Lutheranism and social responsibility [1 ed.] 9783666558689, 9783525558683

Citation preview

Format: BEZ 155x230, Aufriss: HuCo

23mm

This book investigates what the obligation to care for the poor meant in a Lutheran context, how this obligation was carried out in Nordic countries, and how the obligation transformed in the nineteenth century with the modernization and democratization which produced the Nordic welfare states. Contributors are Johanna Annola, Esther Chung-Kim, David Fink, Gorm Harste, Nina Javette Koefoed, Riikka Miettinen, Christian Neddens, Andrew G. Newby, Maria Nørby Pedersen and Anders Sevelsted.

ISBN 978-3-525-55868-3

Koefoed / Newby (eds.)  Lutheranism and social responsibility

The Editors Nina Javette Koefoed is Associate Professor in History, Aarhus University. Andrew G. Newby is Senior Lecturer in Transnational and Comparative History at the University of Jyväskylä.

R5AS 82

Nina J. Koefoed / Andrew G. Newby (eds.)

Lutheranism and social responsibility Academic Studies

82

9 783525 558683

9783525558683_UMS_Koefoed_Lutherism_V3.indd 1,3

06.04.22 17:26

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41

Refo500 Academic Studies Edited by Herman J. Selderhuis In co-operation with Christopher B. Brown (Boston), Günter Frank (Bretten), Barbara Mahlmann-Bauer (Bern), Tarald Rasmussen (Oslo), Violet Soen (Leuven), Zsombor Tóth (Budapest), Günther Wassilowsky (Frankfurt), Siegrid Westphal (Osnabrück).

Volume 82

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41

Nina J. Koefoed / Andrew G. Newby (eds.)

Lutheranism and social responsibility

Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41

Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek: The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data available online: https://dnb.de. © 2022 by Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Theaterstraße 13, 37073 Göttingen, Germany, an imprint of the Brill-Group (Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands; Brill USA Inc., Boston MA, USA; Brill Asia Pte Ltd, Singapore; Brill Deutschland GmbH, Paderborn, Germany; Brill Österreich GmbH, Vienna, Austria) Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Hotei, Brill Schöningh, Brill Fink, Brill mentis, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Böhlau, V&R unipress.

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission from the publisher.

Cover design: SchwabScantechnik, Göttingen Typesetting: le-tex publishing services, Leipzig Printed and bound: Hubert & Co. BuchPartner, Göttingen Printed in the EU Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht Verlage | www.vandenhoeck-ruprecht-verlage.com ISSN 2197–0165 ISBN 978–3–666–55868–9

Preface / Acknowledgement

This book is the result of two symposiums on Confession and Social Responsibility held at Aarhus University in 2018 and 2019. To some degree the motivation behind the symposiums reflected a renewed debate in Denmark about relations between Lutheranism and the welfare state, prompted by the quincentenary of the Reformation. The long historical time span covered by the papers which were presented, and the breadth of the perspectives which were discussed, was inspiring. We are very grateful to all speakers and participants from these two symposiums for their papers, and for their rich contributions to the lively discussions of the connections between confessions and societal development. The first symposium, “Religion and Social Welfare: Lutheranism and Social Development”, took place in March 2018. This was a collaboration between Aarhus Institute for Advanced Studies [AIAS], and the Center for the Study of Lutheran Theology and Confessional Societies [LUMEN], at a time when Andrew G. Newby held a Marie Skłodowska-Curie research fellowship at AIAS. Thanks therefore go to AIAS for co-funding and providing an inspiring venue for the event. The second symposium, “Confession and Social Responsibility”, was hosted by LUMEN and specifically the research project, “Lutheranism and Societal Development in Denmark”, funded by the Danish Research Council. We also want to thank them for the possibility of continuing the discussions and following up ideas from the first symposium. Finalising this book during a global pandemic has been challenging, to put it mildly. All the more reason, therefore, to thank all of the authors to the volume, not only for their great contributions, but also for their collegiality and patience. We also want to acknowledge the hard work of our reviewers – all of the book’s chapters have been reviewed by at least two different experts – and note that fulfilling these requests almost always take up time outside of colleagues’ everyday work tasks. We salute you for your unconditional sedulity! January 2022 Nina Javette Koefoed Andrew G. Newby

Table of Contents

Preface / Acknowledgement ....................................................................

5

Nina Javette Koefoed, Andrew G. Newby Introduction. Lutheranism, Social Responsibility, and the Poor ...................

9

Esther Chung-Kim Johannes Bugenhagen and Christian III. Reforming Church and Society in Denmark ............................................................................... 21 Christian Neddens Justification and care. Reformation images of social responsibility................ 47 David C. Fink Against the Busybodies. Philipp Melanchthon and the “Protestant Work Ethic” .......................................................................................... 83 Maria Nørby Pedersen Christian relief for the poor in Early Modern Denmark .............................. 103 Johanna Annola, Riikka Miettinen Piety and prayers. Religion in the lives of the indoor poor in Finland, 1600s–1960s ............................................................................. 129 Nina Javette Koefoed Lutheran social responsibility and the early Danish welfare state .................. 153 Andrew G. Newby “Brothers of the Nordic Tribe”. Danish Famine Aid to Sweden and Finland 1867–68.................................................................................... 183 Anders Sevelsted Lutheran doxa and Reformed action. Interconfessional influences on voluntary social work in late nineteenth-century Copenhagen ................ 211

8

Table of Contents

Gorm Harste Blind path dependencies. War and Welfare in the Lutheran States ................ 233 Index ................................................................................................... 257 Notes on Contributors............................................................................ 265

Nina Javette Koefoed, Andrew G. Newby

Introduction Lutheranism, Social Responsibility, and the Poor To care for the poor is a Christian virtue. This virtue, however, can be displayed in many ways, through many different systems and to different degrees. European history has witnessed a variety of solutions to the question of the poor. All countries in twenty-first century Europe have some kind of welfare system, but these have different organizations, and variations in the distribution of rights and duties. In the Middle Ages, the poor were mostly cared for through church organizations, while charity would buy indulgences. As the cities and the number of urban poor grew, civic authorities became more involved in poor relief. With the Reformation, the poor became the responsibility of the civic authorities in the protestant countries. Caring for the poor, nevertheless, was still regarded a Christian obligation and the church was often involved in the organization of the relief. Either way, the responsibility for the poor has not always been taken on with great enthusiasm. The Christian ideal of loving one’s neighbour can be hard to identify when confronted with the severe penury of the past, with beggars, forced labour, hunger, orphans, and helpless old people. Historical research has frequently emphasized other factors than religion as motivating poor relief and guiding its principles.1 Studies in poor relief have often been closely connected to or part of studies in social discipline.2 Social history has been more focused on the life of the poor, and their experiences of the system.3 The early modern European society was a religious society, and the last decades have seen a renewal of research into the role played by religion in relation to the poor. As a result, there has been a growing consensus about the importance of the Reformation for establishing a new social policy with extended secular poor relief

1 See e.g. Lis/Soly: 1979. Grell and Cunningham points to the need to make a revision of the research from the sixties in which humanism was prioritized. They also criticize dominant social and economic explanations for being simplistic and deterministic. (Grell/Cunningham: 1997, 4) 2 See e.g. Gorski: 2003, 114–155. The close connection between social disciplining and poor relief is central to Gorski’s investigation. He points to hunger, economic interests, the interest of the political elite, and religious as well as confessional and humanistic motives as the six main elements in the explanations of how poor relief developed in early modern Europe. 3 See e.g. Jütte: 1994. King’s work gives a recent example of the interest in the life of the poor (King: 2019).

