You’ve probably heard that Henry Ford II resigned from the board of the Ford Foundation because it had veered far away from its donor’s intent. In his 1976 resignation letter, Ford (grandson of Ford Sr.) wrote:
“In effect, the foundation is a creature of capitalism—a statement that, I’m sure, would be shocking to many professional staff people in the field of philanthropy. It is hard to discern recognition of this fact in anything the. foundation does.
“It is even more difficult to find an understanding of this in many of the institutions, particularly the universities, that are the beneficiaries of the foundation’s grant programs.”[1]
This is a guest column by Jay Schalin, senior fellow at the James G. Martin Center for Academic Renewal. Born in Pennsylvania, he responded to my request for “state stories.”
The uplands of northern Pennsylvania were a wild and wooly place in the early years of our nation. Rough men carved out large fortunes—or eked out bare livings—by extracting its natural resources, with violence occasionally erupting from their endeavors. Sometimes, the triggers for violence were the treatment of workers, as occurred in the eastern coal fields, pitting the pro-union Molly Maguires, an Irish secret society, against coal baron Franklin Gowen and his Pinkerton Detective Agency allies (the theme of a 1970 movie starring Sean Connery).
Another case of industrial violence resulted from a clash between competing technologies. It featured small independent entrepreneurs attacking the purveyors of more efficient, larger-scale methods. This is somewhat reminiscent of the violence wrought by English textile workers known as “Luddites” against more efficient factories in the early 19th century. Continue reading “Wood Wars on the Susquehanna”
If you grew up in the United States, you probably took a course in middle school or junior high about your state’s history. I don’t remember a thing about my class except a frantic late-night scramble to finish my “Missouri Scrapbook,” full of notes, photographs, postcards, mementos, etc.
My guess is that you didn’t learn a lot from state history classes, either. Am I wrong?
But state history has much to be said for it. Americans who move from state to state can find vivid confirmations of the themes of American history. I’m thinking of the frontier, our wars of independence—the American Revolution and the Civil War—, the destruction of American Indian tribes, the struggles to build infrastructure, etc.
Local sites may not rise to the fame of, say, the Trail of Tears, Nat Turner’s Rebellion, or the Boston Tea Party, but they help build the story of our past.
Each state’s history offers surprises. Here are a few examples from places I’ve lived in. I welcome you to send me others (for publication).
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.
