by Max Weber
While favoring the production of private economic wealth, asceticism was opposed to injustice and purely instinctive greed—for it was this that it condemned as “covetousness” and “mammonism,”61 etc., namely, the striving for wealth for the ultimate purpose of being wealthy. Wealth as such was a temptation. Here, however, asceticism was “the Power that would constantly do good but constantly does evil”62—at least what it saw as evil, namely, wealth and its attendant temptations. For, in the spirit of the Old Testament, (and there is a parallel here to the ethical assessment of “good works”), it not only saw in the striving for wealth as a goal the ultimate in what is reprehensible; it also regarded wealth achieved as the fruit of labor in a calling as a blessing from God. Furthermore, and even more important, a religious value was placed on ceaseless, constant, systematic labor in a secular calling as the very highest ascetic path and at the same time the surest and most visible proof of regeneration and the genuineness of faith. This was inevitably the most powerful lever imaginable with which to bring about the spread of that philosophy of life which we have here termed the “spirit” of capitalism. [295] And if that restraint on consumption is combined with the freedom to strive for profit, the result produced will inevitably be the creation of capital through the ascetic compulsion to save. [296]
The inhibitions which stood in the way of consumption of what had been acquired favored its productive use: as investment capital. It is, of course, impossible to put a precise figure on how great this effect was. In New England the connection was sufficiently tangible for it to be detected by that outstanding historian, [John Andrew] Doyle. [297] But even in Holland, where strict Calvinism only really prevailed for seven years, the greater simplicity of life, coupled with tremendous wealth, which was found in the more seriously religious circles, led to an obsessive desire to accumulate capital. [298]
Obviously, the tendency to “ennoble” middle-class [bürgerlich] fortunes, a tendency which has always been present everywhere and in all ages, and is still active in our country today, was significantly reduced by the Puritan aversion to the feudal lifestyle. Seventeenth-century English mercantilist writers attributed the superiority of Dutch capital over that of England to the fact that in Holland those who had recently acquired fortunes did not, as happened in England, regularly seek ennoblement by investment in land and the adoption of feudal lifestyles—for it was this rather than land purchase that really mattered, as it rendered the capital no longer available to be utilized for capitalist investment. [299] The particular estimation of agriculture (shared by the Puritans) as an especially important branch of commerce, which was also particularly conducive to piety, applied (for Baxter, for example) not to the landlord, but to the yeoman and farmer,63 and in the eighteenth century not to the Junker but to the “rational” farmer [300].
Wherever the power of the Puritan philosophy of life extended, it always benefited the tendency toward a middle-class [bürgerlich], economically rational conduct of life, of which it was the most significant and only consistent support. This is, of course, far more important than merely encouraging the formation of capital. It stood at the cradle of modern “economic man.” Certainly, these Puritan ideals of life could be defeated when subjected to an unduly strong pressure from the “temptations” of wealth—temptations well known to the Puritans themselves. Quite regularly—as we shall see later—we find the most authentic followers of the Puritan spirit in the ranks of the rising petit bourgeois and the farmers. The “beati possidentes,” even among the Quakers, were often prepared to deny their old ideals. [301] It was, after all, the same fate as that which befell medieval monastic asceticism again and again: when rational economic procedures in the context of a strictly controlled life and restrained consumption, had had their full effect, either the gains that had been made went directly into “ennobling”—as in the period before the religious separation—or monastic discipline threatened to disintegrate, and one of the numerous “reformations” had to intervene. The entire history of the monastic orders is, in a sense, one of constant wrestling with the problem of the secularizing influence of wealth.
The same thing applies on a massive scale to the innerworldly asceticism of Puritanism. The mighty “revival” of Methodism, which preceded the rapid development of English industry toward the end of the eighteenth century, can—if the comparison is taken with a pinch of salt!—be very aptly likened to such a reform of the monasteries. Those mighty religious movements, whose significance for economic development lay primarily in the ascetic education they provided, only developed their full economic effect after the pinnacle of purely religious enthusiasm had been left behind, the frenzied search for the kingdom of God was beginning to dissolve into sober virtue in pursuit of the calling, and the religious roots were beginning to die and give way to utilitarian earthly concerns. This was the time when, to use [Edward] Dowden’s example, “Robinson Crusoe,” the isolated economic man who engages in missionary work in his spare time [302], has taken the place in the popular imagination of Bunyan’s “Pilgrim,” hastening through “Vanity Fair,” striving, in his inner loneliness, to reach the heavenly kingdom. When subsequently the phrase “to make the best of both worlds”64 gained currency, the quiet conscience (as Dowden has observed) was simply included among the means of achieving a comfortable middle-class life. The idea is neatly expressed by the German proverb “Ein gutes Gewissen ist ein sanftes Ruhekissen.”65 What that religiously vibrant era of the seventeenth century bequeathed to its utilitarian heir was, however, above all a tremendously clear—indeed, we can confidently say a pharisaically clear—conscience when it came to making money, provided only that it was lawfully done. The last remnant of “Deo placere non potest” disappeared. [303] A specifically middle-class ethic of the calling arose. In the consciousness of living in the full grace of God and being visibly blessed by him, the middle-class businessman was able to pursue his commercial interests. Indeed, provided he conducted himself within the bounds of formal correctness, and as long as his moral conduct was beyond reproach and the use to which he put his wealth gave no offense, it was his duty to do so.
