124 FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY made have been borrowed by the understanding. It ordinarily seems that they should have a human character only when they are conceived under human forms;"' but even the most impersonal and the most anonymous are nothing else than objectified sentiments. It is only by regarding religion from this angle that it is possible to see its real significance. If we stick closely to appearances, rites often give the effect of purely manual operations: they are anointings, washings, meals. To consecrate something, it is put in contact with a source of religious energy, just as to-day a body is put in contact with a source of heat or electricity to warm or electrize it; the two processes employed are not essentially different. Thus understood, religious technique seems to be a sort of mystic mechanics. But these material manoeuvres are only the external envelope under which the mental operations are hidden. Finally, there is no question of exercising a physical constraint upon blind and, incidentally, imaginary forces, but rather of reaching individual consciousnesses of giving them a direction and of disciplining them. It is sometimes said that inferior religions are materialistic. Such an expression is inexact. All religions, even the crudest, are in a sense spiritualistic: for the powers they put in play are before all spiritual, and also their principal object is to act upon the moral life. Thus it is seen that whatever has been done in the name of religion cannot have been done in vain: for it is necessarily the society that did it, and it is humanity that has reaped the fruits. . . . Thus there is something eternal in religion which is destined to survive all the particular symbols in which religious thought has successively enveloped itse'jff There can be no society which does not feel the neej of upholding and reaffirming at regular intervals tjf collective sentiments and the collective ideas wbicjfi make its unity and its personality. Now this vattim remaking cannot be achieved except by the mean-, 0f reunions, assemblies and meetings where the individull als. being closely united to one another, reaffirm njll common their common sentiments; hence come cerejl monies which do not differ from regular religious cefJl emonies, either in their object, the results which Iheyl produce, or the processes employed to attain thesll results. What essential difference is there between-fia assembly of Christians celebrating the principal dates! of the life of Christ, or of Jews remembering the exo-' dus from Egypt or the promulgation of the decaloguei and a reunion of citizens commemorating the promulgation of a new moral or legal system or some: great event in the national life?. . . In summing up, then, we must say that society is not,, at all the illogical or a-logical, incoherent and fantastic* being which it has too often been considered. Quite on| the contrary, the collective consciousness is the highest! form of the psychic life, since it is the consciousnessroff the consciousnesses. Being placed outside of and abovef individual and local contingencies, it sees things only in their permanent and essential aspects, which it crystal-i lizes into communicable ideas. At the same time that itj sees from above, it sees farther; at every moment ofj time, it embraces al! known reality; that is why it alons* can furnish the mind with the moulds which are appli-; cable to the totality of things and which make it possible to think of them. It does not create these moulds* artificially; it finds them within itself it does nothing but become conscious of them ... Discussion Questions ■ > 1.- - Define mechanical and. organic solidarity. Do : theseconcepts helpexplain the division of labor in your - family of origin? In your current (or most recent) place of employment? How so or why not?-Be specific. 2, Discuss the various types of suicide mat Duricheim -delineates; using specific examples. To what extent do you agree or disagree with the notion that different types.. .of suicide prevail in "modern" as opposed to "traditional" societies? Give concrete examples. 3. Define and compare and contrast Marx's concept of alienation and Durkheim's concept of anomie.: How exactly da these concepts overlap? How are Jiev different? 4. Discuss. Durkheim's notion of colli\ n\ j .vi -science. Why is it, that is, how can it be,.in...i ''ic % collective conscience. is not just, a "sum" of ndi- > vidual consciousnesses? Use concrete examples to- >, explain. -5. Discuss specific moments of collective euer- ; vescence that you have experienced (e.g., corrrrts. -church, etc.). What particular symbols and iiii.."i>-> were called up and used to arouse this social state? ■ Max Weber (1864-1920) %$&4r- ^:V> n$6*£ -few • r t. * *j* iBIlll Max Weber Key Concepts la Verstehen %% Ideal types SI Protestant ethic S Calling 55 Iron cage äl Rationalization 53 Bureaucracy %% Authority 5S Charisma IS Class, status, and party entbetv new prophets will arise, or there Wi!l be a ^.^tfj^^l^^afm mrfftA marines fat i, has attained, level of civilization never be}ore «W. —Weber ([1904-05] 1958:182) From the course requirements necessary to earn your degree, to the paperwork and tests you must complete in order to receive your driver's license, to the record keeping and mass of files that organize most every business enterprise, our everyday life is channeled in large measure through fonnalized, codified procedures. Indeed, in Western cultures few aspects of life have been untouched by : the general tendency toward rationalization and the adoption of methodical practices. So. whether it's --.developing a long-term financial plan for one's business, following the advice written in sex manuals, or ;.-!• ?ven planning for one's own death, little in modern life is left to chance. It was toward an examination of 4e causes and consequences of this "disenchantment" of everyday life that Max Weber's wide-ranging . - work crystallized. In this chapter, we explore Weber's study of this general trend in modern society as well :- as other aspects of his writings. But while Weber did not self-consciously set out to develop a unified theoretical model, making his intellectual path unlike that followed by both Marx and Dürkheim, it is this characteristic of his work that has made it a continual wellspring of inspiration for other scholars. Perhaps 126 65 FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY Max Weber (1864-1920) 15 127 the magnitude of Weber's impact on the development of sociology is captured best by the prominent social theorist. Raymond Aron. who described Weber as "the greatest of the sociologists" (Aron [1965] 1970:294). ■■■:'31lt il A Biographical Sketch Max Weber, Jr., was born in Erfurt, Germany, in 1864. He was the eldest of eight children born to Max Weber, Sr.. and Helene Falienstein Weber, although only six survived to adulthood. Max Jr. was a sickly child. When he was four years old, he became seriously ill with meningitis. Though he eventually recovered, throughout the rest of his life he suffered the physical and emotional aftereffects of the disease, most apparently anxiety and nervous tension. From an early age, books were central in Weber"s life. He read ? whatever he could get his hands on, including Kant, Machiavelli, Spinoza, Goethe, and Schopenhauer, and he wrote two historical essays before his 14th birthday. But Weber paid little attention in class and did almost no work for school. According to his widow Marianne, although "he was not uncivil to his > teachers, he did not respect them.... If there was a gap in his knowledge, he went to the root of the mat- .-ter and then gladly shared what he knew" (Marianne Weber [1926] 1975:48). In 1882, at 18 years old, Weber took his final high school examinations. His teachers acknowledged his outstanding intellectual accomplishments and thirst for knowledge, but expressed doubts about his "moral maturity." Weber went to the University of Heidelberg for three semesters and then completed one year of military service in Strasbourg. When his service ended, he enrolled at the University of Berlin and, for the next eight years, lived at his parents' home. Upon passing his first examination in law in 1886, '. Weber began work as a full-time legal apprentice. While working as a junior barrister, he earned a PhD I in economic and legal history in ISS9. He then took a position as lecturer at the University of Berlin. Throughout his life, Weber was torn by the personal struggles between his mother and his father. Weber admired his mother's extraordinary religious piety and devotion to her family, and loathed his father's abusive treatment of her. At the same time, Weber admired his father's intellectual prowess and achievements and reviled his mother's passivity. Weber followed in his father's footsteps by becoming a lawyer and joining the same organizations as his father had at the University of Heidelberg. Like his father, he was active in government affairs as well. As a member of the National Liberal Party, Max Sr. was elected to the Reichstag (national legislature) and later appointed by Chancellor Bismarck to the Prussian House of Deputies. For his part, Max Jr. was a committed nationalist and served the government in numerous capacities, including as a delegate to the German Armistice Commission in Versailles fol- ( lowing Germany's defeat in World War I. But he was also imbued with a sense of moral duty quite simi- [ lar to that of his mother. Weber's feverish work ethic—he drove himself mercilessly, denying himself all leisure—can be understood as an inimitable combination of his father's intellectual accomplishments and his mother's moral resolve. In 1S93, at the age of 29, Weber married Marianne Schnitger, a distant cousin, and finally left his childhood home. Today, Marianne Weber is recognized as an important feminist, intellectual, and sociologist in her own right. She was a popular public speaker on social and sexual ethics and wrote many books and articles. Her most influential works, Marriage and Motherhood in the Development of Law (1907) and Women and Love (1935), examined feminist issues and the reform of marriage. However, Marianne is known best as the intellectual partner of her husband. She and Max made a conscious effort to establish an egalitarian relationship, and worked together on intellectual projects. Interestingly, ■ : Marianne referred to Max as her "companion" and implied that theirs was an unconsummated marriage. (It is rumored that Max had a long-lasting affair with a woman of Swiss nobility who was a member of the Tobleron family.) Despite her own intellectual accomplishments, Marianne's 700-page treatise, Max Weber: A Biography, first published in 1926, has received the most attention, serving as the central source : |: of biographical information on her husband (and vital to this introduction as well). \ In 1894, Max Weber joined the faculty at Freiburg University as a full professor of economics. Shortly thereafter, in 1896, Weber accepted a position as chair of economics at the University of Heidelberg, where he first began his academic career. But in 1897, he suffered a serious nervous breakdown. According to Marianne, the breakdown was triggered by the inexorable guilt Weber experienced after his father's sudden death. Just seven weeks before he died, Weber had rebuked his father over his tyrannical treatment of his mother. The senior Weber had prohibited his wife Helene from visiting Max and Marianne at their home in Heidelberg without liim. When he and Helene showed up together for the visit, his son forced him to leave. Unfortunately, that was the last time father and son ever spoke. Weber experienced debilitating anxiety and insomnia throughout the rest of his life. He often resorted to taking opium in order to sleep. Despite resigning his academic posts, traveling, and resting, the anxiety could not be dispelled. Nevertheless, he had spurts of manic intellectual activity and continued to write as an independent scholar. In 1904, Weber traveled to the United States and began to formulate the argument of what would be his most celebrated work, 77;e Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism (Weber [1904-05] 1958). After returning to Europe, Weber resumed his intellectual activity. He met with the brilliant thinkers of his day, including Werner Sombart, Paul Hensel, Ferdinand Tonnies, Ernst Troeltsch, and Georg Simmel (see Chapter 6). He helped establish the Heidelberg Academy of the Sciences in 1909 and the Sociological Society in 1910 (Marianne Weber [1926] 1975:425). However, Weber was still plagued by compulsive anxiety. In 1918, he helped draft the constitution of the Weimar Republic while giving his first university lectures in 19 years at the University of Vienna. He suffered tremendously, however, and turned down an offer for a permanent post (Weber 1958:23). In 1920, at the age of 56, Max Weber died of pneumonia. Marianne lived for another 34 years and completed several important manuscripts left unfinished at her husband's death. Intellectual Influences and Core Ideas S§ Weber's work encompasses a vvide scope of substantive interests. Most, if not all, of his writing has had a profound impact on sociology. As such, an attempt to fully capture the breadth and significance of his scholarship exceeds the limitations of a single chapter. Nevertheless, we can isolate several aspects of his work that, taken together, serve as a foundation for understanding the impetus behind much of his writing. To this end, we divide our discussion in this section into two major parts: (1) Weber's view of the science of sociology and (2) his engagement with the work of Friedrich Nietzsche and Karl Marx. Sociology Weber defined sociology as "a science which attempts the interpretive understanding of social action in order thereby to arrive at a causal explanation of its course and effects" (Weber 1947:88). In casting "interpretive understanding," or Verstehen, as the principal objective, Weber's vision of sociology offers a distinctive counter to those who sought to base the young discipline on the effort to uncover universal laws applicable to all societies. Thus, unlike Dürkheim, who analyzed objective, sui generis "social facts" that operated independently of the individuals making up a society, Weber turned his attention to the subjective dimension of social life, seeking to understand the states of mind or motivations that guide individuals' behavior. In delimiting the subject matter of sociology. Weber further specified "social action" to mean that which, "by virtue of the subjective meaning attached to it by the acting individual (or individuals), it takes account of the behaviour of others and is thereby