The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism
Page 52
At this point I should like briefly to mention, rather than quoting it frequently in relation to every individual point, Ernst Troeltsch’s great book Die Soziallehren der christlichen Kirchen und Gruppen (Tübingen, 1912), which, from his own and a very broad range of other viewpoints, deals with the universal history of the ethic of Western Christianity. As well as the richness of its remaining subject matter, it is highly relevant to our problem, and both complements and confirms our findings. The author is concerned more with religious doctrine, whereas I am more concerned with the practical effect of religion.
b) [Weber added this passage to note 15 (here of this volume)].
. . . Later, in what I believe to be by far the weakest of his major works (Der Bourgeois, Munich, 1913)—at least in these sections—Sombart unfortunately, under the influence of a work by F. Keller (Unternehmung und Mehrwert, Publications of the Görres-Gesellschaft, vol. 12), which also, in spite of many good (though in this respect not new) passages, remained below the standard of other modern works of Catholic apology, defended a completely mistaken “thesis,” to which we shall have to return at a suitable opportunity. [Refer to section h) below.]
c) [This footnote further accentuates the difference between Fugger and Franklin. See here of this volume for the context.]
Which of course does not mean that Jakob Fugger was an amoral or irreligious man, nor that these sentences comprise the entirety of Benjamin Franklin’s ethic. There was really no need of the quotations from Brentano (Die Anfänge des modernen Kapitalismus, Munich, 1916, pp. 150ff.) to protect this well-known philanthropist from the sort of misunderstanding that Brentano seems to think me capable of. The problem is rather the opposite one: How could such a philanthropist utter these particular sentences (the characteristic form of which Brentano has omitted to reproduce) in the tone of a moralist?
d) [See here of this volume for the context of the following footnote.]
Brentano (pp. 125–127, note 1) responds to this observation by criticizing the later exposition regarding the “rationalization and discipline” to which man has been subjected by innerworldly asceticism. For him this is a “rationalization” leading to an “irrational conduct of life.” This is indeed so. Nothing is ever “irrational” in itself, but only from a particular “rational” point of view. For the irreligious man every religious conduct of life is “irrational,” and for the hedonist every ascetic conduct of life is “irrational,” even if it should be a “rationalization” when measured by its ultimate value. If it helps to achieve anything at all, I should like this essay to help to reveal the multifaceted nature of the seemingly unambiguous concept of the “rational.”
e) [Editors’ note 19 here indicates the position of this footnote.]
Against Brentano’s (op. cit., p. 150f.) comprehensive but somewhat imprecise defense of Franklin, whose ethical qualities I am supposed to have misunderstood, I should just like to point to this passage, which in my opinion ought to have sufficed to render that defense unnecessary. [See here of this volume.]
f) [Editors’ note 20 here indicates the position of this footnote.]
I should like to take this opportunity to interpose a few remarks by way of response to criticism.
Sombart is unjustified in claiming (in Der Bourgeois, Munich and Leipzig, 1913) that this “ethic” of Franklin is a “literal” repetition of the words of the great universal genius of the Renaissance, Leon Battista Alberti, who, alongside theoretical writings on mathematics, sculpture, painting, architecture (his chief interest), and love (he himself was a misogynist), also wrote a four-volume work on housekeeping (Della Famiglia). At the time of writing, I unfortunately do not have the Mancini edition, but only the older one by Bonucci.
The passage from Franklin is printed verbatim above, but where do we find the passages from Alberti’s works which correspond to this, especially the maxim “time is money,” with which he begins, and the exhortations that follow? To the best of my knowledge, the only passage which bears even the faintest resemblance to it is that which comes toward the end of the first book of Della Famiglia (Bonucci edition, vol. 2, p. 353), which talks in quite general terms of money as the nervus rerum of housekeeping, which must therefore be managed [gewirtschaftet] particularly well—just as Cato said in “De Re Rustica.”
