the subject somewhat–but only a little; it is an after dinner speech at the end of two long days of meetings, which limits the heaviness of the contents; and it will appear in the Bulletin, which prevents complete absurdities. Yet these constraints are fairly minimal.

About three lines into his book Making Natural Knowledge, Jan Golinski defines the “constructivist” view of science as “that which regards scientific knowledge primarily as a human product, made with locally situated cultural and material resources, rather than as simply the revelation of a pre-given order of nature” (Golinski 1998, p. ix). Having a pretty good idea of what Professor Golinski's book was going to be about, this stopped me for a moment. Is that all there is to it? Is that what the work of the Strong Programme, Latour, Pickering, Knorr-Cetina; the talk of mangle, black boxes and resistances, is all about? Described this way, it seems quite reasonable; a way of thinking about scientific activity that should at least be given a hearing. Admittedly, I have seen other, usually more prolix, ways of characterizing what Golinski has called the constructivist view of science. But I like this one. It sends what I believe to be the correct message that this “constructivism” is, at its heart, better characterized as plausible and intriguing than outrageous, and that it is not necessarily threatening to any core values held by historians.

Like other Progressive Era reformers, Thomas Nixon Carver promoted a form of biology-infused social science that included both eugenics and a strong version of hereditarianism. Carver was also a charismatic teacher who trained several generations of economists and sociologists at Harvard. In this paper we will focus on the contribution of three of them: James A. Field, Norman E. Himes, and Carl S. Joslyn. These authors differ in terms of style, method, and emphasis—with Field and Himes more interested in population and birth control issues, and Joslyn in the dynamics of social stratification. As it will be shown below, however, all of them reveal an explicit commitment to hereditarianism and eugenics, which can be directly traced back to Carver’s influence during their student days at Harvard.

It is not every literary novice, blushing diffidently over her first manuscript, who easily finds a publisher, still less one prepared to pay an advance of several million pounds. But not every first author has such a story to tell as Margaret Thatcher, the longest-serving British prime minister of the twentieth century. It was the previous record holder, Asquith, who first established the notion that retired prime ministers write their memoirs, and he did so under a twin motivation which was not peculiar to himself. He sought vindication and he was after the money.

Academic economists tend to come in two varieties. One type identifies a substantive specialism at the outset of a career and continues to cultivate it. A second type is more likely to respond to the American Economic Association's twice-a-decade requests for information about sub-specialties by providing a number of differing answers over the course of a professional lifetime. I accept Adam Smith's arguments about the gains from specialization arising from a widened division of labor, but I am also conscious that Smith held that excessive specialization could contribute to boredom in the workplace. In any event, I am temperamentally a Type II economist who has greatly enjoyed working on diverse scholarly topics. I am also aware of a number of turning points that have conditioned my world with consequences that I could not have foreseen.

Some years ago, George J. Stigler reminded the community of historians of economic thought that a great thinker of the last century, Adolphe Quetelet, had made a real methodological breakthrough in the social sciences by opening the door to quantification. Stigler himself tried to implement this method in the history of economic thought.

As is well-known, Karl Marx distinguished three types of rent. In addition to two categories of differential rent, closely related to the Ricardian extensive and intensive margins, he argued (against David Ricardo) that rent was paid on the least fertile land. For Marx this so-called “absolute rent” resulted from the barrier posed by landed property to the free movement of capital into agricultural production. Since the organic composition of capital was relatively low in agriculture, the prices of production of farm products were lower than their labor values. The existence of private property in land prevented the reduction of agricultural prices to these prices of production, and allowed the payment of rent even on what could be described, in Ricardian terms, as marginal land. There exists a sizeable literature on Marx's theory of absolute rent,1 but there is no systematic account of its gestation and development. In this paper we explain how Marx's critique of Ricardian rent theory evolved between his first doubts early in 1851 and the articulation of a distinctive alternative analysis in the manuscripts of 1862–63. We also assess the influence exerted on Marx by Richard Jones and Johann Karl Rodbertus, and briefly discuss the significance of Marx's theory of absolute rent for his political economy as a whole.

Clarence Ayres was a strong dissenting voice in US economics during the twentieth century. In the 1930s, a debate between Ayres and Frank Knight was published by the International Journal of Ethics. Although the debate focused on ethics, the evolution of economics was also discussed. This paper proposes an understanding of Ayres’s ideas based on the context in which he made them. This context is defined by the 1930s Ayres-Knight debate and the archival correspondence between Ayres and Knight during the 1930s.

In the late nineteenth century, Eugen von Böhm-Bawerk's magisterial work (1881) or capital and interest provided the foundation upon which virtually all modern theories are built. In his first volume, History and Critique of Interest Theories, Böhm-Bawerk classified and (in his mind) refuted all previous explanations. Böhm-Bawerk thought a proper theory of interest must explain the apparent undervaluation of future goods For example, if a machine is expected to yield annual rents of $1,000 for ten years why does it sell now for less than $10,000? To answer this question was to provide a theory of interest, for only with such an undervaluation would it be possible for a capitalist to invest in machines, for example, and reap a flow of returns, over time greater than his initial investment.