10

Nina Javette Koefoed, Andrew G. Newby

systems.4 In this way religion and the Reformation did matter. The question of whether the Reformation made a difference for the way in which poor relief was organized is, though, much more contested.5 The question of whether different confessions played a role in different approaches to the poor, for the development of variation in solutions and poor relief systems, has mostly been framed as contrasts between Protestantism and Catholicism, without distinguishing between divergences within the protestant church.6 There are however variations between protestant confessions which could have inspired and motivated distinctive approaches towards the responsibility for the poor. Both theological differences and variations in political consequences, e.g., the relation between church and state (especially when taken together) could have resulted in these differences. In most studies, Protestantism is equated with the reformed church.7 Recent studies have argued for the need to investigate Lutheran social teaching and poor relief in the Nordic Lutheran countries to refine the debate about poor relief systems and confession.8

4 Critchlow/Parker: 1998. Grell and Cunningham establish that the Reformation changed the speed and the extend of reforms in the social area in both protestant and catholic areas (Grell/Cunningham: 1997). 5 Gorski gives an overview over main positions in this debate. He points at the difficulties in ‘proving’ confessional differences through comparisons, because of all the variations between different systems within the same confession as well as other factors than religion influencing the system of poor relief (2003,114–155). This underlines the need to develop new methods to investigate the influence from confession. Rønning, Sigh and Vogt argues that while the legal regulation of donations did not alter much at the Reformation, the motive behind giving does and that the Reformation resulted in a new social policy where education and poor relief became a question for the state (Rønning/Sigh/Vogt: 2017, Introduction). This shows the need to be aware of how religion shows and where to look for changes in discussing the impact of confession. 6 Both scholars of the early modern poor relief system, as Gorski, and of the modern welfare state, as van Kersbergen and Manow, points at this tendency (Kersbergen/Manow: 2009). Studies of poor relief and social disciplining in reformed and Anglican countries are still often seen as covering all protestant areas, leaving out specific studies of social relief in the Nordic Lutheran Countries. 7 Gorski: 2003; Molle: 2017. Grell points to the lack of research in poor and sick relief in the Nordic countries (Grell: 1997); Kersbergen/Manow: 2009; Collections like Safley (ed): 2003, shows the main focus on catholic and reformed areas in the research on early modern poor relief. 8 Ole Peter Grell and Andrew Cunningham point to the difference in organization of the poor relief in the evangelic-Lutheran and the reformed areas and Grell further argues for the influence from Luther to the humanistic tradition in question of social responsibility and the importance of good work in the Lutheran tradition (Grell/Cunningham: 1997). Karlo Arffmann has argued that the Reformation was a revolution of help, pointing at a major shift in attitude after the peasants’ war, when it became clear that good works, didn’t follow from preaching of the Gospel without organisation (Arffmann: 2019). Tim Lorentzen has advocated for seeing Johannes Bugenhagen as a reformer of public care (Lorentzen: 2008).

Introduction

The idea of connecting Lutheran social teaching to the question of poor relief, especially in a Nordic context, has been supported by welfare states studies. While investigations into social relief in the early modern Lutheran states are scarce, there has been a much strong international interest in the roots of the supposed “Nordic welfare state”. Today’s welfare systems differ in distributions of rights as well as understandings of social responsibility, and even though religion only to a very limited extent plays a visible role in these systems, research has emphasised how the different European welfare models have followed confessional lines.9 The Nordic countries share a long and strong connection between the Lutheran church and the state. This has created a scholarly interest in the possible connections between the Lutheran state church and the formation of the Nordic welfare model. Studies have pointed to the similarity between central elements in Lutheran theology and the ideology of the Nordic welfare states, as well as its influence on the organization of state and society, approaches in which the long historical perspective are important. Others have focused on the role of the church in the twentieth-century debate of the welfare state.10

9 Kersbergen and Manow address how differences between welfare systems have been seen as a result of the labour movement, the way in which the church (especially the Catholic) has collaborated with political parties in the twentieth century, and how the supposed movement of secularizations, caused especially by Protestantism, has left social care and responsibility to the state. They highlight the need to include the impact from different confessions in the study of the development of the welfare state through historical perspectives and emphasize the importance of different national and political contexts. However, they stay with studying the relation between church and state and focus on the contribution from the church to political party policy and correlations (Kersbergen/Manow: 2009). An exception in their volume is Kahl’s study of how confessional understandings of care for the poor correlate with welfare models (Kahl: 2009). 10 Markkola gives an overview of this research (2011). She concludes that “by stressing poor relief as a collective responsibility the Lutheran churches have paved the way for a later understanding where the well-being of an individual is a public matter” (2011, 108). In 2014, Markkola and Neumann pointed to how the development of the Nordic Welfare States often have been explained by the strong Labour movement in combination with the political dominance of the social democrats, leaving out Lutheranism as explanation (Makkola/Neumann: 2014). One way to approach the influence from Lutheranism has been to focus on the contribution from the church and Lutheran theologians to the debate of public social responsibility and the welfare model in the 20th century, broadening out the approach in much welfare research on party politics to include public debate in different settings (Markkola/Neumann: 2014). In 1997, several contributions in the agenda setting, The Cultural Construction of Norden (Sørensen/ Stråth), argued for the connection between the Nordic Welfare state and Lutheranism. Here, Østergård approached the ideology of the Nordic Social Democrats as secularized Lutheranism, pointing at this as the ideological foundation of the Nordic Welfare model. The argument has later been developed by Nelson (2017). The impact of Lutheran theology on poor relief legislation in the historical development in Denmark has more directly been followed by Petersen (2016) and Koefoed (2017). Another approach to the importance of the long historical perspective is represented by Knudsen, arguing for the importance of the collaboration between the

11

12

Nina Javette Koefoed, Andrew G. Newby

Comparative studies have often discussed the local organization of the relief, the demand for work, and the division between the worthy and unworthy poor.11 In Denmark, too, there has been a strong tradition of emphasizing the continuity from before the Reformation and the similarities in the understanding of work, and worthy/unworthiness. Danish research in early modern poor relief is marked by a tendency to see Denmark in the light of a European and international development, not only emphasizing likeness with other European countries, but also drawing research questions more from the international research that from the possible specific Danish case (See e.g., Riis: 1997; Petersen: 1997; Jensen: 2004). Further, Danish research have emphasised the influence from enlightenment on the development of poor relief in the nineteenth century as a break with a possible religious foundation of poor relief (See e.g., Henningsen: 2008, 325–363). The nineteenth century saw a rise in philanthropy all over Europe and debate of the role of the state compared with private initiatives and civil society in relation to the poor, as well as discussion of the relationship between church and state in social questions. This development was connected to secularization, democratization, and the new role of the political citizen (See e.g., Cowman/ Koefoed/Karlsson Sjögren: 2014). As pointed out by Molle, the Nordic Lutheran countries, and especially Denmark and Norway, were distinguished by a high degree of collaboration between church and state in the social questions, making the poor the responsibility of the state and the citizen. This did not mean however that philanthropy in general, or religiously-motivated poor relief, did not also play a role (Molle: 2017). In order to understand the influence of confession, comparison might not be the answer. As pointed out by Gorski, many different factors influenced the question of the poor, and it is difficult to isolate the role of religion (Gorski: 2003, 125–137). There are, moreover, other questions we need to consider when investigating the influence of confession on poor relief and welfare systems. First and foremost, we need to know what we are investigating and discussing. What is the timeframe? Do we talk about the period around (and just after) the Reformation? Or the development of poor relief in Early Modern Europe as part of state building? Are we interested in the transition from early modern into the modern period with democratization? Or is the focus to be on twentieth-century welfare models? Another question is what we consider to be poor relief. Many studies focus on caring for the poor in a strict sense of giving alms and food. The picture changes,

Lutheran church and the state in the early development of a strong local administration (2000). See also Petersen (2003). 11 See Gorski (2003, 114–155) for an overview of this research and its main discussions. Safley talks about the problem of generalizing the motives and aims behind early modern European poor relief (2003, 1–14, 193–199). See also Molle: 2017. For a comparative perspective, Newby and Myllyntaus: 2015, 145–65 (150–5).