The portrayal of Alberti is totally false. This man who is keen to stress that he is descended from one of the most distinguished noble families in Florence (“nobilissimi cavalieri”: Della Famiglia, pp. 213, 228, 247 in Bonucci’s edition) is portrayed as a man with an “adulterated bloodline,” a bourgeois [Bürgerlicher] filled with resentment against the noble families, because—on account of his extramarital parentage (which did not affect his social position in any way)—he was excluded from the families of the signori. What is characteristic of Alberti is his advocacy of large-scale business dealings, which are the only ones worthy of a nobile e onesta famiglia and of a libero e nobile animo (ibid., p. 209) and require less work (compare Del Governo Della Famiglia, vol. 4, p. 55, in the edition for the Pandolfini, p. 116; for this reason the best business to be in was the wool and silk trade!). He also advocates an ordered and rigorous system of housekeeping, that is, expenses should be matched to income.
Thus the “santa masserizia,” for which Gianozzo is the spokesman, is primarily a principle of housekeeping, but not of acquisition (as Sombart of all people should have been able to recognize)—just as in the discussion of the nature of money (op. cit), it is primarily a question of the investment of wealth (whether money or possessioni), not of the utilization of capital. What is advocated—as protection against the uncertainties of “Fortuna”—is to accustom oneself as early as possible to regular activity in cose magnifiche e ample (p. 192), such activity being the sole means of preserving lasting health (Della Famiglia, pp. 73–74), and to avoid idleness, which is always a danger to the preservation of one’s position. It was therefore also important to make provision for the future and protect oneself against the vicissitudes of life by learning a profession [Metier] worthy of one’s social position [standesgemäβ] (but: no opera mercenaria is [unstandesgemäβ] worthy: Della Famiglia 1.1 ibid, p. 209).
His ideal of “tranquillità dell’anima” and his strong penchant for the epicurean “λάɵε βιώσας” (vivere a sè stesso; ibid., p. 262), especially his aversion to any office (ibid., p. 258) as a source of trouble, enmity, and involvement in dirty business, the ideal of life in the country villa, his boosting of his self-esteem by thoughts of his ancestors, and finally his view of the honor of the family (which ought to hold on to its wealth, in the Florentine manner, rather than share it) as the vital principle and aim: in the eyes of any Puritan all this would have been sinful “idolatry,” and to Benjamin Franklin it would have seemed so much aristocratic rhetoric, totally foreign to him. We should note the high value placed upon the literati. It should be noted that “industria” relates principally to literary and scholarly work; it is the truly humane work. It is essentially only the illiterate Gianozzo who is allowed to express the view that masserizia—in the sense of “rational housekeeping” as a means of living independently of others, and not falling into poverty—is of equal value. The origin of the concept [industria], which derives from the monastic ethic (see below) is thus traced back to an old priest (here).
We should place all this beside the ethic and conduct of life of Benjamin Franklin and, especially, of his Puritan ancestors. If we place the Renaissance writings addressed to the humanist patricians alongside the writings of Franklin, which are addressed to the masses of the bourgeois [bürgerlich] middle class—and in particular the commis1—and alongside the tracts and sermons of the Puritans, we can measure the immensity of the difference. The economic rationalism of Alberti, supported throughout by quotations from ancient writers, comes closest to the treatment of economic phenomena in the writings of Xenophon (whom he did not know), of Cato, Varro, and Columella (whom he quotes)—except that in the case of Cato a
nd Varro in particular, acquisition as such takes a far more prominent place than it does for Alberti. Moreover, Alberti’s (admittedly only very occasional) mentions of the use of fattori, their division of labor and discipline, of the unreliability of the peasants, etc., appear very much like the transposition of Cato’s practical astuteness from an economy based on slavery [Sklavenfronhof] to that of free labor in domestic industry and a system of sharecropping.