oriented in its course" (Weber 1947:88). Such action can be either observable or internal to the actor's imagination, and it can involve a deliberate intervening in a given situation, an abstaining of involvement, or acquiescence. The task for the sociologist is to understand the meanings individuals assign to the contexts in which they are acting and the consequences that such meanings have for their conduct. To systematize interpretive analyses of meaning, Weber distinguished four types of social action. In doing so, he clearly demonstrates his multidimensional approach to the problem of action (see Figure 4.1). First is instrumental-rational action. Such action is geared toward the efficient pursuit of goals through m 128 S FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY Figure 4.1 Weber's Four Types of Social Action i Nonrational Affective action Traditional action Value-rational action individual Collective Instrumental-rational action Rational calculating the advantages and disadvantages associated with the possible means for realizing them. Under this category would fall the decision of a labor union to strike in order to bargain for greater, employment benefits. Rehearsing one's performance for an upcoming job interview is another example of instrumental-rational action. Like instrumental-rational action, value-rational action involves the strategic selection of means capable of effectively achieving one's goals. However, value-rational action is pursued as an end in itself, not because it serves as a means for achieving an ulterior goal. As such, it "always involves 'commands' or 'demands" that compel the individual to follow a line of conduct for its own sake—because it is the-"right" thing to do (Weber 1947:116). Examples of this type of action include risking arrest to further an environmental cause, or refraining from cheating on exams. The third type of social action outlined by Weber is traditional action, where behaviors are determined by habit or long-standing custom. Here, an individual's conduct is shaped not by a concern with maximizing efficiency or commitment to an ethical principle, but rather by an unreflective adherence to established routines. This category includes religious rites of passage such as confirmations and bar mitzvahs, singing the national anthem at the start of sporting events, and eating turkey at Thanksgiving with one's family. The fourth type is affective action, which is marked by impulsiveness or a display of unchecked emotions. Absent from this behavior is the calculated weighing of means for a given end. Examples of affective action are a baseball player arguing an umpire's called strike or parents crying at their child's : wedding ceremony. It is important to point out that in everyday life a given behavior or course of conduct is likely to : exhibit characteristics of more than one type of social action. Thus, a person may pursue a career in social ■ work not only because it is a means for earning a salary, but also because he or she is committed to the goal of helping others as a value in its own right. Weber's categories of social action, then, serve as ideal types or analytical constructs against which real-life cases can be compared. Such "pure" categories are : not realized in concrete cases but instead are a conceptual yardstick for examining differences and similarities, as well as causal connections, between the social processes under investigation. Thus, "ideal":. refers to an emphasis on particular aspects of social life specified by the researcher, not to a value judgment as to whether something is "good" or "bad." As you will read in the selections that follow, Weber's work is guided in large measure by constructing idea! types. For instance, his essay on bureaucracy Max Weber (1864-1920) consists in the main of a discussion of the ideal characteristics of such an organization. Similarly, his essay on the three forms of domination involves isolating the features specific to each ideal type, none of which actually exists in pure form. Weber's notion of sociology as an interpretive science based on Verstehen (understanding) and his focus on constructing ideal types marks his ties to important intellectual debates that were taking shape in German universities (Bendix 1977). At the heart of the debates was the distinction drawn between the natural and social sciences, and the methodologies appropriate to each. The boundary separating biology, : chemistry, and physics from history, economics, psychology, and sociology was an outgrowth of German Idealism and the philosophy of Immanuel Kant (1724-1804). Kant argued that the realm of mind and "spirit" was radically different from the external, physical world of objects. According to Kant, because individuals create meaning and ultimately are free to choose their course of action, it is not possible to ' construct universal laws regarding human behavior. As a result, social life is not amenable to scientific investigation. On the other hand, absent of consciousness, objects and processes occurring in the natural world are open to scientific analysis and the development of general laws regarding their actions. Among the scholars grappling with the implications of the Kantian division were the historical economists Wilhelm Dilthey (1833-1911) and Heinrich Rickert (1863-1936), whose work would have a profound impact on Weber. It was Dilthey who articulated the view that historical studies, and the social sciences more generally, should seek to understand particular events and their relationship to the specific contexts in which they occur. The task of history, then, is to interpret the subjective meanings actors assign to their conduct, not to search for causal explanations couched in terms of universal laws. According to Dilthey, any attempt to produce general causal laws regarding human behavior would not capture the unique historical conditions that shaped the events in question or a society's development. Moreover, such efforts would fail to study the very things that separate social life from the physical world of objects—human intent and motivation. Unlike the natural sciences and their analyses of the regularities governing observable objects and events, the social sciences aim to understand the internal states of actors and their relationship to behaviors. In Weber's own definition of sociology, quoted above, we clearly see his indebtedness to Dilthey's work. Following Dilthey. Weber cast the social sciences as a branch of knowledge dedicated to developing an interpretive understanding of the subjective meanings actors attach to their conduct. However, Weber maintained a view not shared by Dilthey—that the social sciences, like the natural sciences, are conducted by making use of abstract and generalizing concepts. Here lies the impetus behind Weber's development of ideal types as a method for producing generalizable findings based on the study of historically specific events. For Weber, scientific knowledge is distinguished from nonscientific analyses not on the basis of the subject matter under consideration but rather on how such studies are carried out. Thus, in constructing ideal types of action, Weber argued that analyses of the social world were not inherently less scientific or generalizable than investigations of the physical world. Nevertheless, Weber's Verstehen approach led him to contend that the search for universal laws of human action would lose sight of what is human—the production of meaningful behavior as it is grounded within a specific historical context. It is in his notion of ideal types that we find Weber's links to the work of Heinrich Rickert. As a neo-Kantian thinker, Rickert accepted the distinction between the natural and social sciences as self-evident. However, he saw the differences between the two branches of knowledge as tied to the method of inquiry appropriate to each, not to any inherent differences in subject matter, as did Dilthey. According to Rickert, regardless of whether an investigator is trying to understand the meanings that motivate actors or attempting to uncover universal laws that govern the world of physical objects, they would study both subjects by way of concepts. Moreover, it is through the use of concepts that the investigator is able to select the aspects of the social or natural world most relevant to the purpose of her inquiry. The difference between the sciences lies, then, in how concepts are used to generate knowledge. While the natural sciences used concepts as a way to generate abstract principles that explain the uniformities that shape the physical world, Rickert maintained that concepts used in the social sciences are best directed toward detailing the particular features that account for the uniqueness of an event or a ■ FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY Max Weber (1864-1920) society's development. In short, for Rickert the natural sciences were driven by the deductive search for universal laws. On the other hand, the social sciences were committed to producing inductive descriptions of historically specific phenomena. For example, in subjecting molecules to changes in temperature and pressure, a physicist is interested in explaining the molecules' reactions in terms of causal laws whose validity is not restricted to any specific time or setting. Conversely, social scientists studying episodes of protests, for instance, should seek to understand why individuals chose to act and how the cultural and institutional contexts shaped their behaviors. But because the contexts in which, for instance, the French Revolution, the Boston Tea Party, and the women's suffrage movement occurred were historically unique, it is not possible to formulate generalized explanations of protests on the basis of such specific, unreplicable events. Attempts to do so would require a level of conceptual abstraction that would necessarily lose sight of the particulars that made the events historically meaningful. Weber's use of ideal types as a method for framing his analyses stems in important respects from Rickert's discussions on the role of concepts in the sciences. However, he did not share Rickert's view that the soeiaf sciences are unable to construct general causal explanations of historical events or societal development Here, Weber sought to forge a middle ground between the generating of abstract laws characteristic of the natural sciences and the accumulation of historically specific facts that some contended must guide the social sciences. To this end, he cast the determination of causality as an attempt to establish the pmbabitity that a series of actions or events are related or have an elective affinity. Hence, Weber's notion of causality is fundamentally different from the conventional scientific usage, which sees it as the positing of invariant and necessary relationships between variables. According to Weber, the complexities of social life make it una-menable to formulating strict causal arguments such as those found in the natural sciences. While it can be stated that temperatures above 32 degrees Fahrenheit (x) will cause ice to melt (y), such straightforward, universal relationships between variables cannot be isolated when analyzing social processes; individual conduct and societal developments are not carried out with the constancy and singular causal "elegance" that characterizes the physical world. Thus, a sociologist cannot say with the same degree of certainty that an increase in educational attainment (x) will cause a rise in income O), because while this relationship between the two variables may be probable; it is not inevitable. One need only keep in mind that a university professor with a PhD typically makes far less money than a corporate executive with a bachelor's degree. As a result, sociologists should set out to determine the set of factors that when taken together, have an elective affinity with a particular outcome. Armed with ideal types, the sociologist can then develop general arguments that establish the probable relationship between a combination of causes and a particular consequence. Of Nietzsche and Marx The honesty of a contemporary scholar... can be measured by the position he takes vis-a-vis Nietzsche and Marx. Whoever fails to acknowledge that he could not carry out the most important part of his own work without the work done by both .. . deceives himself and others. The intellectual world in which we live is a world which to a large extent bears the imprint of Marx and Nietzsche.' Such were the words spoken by Max Weber to his students shortly before his death. While his vision of sociology as a discipline was shaped in large measure by his links to German Idealism and the contro-versies surrounding historical studies, his substantive interests bear important connections to the work of Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900) and Karl Marx (1818-1883). Evidencing his connection to Nietzsche, a major theme running throughout the whole of Weber's work is rationalization. By rationalization, Weber was referring to an ongoing process in which social interaction 'Quoted in Antonio (1995:3). and institutions become increasingly governed by methodical procedures and calculable rules. Thus, in steering the course of societal development, values, traditions, and emotions were being displaced in favor 0f formal and impersonal bureaucratic practices. While such practices may breed greater efficiency in cbtaininu designated ends, they also lead to the "disenchantment of the world" where "there are no mysterious incalculable forces that come into play, but rather that one can, in principle, master all things by calculation" (Weber [1919] 1958:339). few domains within modern Western societies have escaped from the trend toward rationalization. For instance, music became thoroughly codified by the 1500s with the development of scales derived from mathematical formulas and tonal and rhythmic notation. While musical improvisation by no means disappeared, it henceforth was based on underlying systematized principles of melody and harmony. The visual arts likewise became codified according to principles of perspective, composition, and color against which the avant-garde purposively rebels (and is thus no less subject to). Sex as an "irrational" bodily pleasure or as a rite tied to orgiastic rituals has been replaced by sex as a rational practice necessary for procreation. And procreation has itself come under increasing scientific control as advances in birth control and in vitro fertilization make it possible to plan when a birth will occur, to circumvent a person's natural infertility, and even to prenatally select specific traits. The transformation of sex was itself part of