Introduction

however, if we include not only health care, but also education, work, and family policy, elements of many modern welfare state systems, but also of early modern poor relief. If we are interested in path dependencies and how confessional elements informed the development from early modern poor relief to modern welfare states, it might be important to include the question of responsibility. Who were responsible for the poor, theoretically and in practice? And for whom, exactly, were they responsible? It could be hypothesized, that the legislation for and organization of poor relief would be affected in the long run if the state authorities were responsible instead of the church. Likewise, confessional differences in what the responsibility consisted of may have impacted the legislation and organization of poor relief. As studies of donations have shown (Sigh: 2017), the same act could have different motivations and needs to be understood differently. This might also have been the case when we examine institutions as such poorhouses or workhouses. Does the existence of the same institutions in different territories have the same implications and influence on the development of social politics?

The contributions This book contributes to these discussions by investigating: firstly, what the obligation to care for the poor meant in a Lutheran confessional context; secondly, how this obligation was carried out in Nordic countries, where Lutheranism became the state religion at the Reformation; and, thirdly, how the obligation transformed and developed in the nineteenth century with the modernization and democratization which produced the Nordic welfare states. In the first article, Johannes Bugenhagen and King Christian III in the Scandinavian Reformation, Esther Chung-Kim examines the connection between the Wittenberg theologians and the Danish King Christian III, who implemented the Reformation and Lutheranism as the state religion in Denmark. Her focus on the correspondence between King Christian III and Johannes Bugenhagen, who came to Denmark and assisted in the drafting of the Danish Church Order, brings their collaborations – and the role played by Bugenhagen in informing the Danish Reformation – to the forefront. In Bugenhagen’s vision, the Reformation included social responsibility for church, schools, and poverty alleviation. To him, theological reform included social responsibility for the poor. Specifically, he promoted the training and leadership of pastors, installed social responsibility for education by repairing university buildings, making recommendations for professors, giving lectures, and serving as rector himself. The correspondence between Bugenhagen and Christian III lasted throughout their lives and the relationship between Bugenhagen and Christian III portrays a fascinating example of the close collaboration

13

14

Nina Javette Koefoed, Andrew G. Newby

between reformer and ruler in early modern Europe. Under their leadership, local and national administrations were centralized. Bugenhagen had a concrete understanding of the social responsibility as part of the Reformation and worked to implement it through his church ordinances, and his correspondence with Christian III. In his contribution, Justification and Care: Reformation images of social responsibility, Christian Neddens investigates the relation between justification and care for the poor through central images of justifications and ‘alms panels’. Through an exemplary selection of pictorial motifs from Lutheran alms panels of the sixteenth to eighteenth centuries, he shows how the core imaginary of religious existence in Lutheranism – the doctrine of justification by grace – also shaped social care. Departing from three types of justification metaphors: the encounter with Christ Crucified, the marriage motif, and the parent–child metaphor, visible in the Reformation paintings by Cranach and his contemporaries, Neddens argues that intimacy, corporeality, attentiveness, caring, and responsibility come into view here, at the heart of Lutheran faith. Furthermore, he contends that the relation between Christ and the sinner is crucial in these images – as well as the solidarity among sinners, who are equally dependent on God’s grace. These core metaphors show two crucial points: social responsibility, firstly, as motivated just in the mercy of God; and secondly, as something natural, vivid, and interpersonal, something based on the needs of those who live close to us. Neddens further demonstrates how Lutheran alms panels reflect these core motifs. At the same time, they also reflect the difficulty of wishing to motivate community members to care on the one hand, while on the other hand avoiding the resurgence of any ideas of cooperation in salvation or of meritorious good works, both of which are highly contradictory to the social imaginary of Lutheranism. As demonstrated in Chung-Kim’s contribution, which emphasizes the role played by Bugenhagen in defining social responsibility as an element in the Reformation, the Wittenberg theology and ‘Lutheranism’, consisted of more than Martin Luther’s writings. In his contribution, Against the Busybodies: Philipp Melanchthon and the “Protestant Work Ethic”, David C. Fink addresses another core element of Protestantism and Lutheranism – work – through the writings of Philipp Melanchthon. He focuses on the distinctive contribution of Philipp Melanchthon to the Lutheran theology of vocation (Beruf ) and demonstrates that theological reflection on work and the ethics of work became an important feature of Melanchthon’s work as a reformer of churches and schools. Fink argues that Melanchthon’s approach to the question differs in important respects from that of Luther, especially in his willingness to elaborate a Protestant ethical idiom drawn from the virtue ethics of the Aristotelian tradition. He shows how Melanchthon abandoned the medieval vocabulary of sloth and charity and instead developed a more fully “secular” account of work centred on the virtue of sedulitas as the mean between the extremes of idleness and excessive industriousness. In this way, Melanchthon’s contribution to

Introduction

the formation of a Protestant work ethic may help to explain important differences between Lutheran and Reformed mentalities vis-à-vis work and the emergence of a capitalist work ethic unbounded by social or ethical norms.  Going back to the Danish case as a concrete example of the development of a Lutheran early modern poor relief, Marie Nørby Pedersen, in her chapter, Christian relief for the poor in Early Modern Denmark, examines how the Danish kings and their councils interpreted the state’s social responsibilities towards its poorest subjects through social legislation from 1536–1708, and discusses the impact of Lutheran social teachings on Danish social policy. She shows how King Christian III incorporated care for the poor as a kingly responsibility with the Reformation. She examines how care for the poor was understood both as supporting those who were incapable of work in hospitals, through poor chests and by permitted begging in the parishes, and as educating poor children and adults in religion and work. A key proponent of social policy was to demand that everybody worked towards the common good. Pedersen argues that the Danish kings and councils saw it as their responsibility to include both the so-called ‘undeserving’ and ‘deserving’ poor, stipulating varying forms of care and discipline according to individual need and situation. Drawing on notions of parental responsibility within Lutheran social teachings, they had a responsibility to care for the needy and decent poor as well as to care and discipline the unseemly and unwilling poor. All the nations in the modern “Nordic region” were essentially mono-confessional Lutheran kingdoms in the early modern period. In their contribution, Piety and prayers: religion in the lives of the indoor poor in Finland, 1600–1960s, Johanna Annola and Riikka Miettinen shift the focus of this collection from Denmark towards Finland, and from legislation and the intentions of rulers, towards the experiences and everyday life with religion in institutions housing the poor. They also expand the period of investigation from the early modern into the modern. They demonstrate how Lutheran norms and ideals prescribed by the Church and state authorities shaped everyday religious practice, creating the preconditions for religious experience within the poor relief institutions. The long period covered by their chapter entails many significant continuities and changes in the norms and practice of religion in the hospitals, poorhouses, and retirement homes. Various communal religious services, and attendant spiritual literature, were provided for the indoor poor throughout the period, while church attendance and prayers turned from mandatory to voluntary. Annola and Miettinen argue that although religious practice continued to play a major role in the lives of the poor throughout the period they investigate, the forms and number of compulsory religious observances reduced. The clerical presence and functions in the poor relief institutions diminished, and many of the religious activities previously presided over by clergy became the responsibility of the lay staff. These long-term changes reflect

