“How can we be proud of our jobs,” queried the Nebraskan, after his hearty laugh at Amalia Henrietta Schmidt, “when we never have a job which we expect to hold permanently? I started out with school teaching, then I got hold of a good thing in the way of Carborundum and made grindstones. That’s what took me to Europe. When that business went bad, I bought out the livery stable in my town, and now I am in the moving picture business. If I could sell out at a good price I’d do it and take up any old thing as long as there is money in it.”
He was right. Our work is not sacred to us, for too often it is only the means to an end, and frequently a very selfish end. Because Germany has had centuries of carpenters and tinkers and shoemakers who planed boards and mended pots and shoes “by the grace of God,” and swung the hammer as if it were a sword, they are now wielding the sword as if it were a hammer.
In some way we must get this spiritual appeal of the job, which means not only that we shall have to dedicate ourselves to our task in a manner worthy of its significance, but that the state must have this spiritual attitude towards the worker, and treat him as though worthy of his place in the economy of the nation. It is this wise provision for the workers’ efficient education, the state’s recognition that the well-being of the individual is its concern, which has given to Germany the unfailing devotion of all her people.
I was roused from these meditations by hearing the Nebraskan’s voice.
“You see I never had a chance to learn just one thing. I can do many things tolerably well, for I had to do them. I can splice a rope, repair a machine, shingle a house and if necessary build a barn. I can play ragtime on the piano, throw a steer or ride a bucking broncho. I can even make soda biscuits. I am the child of the pioneers, and in order to survive, they had to be jacks of all trades.
“I bought a tool in a department store the other day,” and he drew it from his pocket. “It can do sixteen things tolerably well, but it isn’t worth shucks for any one job, if you want to do it right. That’s me.”
The Herr Director wanted to know what “shucks” meant, and after I laboriously explained it to him and he had handled the patent tool he said:
“Your travelling men have come over to Germany and tried to sell us this kind of thing, but they found no market. When we want a gimlet, or a saw, or a coat-hanger we want that one thing and want it as good as it can be made. We marvel at your adaptability, but we are too thorough to be adaptable, and we do not need to be. You Americans will never be able to compete with us until you learn to specialize and do one thing well.”
We sat long into the night comparing the German and the American Spirit, but there was one phase of the former which the Herr Director clearly demonstrated. There was a religious fervor in his patriotism which the average American lacks. To him his country was not only above himself but beyond everything else on Earth or in Heaven. There often seems something sordid about our patriotism, something connected solely with the individual’s well-being. I glory in our sense of liberty, in the opportunity to live unmolested, and in every man’s chance to be himself; but I fear we have as yet not learned to value our duty to this country as much as we do our privilege.
I am sure there will be no lack of fighters if the country is in danger; but shall we be able to fight the long, exhausting battle which presupposes discipline and subordination?