When Sombart (whose reference to the ethic of the Stoics is quite mistaken) finds economic rationalism to have been developed “to its logical conclusion” as early as Cato, this is, properly speaking, not exactly incorrect. It is possible to view the “diligens pater familias” of the Romans as belonging in the same category as Alberti’s ideal of “massajo.” What is characteristic for Cato is above all that the estate [Landgut] is valued and measured as the object of a wealth investment. However, the concept of “industria” has a different nuance as a result of the Christian influence. And herein lies the difference. In the conception of “industria,” which originates from monastic asceticism and was developed by monastic writers, lies the germ of an “ethos” which was fully developed in the exclusively innerworldly Protestant “asceticism” (of which more later!). From this, as we shall have to emphasize repeatedly, came the relationship between the two, although the link is less close to the official Church doctrine of Thomism than to the ethics of the Florentine and Sienese mendicants. In Cato and in Alberti’s own writings, this ethos is lacking. Both are more concerned with practical astuteness than with ethics. Franklin is also concerned with utilitarianism. But the ethical tone of the sermon addressed to the young merchants is quite unmistakable and—this is the point—it is a characteristic feature. Carelessness with money is for him equivalent to the “murder” of embryonic capital, and is therefore an ethical shortcoming.
An inner relationship between Alberti and Franklin is only present to the extent that in neither case are religious concepts linked with the advocacy of economic prudence [Wirtschaftlichkeit]—in the case of Alberti, not yet, and in that of Franklin, no longer. Sombart calls Alberti “pious.” In truth, however, although he took holy orders and was granted a benefice from Rome, he scarcely ever (apart from two completely insignificant passages) refers to religious motives as points of orientation for the conduct of life that he advocates. Utilitarianism is the watchword in this area, at least formally, in the case of both men. In that of Alberti, with his advocacy of the wool and silk trade, it is also mercantilist social utilitarianism (the idea that “many people must be put to work,” op. cit., here). Alberti’s remarks on this subject are a very apposite paradigm of the kind of—so to speak—immanent economic “rationalism” that, as a “reflection” of economic conditions, can be found everywhere and in all periods among writers interested purely in “the facts themselves,” in Chinese classicism and in antiquity no less than in the Renaissance and in the Enlightenment.
Certainly, just as in antiquity by Cato, Varro, and Columella, economic ratio is here extensively developed by Alberti and his like, especially in the doctrine of industria. But how could anyone believe that an intellectual theory [Literatenlehre] could develop a life-transforming power in the manner that a religious faith that places premiums on salvation [Heilsprämien] in return for a certain conduct of life [Lebensführung] (in this case a methodical rational one) could do? On the other hand, the nature of a religiously oriented “rationalization” of the conduct of life (and thus possibly also of economic behavior) is evidenced not only by the Puritans of all denominations, but in a whole variety of mutually quite distinct ways by the Jains, the Jews, certain medieval ascetic sects, Wycliffe, the Bohemian Brethren (a remnant of the Hussite movement), the Skoptsy and the Stundists in Russia, and numerous monastic orders. To anticipate: the crucial difference is that a religiously based ethic offers quite definite and, as long as the religious faith remains alive, extremely effective psychological premiums [Prämien] (not economic in character) for the conduct which it demands, which are simply not offered by a mere set of teachings on life skills such as that of Alberti. Only to the extent that these premiums achieve their effect and—most importantly—only in the direction of their effect (a direction which, significantly, often diverges widely from the theological doctrine—which is, after all, only a “doctrine”) does this ethic exert its influence (one which follows its own laws) [eigengesetzlich]2 on the conduct of life and thereby on the economy. This (and I must make this clear) is the point of this whole essay, and I should not have expected it to be so completely missed.