the broader displacement of magical belief systems by doctrinal religions, which were themselves later marginalized by an instrumental, scientific worldview. With each step, the work of fortune and fate, and mysterious and unknown powers were further removed from everyday life. The pantheon of gods and spirits that once ruled the universe would be distilled and simplified into the one all-knowing, omnipotent God, who would eventually lose his throne to the all-seeing telescope. And finally. Weber places special emphasis on the changes to social life brought on by the rationalization of capitalistic economic activity, as you will read later. The ambivalence with which Weber viewed the process of rationalization stems from the loss of ultimate meaning that accompanied the growing dominance of an instrumental and scientific orientation to life. While science can provide technological advances that enable us to address more efficiently how to do things, it cannot provide us with a set of meanings and values that answer the more fundamental question: Why? Unlike those who saw in the Enlightenment's debunking of magical superstitions and religious beliefs the road to progress. Weber maintained that rationalization—and the scientific, calculative outlook in which it is rooted—does not generate "an increased and general knowledge of the conditions under which one lives" (Weber [1919] 1958:139). They offer, instead, techniques empty of ultimate meaning. Weber's reluctance to champion the progress brought by science and technological advances was influenced by Nietzsche's own nihilistic view of modernity expressed most boldly in his assertion "God is dead" (Nietzsche). Nietzsche's claim reflected his conviction that the eclipse of religious and philosophical absolutes brought on by the rise of science and instrumental reasoning had created an era of nihilism or meaninglessness. Without religious or philosophical doctrines to provide a foundation for moral direction, life itself would cease to have an ultimate purpose. No longer could ethical distinctions be made between what one ought to do and what one can do (Nietzsche [1919] 1958). Weber was unwilling to assign a determinative end to history, however. Whether or not the spiritual void created by the disenchantment of the modern world would continue was, for him, an open question. The search for meaning—which Weber saw as the essence of the human condition—carried out in a meaningless world sparked the rise of charismatic leaders who were capable of offering their followers purpose and direction in their lives. (See "The Types of Legitimate Domination" in this chapter's Readings.) Ruling over others by virtue of their professed "state of grace," such figures were capable of radically transforming the existing social order. Weber's depiction of the power of charismatic leaders, with their ability to transcend the conventions and expectations imposed by the social order, bears important similarities to Nietzsche's notion of the Übermensch, or "superman." For Nietzsche, the fate of humanity and what is truly human lay in the hands of the Übermenschen, who alone are capable of overcoming the moral and spiritual bankruptcy that he believed corrupted the modern age (Nietzsche [1883] 1978). 132 3£ FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY Max Weber (1864-1920) SI 133 Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900): Is God Dead? It is difficult to overstate the influence that the work of German philosopher and social critic Friedrich Nietesche has had on twentieth-century thought. From theologians and psychologists, to philosophers and sociologists, to poets and playwrights, Nietzsche's ideas have penetrated virtually every domain of modern intellectual culture. It was not until after his death, however, that he would earn such acclaim, for during his life his writings attracted but the smallest of audiences. Beset with a host of physical ailments, and stricken by a complete mental breakdown at the age of 45, Nietzsche, nevertheless, managed to develop a number of themes that would usher in a thoroughgoing critique of seemingly unassailable truths. Rejecting the Enlightenment notion that reason offers the pathway to human emancipation, Nietzsche believed that the essence of humanity lies in emotional and physical experiences. Moreover, he repudiated Christianity's ascetic ethic as a renunciation or avoidance of life, and championed, instead, the embracing of all that life offers, even the most tragic of sufferings, as the ultimate expression of greatness. The man who declared, "God is dead" and who argued that truth, values, and morals are not based on some intrinsic, ahistorical criteria, but, instead, are established by the victors in the unending struggle for power, did not enter the canon of liberal academia without controversy. Owing to the intentional distortions and forgeries of some of his writing by his sister, Elisabeth, Nietzsche was often interpreted as an anti-Semitic fascist. Though he abhorred such hatred as "slavish" and "herd-like," Hitler's Third Reich reinvented Nietzsche's notion of the "will to power" and the Übermensch or "superman" as a justification for its military aggression and geno-cidal practices. Fortunately, contemporary scholars of Nietzsche's work have corrected many of Elisabeth's falsities, allowing the true intention of his piercing, original insights into modern culture to be realized. In addition to drawing inspiration from Nietzsche's work, much of Weber's writing reflects a critical engagement with and extension of Marx's theory of historical materialism.2 As we noted in Chapter 2, Marx saw class struggles as the decisive force in the evolution of history. Class struggles were, in turn, the inevitable outcome of the inherent contradictions found in all precommunist economic systems. While finding much convincing in Marx's argument, Weber nevertheless did not embrace it in its entirety. In constructing his own theoretical framework, Weber departed from Marx in a number of respects, three of which we outline here. First, Weber maintained that social life did not evolve according to some immanent or necessary law. Thus, unlike Marx, Weber did not foresee a definitive "end of prehistory" toward which social evolution progressed. Instead, he saw the future of modern society as an open question, the answer to which it is impossible to foretell. This position, coupled with his view that rationalizing processes had transformed modern society into an "iron cage" (p. 137), accounts for Weber's unwillingness to accept a Utopian vision of humanity's future. :It is important to point out that Weber's critique of Marx was based more on secondary interpretations of Marx's work than on a thorough, firsthand encounter with his writings, since much of it was unavailable. In Weber's time, and continuing today, Marx was (is) often miscast by his followers and critics alike as an economic determinist. Perhaps more accurately, then, Weber was responding to a "crude," reductionist version of Marxism. \ Second, he contended that the development of societies could not be adequately explained on the basis i of a single or primary causal mechanism. The analysis of economic conditions and class dynamics alone | could not capture the complex social and cultural processes responsible for shaping a society's trajectory, f In particular, Weber maintained that Marx, in emphasizing economic factors and class-based interests, i underestimated the role that ideas play in determining a society's course of development. On this point, ' Weber sought to incorporate Marx's argument into his own work while offering what he saw as a neces- 1 sary corrective, remarking, "Not ideas, but material and ideal interests, directly govern men's conduct, i yet very frequently the 'world images' that have been created by 'ideas' have, like switchmen, determined i the tracks along which action has been pushed by the dynamic of interest" (Weber [1915] 1958:280). i Acknowledging the powerful sway that "interests" hold over individuals as they chart their course of { action, Weber nevertheless argued that ideas play a central role in shaping the paths along which interests I are realized. He saw ideas as independent cultural forces and not as a reflections of material conditions j or the existing mode of production. As the source for constructing meaning and purposeful lines of action, l ideas are not simply one element among others confined to the "superstructure." Instead, they serve as | the bases on which individuals carve out possible avenues of action, and, more dramatically, when | advanced by a charismatic leader, ideas can inspire revolution. J A third difference lies in where the two theorists located the fundamental problems facing modern indus- i trial society. As you read previously, Marx identified capitalism as the primary source of humanity's inhumanity. >' The logic of capitalism necessarily led to the exploitation of the working class as well as to die alienation of the ; individual from his work, himself, and others. For Weber, however, it was not capitalism but the process of rationalization and the increasing dominance of bureaucracies that threatened to destroy creativity and individuality. By design, bureaucratic organizations—and the rational procedures that govern them—routinize and standardize people and products. Though making for greater efficiency and predictability in the spheres of life they have touched, the impersonality of bureaucracies, their indifference to difference, has created a "cold" and empty world. (See Weber's essay "Bureaucracy," excerpted in tiiis chapter's Readings.) Not surprisingly, then, Weber, unlike many of his contemporaries, did not see in socialism the cure for : society's ills. In taking control of a society's productive forces, socialist forms of government would only further bureaucratize the social order, offering a poor alternative to capitalism. Indeed, Weber believed capitalism was a "better" economic system to the extent that its competitiveness allowed more opportunities to express one's individuality and creative impulses. Clearly, Weber did not embrace Marx's or his followers' calls for a communist revolution, because such a movement, to the extent that it led to an expansion of the scope of bureaucracies, would accelerate the hollowing out of human life. Robert Micheis (1876-1936): The iron Law of Oligarchy Political activist and sociologist, Robert Micheis is best known for his studies on the organization of political parties. Influenced by the ideas of his teacher and mentor. Max Weber, Micheis argued that all large-scale organizations have a tendency to evolve into hierarchical bureaucracies regardless of their original formation and ultimate goals. Even organizations that adopt an avowedly democratic agenda are inevitably subject to this "iron law of oligarchy" because leadership is necessarily transferred to an elite decision-making body. Micheis developed his argument in Political Parties (1911) in which he examined the organizational structures of western European socialist trade unions and political parties. During the late 1800s, the democratic ethos was particularly strong within these revolutionary socialist parties whose (Continued} 134 J? FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY Max Weber (1864-1920) S 135 (Continued) principal aim was to overthrow aristocratic or oligarchic regimes and replace them with governing bodies controlled directly by the people. Despite their intent on destroying elite Rile—the rule of the many by the few—these parties were themselves unable to escape the tendency toward oligarchy, Michels advanced his ideas in part as a response to his disillusionment with the German Social Democratic Party. An active member of the party, he witnessed firsthand its growing political conservatism. (Michels was censured by German government authorities for his political radicalism, compelling him to take positions at universities in Italy and Switzerland.) Established in the 1870s as an advocate for the working class, the Marxist-inspired party abandoned its revolutionary program soon after its formation, as its ambitions to wrest control of the means of production into the hands of the people was replaced by the conservative goals of increasing its membership, amassing funds for its war chest, and winning electoral seats in the German legislature through which piecemeal reform might be gained. Considered a vanguard of the proletariat revolution, this dramatic shift in party tactics signaled a rejection of Marxist principles and the abandonment of the struggle for realizing an ideal democracy where workers controlled their labor and freedom from want existed throughout society, What led to the cooptation of this and similarly driven parties' ideals? The answer lies in the working classes' lack of economic and political power. In order to effect democratic change, the otherwise powerless working-class individuals must first organize; their strength as a movement is directly related to their strength in numbers. Numbers, however, require representation through individual delegates who are entrusted by the mass to act on its behalf. Despite Marx's Utopian promise, the growth in numbers necessary to achieve power makes it impossible for the people to exercise direct control over their destinies. Instead, the success of working-class parties hinges on creating an organization committed to representing its interests: "Organization is . . . the source from which the conservative currents flow over the plain of democracy, occasioning there disastrous floods and rendering the plain unrecognizable" (Michels [1911] 1958:26). The inevitable rise of an organization brings with it the equally inevitable need for technical expertise, centralized authority, and a professional staff to ensure its efficient functioning. Bureaucratization transforms the party from a means to an end, to an end in itself. The preservation of the organization itself becomes the essential aim, and its original democratic ambitions are preserved only in talk, because aggressive action against the state would surely threaten its continued existence. Thus, while "[democracy is inconceivable without organization" (Michels [1911] 1958:25), the inherently oligarchic and bureaucratic nature of party organizations saps its revolutionary zeal and replaces it with the pursuit of disciplined, cautious policies intended to defend its own long-term interests, which do not necessarily coincide with the interests of the class it represents. As Michels notes, it would seem society cannot exist without a "dominant" or "political" class [that] . . . constitutes the only factor of sufficiently durable efficacy in the history