15

16

Nina Javette Koefoed, Andrew G. Newby

the overall modernisation and secularisation of society in Finland, as well as the professionalisation of social care work over time. Returning a Danish case study, Nina J. Koefoed, in her contribution, Lutheran social responsibility and the early Danish welfare state, examines Danish poor laws from the early-eighteenth century until late-nineteenth century and argues that Lutheran ideas of social responsibility established a path dependency from the early modern religiously framed poor-relief legislation to the universal principles central to the modern Danish welfare state. The first democratic constitution in 1849, that turned poor relief and education into constitutional rights and established poor relief as the responsibility of the new political citizen, is seen as an important step in this process. Koefoed argues that social responsibility towards all poor persons as a public matter – financed through public means and administered locally and according to state legislation – reflects a Lutheran heritage. This same heritage also underpinned the ambition to educate and improve the recipient of social funding, as well as the obligation to work placed on the recipient. Thus, her contribution demonstrates that central aspects of poor relief legislation, formerly seen as a result of Enlightenment, were present both in religiously legitimated legislation before the Enlightenment and were central to Lutheran theology. In his contribution, “Brothers of the Nordic Tribe”. Danish Famine Aid to Sweden and Finland 1867–68, Andrew G. Newby explores some of the ways in which Danish philanthropy extended beyond Denmark’s own national and imperial borders in the mid-nineteenth century. Newby argues that, by extending the metaphor of the ‘Lutheran household’, these famine relief campaigns demonstrated that Lutheran philanthropy, or poor relief, was capable to extension beyond the local or national level. The 1860s have been identified as a high-water mark for voluntary philanthropy in Denmark, and Newby employs the concept of ‘psychological proximity’ to examine the incorporation of Sweden and Finland into the Danish ingroup when it came to raising emergency aid to tackle severe famines during this decade. The Copenhagen-based relief committees aimed to raise funds by demonstrating the suffering people of Sweden and Finland were ‘brothers’ of the Danes, sometimes using ideas of Christian duty, sometimes appealing to the contemporary political phenomenon of Scandinavism, and (especially in the Finnish case) by noting occasions when these neighbours had come to the aid of Denmark. Even though the poor were understood as a public responsibility, and the church in Denmark collaborated with the state in fulfilling this obligation (and most of the time supported its policy), philanthropy and voluntary social work still played a role both in practice and in the understanding and development of poor relief. In his contribution, Lutheran doxa and Reformed action: interconfessional influence on voluntary social work in late nineteenth-century Copenhagen, Anders Sevelsted investigates the emergence of voluntary social work in Copenhagen during the second half of the nineteenth century as a case of interconfessional learning and

Introduction

adaptation. After discussing alternative approaches to confessionalization studies and introducing the concept of confessional cultural schemas as a way of studying how practices and ideas travel between confessions, he applies it to a case study of the emergence of revivalist Lutheran voluntary social work in Denmark in the second half of the nineteenth century. Sevelsted argues that Lutheran revivalists were able to resolve the paradox of reconciling good works with the radical revivalist reading of the Lutheran sola fide doctrine by adopting confessional cultural schemas from Reformed revivalist traditions regarding theological doctrine, community ideals, and disciplinary techniques. He thereby points to the need to look beyond the territorial state, to study interconfessional processes of learning adaption and imitation, and to focus on similarities and differences between confessions when discussing confessionalization and confessional culture. In the volume’s final contribution, Blind path dependencies: war and welfare in the Lutheran states, Gorm Harste discusses the emergence of the inclusive and universal Scandinavian Welfare state, often associated with Sweden in the light of the Scandinavian countries’ non-participation in the twentieth-century world wars. He goes back to the welfare policies developed among the early modern German Lutheran states and argues in a combination of a top-down and bottom-up perspective for the development of a cameral household state of Brandenburg-Prussia in East Prussia. Through imitations and synchronization, this welfare paradigm became a Lutheran forerunner for the Nordic welfare state. While early modern warfare was important for this development, Harste underlines that path dependencies of the modern Scandinavian welfare paradigm not only goes back to the Lutheran household state of the sixteenth to eighteenth centuries, but also are dependent on a relative welfare surplus due to the non-participation in the world wars. ******* The contributions in this volume enter the debate about the possible impact from specific confessions on the organization of poor relief from different perspectives. They bring new perspectives to the understanding of theological aspects of Lutheranism as connection between justification by faith alone and care for the poor, and work and work ethics, along with studies of the implementation of social responsibility of the authority towards different categories of poor (‘worthy’ and ‘unworthy’), of local administration and centralization of poor relief through connections of public and private sources of funding, and of collaboration between state, church and civil society through different public and private aspects of poor relief. In this way the various contributions combine in an aim to demonstrate new ways in the study of connections between confessional specifics and historical developments through detailed knowledge of theology, supported by concrete historical case studies.

17

18

Nina Javette Koefoed, Andrew G. Newby

Bibliography Arffmann, Karlo (2019), Revolution des Helfens: Der Versuch des Luthertums, die Probleme der Armut zu lösen, Münster: LIT Verlag. Cowman, Krista/Nina Javette Koefoed/Åsa Karlsson Sjögren (ed.) (2014), Gender in Urban Europe. Sites of Political Activity and Citizenship 1750–1900, New York/Oxon: Routledge. Critchlow, Donald T./Charles H. Parker (ed.) (1998), With Us Always. A history of Private Charity and Public Welfare, Lanham/Boulder/New York/Oxford: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, INC. Gorski, Philip S. (2003), The Disciplinary Revolution: Calvinism and the Rise of the State in Early Modern Europe, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Grell, Ole Peter/Andrew Cunningham (1997), The Reformation and changes in welfare provision in early modern Northern Europe, in Ole Peter Grell/Andrew Cunningham (ed.), Health Care and Poor Relief in Protestant Europe 1500–1700, London/New York: Routledge, 1–42. Grell, Ole Peter (1997), The protestant imperative of Christian Care and neighbourly love, in Ole Peter Grell/Andrew Cunningham (ed.), Health Care and Poor Relief in Protestant Europe 1500–1700, London/New York: Routledge, 43–65. Henningsen, Peter (2008), Copenhagen Poor Relief and the Problem of Poverty, ca. 1500–1800, in Søren Bitsch Christensen & Jørgen Mikkelsen (ed.), Danish Towns During Absolutism. Urbanisation and Urban life 1600–1848, Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 325–363. Jensen, Carsten Selch (2004), Byerne og de fattige – den international baggrund for den danske udvikling, in Søren Bitsch Christensen (ed.), Middelalderbyen, Aarhus: Aarhus Universitetsforlag, 295–323. Jütte, Robert (1994), Poverty and Deviance in Early Modern Europe, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kahl, Sigrun (2009), Religious Doctrines and Poor Relief: A Different Causal Pathway in Kersbergen & Manow (ed.), Religion, Class Coalitions, and Welfare States, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 267–297. Kersbergen, Kees van/Philiph Manow (2009), Religion and the Western Welfare State – The Theoretical Context, in Philip Manow/Kees Van Kersbergen (ed.), Religion, Class Coalitions, and Welfare States, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1–38. King, Steven (2019), Writing the lives of the English Poor 1750s-1830s, Montreal/Kingston/ London/Chicago: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Knudsen, Tim (2000), De nordiske statskirker og velfærdsstaterne, in Tim Knudsen (ed.) Den nordiske protestantisme og velfærdsstaten, Aarhus: Aarhus Universitetsforlag, 27–36. Koefoed, Nina Javette (2017), Social Responsibilities in the Protestant North. Denmark and Sweden, in Leen van Molle (ed.), Charity and Social Welfare. The Dynamics of