Moreover, the power of religious asceticism made available to him sober, conscientious, and unusually capable workers, who were devoted to work as the divinely willed purpose in life. [304] In addition, he was given the comforting assurance that the unequal distribution of this world’s goods was the special work of the providence of God, who by means of these distinctions, and his “particular” grace, was working out his secret purposes, of which we know nothing. [305] Calvin had already made the often quoted remark that only when the “people,” that is, the mass of workers and craftsmen, were kept in poverty would they remain obedient to God. [306] The Dutch (Pieter de la Court and others) then “secularized” this to say that the mass of people would only work if driven to do so by necessity, and this formulation of one of the leitmotivs of capitalist economics then became merged with the broader theory of the “productivity” of low wages. Here, too, the utilitarian interpretation has come subtly to underpin an idea which is now cut off from its religious roots, following the pattern that we have observed so many times.
Seen from the other point of view, that of the workers, the Zinzendorf variety of Pietism, for example, glorifies the faithful worker who does not look for profit but lives according to the example of the apostles and is thus endowed with the charisma of discipleship. [307] Similar but even more radical views were originally widespread among the Baptists. Indeed, the entire ascetic literature of all denominations is imbued with the attitude that faithful work, even for low wages, by those to whom life has dealt no other opportunities, is highly pleasing to God. Protestant asceticism added nothing new to this. But it did add tremendous depth to the view and created the psychological drive for this norm to achieve its effect by interpreting such work as a calling, and as the sole means of making sure of one’s state of grace. [308] It also legalized the exploitation of this characteristic wil
lingness to work by interpreting the employer’s moneymaking as a “calling” too. [309] Obviously, the “productivity” of work in the capitalist sense of the word was given a powerful boost by this exclusive striving for the kingdom of God through fulfillment of the duty of labor as a calling and through strict asceticism, since Church discipline naturally imposed this on the impoverished classes in particular. Treatment of work as a “calling” was as characteristic for the modern worker as the corresponding view of commerce was for the employer.
A constituent part of the capitalist spirit, and not only this but of modern culture, namely, the rational conduct of life on the foundation of the idea of the calling, was born (as this essay shows) out of the spirit of Christian asceticism. One only needs to reread Franklin’s tract (quoted at the beginning of this essay) to see that the essential elements of the attitude which is there termed the “spirit of capitalism” are precisely those which we found to be the content of Puritan asceticism of the calling [310], only without the religious foundation, which had already ceased to exist at the time of Franklin.
The idea that, in the modern age, work [Berufsarbeit] bears the stamp of asceticism is not exactly new either. At the height of his wisdom, Goethe, in his “Wilhelm Meisters Wanderjahre” and in the ending which he gave to the life of his Faust, tried to teach us the basic ascetic motive of the middle-class style of life—if it aspires to be a genuine style of life at all—namely, that restricting oneself to specialized work, with the inevitable consequence of the abandonment of the Faustian universality of humankind [Menschentum], is the precondition in today’s world for any worthwhile action. In other words, the “deed” and “renunciation” are bound together in mutual dependence. [311] For him this recognition meant a resigned farewell to a period of full and fine humanity, the likes of which we shall not see again in the course of our cultural development, any more than the period of the full flowering of Athens in antiquity will be repeated.
The Puritans wanted to be men of the calling—we, on the other hand, must be. For when asceticism moved out of the monastic cells and into working life, and began to dominate innerworldly morality, it helped to build that mighty cosmos of the modern economic order (which is bound to the technical and economic conditions of mechanical and machine production). Today this mighty cosmos determines, with overwhelming coercion, the style of life not only of those directly involved in business but of every individual who is born into this mechanism, and may well continue to do so until the day that the last ton of fossil fuel has been consumed.
In Baxter’s view, concern for outward possessions should sit lightly on the shoulders of his saints “like a thin cloak which can be thrown off at any time.” [312] But fate decreed that the cloak should become a shell as hard as steel [stahlhartes Gehäuse].66 As asceticism began to change the world and endeavored to exercise its influence over it, the outward goods of this world gained increasing and finally inescapable power over men, as never before in history. Today its spirit has fled from this shell—whether for all time, who knows? Certainly, victorious capitalism has no further need for this support now that it rests on the foundation of the machine. Even the optimistic mood of its laughing heir, the Enlightenment, seems destined to fade away, and the idea of the “duty in a calling” haunts our lives like the ghost of once-held religious beliefs. Where “doing one’s job” [Berufserfüllung] cannot be directly linked to the highest spiritual and cultural values—although it may be felt to be more than mere economic coercion—the individual today usually makes no attempt to find any meaning in it. Where capitalism is at its most unbridled, in the United States, the pursuit of wealth [Erwerbsstreben], divested of its metaphysical significance, today tends to be associated with purely elemental passions, which at times virtually turn it into a sporting contest. [313]
No one yet knows who will live in that shell in the future. Perhaps new prophets will emerge, or powerful old ideas and ideals will be reborn at the end of this monstrous development. Or perhaps—if neither of these occurs—“Chinese” ossification,67 dressed up with a kind of desperate self-importance, will set in. Then, however, it might truly be said of the “last men” in this cultural development: “specialists without spirit, hedonists without a heart, these nonentities imagine they have attained a stage of humankind [Menschentum] never before reached.”