of human development. . . . [Tjhe state, cannot be anything other than the organization of a minority. It is the aim of this minority to impose upon the rest of society a "legal order," which is the outcome of the exigencies of dominion and of Lhe exploitation of the mass of helots effected by the ruling minority, and can never be truly representative of the majority. The majority is thus permanently incapable of self-government. Even when the discontent of the masses culminates in a successful attempt to deprive the bourgeoisie of power, this is . . . effected only in appearance; always and necessarily there springs from the masses a new organized minority which raises itself to the rank of a governing class. Thus the majority of human beings, in a condition of eternal tutelage, are predestined by tragic necessity to submit to the dominion of a small minority, and must be content to constitute the pedestal of an oligarchy. (Michels [1911] 1958:406,407) Weber's Theoretical Orientation MM mm Weber's work is avowedly multidimensional. This is depicted in Figure 4.2 by his positioning relative to the other theorists discussed in this text. He explicitly recognized that individual action is channeled through a variety of motivations that encompass both rationalist and nonrationalist dimensions. Moreover, his definition of sociology as a science aimed at the interpretive understanding of social action squarely places the individual and his or her conduct at the center of analysis. Complementing this position are Weber's substantive interests that led him to study religious idea systems, institutional arrangements, class and status structures, forms of domination, and broad historical trends; in short, elements aligned with the collective dimension of social life. Figure 4.2 Weber's Basic Theoretical Orientation Nonrational Mead Simmel Dürkheim •i Du Bois Individual Collective WEBER Gilman Marx Rational SOURCE: Courtesy of Activision, Inc. Copyrights 1993. Used bv permission. Of course, not every essay incorporates elements from each of the four dimensions. For instance, Weber's discussion of bureaucracy (excerpted in this chapter's Readings) focuses on the administrative functions and rules that account for the efficiency and impersonality that mark this organizational form. As a result, he emphasizes the structural or coilectivist aspects of bureaucracies and how they work down to shape a given individual's behaviors and attitudes within them. Thus, you will find Weber remarking, "The individual bureaucrat cannot squirm out of the apparatus into which he has been harnessed. ... [H]e is only a small cog in a ceaselessly moving mechanism which prescribes to him an essentially fixed route of march" (Weber [1925d] 1978:988). Weber's interest, then, lies here in describing the bureaucratic apparatus replete with its institutionalized demands for technical expertise and leveling of social differences.3 HVhile Weber's approach is clearly multidimensional, it is due to arguments like the one expressed in his essay on bureaucracy that we position the body of his work "off-center," ultimately in the collectivist/rationalist quadrant of our diagram. In the end, his emphasis lies in examining the rationalizing (i.e., rationalist) processes that have shaped the development of modem Western institutions (i.e.. coilectivist). 136 S FOUNDATIONS OF CLASS1CALSOCTOLOUICAI.THEORY ^ -i ^f^s^we^^iu^^Aed a number of key concepts found in our preceding remarks or in the! pnmary .sdceli.i:!': tha: ;-„:i,:n'. Fr.'ou refttse to be God's steward, and to accept His gifts and use them for Him when He requireth it" (Weber [1904-05] 1958:162). Profit was now understood to be a visible blessing from God : ij^j. flowed the faithful to answer the most burning of all questions: Am 1 saved? Possessed by this "new spirit," one's predestined, eternal fate was now tied to the success of his conduct in work, a sphere of activity that was catapulted to the center of the believer's existence. It was not success itself that offered proof, however. Rather, it was how success was achieved that marked a person as one of God's elect. Baxter cautioned his followers that "You may labour to be rich for God, though not for the flesh and sin" (Weber [ 1904-05] 1958:162). In this proscription lies the seeds : for the subjective disposition that would ignite the growth of capitalism. Wealth served as confirmation of one's salvation only if it did not lead to idleness or the enjoyment of luxuries. Profitableness, moreover, was best guaranteed when economic pursuits were carried out on the basis of methodical and rational planning. Thus, ascetic restrictions on consumption were combined with the religiously derived compulsion to increase one's wealth. The ethical imperative to save and invest one's wealth would become the spiritual foundation for the spread of capitalism. It would not be long, however, before the rational pursuit of wealth and bureaucratic structures necessary to modern capitalism would render obsolete the religious ethic that first had imbued work with a '. Sense of meaning and purpose.2 Chained by unquenchable consumption, modern humanity is now left to live in a disenchanted world where "material goods have gained an increasing and finally inexorable power over the lives of men" (Weber [1904-05] 1958:180). "In Baxter's view the care for external goods 'l- should only lie on the shoulders of the 'saint like a light cloak, which can be thrown aside at any moment.' But fate decreed that the cloak should become an iron cage" (ibid.:181). :;. And what of the iron cage today? Consider some statistics from the U.S. Commerce Department and the Federal Reserve Board: The average household is saddled with a credit card debt of S8,000, while the nation's credit card debt currently stands at $880 million. Not including home mortgages, in 2003, the average household was faced with more than SI 8,000 in total debt. As a nation, consumer debt soared to nearly 2 trillion dollars, an increase of 40 percent from 1998's total. Not surprisingly, personal savings rates have declined. After essential expenditures, Americans saved 9 percent of their disposable income during the 1980s. This rate fell to 5 percent during the 1990s, and in 2006 Americans registered a negative savings rate (-1 percent) for the first time since the Great Depression. Currently, 40 percent of Americans spend more than they earn. Far from being a "light cloak." our "care for external goods" has become central to our personal identity and sense of self. We define ourselves through the cars we drive, the clothes we wear, the places we vacation, and the neighborhoods we live in rather than through a sense of ultimate purpose or meaning to life. Whether it's trying to keep up with the Joneses or to distinguish ourselves from the herd, we are in continual "need" of new and better products, the purchasing of which requires ever-longer working hours in order to earn more money, so we can spend more money. To keep pace with the growing accumulation of products, over the last 50 years the average home size has doubled. Still, we can't seem to fit everything in so we hire companies to organize our closets and garages, or, when that fails, we pay to pack our "unessential" belongings into one of the thousands of self-storage spaces that dot the landscape. Like Marx's views on the fetishism of commodities and Veblen's notion of conspicuous consumption, the iron cage has imprisoned us in the pursuit of the "lifestyles of the rich and famous" whether or not we can afford to live like the affluent. 2One need merely note the spread of capitalism to countries and regions of the world that have not been exposed in any significant degree to Protestantism. 140 FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY The Spirit of Capitalism The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism (1904) Max Weber (1S6J-1920) 141 Max Weber In the title of this study is used the somewhat pretentious phrase, the spirit of capitalism. What is to be understood by it? The attempt to give anything like a definition of it brings out certain difficulties which are in the very nature of this type of investigation. . . . Thus, if we try to determine the object, the analysis and historical explanation of which we are attempting, it cannot be in the form of a conceptual definition, but at least in the beginning only a provisional description of what is here meant by the spirit of capitalism. Such a description is, however, indispensable in order clearly to understand the object of the investigation. For this purpose we turn to a document of that spirit which contains what we are looking for in almost classical purity, and at the same time has the advantage of being free from all direct relationship to religion, being thus, for our purposes, free of preconceptions. "Remember, that time is money. He that can earn ten shillings a day by his labour, and goes abroad, or sits idle, one half of that day, though he spends but sixpence during his diversion or idleness, ought not to reckon that the only expense; he has really spent, or rather thrown away, five shillings besides. "Remember, that credit is money. If a man lets his money lie in my hands after it is due, he gives me the interest, or so much as I can make of it during that time. This amounts to a considerable sum where a man has good and large credit, and makes good use of it. "Remember, that money is of the prolific, generating nature. Money can beget money, and its offspring can beget more, and so on. Five shillings turned is six, turned again it is seven and threepence, and so on, till it becomes a hundred pounds. The more there is of it, the more it produces every turning, so that the profits rise quicker and quicker. He that kills a breeding-sow, destroys all her offspring to the thousandth generation. He that murders a crown, destroys all that it might have produced, even scores of pounds." "Remember this saying, The good paymaster is lord of another man s purse. He that is known to pay punctually and exactly to the time he promises, may at any time, and on any occasion, raise all the money his friends can spare. This is sometimes of great use. After industry and frugality, nothing contributes more to the raising of a young man in the world than punctuality and justice in all his dealings; therefore neve-keep borrowed money an hour beyond the time you promised, lest a disappointment shut up your friend's purse for ever. "The most trifling actions that affect a man's r- , are to be regarded. The sound of your hammer at five in the morning, or eight at night, heard by a credito.. makes him easy six months longer; but if he sees you i.. a billiard-table, or hears your voice at a tavern, when you should be at work, he sends for his money the next day; demands it, before he can receive it, in a lump. "It shows, besides, that you are mindful of what you owe; it makes you appear a careful as well as an honest man, and that still increases your credit, "Beware of thinking all your own that you possess, and of living accordingly. It is a mistake that many people who have credit fall into. To prevent this, keep an exact account for some time both of your expenses and your income. If you take the pains at first to mention particulars, it will have this good effect; you will discover how wonderfully small, trifling expenses mount up to large sums, and will discern what might have been, and may for the future be saved, without occasioning any great inconvenience. "For six pounds a year you may have the use of one hundred pounds, provided you are a man of known prudence and honesty. "He that spends a groat a day idly, spends idly above six pounds a year, which is the price for the use of one.: hundred pounds. "He that wastes idly a groat's worth of his time per day, one day with another, wastes the privilege of using : one hundred pounds each day. SOURCE: The Protestant Ethic ami the Spirit of Capitalism, 1st edition, by Max Weber. Copyright © 1977. Reprinted by permission of Pearson Education, Inc.. Upper Saddle River. New Jersey. "He that idly loses five shillings' worth of time, loses five shillings, and might as prudently throw five shillings into the sea. : "He that loses five shillings, not only loses that sum, but all tlie advantage that might be made by turning it in dealing, which by the time that a young man becomes old will amount to a considerable sum of money." It is Benjamin Franklin who preaches to us in these sentences, the same which Ferdinand Kiirnberger satirizes in his clever and malicious Picture of American Culture as the supposed confession of faith of the Yankee, That it is the spirit of capitalism which here speaks in characteristic fashion, no one will doubt, however little we niay wish to claim that everything which could be understood as pertaining to that spirit is contained in it. Let us pause a moment to consider this passage, the philosophy of which Kiirnberger sums up in the words, "They make tallow out of cattle and money out of men." The peculiarity of this philosophy of avarice appears to be the ideal of the honest man of recognized credit, and above all the idea of a duty of the individual toward the increase of his capital, which is assumed as an end in itself. Truly what is here preached is not simply a means of making one's way in the world, but a peculiar ethic. The infraction of its rules is treated not as foolishness but as forgetfiilness of duty. That is the essence of the matter. It is not mere business astuteness, that sort of thing is common enough, it is an ethos. This is the quality which interests us. . . . Now. all Franklin's moral attitudes are coloured with utilitarianism. Honesty is useful, because it assures credit; so are punctuality, industry, frugality, and that is the reason they are virtues. A logical deduction from this would be that where, for instance, the appearance of honesty serves the same purpose, that would suffice, and an unnecessary surplus of this virtue would evidently appear to Franklin's eyes as unproductive waste. And as a matter of fact, the story in his autobiography of his conversion to those virtues, or the discussion of the value of a strict maintenance of the appearance of modesty, the assiduous belittlement of one's own deserts in order to gain general recognition later, confirms this impression. According to Franklin, those virtues, like all others, are only in so far virtues as they are actually useful to the individual, and the surrogate of mere appearance is always sufficient when it accomplishes the end in view. It is a conclusion which is inevitable for strict utilitarianism. The impression of many Germans that the virtues professed by Americanism are pure hypocrisy seems to have been confirmed