Introduction

Religious Reform in Northern Europe, 1780–1920, vol IV, Leuven: Leuven University Press, 251–280. Lis, Catharina & Hugo Soly (1979), Poverty and Capitalism in preindustrial Europe, New Jersey: Humanities Press. Lorentzen, Tim (2008), Johannes Bugenhagen als Reformator der öffentlichen Fürsorge. Tübingen; Mohr Siebeck. Markkola, Pirjo (2011), The Lutheran Nordic welfare states, in Pauli Kettunen & Klaus Petersen (ed.), Beyond Welfare State Models: Transnational Historical Perspectives on Social Policy, Cheltenham: Edward Elgar, 102–118. Markkola, Pirjo/Ingela Neumann (2014), Lutheranism and the Nordic Welfare States in Comparison, in, Journal of Church and State, Special Issue, 56, 1, 1–12. Molle, Leen van (2017), Comparing Religious Perspectives on Social Reform. An Introduction, in Leen van Molle (ed.), Charity and Social Welfare. The Dynamics of Relogious Reform in Northern Europe, 1780–1920, IV, Leuven: Leuven University Press, 7–38. Nelson, Robert (2017), Lutheranism and the Nordic Spirit of Social Democracy. A Different Protestant Ethic, Aarhus: Aarhus University Press. Newby, Andrew G. /Timo Myllntaus (2015), “The Terrible Visitation”: famine in Finland and Ireland, 1845–68, in Declan Curran/Lubomyr Luciuk/Andrew G. Newby (ed.), Famines in European Economic History, Abingdon: Routledge, 145–65. Petersen, Jørn Henrik (2016), Fra Luther til konkurrencestaten, Odense: University Press of Southern Denmark. Petersen, Klaus (ed.) (2003), 13 historier om den danske velfærdsstat, Odense: University Press of Southern Denmark. Petersen, E. Ladewig (1997), The wrath of God: Christian IV and poor relief in the wake of the Danish intervention in the Thirty Years’ War, in Ole Peter Grell/Andrew Cunningham (ed.), Health Care and Poor Relief in Protestant Europe 1500–1700, London/New York: Routledge, 147–166. Riis, Thomas (1997), Poor relief and health care provision in sixteenth-century Denmark, in Ole Peter Grell/Andrew Cunningham (ed.), Health Care and Poor Relief in Protestant Europe 1500–1700, London/New York: Routledge. Rønning, Ole-Albert/Helle Møller Sigh/Helle Vogt (ed.) (2017), Donation, Inheritance and Property in the Nordic and Western World from Late Antiquity until Today. London/New York: Routledge. Safley, Thomas Max (ed) (2003), Reformation of Charity: The Secular and the Religious in Early Modern Poor Relief, Leiden: Brill. Sigh, Helle Møller (2017), “Immortal mother and benefactor”. Honorable dwellings for unmarried noblewomen and the dynamics of donations among the Danish elite from 1699 to 1745, in Ole-Albert Rønning/Helle Møller Sigh/Helle Vogt (ed.), Donations, Inheritance and Property in the Nordic and Western World from Late Antiquity until Today, London/New York: Routledge, 251–68.

19

20

Nina Javette Koefoed, Andrew G. Newby

Sørensen, Øystein & Bo Stråth (ed.) (1997), The Cultural Construction of Norden, Oslo: Scandinavian University Press. Østergård, Uffe (1997), The Geopolitics of Nordic Identity – From Composite States to Nation States, in Øystein Sørensen/Bo Stråth (ed.), The Cultural Construction of Norden, Oslo: Scandinavian University Press, 25–71.

Esther Chung-Kim

Johannes Bugenhagen and Christian III Reforming Church and Society in Denmark The aim of this study is to highlight the relationship between Wittenberg reformer, Johannes Bugenhagen (1485–1558), and Danish king, Christian III (1503–1559), in order to demonstrate Bugenhagen’s importance for the Danish Reformation. According to Martin Schwarz Lausten, who has written extensively on the Reformation in Denmark and Christian III, Bugenhagen was a major driving force in the creation of the Danish Church Order, the coronation of the king, the ordination of the first seven Lutheran superintendents (bishops) for the Danish church, and the re-opening of the University of Copenhagen as a Lutheran university (Lausten: 2005, 126f).1 Their first meeting at the Flensburger Disputation in 1529, Christian’s recruitment of Bugenhagen’s services from 1537–1539, and their letters from the year Christian III became king in 1536 to the end of Bugenhagen’s life in 1558 show a collaborative relationship to remodel church organization, to promote the training and leadership of pastors, and to inculcate social responsibility for education and poor relief in Denmark. While several in-depth studies have brought Bugenhagen’s talent as a reformer to light, and his role in the formation of the Danish church order is well-recorded, one area that deserves further attention is his letter exchange with Christian III, especially since it lasted over 20 years. An analysis of these letters highlights an important dynamic of the Reformation, namely that the relationship between reformers and political rulers mattered for long-term social change. The letters of Bugenhagen and Christian III revealed that Bugenhagen’s imprint was not only through the Danish church order, but also through his advocacy to pull pastors and teachers out of poverty and his training and mentorship of many future Danish leaders, educated in Wittenberg and supported by the financial aid of the king. It is also notable that Bugenhagen presumed that theological reform would include a form of social responsibility for the poor; this aspect was visible from his earliest church order of the city of Braunschweig (1528). Provisions for the pastors and students were central, not only because they were two major groups of

1 Prior to the national Reformation of Denmark, Protestant interest was evident in the popularity of preaching, the critique of wealthy Roman institutions benefitting nobles and bishops, and the assemblies in Odense between 1526 and 1527 under Fredrik I that granted rights to Lutheran parishes and evangelical preachers (Lausten: 1990, 91–107).

22

Esther Chung-Kim

people facing poverty but because they were crucial for the longevity of the Danish Reformation through their leadership in churches, schools, and the university.

1.

Reform of Duchy to Reform of Kingdom

When Christian married the evangelical Dorothea of Saxony-Lauenburg in 1526, he received the small fief of Haderslev/Tørning, consisting of approximately sixty parishes. Inspired by the Diet of Speyer in Germany in 1526, which opened the possibility for all territorial rulers in Germany to order their own church affairs, Duke Christian (son of King Frederik I of Denmark) sought to establish a princely, Lutheran territorial church in his small duchy in Schleswig-Holstein, similar to the larger territorial churches in Germany. Assisted by German evangelical theologians, he set up a school for evangelical ministers in Haderslev to recruit new pastors for the evangelical ministry and to retrain the local Catholic priests. By the end of 1527, evangelical ministers had taken over most of the parish churches in the towns of Schleswig-Holstein, including the key cities of Flensburg, Haderslev, Kiel, and Schleswig (Grell: 1998, 101). In spring 1528 at the synod of the clergy of his newly acquired fief of Haderslev/Tørning, Duke Christian introduced the Haderslev Ordinance, which gave firm instructions on how the Lutheran faith should be preached, what ceremonies should be used, how the clergy were to live, and how the church should be organized. As the first evangelical Church Ordinance in Scandinavia, it depended heavily on the Wittenberg reformers and the guidance of his newly recruited evangelical ministers (Lausten: 1995, 15f). In Denmark, King Frederik I officially presented a neutral position on religious affairs, but occasionally revealed his sympathy for the evangelical cause. During Frederik I’s reign, Protestant preachers introduced the Reformation in most major towns in Denmark (ibid., 19). Because these preachers linked their evangelical theology with the call for social reform, they urged the reorganization of education and poor relief, including health care (ibid., 26f). This reorganization meant that the income from the formerly Catholic property should continue to be used for the church, albeit a new church, namely for the financial support of evangelical bishops and ministers, schools, and hospitals. When Frederik I died on April 10, 1533, the Catholic bishops and the Catholic majority in the nobility delayed the election of a new successor and temporarily ruled the Parliament (Herredag). However, a rebellion in the name of the former yet recently imprisoned king, Christian II, soon led to a civil war. The aristocracy and some of the bishops elected Frederik I’s eldest son, the Lutheran Duke Christian from Haderslev, to protect their interests, and, in July 1534, they hailed him as King Christian III of Denmark after he had guaranteed the lay aristocracy their privileges (Lausten: 2005, 125).