Here, however, we are getting into the area of judgments of value and belief, with which this purely historical study should not be encumbered. The task before us is rather to indicate the significance (only touched on in this sketch) of ascetic rationalism for the content of the ethic of the social economy, that is, for the type of organization and the functions of social communities, from the conventicle to the state. Then its relationship to humanist rationalism and its ideals and cultural influences, to the development of philosophical and scientific empiricism, and to technological development and the arts must be analyzed. Then finally its growth from its beginnings in the innerworldly asceticism of the Middle Ages to its dissolution into pure utilitarianism must be charted historically and through the individual areas of expansion of ascetic religiosity. Only then will it be possible to discern the significance of ascetic Protestantism in relation to other formative elements of modern culture.
In doing this, however, it must be shown in what way Protestant asceticism itself was influenced in its growth and character by the totality of the cultural, and especially economic, conditions of society. Modern man, on the whole, is rarely able, with the best will in the world, to imagine just how significant has been the influence of religious consciousness on conduct of life, “culture,” and “national character.” However, it cannot, of course, be our purpose to replace a one-sided “materialist” causal interpretation of culture and history with an equally one-sided spiritual one. Both are equally possible [314], but neither will serve historical truth if they claim to be the conclusion of the investigation rather than merely the preliminary work for it.
EDITORS’ NOTES
1. This and the following subheadings were added by the editors to assist the reader. They do not appear in the German text.
2. Weber’s spelling. The correct spelling is actually “Brüdergemeine.”
Nikolaus Ludwig Zinzendorf (1700–1760), born to an ennobled Austrian father and to a mother of strong Pietist convictions, spearheaded the Moravian Church, a renewal of Unitas Fratrum founded in Bohemia in 1457. The Herrnhut Brotherhood, to which Weber alludes, is a reference to the Brotherly Agreement of Herrnhut (a settlement in Saxony and asylum for some Moravian Unitas Fratrum refugees), May 12, 1727, in which Count Zinzendorf and his coreligionists sought to establish the ecumenical and communitarian basis of their mission.
3. Weber is referring to the Calvinist doctrine of predestination. See below.
4. Johan van Oldenbarnevelt (1547–1619), lawyer and statesman, was a major figure in the revolt against Spanish rule and one of the chief architects of an Independent Netherlands. He was a key negotiator of the Union of Utrecht (1579), helped devise the Twelve Years’ Truce (1609), and vigorously promoted Holland’s central position in the Dutch Republic. Leaning toward Arminianism, and caught up in a political conflict with Prince Maurice (who championed both anti-Arminian sentiment and the primacy of the “union” over Holland, putatively one of the union’s “provinces”), Oldenbarnevelt eventually found himself on trial for his life. He was beheaded in The Hague in May 1619.
5. Between November 1618 and May 1619, a Synod of the Reformed Churches of the Netherlands met in the city of Dordrecht. The Synod of Dort, as it was called, convened principally to confront the threat of Arminian doctrine (named after Jacob Arminius, 1560–1609), which denied, among other things, the Calvinist notions of absolute predestination and irresistible grace. The Synod, in rejecting Arminian views as heretical, reasserted orthodox Reformed doctrine in what became known as the Canons of Dort, or the “Five Articles against the Remonstrants.”
6. Weber is referring to the Westmin
ster Assembly that met between 1643 and 1649 in Westminster Abbey, London. Convoked by the Long Parliament in 1643, the Assembly produced the Westminster Confession (1646), consisting of thirty-three chapters devoted to articulating the faith of English-speaking Presbyterians. Among other things, it recapitulated the key Calvinist themes of predestination and the primacy of Scripture.
7. This translates to “no salvation outside the church.”
8. Richard Baxter (1615–1691) was a Puritan minister famous for his pastoral counseling and for his attempt to moderate between various extremes during the period of the English civil wars. A chaplain in the parliamentary army who later supported restoration of the monarchy, Baxter became an advocate of toleration within the Church of England. His best-known work is The Saints’ Everlasting Rest (1650).
9. John Bunyan (1628–1688), son of a tinker, was one of the great Puritan writers of the seventeenth century. He saw service during the English civil wars, and though brought up in the Anglican Church, gradually embraced Puritanism. Charged with conducting services proscribed by the Church of England, he was imprisoned from November 1660 to March 1672, and then for a six-month period some time between 1675 and 1677. In prison, Bunyan wrote his autobiography, Grace Abounding (1666), and his masterpiece, The Pilgrim’s Progress (1678). In the allegory, the chief protagonist, Christian, leaves his city and family, both doomed to hellfire, to make his way toward the Celestial City. On his journey, Christian suffers various self-inflicted setbacks before his final apotheosis.