by this striking case. But in fact the matter is not by any means so simple. Benjamin Franklin's own character, as it appears in the really unusual candidness of his autobiography, belies that suspicion. The circumstance that he ascribes his recognition of the utility of virtue to a divine revelation which was intended to lead him in the path of righteousness, shows that something more than mere garnishing for purely egocentric motives is involved. In fact, the summttm bomtm of this ethic, the earning of more and more money, combined with the strict avoidance of all spontaneous enjoyment of life, is above all completely devoid of any eudffimonistic, not to say hedonistic, admixture. It is thought of so purely as an end in itself, that from the point of view of ihe happiness of, or utility to, the single individual, it appears entirely transcendental and absolutely irrational. Man is dominated by the making of money, by acquisition as the ultimate purpose of his life. Economic acquisition is no longer subordinated to man as the means for the satisfaction of his material needs. This reversal of what we should call the natural relationship, so irrational from a naive point of view, is evidently as definitely a leading principle of capitalism as it is foreign to all peoples not under capitalistic influence. At the same time it expresses a type of feeling which is closely connected with certain religious ideas. If we thus ask, why should "money be made out of men," Benjamin Franklin himself, although he was a colourless deist, answers in his autobiography with a quotation from die Bible, which his strict Calvinistic father drummed into him again and again in his youth: "Sees! thou a man diligent in his business? He shall stand before kings" (Prov. xxii. 29). The earning of money within the modern economic order is, so long as it is done legally, the result and the expression of virtue and proficiency in a calling; and this virtue and proficiency are, as it is now not difficult to see, the real Alpha and Omega of Franklin's ethic, as expressed in the passages we have quoted, as well as in all his works without exception. And in truth this peculiar idea, so familiar to us to-day, but in reality so little a matter of course, of one's duty in a calling, is what is most characteristic of the social ethic of capitalistic culture, and is in a sense the fundamental basis of it. It is an obligation which the individual is supposed to feel and does feel towards the content of his professional activity, no matter in what it consists, in particular no matter whether it appears on the surface as a utilization of his personal powers, or only of his material possessions (as capital). Of course, this conception has not appeared only under capitalistic conditions. On the contrary, we shall !42 S FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY Max Weber (1864-1920) S 143 later trace its origins back to a time previous to the advent of capitalism. Still less, naturally, do we maintain that a conscious acceptance of these ethical maxims on the part of the individuals, entrepreneurs or labourers, in modern capitalistic enterprises, is a condition of the further existence of present-day capitalism. The capitalistic economy of the present day is an immense cosmos into which the individual is born, and which presents itself to him. at least as an individual, as an unalterable order of things in which he must live. It forces the individual, in so far as he is involved in the system of market relationships, to conform to capitalistic rules of action. The manufacturer who in the long run acts counter to these norms, will just as inevitably be eliminated from the economic scene as the worker who cannot or will not adapt himself to them will be thrown into the streets without a job. Thus the capitalism of to-day, which has come to dominate economic life, educates and selects the economic subjects which it needs through a process of economic survival of the fittest. But here one can easily see the limits of the concept of selection as a means of historical explanation. In order that a manner of life so well adapted to the peculiarities of capitalism could be selected at all, i.e. should come to dominate others, it had to originate somewhere, and not in isolated individuals alone, but as a way of life common to whole groups of men. This origin is what really needs explanation. Concerning the doctrine of the more naive historical materialism, that such ideas originate as a reflection or superstructure of economic situations, we shall speak more in detail below. At this point it will suffice for our purpose to call attention to the fact that without doubt, in the country of Benjamin Franklin's birth (Massachusetts), the spirit of capitalism (in the sense we have attached to it) was present before the capitalistic order. ... It is further undoubted that capitalism remained far less developed in some of the neighbouring colonies, the later Southern States of the United States of America, in spite of the fact that these latter were founded by large capitalists for business motives, while the New England colonies were founded by preachers and seminary graduates with the help of small bourgeois, craftsmen and yoemen, for religious reasons. In this case the causal relation is certainly the reverse of that suggested by the materialistic standpoint. But the origin and history of such ideas is much more complex than the theorists of the superstructure suppose. The spirit of capitalism, in the sense in which we are using the term, had to fight its way to supremacy against a whole world of hostile forces. A state of minj such as that expressed in the passages we have quoted ' from Franklin, and which called forth the applause of u whole people, would both in ancient times and ::i : L. Middle Ages have been proscribed as the lowest sort of avarice and as an attitude entirely lacking in self-respect. It is, in fact, still regularly thus looked upon by all those social groups which are least involved in or adapted to modern capitalistic conditions. This is not wholly because the instinct of acquisition was in those ■ times unknown or undeveloped, as has often been said. Nor because the anri sacra fames, the greed for cold., was then, or now, less powerful outside of bourgeois capitalism than within its peculiar sphere, as the illi:. sions of modern romanticists are wont to believe. The . difference between the capitalistic and pre-capitalistic ■ spirits is not to be found at this point. The greed of tkj Chinese Mandarin, the old Roman aristocrat, or the modern peasant, can stand up to any comparison. \| i the auri sacra fames of a Neapolitan cab-driver or bar-ca'molo, and certainly of Astatic representatives of similar trades, as well as of the craftsmen of souther.i European or Asiatic countries, is, as anyone can find or.: for himself, very much more intense, and especially more unscrupulous than that of, say, an Englishman in similar circumstances. . , . The most important opponent with which the spirit of capitalism, in the sense of a definite standard of life :: claiming ethical sanction, has had to struggle, was that type of attitude and reaction to new situations which we may designate as traditionalism. ... One of the technical means which the modem employer uses in order to secure the greatest possible amount of work from his men is the device of piece-*:: rates. In agriculture, for instance, the gathering of the harvest is a case where the greatest possible intensity of labour is called for, since, the weather being uncertain, the difference between high profit and heavy loss may depend on the speed with which the harvesting can be done. Hence a system of piece-rates is almost: universal in this case. And since the interest of the employer in a speeding-up of harvesting increases with :■: the increase of the results and the intensity of the work, : the attempt has again and again been made, by increasing the piece-rates of the workmen, thereby giving diem an opportunity to earn what is for them a very high wage, to interest them in increasing their own ■ £j-icjejicy. But a peculiar difficulty has been met with surpr's'nj> frequency: raising the piece-rates has often tiad the result that not more but less has been accom-jished in the same time, because the worker reacted to the increase not by increasing but by decreasing the amount of his work. A man, for instance, who at the rate of I mark Per acre mowed 2'A acres per day and earned 2'A marks, when the rate was raised to 1,25 marks jjer acre mowed, not 3 acres, as he might easily have done, thus earning 3.75 marks, but only 2 acres, so that he could still earn the 2'A marks to which he was accustomed. The opportunity of earning more was less attractive than that of working less. He did not ask: '■Bow much can I earn in a day if I do as much work as possible? but: how much must I work in order to earn the wag6' -'^ marks, which I earned before and which 'takes care of my traditional needs? This is an example of What is llere meant by traditionalism. A man does not "by nature" wish to earn more and more money, but simply to live as he is accustomed to live and to earn as much as is necessary for that purpose. Wherever modern capitalism has begun its work of increasing the productivity of human labour by increasing its intensity, it has encountered the immensely stubborn resistance of this leading trait of pre-capitalistic labour. And to-day it encounters it the more, the more backward (from a capitalistic point of view) the labouring forces are with which it has to deal. Another obvious possibility, to return to our example, since the appeal to the acquisitive instinct through higher wage-rates failed, would have been to try the opposite policy, to force the worker by reduction of his wage-rales to work harder to earn the same amount than he did before. Low wages and high profits seem even to-day to a superficial observer to stand in correlation; everything which is paid out in wages seems to involve a corresponding reduction of profits. That road capitalism has taken again and again since its beginning. For centuries it was an article of faith, that low wages were productive, i.e. that they increased the material results of labour so that, as Pieter de la Cour, on this point, as we shall see, quite in the spirit of the old Calvinism, said long ago, the people only work because and so long as they are poor. But the effectiveness of this apparently so efficient method has its limits. Of course the presence of a surplus population which it can hire cheaply in the labour market is a necessity for the development of capitalism. But though too large a reserve army may in certain cases favour its quantitative expansion, it checks its qualitative development, especially the transition to types of enterprise which make more intensive use of labour. Low wages are by no means identical with cheap labour. From a purely quantitative point of view the efficiency of labour decreases with a wage which is physiologically insufficient, which may in the long run even mean a survival of the unfit. . . . Low wages fail even from a purely business point of view wherever it is a question of producing goods which require any sort of skilled labour, or the use of expensive machinery which is easily damaged, or in general wherever any great amount of sharp attention or of initiative is required. Here low wages do not pay. and their effect is the opposite of what was intended. For not only is a developed sense of responsibility absolutely indispensable, but in general also an attitude which, at least during working hours, is freed from continual calculations of how the customary wage may be earned with a maximum of comfort and a minimum of exertion. Labour must, on the contrary, be performed as if it were an absolute end in itself, a calling. But such an attitude is by no means a product of nature. It cannot be evoked by low wages or high ones alone, but can only be the product of a long and arduous process of education. To-day, capitalism, once in the saddle, can recruit its labouring force in all industrial countries with comparative ease. In the past this was in every case an extremely difficult problem. And even to-day it could probably not get along without the support of a powerful ally along the way, which, as we shall see below, was at hand at the time of its development. . . . Now, how could activity, which was at best ethically tolerated, turn into a calling in the sense of Benjamin Franklin? The fact to be explained historically is that in the most highly capitalistic centre of that time, in Florence of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, the money and capital market of all the great political Powers, this attitude was considered ethically unjustifiable, or at best to be tolerated. But in the backwoods small bourgeois circumstances of Pennsylvania in the eighteenth century, where business threatened for simple lack of money to fall back into barter, where there was hardly a sign of large enterprise, where only the earliest beginnings of banking were to be found, the same thing was considered the essence of moral conduct, even commanded in the name of duty. To speak here of a reflection of material conditions in the ideal 144 £ S FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY Max Weher (1864-1920) W 145 superstructure would be patent nonsense. What was the background of ideas which could account for the sort of activity apparently directed toward profit alone as a calling toward which the individual feels himself to have an ethical obligation? For it was this idea which gave the way of life of the new entrepreneur its ethical foundation and justification. . . . Asceticism and the Spirit of Capitalism In order to understand the connection between the fundamental religious ideas of ascetic Protestantism and its maxims for everyday economic conduct, it is necessary to examine with especial care such writings as have evidently been derived from ministerial practice. For in a time in which the beyond meant everything, when the social position of the Christian depended upon his admission to the communion, the clergyman, through his ministry, Church discipline, and preaching, exercised and influence (as a glance at collections of concilia, casus conscientice, etc., shows) which we modern men are entirely unable to picture. In such a time the religious forces which express themselves through such channels are the decisive influences in the formation of national character. For the purposes of this chapter, though by no means for all purposes, we can treat ascetic Protestantism as a single whole. But since that side of English Puritanism which was derived from Calvinism gives the most