Johannes Bugenhagen and Christian III

When Christian III emerged victorious in the civil war by defeating his opponents on August 6, 1536, he imprisoned all the Catholic bishops and held them responsible for the war’s devastation. At the Parliament in October 1536, Christian III explained his plan for a religious change from Catholicism to Lutheranism. Since this gathering in Copenhagen included representatives from all the estates, they expressed their decisions in the parliamentary bill of October 30, 1536. Evangelical bishops, also called superintendents, replaced the Catholic bishops and had the main task of teaching and preaching the word of God and the Christian faith to the people (Lausten: 1995, 31). Seeking validation from the theologians, Christian III requested Luther’s assessment of his imprisonment of the Catholic bishops. In a letter dated Dec. 2, 1536, Luther gave his support to Christian III based on the relationship between spiritual and temporal government and the responsibility of the ruler “to halt persecution of the word of God.” (Luther: 1937, 602ff). Luther also advised the king to use the sequestered property of the bishops to support the fledging evangelical churches. Luther did not support the enrichment of rulers but rather sought continuity in the support for the churches with the key difference of royal support switching from former Catholic institutions to new Lutheran ones. Luther’s colleague and friend, Johannes Bugenhagen would go to Denmark and organize a plan for these new churches and schools. Like Luther, he would repeatedly press for church resources to be earmarked for instituting church reform. By September 1537, the coronation and anointing of the royal couple in a Protestant ceremony conducted by Johannes Bugenhagen, Christian III’s signing of the new Lutheran Church ordinance, Bugenhagen’s ordination of seven new Lutheran bishops or superintendents, and the reopening of the University of Copenhagen as a Lutheran university marked the creation of a state-sponsored Lutheran Church in Denmark (Lausten: 2005, 32). Christian III started his political rule from a small-scale duchy and expanded it to encompass a kingdom where he would rule as king of Denmark-Norway and its acquired territories. At his crowning, he expressed that the authority came from God for him to rule the church in his land (Lausten: 1984, 151). He amassed the power and money of the former ecclesiastical institutions, their jurisdiction and disciplinary executive power, and the authority to monitor theological writings and the installation of prayer days (ibid., 163). Hence, Christian III became involved in the decisions regarding the fate of the churches in his territories. Unlike in Germany, the combination of political ambition and religious power coalesced in the person of the king in Denmark. The combination of the ousted king Christian II, Frederik I’s permissiveness of evangelical preachers, and the victory of Christian III in the civil war enabled Christian III to centralize his authority and to merge the goal of establishing his kingly reign with the goals of the Reformation in Denmark. Despite the limited use of confiscated church property for clerical salaries, Christian III expressed a great personal responsibility for the Lutheran church in Denmark

23

24

Esther Chung-Kim

and saw himself as the father of the superintendents (Lausten: 2002, 118ff). As an advisor to the king regarding the Lutheran reform movement, Bugenhagen encouraged the king to support a lasting Reformation in Denmark.

2.

Cooperation between Bugenhagen and King Christian III

In 1537 when Bugenhagen ordained the superintendents of the church to oversee the national ecclesiastical system, they became direct representatives of the King (Lorentzen: 2008, 38). This break with Rome meant that the new Protestant church would be a part of the state, both legally and economically (Grell/Lyby: 1995, 115). With this decision, Christian III needed capable Lutheran ministers to implement the reform. Many of his letters contained invitations to Lutheran ministers to fill vacant bishoprics and to assist him in the religious reform of his country. During the early years of the Reformation, the scarcity of educated pastors meant either recruiting from outside of Denmark or sending local students abroad to get a master’s degree in preparation for an important post in the church (Grane: 1990, 165). Wittenberg became one of the main destinations for Danish students, often supported financially by the king and under the care, training, and mentorship of Melanchthon or Bugenhagen (ibid., 171). As a result, Bugenhagen was in a position to recommended qualified candidates to become teachers, ministers, professors, court chaplains, or superintendents (bishops) in Denmark. Although King Christian had invited Bugenhagen to Denmark in August 1536, Elector John Frederick only agreed to Christian’s second request on April 17, 1537. Along with family members and assistants, including Peder Palladius and Tilemann Hesshusen, Bugenhagen arrived in Copenhagen on July 5, 1537. What started out as a five-month leave of absence would turn into a nearly two-year stint of reforming the church and university in Denmark. The cooperation between ruler and reformer emerged from their shared commitment to the Reformation gospel as the basis for church reform (Leder: 2002, 430). Hence, Bugenhagen fully expected to work in collaboration with the existing political leadership. Bugenhagen saw at firsthand King Christian III’s conviction as a determined Lutheran ruler who studied Lutheran books to be well-informed about theological matters. In the king’s letters to Bugenhagen and other Wittenberg reformers, a common request was for books that had the Wittenberg reformers’ seal of approval (Bugenhagen: 1888, 283). Based on his experience of reform in other places, Bugenhagen believed that the success of the Reformation largely depended on the combination of such a conviction with political authority (Leder: 2002, 367f). Like most Lutheran reformers, Bugenhagen accepted the opinion that the duty of the secular government is to establish and maintain true religion because it promoted public peace and order. The king’s responsibility was to secure the continuous prac-

Johannes Bugenhagen and Christian III

tice of all ecclesiastical functions (Grell/Lyby: 1995, 116). In the implementation of religious reform, Bugenhagen emphasized the responsibility of the state to care for churches and schools, its employees, and the poor. Bugenhagen’s 1536 letter emphasized and encouraged the king to have reserves earmarked for supporting churches, their ministries, and the social welfare programs (Bugenhagen: 1888, 142f). With the expectation that Christian III would be a good ruler, Bugenhagen included in all his letters to Christian a pastoral prayer of intercession to God for the king, his family, his country and his people, while the king requested intercession for himself as well as his family, country, and people. Each wanted the other to succeed. The king centralized much of the former ecclesial resources of the Catholic Church into the crown’s treasury for the sake of establishing a national Lutheran Church. In the process, the king became the head of the church, making its ministers and pastors accountable to the monarch. This arrangement worked smoothly as long as the king’s agenda for the church aligned with the ministers’ goals. While the preachers and professors provided the religious rationale and organizational support for reform, the king appointed pastors to parishes and sometimes professors to university positions. Cooperation between reformer and ruler led to a mutual validation of each other’s authority on both spiritual and earthly matters. Bugenhagen provided religious rationale for the king’s authority from the Bible, specifically from the Israelite kings. The king took on the responsibility for the people’s well-being when God made him king over the people. This responsibility extended to physical as well as spiritual needs, including the people’s salvation. This dual responsibility meant that the king was a secular-religious ruler. While Bugenhagen upheld the king’s authority as worldly power given by God, the king approved of Bugenhagen’s reforming work as acting head superintendent. In this way, both strengthened each other’s position (Lausten: 1984, 154). 2.1

To the Pomeranian Bacon Eater: Letters between Bugenhagen and Christian III

The long trail of letters between Bugenhagen and Christian III formed the basis of their long-term relationship, bolstered by their face-to-face meetings. Some of the light-hearted comments in their letter exchange revealed their personal jokes and demonstrated that a friendly rapport had been established during their time together. For example, aware of Bugenhagen’s taste for high quality bacon, King Christian referred to Bugenhagen as the “old Pomeranian and bacon eater” (Bugenhagen: 1888, 228). While they were not equal partners and Christian III did not follow all of Bugenhagen’s suggestions, they developed a close working relationship that indicated a mutual concern for one another. Their years of collaboration