I shall examine elsewhere the relatively “capital friendly” theological moralists of the late Middle Ages (Antoninus of Florence and Bernardine of Siena in particular), who were also very badly misunderstood by Sombart. At any rate, Leon Baptista Alberti definitely did not belong to this group. At most, he derived the concept of “industria” from this monastic thinking, albeit indirectly. Alberti, Pandolfini, and their like share an attitude of mind [Gesinnung] which, despite remaining loyal to the prevailing Christian ethic, is largely oriented toward the “paganism” of the ancient world. While remaining officially in obedience to the traditional church, these men are inwardly emancipated from it. Brentano claims that I have “ignored” the significance of this attitude for the development of modern economic doctrines (as well as for modern economic policy). The fact that I am not dealing with this causal series here is indeed quite correct: it simply has no place in a treatise on the “Protestant ethic and the spirit of capitalism.” Very far from denying its significance, however—as I hope to show on another occasion—I was of the opinion (and remain so), for good reasons, that its sphere of influence and the direction in which its influence operated were quite different from those of the Protestant ethic (the antecedents of which were the sects and the Wycliffe-Hussite ethic—themselves by no means without practical importance). Its influence was not on the conduct of life (of the rising bourgeoisie [Bürgertum]) but on the policy of statesmen and princes. We should make a clear distinction between these two causal series, which partially, but by no means at all points, converge. As far as Benjamin Franklin is concerned, his economic tracts in this area, which were at one time used as reading matter in American schools, are firmly in the category of those which are influential for practical life, unlike Alberti’s substantial work, which is scarcely known outside academic circles. Here, however, I have specifically quoted Franklin as a man who stood as much apart from the Puritan regulation of life (which had by this time grown weaker) as did the English “Enlightenment” in general, whose links with Puritanism have frequently been described.
g) [Editors’ note 22 here of this volume indicates the position of this footnote.]
Unfortunately, Brentano too (op. cit.) has lumped together every kind of striving for acquisition (whether aggressive or peaceful), and then postulated solely the orientation toward money (rather than land) as the specific feature of the “capitalist” (as opposed, for example, to the feudal) striving for acquisition. He has then not only refused to make any further distinction—although such distinction would have been vital to formulate clear concepts—but has also (here) (and I fail to understand why) asserted that the concept “‘spirit’ of (modern!) capitalism” (which I had coined for the purposes of this investigation) presupposes what it is supposed to prove.
h) [Editors’ note 26 here indicates the position of this footnote.]
This might be an appropriate juncture to explore briefly the observations in the work of F. Keller (volume 12 of the publications of the Görres-Gesellschaft) and Sombart’s observations following from it (in Der Bourgeois), as far as they are relevant. [See extract b) above.]
It is a bit too much to stomach when an author criticizes a work in which the canonical ban on interest (except in one incidental remark which has no connection with the main argument) is not mentioned at all, on the grounds that this ban on interest—which is paralleled in almost all religious ethics in the worl
d!—is held up as the distinguishing mark between the Catholic and the Reformed ethic. Surely one should only criticize works that one has actually read, or whose arguments one has not forgotten, if one has indeed read them.
The struggle against usuraria pravitas runs through the history of the Huguenots as well as through the Church history of the Netherlands in the sixteenth century. “Lombards,” that is, bankers, were often excluded from the Holy Communion (see here, note 2 [Protestant Ethic, note 10, here in this volume]). Calvin’s more liberal view (which, by the way, did not prevent regulations regarding usury being planned for the first draft of the ordinances) only prevailed thanks to Salmasius.3 So the antithesis did not lie here—on the contrary.
Even worse, however, are the author’s own arguments, which, compared with the writings of Funck (which he quotes but which I, for one, do not consider worth quoting) and other Catholic scholars, and compared with the studies of Endemann (which though today outdated in parts remain basic works), strike us as being embarrassingly superficial. Keller has indeed remained free of excesses such as those of which Sombart was guilty when he remarked (op. cit., here) that it was quite obvious how the “pious men” (he has in mind particularly Bernardine of Sienna and Antoninus of Florence) “wished to promote the spirit of enterprise by every possible means”—by doing much the same as people all over the world have done in the face of bans on interest, namely, by interpreting the ban on usury in such a way that the (in our terminology) “productive” capital investment remained untouched.
(Incidentally, on the one hand, Sombart regards the Romans as a “nation of heroes,” while, on the other hand, despite the fact that he normally regards the two things as irreconcilably opposed, he maintains that economic rationalism was already developed “to its logical conclusion” as early as Cato (here). I simply mention this as symptomatic of the fact that this is a book with a definite “thesis,” in the bad sense of the word.