When I was growing up, I noticed that the educated adults in my St. Louis suburb had strong faith in three big ideas—Darwinian evolution, Freudian psychology, and the Protestant ethic.
Since then, Darwinian evolution has held its own, but Freud has given way to other psychologies, and the Protestant ethic—the subject of this column—is rarely to be seen.
The German sociologist Max Weber developed the idea of the Protestant ethic, first in essays written in 1904 and 1905 and then in his 1920 book The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism.[1]
In a sense, “ascetic Puritans,” primarily Calvinists, transferred the mystical spiritual asceticism of Catholic saints to a less stringent but more productive real-world discipline, making possible a dynamic capitalistic world, according to Weber.
Puritans were supposed to work, even make money—but not for the sake of enjoying it. “[T]he pursuit of wealth as an end in itself [was] highly reprehensible; but the attainment of it as a fruit of labour in a calling was a sign of God’s blessing.” [2] Among other things, wealth would indicate that one was among the “elect,” that is, predestined to go to heaven.Continue reading “Is Max Weber’s Protestant Ethic Worth Another Look?”
Readers of history know that government efforts to reduce monopoly power and protect the consumer often fall short. Some protect competitors rather than the consumer. Famous break-ups of large companies like Standard Oil and Alcoa have had little impact on the companies’ success. And regulators tend to be captured by the regulated [1]. So can government intervention be beneficial to a company—and also serve the community? Let me introduce you to Theodore Vail, president of AT&T in its early days. I learned about him from the great management guru Peter Drucker. You be the judge.
Theodore Vail, AT &T President
If you were reading the New York Times in 1913—or even Wikipeda’s “History of AT&T” today—you might think that Theodore Vail had succumbed to government pressure: The New York Times wrote about AT&T on Dec. 20, 1913: Continue reading “Theodore Vail Chooses Regulation”
The U.S. Forest Service has proposed renaming Wayne National Forest, a 240,000-acre forest in southeast Ohio. It has selected the name Buckeye National Forest. (Ohio is the Buckeye State.)
The forest honors Anthony Wayne, an important general in the American Revolution. But “Mad” Anthony (whose label was given for disputed reasons) also was a key figure in the Northwest Indian War, ousting Native Americans from much of Ohio. Understandably, American Indian tribes are encouraging the name change.
I have been opposed to the removal of statues for the sake of “woke” ideology. I’m also doubtful about renaming southern forts, even though they were named for mediocre Confederate generals in order to perpetuate Jim Crow (see this post). And I think renaming college buildings is mostly silly. Which North Carolina State college student wonders about the namesake of Daniels Hall—now labeled 111 Lampe Drive?
We’ve all heard that history is written by the winners. In his 1995 book, Silencing the Past: Power and the Production of History, Michel-Rolph Trouillot both agrees and disagrees. He shows that historical narratives, such as the story of the Haitian Revolution, reflect differences in power—”the uneven contribution of competing groups and individuals,” from the initial event to the written word.[1]
In other words, the people who shape history are not necessarily the winners. But they usually have some kind of power.
I was in college in the spring of 1965, when President Lyndon B. Johnson announced he was sending combat troops—two Marine battalions—to South Vietnam. Thus, my professional life began in the decade of public debate, turmoil, and tragedy surrounding Vietnam.
What I didn’t know (among many other things, of course) was that the announcement of combat troops was disingenuous, one in a long line of disingenuous public statements from the president and his close associates. U.S. “advisers” had been quietly taking part in combat missions since 1961.[1]
Nor did I know that the seemingly sudden “Americanization” of a previously foreign war had been years in the making. Arch T. Allen, a retired attorney, brought this to my attention recently in a paper he wrote about the war. [2]
The Vietnam War, Allen points out, was managed behind a veil of duplicity. I suspected that in 1965, and the fact was confirmed in 1971, when the Pentagon Papers were leaked to major newspapers.