25

26

Esther Chung-Kim

emerged from a shared goal to reform the nation of Denmark and its territories for the gospel organized according to the Lutheran confession (Leder: 2002, 419). Christian III expressed his wish for Bugenhagen’s companionship, including his preaching and pastoral counsel. On multiple occasions, the Danish king tried to recruit Bugenhagen back into his service in Denmark because of Bugenhagen’s theological authority, spiritual counselling, and his effective preaching (ibid., 415). In a letter dated March 13, 1541, the king expressed his desire to have a devout Christian man as court preacher for his own spiritual and mental care, apparently sensing a loss after Bugenhagen’s departure from Denmark (Bugenhagen: 1888, 221; Leder: 2002, 422). The king’s desire for spiritual guidance and pastoral counselling revealed an additional side of Bugenhagen’s contribution as reformer-pastor, most noticeably in his pastoral support of the reigning monarch of Denmark. In the same letter, Christian III continued to request news on the church and political developments from Wittenberg as well as relevant ecclesiastical and theological literature. He wanted to make sure that all the books he received had the approval of the Wittenberg reformers and that the incoming reports regarding the empire came from the Wittenberg point of view. More than three times in Christian’s letters between January and August 1544, he requested Bugenhagen to visit him since the Danish king greatly desired to have the Wittenberg reformer at his side during times of danger and stress (Leder: 2002, 420). In Christian’s letter to Bugenhagen on January 29, 1544, he inquired when would be the best time for Bugenhagen to come and see him since he would like to see him again in person (Bugenhagen: 1888, 280). However, Bugenhagen needed more than a personal reason to visit King Christian and noted the cost and time as well as his own health in his aging years (Leder: 2002, 421f). Nevertheless, Bugenhagen continued to serve as a counsellor and advocate for the reforms of the church in Denmark and its duchies. During the breaks in letter exchange, such as during the Schmalkaldic War and Christian’s illnesses, both sides commented on their expectation of continuous communication and complained when they did not hear from the other (Bugenhagen: 1888, 381).2 In his October 30, 1554 letter to Christian, Bugenhagen expressed his disappointment and hurt that no one had written him about Christian’s illness although it lasted many months. In response, Christian acknowledged that he was very sick for eight months and did not write for so long due to his illness (Bugenhagen: 1888, 549). King Christian’s letter to Bugenhagen on March 4, 1556 demonstrated his long-lasting connection with the Wittenberg reformer. While 2 Christian considered it strange that Bugenhagen had not written to him in a long time, which was about two months, particularly during what he considered dangerous times in Germany. Bugenhagen assured Christian that they (Melanchthon and Bugenhagen) had not forgotten about him (Bugenhagen: 1888, 419).

Johannes Bugenhagen and Christian III

others had turned away from Bugenhagen in the aftermath of the Augsburg Interim and the conflicts with the Gnesio-Lutherans, King Christian not only continued to keep up their correspondence, which Bugenhagen would have found encouraging in trying times, but also confirmed that he would provide the pension for him and his family (Bugenhagen: 1888, 561).3 The frequency and content of their letters, Bugenhagen’s promises of daily intercession for the king and his family, and Christian III’s continuous financial support along with his unrelenting invitation to Bugenhagen show a level of commitment not only to the success of the Reformation but to each other. Their common purpose to establish and uphold Lutheran reform in the churches became the crux of their relationship, developing over time into a friendship supported by this regular exchange of letters until Bugenhagen’s death. 2.2

Bugenhagen’s Visit to Denmark for Coronation and Reform

During his stay in Denmark (1537–1539), Bugenhagen provided a structure for the Reformation in the kingdoms of Denmark and Norway by crowning the king at the royal coronation, ordaining the superintendents, completing the church order, and re-founding the university. On August 12, 1537 at Christian’s request, Bugenhagen appeared as acting bishop for the coronation of the king and queen of DenmarkNorway. In preparation for the crowning of Christian III and his wife Dorothea as King and Queen of Denmark in Copenhagen, Bugenhagen wrote a manual titled Ein Christlicher Unterricht für die erwelten Konyg und Kongyn zu Denemarck vor jrer Konyglichen Kronung (A Christian Instruction for the earthly King and Queen of Denmark for their Coronation). After the coronation, Bugenhagen published a complete account of the occasion in Wie König Christian III von Dänemark und seine Gemahlin Dorothea gesalbt und gekrönt worden sind (How King Christian III of Denmark and his wife Dorothea were anointed and crowned), which revealed two versions of Bugenhagen’s liturgies for the coronation. The original liturgy, a complete and detailed version, showed a definite relation to the Roman Catholic mass in detail and wording, while the other shortened liturgy, which actually took place, revealed numerous abbreviations for a smoother implementation of the coronation procedure, such that the Holy Communion and the sermon were omitted (Bergsma: 1966, 127f).4

3 Christian III would die within a year of Bugenhagen’s passing. 4 Bugenhagen in his liturgical endeavors attempted to utilize as much of the Roman Mass as was possible while still keeping true to the evangelical theology. Bugenhagen also suggested the use of students in the worship services when available and desired to include children in the worship services with specific special parts of the liturgy for them where elementary schools had been established (Novak: 1974, 160ff).

27

28

Esther Chung-Kim

Bugenhagen, who had not yet received episcopal ordination, performed the coronation of the king and queen, while the king with sword in hand, read the text for the day and promised to use both the sword and the gospel for the benefit of the people (Lausten: 1995, 35). While Luther’s doctrine of clear separation of two kingdoms faded into the background, Bugenhagen applied Melanchthon’s concept of two kingdoms, which expressed the patriarchal religious concept of the prince’s role as political ruler from Erasmus (ibid., 35f). The royal prefaces to the church ordinances for Denmark and Schleswig-Holstein reflected Melanchthon’s principles articulated in Bugenhagen’s words, namely to promote proper Christian worship and guarantee the existence of a just society. As the theological and ecclesiastical advisor to the King, Bugenhagen assumed the main responsibility for setting up the goals and structures of the Danish church order (Kirkeordinansen: 1989; Leder: 2002, 374). His influence in Denmark had extensive repercussions for church policy because the church order served not only as the guide, but also the limit for church policies in the midst of dissension (Grane: 1990, 182). In addition to reforming the church, Bugenhagen sought to revive the University in Copenhagen. During the country’s tumultuous civil war, the University, founded in 1479 and declining since the 1520s, had closed. The request to reopen the University came with the Danish church order in 1537 and its doors reopened on September 9, 1537. Bugenhagen took the lead in setting up the teaching and structure of the University, modelled after the university in Wittenberg. With much work needed to restart and reorganize the institution, Bugenhagen received an extension to lengthen his stay. He devoted much of his energies guiding and advising the reform of the university. For example, in November 1537, Bugenhagen wrote to the King that the university buildings needed repairs since the windows were broken and the carpenters were still working on the benches, and they needed someone to coordinate the repairs (Bugenhagen: 1888, 157). After his departure, Bugenhagen continued to make recommendations for court chaplains and professors at the University, such as in 1542 when Bugenhagen identified three teachers, including Petrus Paulinus to the king as men worthy of being promoted to a professorship (Bugenhagen: 1888, 236; Grane: 1990, 174). In his study of monastery churches and parish organization in Denmark, Per Seesko noted, along with the priority of providing parishes with resident clergy, the importance placed on the education of future clergy and the resources to finance this education (2019, 289). According to the letter of foundation for the re-opened University of Copenhagen from 1539, the remaining monasteries were to become monastic schools, in accordance with the church order, for the education of poor young men (ibid., 288). Through much of the second half of the sixteenth century, these monasteries supported the educational reform in Denmark, most notably in their new responsibility to hire a theologian to give lectures at the monastery school. Moreover, in 1541, the king demanded from 12 monasteries throughout the country that they extend their support to students

Johannes Bugenhagen and Christian III

at the University of Copenhagen (ibid.). The university did not lose its ecclesiastical character after the Reformation, in spite of it becoming the responsibility of the state. It only changed confession, administration, and curriculum. While giving lectures and even serving as rector for a time at the university, Bugenhagen also translated the Wittenberg Visitations Instruktion into Latin. This instruction served as a manual to clarify evangelical theology, including the teachings of the two sacraments for the Danish church and helped to reinforce the Danish ties with Wittenberg (Novak: 1974, 129).5 He mandated that new German, Latin, and Danish curriculum for the university required the prior approval of the superintendents. Although this approval procedure was abolished five years later in the Schleswig-Holstein order because of practical enforcement problems, Bugenhagen’s required texts were the essential books for rural parish libraries: The Bible; Luther’s sermons; Melanchthon’s Apology of the Augsburg Confession and Loci Communes; an interpretation of Luther’s Small Catechism; the Saxon Visitation Instructions; and the Danish church order itself (Leder: 2002, 369). 2.3