consistent religious basis for the idea of the calling, we shall, following our previous method, place one of its representatives at the centre of the discussion. Richard Baxter stands out above many other writers on Puritan ethics, both because of his eminently practical and realistic attitude, and, at the same time, because of the universal recognition accorded to his works, which have gone through many new editions and translations. He was a Presbyterian and an apologist of the Westminster Synod, but at the same time, like so many of the best spirits of his time, gradually grew away from the dogmas of pure Calvinism. . . . His Christian Directory is the most complete compendium of Puritan ethics, and is continually adjusted to the practical experiences of his own ministerial activity. In comparison we shall make use of Spener's Theologische Beclenken, as representative of German Pietism, Barclay's Apology for the Quakers, and some other representatives of ascetic ethics, which, however, in the interest of space, will be limited as far as possible. Now. in glancing at Baxter's Saints' Everlasting Rest, or his Christian Director}; or similar works of others, one is struck at first glance by the emphasis placed, in the discussion of wealth and its acquisition,, on the ebionitic elements of the New Testament. Wealth-as such is a great danger; its temptations never end, and its pursuit is not only senseless as compared with the dominating importance of the Kingdom of God, but it is morally suspect. Here asceticism seems to have turned much more sharply against the acquisition of earthly:: goods than it did in Calvin, who saw no hindrance to the' effectiveness of the clergy in their wealth, but rather a thoroughly desirable enhancement of their prestige.. Hence he permitted them to employ their means profit-; ably. Examples of the condemnation of the pursuit of; money and goods may be gathered without end from; Puritan writings, and may be contrasted with the late mediaeval ethical literature, which was much more: open-minded on this point. Moreover, these doubts were meant with perfect:-seriousness; only it is necessary to examine ;hem somewhat more closely in order to understand their, true ethical significance and implications. The real, moral objection is to relaxation in the security rf possession. Ihe enjoyment of wealth with the consequence! of idleness and the temptations of the flesh, above all of distraction from the pursuit of a righteous life. In, fact, it is only because possession involves this danger.-of relaxation that it is objectionable at all. For theS saints' everlasting rest in the next world; on earth man must, to be certain of his state of grace, "do the works of him who sent him, as long as it is yet day.'' Not lei-sure and enjoyment, but only activity serves to increase tl the glory of God, according to the definite manifesta- ;| tions of His will. Waste of time is thus the first and in principle the : deadliest of sins. The span of human life is infinitely short and precious to make sure of one's own election.:! Loss of time through sociability, idle talk, luxury, even:v more sleep than is necessary for health, six to at most s eight hours, is worthy of absolute moral condemnation. It does not yet hold, with Franklin, that time is money, •■; but the proposition is true in a certain spiritual sense. It is infinitely valuable because every hour lost is lost tog labour for the glory of God. Thus inactive contempla- r tion is also valueless, or even directly reprehensible if -\ it is at the expense of one's daily work. For it is less pleasing to God than the active performance of His will Is in a calling. Besides, Sunday is provided for that, and, according to Baxter, it is always those who are not ; dilieent in their callings who have no time for God when the occasion demands it. Accordingly, Baxter's principal work is dominated by the continually repeated, often almost passionate preaching of hard, continuous bodily or mental labour. It is due to a combination of two different motives. Labour is. on the one hand, an approved ascetic technique, as it always has been in the Western Church, in sharp contrast not only to the Orient but to almost all monastic rules the world over. It is in particular the specific defence against all those temptations which Puritanism united under the name of the unclean life, whose role for it was by no means small. The sexual asceticism of Puritanism differs only in degree, not in fundamental principle, from that of monastic-ism; and on account of the Puritan conception of marriage; its practical influence is more far-reaching than that of the latter. For sexual intercourse is permitted, even within marriage, only as the means willed by God for the increase of His glory according to the commandment, "Be fruitful and multiply." Along with a moderate vegetable diet and cold baths, the same prescription is given for all sexual temptations as is used against religious doubts and a sense of moral unworthiness; "Work hard in your calling." But the most important thing was that even beyond that labour came to be considered in itself the end oflife, ordained as such by God. St. Paul's "He who will not work shall not eat" holds unconditionally for everyone. Unwillingness to work is symptomatic of the lack of grace. ... [Not] only do these exceptions to the duty to labour naturally no longer hold for Baxter, but he holds most emphatically that wealth does not exempt anyone from the unconditional command. Even the wealthy shall not eat without working, for even though they do not need to labour to support their own needs, there is God's commandment which they, like the poor, must obey. For everyone without exception God's Providence lias prepared a calling, which he should profess and in which he should labour. And this calling is not, as it was for the Lutheran, a fate to which he must submit and which he must make the best of. but God's commandment to the individual to work for the divine glory. This seemingly subtle difference had far-reaching psychological consequences, and became connected with a further development of the providential interpretation of the economic order which had begun in scholasticism. The phenomenon of the division of labour and occupations in society had, among others, been interpreted by Thomas Aquinas, to whom we may most conveniently refer, as a direct consequence of the divine scheme of things. But the places assigned to each man in this cosmos follow ex catisis naturalibus and are fortuitous (contingent in the Scholastic terminology). The differentiation of men into the classes and occupations established through historical development became for Luther, as we have seen, a direct result of the divine will. The perseverance of the individual in the place and within the limits which God had assigned to him was a religious duty. . . . But in the Puritan view, the providential character of the play of private economic interests takes on a somewhat different emphasis. True to the Puritan tendency to pragmatic interpretations, the providential purpose of the division of labour is to be known by its fruits. . . . But the characteristic Puritan element appears when Baxter sets at the head of his discussion the statement that "outside of a well-marked calling the accomplishments of" a man are only casual and irregular, and he spends more time in idleness than at work," and when he concludes it as follows: "and he [the specialized worker] will carry out his work in order while another remains in constant confusion, and his business knows neither time nor place . . . therefore is a certain calling the best for everyone." Irregular work, which the ordinary labourer is often forced to accept, is often unavoidable, but always an unwelcome state of transition. A man without a calling thus lacks the systematic, methodical character which is, as we have seen, demanded by worldly asceticism. The Quaker ethic also holds that a man's life in his calling is an exercise in ascetic virtue, a proof of his state of grace through his conscientiousness, which is expressed in the care and method with which he pursues his calling. What God demands is not labour in itself, but rational labour in a calling. In the Puritan concept of the calling the emphasis is always placed on this methodical character of worldly asceticism, not, as with Luther, on the acceptance of the lot which God has irretrievably assigned to man. Hence the question whether anyone may combine several callings is answered in the affirmative, if it is useful for the common good or one's own, and not injurious to anyone, and if it does not lead to unfaithfulness in one of the callings. Even a change of calling is by no means regarded as objectionable, if it is not thoughtless and is made for the purpose of pursuing a calling more pleasing to God, which means, on general principles, one more useful. 146 SI FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY Max Weber (IU4-1920) 147 It is true that the usefulness of a calling, and thus its favour in the sight of God, is measured primarily in moral terms, and thus in terms of the importance of the goods produced in it for the community. But a further, and, above all, in practice the most important, criterion is found in private profitableness. For if that God, whose hand the Puritan sees in all the occurrences of life, shows one of His elect a chance of profit, he must do it with a purpose. Hence the faithful Christian must follow the call by taking advantage of the opportunity. "If God show you a way in which you may lawfully get more than in another way (without wrong to your soul or to any other), if you refuse this, and choose the less gainful way, you cross one of the ends of your calling, and you refuse to be God's steward, and to accept His gifts and use them for Him when He requireth it: you may labour to be rich for God, though not for the flesh and sin." Wealth is thus bad ethically only in so far as it is a temptation to idleness and sinful enjoyment of life, and its acquisition is bad only when it is with the purpose of later living merrily and without care. But as a performance of duty in a calling it is not only morally permissible, but actually enjoined. The parable of the servant who was rejected because he did not increase the talent which was entrusted to him seemed to say so directly. To wish to be poor was, it was often argued, the same as wishing to be unhealthy: it is objectionable as a glorification of works and derogatory to the glory of God. Especially begging, on the part of one able to work, is not only the sin of slothfulness, but a violation of the duty of brotherly love according to the Apostle's own word. The emphasis on the ascetic importance of a fixed calling provided an ethical justification of the modern specialized division of labour. In a similar way the providential interpretation of profit-making justified the activities of the business man. The superior indulgence of the seigneur and the parvenu ostentation of the nou-veau riche are equally detestable to asceticism. But, on the other hand, it has the highest ethical appreciation of the sober, middle-class, self-made man. "God blesseth His trade" is a stock remark about those good men who had successfully followed the divine hints. The whole power of the God of the Old Testament, who rewards His people for their obedience in this life, necessarily exercised a similar influence on the Puritan who, following Baxter's advice, compared his own state of grace with that of the heroes of the Bible, and in the process interpreted the statements of the Scriptures as the articles of a book of statutes. . . . Let us now try to clarify the points in which the Puritan idea of the calling and the premium it placed upon ascetic conduct was bound directly to influence the developmen of a capitalistic way of life. As we have seen, this asceticism turned with all its force against one thing: the spontaneous enjoyment of life and all it had to offer. . . . As against this the Puritans upheld their decisive-characteristic, the principle of ascetic conduct. For otherwise the Puritan aversion to sport, even for the Quakers, was by no means simply one of principle Sport was accepted if it served a rational purpose, that of recreation necessary for physical efficiency. But as a means for the spontaneous expression of undisciplined impulses, it was under suspicion; and in so far as it became purely a means of enjoyment, or awakened pride, raw instincts or the irrational gambling instinct, it was of course strictly condemned. Impulsive enjoyment of life, which leads away both from work in a calling and from religion, was as such the enemy of rational asceticism, whether in the form of seigneurial sports, or the enjoyment of the dance-hall or the public-house of ' the common man. ... The theatre was obnoxious to the Puritans, and with -■ the strict exclusion of the erotic and of nudity from the realm of toleration, a radical view of either literature or art could not exist. The conceptions of idle talk, of superfluities, and of vain ostentation, all designations of an irrational attitude without objective purpose, thus not ascetic, and especially not serving the glory of God. but of man, were always at hand to serve in deciding in favour of sober utility as against any artistic tendencies. : This was especially true in the case of decoration of the person, for instance clothing. That powerful tendency toward uniformity of life, which to-day so immensely aids the capitalistic interest in the standardization of production, had its ideal foundations in the repudiation of alt idolatry of the flesh. ... Although we cannot here enter upon a discussion of the influence of Puritanism in all these directions, we should call attention to the fact that the toleration of ■ pleasure in cultural goods, which contributed to purely aesthetic or athletic enjoyment, certainly always ran up against one characteristic limitation: they must not cost anything. Man is only a trustee of the goods which have come to him through God's grace. He must, like the servant in the parable, give an account of every penny entrusted to him, and it is at least hazardous to spend any : of it for a purpose which does not serve the glory of God but only one's own enjoyment. What person, who keeps his eyes open, has not met representatives of this . view-point even in the present? The idea of a man's duty to his possessions, to which he subordinates himself as an obedient steward, or even as an acquisitive machine, bears with chilling weight on his life. The greater the possessions the heavier, if the ascetic attitude toward life stands the test, the feeling of responsibility for them, for holding them undiminished for the glory of God and increasing them by restless effort. The origin of this type 0f life also extends in certain roots, like so many aspects of the spirit of capitalism, back into the Middle Ages. But it was in the ethic of ascetic Protestantism that it first found a consistent ethical foundation. Its significance for the development of capitalism is obvious. This worldly Protestant asceticism, as we may recapitulate up to this point, acted powerfully against the spontaneous enjoyment of possessions; it restricted consumption, especially of luxuries. On the other hand, it had the psychological effect of freeing the acquisition of goods from the inhibitions of traditionalistic ethics. It broke the bonds of the impulse of acquisition in that it not only legalized it, but (in the sense discussed) looked upon it as directly willed by God. The campaign against the temptations of the flesh, and the dependence on external things, was, as besides the Puritans the great Quaker apologist Barclay expressly says, not a struggle against the rational acquisition, but against the irrational use of wealth. Hut this irrational use was exemplified in the outward forms of luxury which their code condemned as idolatry of the flesh, however natural they had appeared to the feudal mind. On the other hand, they approved the rational and utilitarian uses of wealth which were willed by God for the needs of the individual and the community. They did not wish to impose mortification on the man of wealth, but the use of his means for necessary and practical things. The idea of comfort characteristically limits the extent of ethically permissible expenditures. It is naturally no accident that the development of a manner of living consistent with that idea may be observed earliest and most clearly among the most consistent representatives of this whole attitude toward life. Over against the glitter and ostentation of feudal magnificence which, resting on an unsound economic basis, prefers a sordid elegance to a sober simplicity, they set the clean and solid comfort of the middle-class home as an ideal. On the side of the production of private wealth, asceticism condemned both dishonesty and impulsive avarice. What was condemned as covetousness, Mammonism, etc., was the pursuit of riches for their own sake. For wealth in itself was a temptation. But here asceticism was the power "which ever seeks the good but ever creates evil"; what was evil in its sense was possession and its temptations. For, in conformity with the Old Testament and in analogy to the ethical valuation of good works, asceticism looked upon the pursuit of wealth as an end in itself as highly reprehensible: but the attainment of it as a fruit of labour in a calling was a sign of God's blessing. And even more important: the religious valuation of restless, continuous, systematic work in a worldly calling, as the highest means to asceticism, and at the same time the surest and most evident proof of rebirth and genuine faith, must have been the most powerful conceivable lever for the expansion of that attitude toward life which we have here called the spirit of capitalism. When the limitation of consumption is combined with this release of acquisitive activity, the inevitable practical result is obvious: accumulation of capital through ascetic compulsion to save. The restraints which were imposed upon the consumption of wealth naturally served to increase it by making possible the productive investment of capital. . . . As far as the influence of the Puritan outlook extended, under all circumstances—and this is, of course, much more important than the mere encouragement of capital accumulation—it favoured the development of a rational bourgeois economic life; it was the most important, and above all the only consistent influence in the development of that life. It stood at the cradle of the modern economic man. To be sure, these Puritanical ideals tended to give way under excessive pressure from the temptations of wealth, as the Puritans themselves knew very well. With great regularity we find the most genuine adherents of Puritanism among the classes which were rising from a lowly status, the small bourgeois and farmers, while the beati possidentes, even among Quakers, are often found tending to repudiate the old ideals. It was the same fate which again and again befell the predecessor of tliis worldly asceticism, the monastic asceticism of the Middle Ages. In the latter case, when rational economic activity had worked out its full effects by strict regulation of conduct and limitation of consumption, the wealth accumulated either succumbed directly to the nobility, as in the time before the Reformation, or monastic discipline threatened to break down, and one of the numerous reformations became necessary. In fact the whole history of monasticism is in a certain sense the history of a continual struggle with I4S 55 FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY the problem of the secularizing influence of wealth. The same is true on a grand scale of the worldly asceticism of Puritanism. The great revival of Methodism, which preceded the expansion of English industry toward the end of the eighteenth century, may well be compared with such a monastic reform. We may hence quote here a passage from John Wesley himself which might well serve as a motto for everything which has been said above. For it shows that the leaders of these ascetic movements understood the seemingly paradoxical relationships which we have here analysed perfectly well, and in the same sense that we have given them. He wrote: "I fear, wherever riches have increased, the essence of religion has decreased in the same proportion. Therefore 1 do not see how it is possible, in the nature of things, for any revival of true religion to continue long. For religion must necessarily produce both industry and frugality, and these cannot but produce riches. But as riches increase, so will pride, anger, and love of the world in all its branches. How then is it possible that Methodism, that is. a religion of the heart, though it flourishes now as a green bay tree, should continue in this state? For the Methodists in every place grow diligent and frugal; consequently they increase in goods. Hence they proportionately increase in pride, in anger, in the desire of the flesh, the desire of the eyes, and the pride of life. So, although the form of religion remains, the spirit is swiftly vanishing away. Is there no way to prevent this—this continual decay of pure religion? We ought not to prevent people from being diligent and frugal; we must exhort all Christians to gain all they can, and to save all they can; that is, in effect, to grow rich." There follows the advice that those who gain all they can and save all they can should also give all they can, so that they will grow in grace and lay up a treasure in heaven. It is clear that Wesley here expresses, even in detail, just what we have been trying to point out. As Wesley here says, the full economic effect of those great religious movements, whose significance for economic development lay above all in their ascetic educative influence, generally came only after the peak of the purely religious enthusiasm was past. Then the intensity of the search for the Kingdom of God commenced gradually to pass over into sober economic virtue; the religious roots died out slowly, giving way to= utilitarian worldliness. ... A specifically bourgeois economic ethic had grown up. With the consciousness of standing in the fullness of God's grace and being visibly blessed by Him, the bourgeois business man, as long as he remained within the ! bounds of formal correctness, as long as his moral con-1 duct was spotless and the use to which he put his wealth',: was not objectionable, could follow his pecuniary inter-!5 ests as he would and feel that he was fulfilling a duty ins doing so. The power of religious asceticism provided"' him in addition with sober, conscientious, and unusa-ally industrious workmen, who clung to their work as to ;: a lite purpose willed by God. ~i Finally, it gave him the comforting assurance that the unequal distribution of the goods of this world was a % special dispensation of Divine Providence, which in:? these differences, as in particular grace, pursued secret 1 ends unknown to men. Calvin himself had made the ' much-quoted statement that only when the people, i.e. I the mass of labourers and craftsmen, were poor did they remain obedient to God. In the Netherlands (Pieter de la. Court and others), that had been secularized to the. effect that the mass of men only labour when necessity! forces them to do so. This formulation of a leading idea of capitalistic economy later entered into the current ( theories of the productivity of low wages. Here also, with the dying out of the religious root, the utilitarian: ' interpretation crept in unnoticed, in the line of develop- a ment which we have again and again observed . . . s§ Now naturally the whole ascetic literature of almost s| ail denominations is saturated with the idea that faithful § labour, even at low wages, on the part of those whom life offers no other opportunities, is highly pleasing to .3 God. In this respect Protestant Asceticism added in itself nothing new. But it not only deepened this idea . most powerfully, it also created die force which was alone decisive for its effectiveness: the psychological :«: sanction of it through the conception of this labour as a calling, as the best, often in the last analysis the only! means of attaining certainty of grace. And on the other * hand it legalized the exploitation of this specific willingness to work, in that it also interpreted the employ- ;| er's business activity as a calling. It is obvious how •-: powerfully the exclusive search lor the Kingdom of S God only through the fulfilment of duty in the calling, S and the strict asceticism which Church discipline natu- !■ rally imposed, especially on the propertyless classes, V was bound to affect the productivity of labour in the ;| capitalistic sense of the word. The treatment of labour :.; as a calling became as characteristic of the modern worker as the corresponding attitude toward acquisition of the business man. It was a perception of this situation, new at his time, which caused so able an observer as Sir William Petty to attribute the economic power of Holland in the seventeenth century to the fact that the very numerous dissenters in that country (Calvinists and Baptists) "are for the most part thinking, sober men, and such as believe that Labour and Industry is their duty towards God." . . . One of the fundamental elements of the spirit of modern capitalism, and not only of that but of all modern culture: rational conduct on (he basis of the idea of the calling, was born—that is what this discussion has souaht to demonstrate—from the spirit of Christian asceticism. One has only to re-read the passage from Franklin, quoted at the beginning of this essay, in order to see that the essential elements of the attitude which was there called the spirit of capitalism are the same as what we have just shown to be the content of the Puritan worldly asceticism, only without the religious basis, which by Franklin's time had died away. The idea that modem labour has an ascetic character is of course not new. Limitation to specialized work, with a renunciation of the Faustian universality of man which it involves, is a condition of any valuable work in the modern world; hence deeds and renunciation inevitably condition each other today. This fundamentally ascetic trait of middle-class life, if it attempts to be a way of life at all, and not simply the absence of any. was what Goethe wanted to teach, at the height of his wisdom, in the Wanderjahren, and in the end which he gave to the life of his Faust. For him the realization meant a renunciation, a departure from an age of full and beautiful humanity, which can no more be repeated in the course of our cultural development than can the flower of the Athenian culture of antiquity. The Puritan wanted to work in a calling; we are forced to do so. For when asceticism was carried out of monastic cells into everyday lite, and began to dominate worldly morality, it did its part in building the tremendous cosmos of the modern economic order. This order is now bound to the technical and economic conditions of machine production which to-day determine the lives of all the individuals who are born into this mechanism, not only those directly concerned with economic acquisition, with irresistible force. Perhaps it will so determine them until the last ton of fossilized coal is burnt. In Baxter's view the care for external goods should only lie on the shoulders of the "saint like a light cloak, which Max Weber (1864-1920) " 149 can be thrown aside at any moment." But fate decreed that the cloak should become an iron cage. Since asceticism undertook to remodel the world and to work out its ideals in the world, material goods have gained an increasing and finally an inexorable power over the lives of men as at no previous period in history. To-day the spirit of religious asceticism—whether finally, who knows?—has escaped from the cage. But victorious capitalism, since it rests on mechanical foundations, needs its support no longer. The rosy blush of its laughing heir, the Enlightenment, seems also to be irretrievably fading, and the idea of duty in one's calling prowls about in our lives like the ghost of dead religious beliefs. Where the fulfilment of the calling cannot directly be related to the highest spiritual and cultural values, or when, on the other hand, it need not be felt simply as economic compulsion, the individual generally abandons the attempt to justify it at all. In the field of its highest development, in the United States, the pursuit of wealth, stripped of its religious and ethical meaning, tends to become associated with purely mundane passions, which often actually give it the character of sport. No one knows who will live in this cage in the future, or whether at the end of this tremendous development entirely new prophets will arise, or there will be a great rebirth of old ideas and ideals, or, if neither, mechanized petrification, embellished with a sort of convulsive self-importance. For of the last stage of this cultural development, it might well be truly said: "Specialists without spirit, sensualists without heart; this nullity imagines that it has attained a level of civilization never before achieved." But this brings us to the world of judgments of value and of faith, with which this purely historical discussion need not be burdened. The next task would be rather to show the significance of ascetic rationalism, which has only been touched in the foregoing sketch, for the content of practical social ethics, thus for the types of organization and the functions of social groups from the conventicle to the State. Then its relations to humanistic rationalism, its ideals of life and cultural influence; further to the development of philosophical and scientific empiricism, to technical development and to spiritual ideals would have to be analysed. Then its historical development from the mediaeval beginnings of worldly asceticism to its dissolution into pure utilitarianism would have to be traced out through all the areas of ascetic religion. Only then could the quantitative cultural significance of ascetic Protestantism in its jnacjitrtL, ouLiULUUltAL IHISORY relation to the otlier plastic elements of modern culture be estimated. Here we have only attempted to trace the fact and the direction of its influence to their motives in one, though a very important point. But it would also further be necessary to investigate how Protestant Asceticism was in turn influenced in its development and its character by the totality of social conditions, especially economic. The modern man is in general, even with the best will, unable to give religious ideas a significance for culture and national character which3 they deserve. But it is, of course, not my aim to substitute for a one-sided materialistic an equally one-sided spiritualistic causal interpretation of culture and of history. Each is equally possible, but each, if it docs not serve as the preparation, but as the conclusion of an j investigation, accomplishes equally little in the interest; of historical truth. 5 as Introduction to "The Social Psychology of the World Religions" In this essay, Weber extends his analysis developed in The Protestant Ethic by taking up five major world religions—Confucianism, Hinduism, Buddhism. Islam, and Christianity—to address more generally the relationship between religion and "economic ethics." (He was completing his studies on Judaism when he died.) In doing so, he again provides an account of religious experience that diverges from those*, offered by Marx and Dürkheim. Drawing a contrast with Marxist views, Weber asserts that religion is not a "simple 'function" of the social situation of the stratum which appears as its characteristic bearer" nor -does it represent "the stratum's 'ideology' [nor is it] a 'reflection' of a stratum's material or ideal interest- :! situation" (Weber 1958:269-70). Religion, instead, shapes economic, practical behavior just as much as such behavior shapes religious doctrines. Most importantly, religions address the psychological need of the fortunate to legitimate their good fortune, while for the less fortunate they offer the promise of a future .: salvation. While this "religious need" may be universal, the form in which it is met varies across different social strata (warriors, peasants, political officials, intellectuals, "civic") that exhibit an affinity for particular religious worldviews. Nevertheless, these worldviews have their own impact on behavior that cannot be understood simply as a reflection of its bearer's material position. This is particularly the case ■ for religious virtuosos whose quest for salvation is guided by authentically spiritual motives. For the ; devout, actively proving oneself as an instrument or tool of God's will, communing contemplatively with. the cosmic love of Nirvana, or striving for orgiastic ecstasy, represents genuine religious aims that cannot . be reduced to some sort of underlying "distorted" class interest. Nor can the motives of the devout be J understood as misguided intentions to deify society or as expressions of the collective conscience, as Dürkheim would contend. Weber also notes how religions have fostered the "rationalization of reality." Offering a promise of -;| redemption, whether it be from social oppression, evil spirits, the cycle of rebirths, human imperfections, s or any number of other forces, all religions counter a "senseless" world with the belief that "the world in ;: its totality is, could, and should somehow be a meaningful 'cosmos'" (Weber 1958:281). The specific religious form of meaning is derived from a "systematic and rationalized 'image of the world" that deter- i mines '"[fjrom what' and 'for what' one wished to be redeemed and .. , 'could be' redeemed" (ibid.:280). ' Religion declares that the world is not a playground for chance; instead, it is ruled by reasons and fates > that can be "known." Knowing how to redeem oneself and how to obtain salvation requires that one knows how the world "works." In devising answers for such concerns, religions have developed along two primary paths: "exemplary" prophecy and "emissary" prophecy. Exemplary prophecy is rooted in the conception of a supreme, impersonal being accessible only .. through contemplation, while emissary prophecy conceives of a personal God who is vengeful and loving, forgiving and punishing, and who demands of the faithful active, ethical conduct in order to serve MaxWd,er(lS64-1920) 31 151 yis commandments. Though the masses may be religiously "unmusical," the religiosity of the devout (monks, prophets, shamans, ascetics) nevertheless "has been of decisive importance for the development of the way of life of the masses," particularly with regard to regulating practical, economic activity (Weber 1958:289). Thus, religions grounded in an exemplary prophecy (e.g.. Buddhism. Hinduism) lead adherents asvay from workaday life by seeking salvation through extraordinary psychic states attained Ihrough mystical, orgiastic, or ecstatic experiences. The virtuoso's hostility toward economic activity discourages this-worldly practical conduct by viewing it as "religiously inferior." a distraction from communing with the divine. Absent from the contemplative, mystical "flight from the world" is any psychological motivation to engage in worldly action as a path for redemption. As a result, a rationalized economic ethic remains underdeveloped. Conversely, religions based on an emissary prophecy (e.g.. Judaism, Christianity. Islam) require the devout to actively fashion the world according to the will of their god. Not contemplative "flight from."' but, rather, ascetic "work in" this world is the path for redemption according this prophecy. Seeking mystical union with the cosmos is understood here as an irrational act of hedonism that devalues the God-created world. The virtuoso is instead compelled to "prove" himself as a worthy instrument of God through the ethical quality of his everyday activity. This psychological imperative leads to the develop-menl of rational, economic ethic that transforms work into a "holy," worldly calling. Everyday life is here the setting for the "methodical and rationalized routine-activities of workaday life in the service of the Lord" (Weber 195S:289). Yet, as Weber argued in The Protestant Ethic, this worldvievv, while faithful to God's commandments and devoted to creating His Kingdom on earth, leads to a thoroughgoing "disenchantment of the world." 'The Social Psychology of _ the World Religions" (1915) Max Weber By "world religions," we understand the five religions or religiously determined systems of life-regulation which have known how to gather multitudes of confessors around them. The term is used here in a completely value-neutral sense. The Confucian, Hinduist, Buddhist, Christian, and Islamist religious ethics all belong to the category of world religion. A sixth religion. Judaism, will also be dealt with. It is included because it contains historical preconditions decisive for understanding Christianity and Islamism, and because of its historic and autonomous significance for the development of the modern economic ethic of the Occident—a significance, partly real and partly alleged, which has been discussed several times recently. . . . What is meant by the "economic ethic" or a religion will become increasingly clear during the course of our presentation. . . . The term "economic ethic" points to the practical impulses for action which are founded in the psychological and pragmatic contexts of religions. The following presentation may be sketchy, but it will make obvious how complicated the structures and how many-sided the conditions of a concrete economic ethic usually are. Furthermore, it will show that externally similar forms of economic organization may agree with very different economic ethics and, according to the unique character of their economic ethics, how such forms of economic organization may produce very different historical results. An economic ethic is not a simple "function" of a form of economic organization; and just as little does the reverse hold, namely, that economic ethics unambiguously stamp the form of the economic organization. No economic ethic has ever been determined solely by religion. In the face of man's attitudes towards the world—as determined by religious or other (in our sense) "inner" factors—an economic ethic has, of course, a high measure of autonomy. Given factors of economic geography and history determine this measure of autonomy in SOURCE: Translation of the Introduction to The Economic Ethic of the World Religions by Max Weber, 1915. 152 8 FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY the highest degree. The religious determination of life- fortunate is seldom satisfied with the fact of being fortu-conduct. however, is also one—note this—only one, of nate. Beyond this, he needs to know that he has a right the determinants of the economic ethic. Of course, the to his good fortune. He wants to be convinced that he religiously determined way of life is itself profoundly "deserves" it, and above all, that he deserves it in cam-influenced by economic and political factors operating parison with others. He wishes to be allowed the belief within given geographical, political, social, and national that the less fortunate also merely experience his due.-boundaries. We should lose ourselves in these discus- Good fortune thus wants to be "legitimate" fortune, sions if we tried to demonstrate these dependencies in all If the general term "fortune" covers all the "good" of their singularities. Here we can only attempt to peel off honor, power; possession, and pleasure, it is the most die directive elements in the life-conduct of those social general formula for the service of legitimation, which strata which have most strongly influenced the practical religion has had to accomplish for the external and the ethic of their respective religions. These elements have inner interests of all ruling men, the propertied, the vic-stamped the most characteristic features upon practical torious, and the healthy. In short, religion provides the ethics, the features that distinguish one ethic from others; theodicy of good fortune for those who are fortunate. and, at the same time, they have been important for the This theodicy is anchored in highly robust ("pharisaical") respective economic ethics. . . . needs of man and is therefore easily understood, even if It is not our thesis that the specific nature of a religion sufficient attention is often not paid to its effects, is a simple "function" of the social situation of the stra- The annunciation and the promise of religion have turn which appears as its characteristic bearer, or that it naturally been addressed to the masses of those who represents the stratum's "ideology," or that it is a "reflec- were in need of salvation. They and their interests have tion" of a stratum's material or ideal interest-situation, moved into the center of the professional organization On the contrary, a more basic misunderstanding of the for the "cure of the soul," which, indeed, only there-standpoint of Uiese discussions would hardly be possible, with originated. The typical service of magicians and However incisive the social influences, economically priests becomes the determination of the factors to be and politically determined, may have been upon a reli- blamed for suffering, that is, the confession of "sins." gious ethic in a particular case, it receives its stamp pri- At first, these sins were offenses against ritual com-marily from religious sources, and, first of all, from the mandments. The magician and priest also give counsel content of its annunciation and its promise. Frequently for behavior fit to remove the suffering. The material the very next generation reinterprets these annunciations and ideal interests of magicians and priests could ■ and promises in a fundamental fashion. Such reinterpre- thereby actually and increasingly enter the service of tations adjust the revelations to the needs of the religious specifically plebeian motives. A further step along this community. If this occurs, then it is at least usual that course was signified when, under the pressure of typi- ; religious doctrines are adjusted to religious needs. Other cal and ever-recurrent distress, the religiosity of a spheres of interest could have only a secondary influ- "redeemer" evolved. This religiosity presupposed the : ence; often, however, such influence is very obvious and myth of a savior, hence (at least relatively) of a rational sometimes it is decisive. view of the world. Again, suffering became the most For every religion we shall find that a change in the important topic. The primitive mythology of nature socially decisive strata has usually been of profound frequently offered a point of departure for this religios-importance. On the other hand, the type of a religion, once ity. The spirits who governed the coming and going of stamped, has usually exerted a rather far-reaching influ- vegetation and the paths of celestial bodies important ence upon the life-conduct of very heterogeneous strata, for the seasons of the year became the preferred cam-In various ways people have sought to interpret the con- ers of the myths of the suffering, dying, and resurrect- ■ nection between religious ethics and interest-situations in ing god to needful men. The resurrected god guaranteed such a way that the former appear as mere "functions" of the return of good fortune in this world or the security the latter. Such interpretation occurs in so-called historical of happiness in the world beyond. ... materialism—which we shall not here discuss—as well as The need for an ethical interpretation of the "mean-in a purely psychological sense. . . . ing" of the distribution of fortunes among men increased In treating suffering as a symptom of odiousness in with the growing rationality of conceptions of the the eyes of the gods and as a sign of secret guilt, reli- world. As the religious and ethical reflections upon the gion has psychologically met a very general need. The world were increasingly rationalized and primitive, and ffla