Church Orders for Denmark-Norway 1537–1539 and Schleswig-Holstein 1542

Following his coronation, Christian III declared the Danish church order as law and set about commissioning seven new Lutheran superintendents to replace the Catholic bishops he had disempowered. Although Wittenberg theologians had already revised a preliminary draft of the Danish order, Christian III recruited Bugenhagen’s help to prepare the final version of the church order during his stay in Copenhagen. Covering doctrine, ceremonies, schools, pastors’ income, the funding for poor relief and hospitals, superintendents, and the books for parish ministers, the 1537 Latin version recognized magisterial authority as ordained by God (Larson: 2010, 411). In the preamble, the so-called King’s Letter, Bugenhagen noted that God had given the king personal insight into the Lutheran gospel (Leder: 2002, 371). With the king as the sole authority over the spiritual and secular orders of his realm, the church and the state together would regulate a subject’s spiritual and earthly existence (Larson: 2010, 413). Bugenhagen knew the dangers, especially the frequent temptation of personal enrichment through secularization of former church properties or the risk of being theologically domineered by a secular authority. However, considering the crucial task of presenting the Reformation gospel in an orderly form in the kingdoms of Denmark and Norway, Bugenhagen saw his cooperation with the king as collaboration in a shared vision (Leder: 2002, 368).

5 Bugenhagen also undertook a new Latin translation of the Psalms for the many worshipers who could not understand the German language.

29

30

Esther Chung-Kim

In the King’s Letter, Bugenhagen explained that the first draft of the Danish church order had been approved by Luther and the Wittenberg reformers, while he was responsible for finishing the order. Once the Imperial Council approved the Danish church order, it had the backing of the highest teaching authority of the developing Lutheran Church and the highest political entity next to the king (Leder: 2002, 371). According to Bugenhagen, God’s order was concerned with the right proclamation of the gospel, the right administration of the sacraments, the right teaching of the children, and the right care of the clergy, pastoral staff, and the poor (ibid.). The king’s order carried out God’s order, since the king’s order corresponded to the divine order and was oriented toward God’s order, so that the order’s legitimacy came from the fact that the power of the king was invested to him by God (Lausten: 1984, 157). This view was what the coronation sought to exemplify with the crowning as the ritual to legitimize the transfer of power given by God, like an anointing. Yet the king could not manage the reform of the churches alone, therefore, Bugenhagen served as acting archbishop and head superintendent in his work of coordinating new appointments and responding to questions and problems throughout his time in Copenhagen (Leder: 2002, 384). While the earlier church orders followed a pattern of three main parts, the Danish order contained six main parts, including sections on the gospel and preachers, ceremonies, schools, provosts and required books, superintendents, and the common chest for poor relief. The most remarkable feature of this church order, though not singularly authored by Bugenhagen but significantly processed and authorised by him, is the striking characteristic of placing the power of the worldly ruler over the church (Leder: 2002, 366). Bugenhagen did not seem to object to Christian’s push to lead the church as the ruler of the country because he was convinced that the king followed the model of a good Lutheran ruler who sought to establish true religion. Based on Bugenhagen’s experience, he believed that the fate of the Reformation depended on combining the desire and conviction for evangelical reform with political will. Since the foundation of the Schmalkaldic League, it had been clear that the development of Protestantism did not only depend on the views of reform-minded preachers and the reasoning of theologians but also on political means of power to protect and preserve the changes against latent anti-reformatory trends (ibid., 368). On June 9, 1539, the Parliament in Odense formally confirmed the revised church ordinance in its final Danish version (Den rette ordinans), sealed by the Imperial Council as law of the land (ibid., 404). On July 4, 1539, Bugenhagen returned to Wittenberg. In a brief report the next day to the Elector concerning the Diet of Odense and his work in Denmark, he summarized his assessment from the last two years saying that he had never been anywhere with as much preaching and diligent prayers as in Denmark, so that he could claim, “this is my joy and pleasure, which I have helped and won…” (Bugenhagen: 1888, 197). Bugenhagen’s

Johannes Bugenhagen and Christian III

work in Denmark, namely to bind the king to the church and the university as formally possible to the Reformation gospel, was a milestone for the consolidation of the Reformation in northern Europe (Leder: 2002, 407). Yet Bugenhagen was aware of continued resistance to Protestant reform in many areas. During his stay and afterward, Bugenhagen addressed the countervailing forces that resisted religious reform. For example, Bugenhagen reported to the king that some men conspired with the bishop of Lübeck and some of the council members for the priests in Lübeck to go back to their old religious practices in the next few weeks; meanwhile rumors are insisting that the king is protecting and shielding such matters, which Bugenhagen knew to be false (Bugenhagen: 1888, 198). He urged the king to intervene in quelling these attacks against Lutheran reform, since they were confusing to the people and detrimental to the Reformation. Bugenhagen’s acknowledgement that a godly prince promoted true religion reflected the situation in Germany where religious reformers needed the princes to intervene as the Reformation movement encountered resistance, fragmentation, and radicalization. Because he saw Christian III as an ally in the reform movement, Bugenhagen accepted the king’s position to assume the responsibility and authority to promote a church order that would provide an ecclesiastical standard for all the churches under his jurisdiction. In some ways, this political support was the pastor’s compromise. While this transfer of power would ensure the survival of the church, Christian III retained full control of church finances, not to mention ecclesiastical legislation and discipline (Lausten: 1995, 36). Because Christian needed the political support of the nobility, the king’s compromise was to uphold the nobles’ privileges to the detriment of the new pastors. In the 1537 church order, Bugenhagen and his commission had suggested that the nobles now ought to pay church tithes just as the urban citizens and rural peasants did, but the royal secretary crossed out this suggestion and, according to the nobles’ wishes, recorded that the nobles would “retain their immunity from the tithe” and pay their priests “whatever they think best.” (Lausten: 2002, 112). The meagre salaries for superintendents and pastors would make them poor at “starvation wages” (Larson: 2010, 413). Although Lutheran superintendents were responsible for preaching the gospel, the notion of preaching the gospel was construed rather loosely and they ended up engaging in a broad range of activities. They provided guidance to ministers and their congregations, as well as preached in the cathedral towns where they resided. They served as the king’s theological advisors and supervised the new system of education and social welfare. Because the Danish church order had mandated the construction of schools in all townships, the church superintendents aided in the setting up of these Latin schools, since they were some of the most educated people in the region. A new generation of children from the families of married clergy populated the schools and provided the teachers, so that roughly 60% of the headmasters in the sixteenth century were sons of clergyman (Grane: 1990,

31

32

Esther Chung-Kim

173; Jørgensen: 1957–58, 49). Insufficient funds plagued the salaries of teachers and the development of the schools in the early decades of the Reformation until Frederik II, in around 1570, shored up teachers’ salaries and scholarships for poor students (Grane: 1990, 172). For centuries, because the church had promoted a complex system to care for the poor through alms and bequests, the role of the church proved impossible to eliminate. The new church order delineated a poor fund comprised of alms, bequests, estates of defunct fraternities, guilds, and vicarships (Larson: 2010, 415), and included the organization of schools, which in effect became the educational law in Denmark (Lausten: 1995, 36f). Although town councils received orders from the king to establish and fund schools, the inspection and supervision of the schools was carried out jointly by the superintendents and the royal administrators, recruited from the nobility (ibid., 37f). Likewise, the administration of the poor relief fund became a shared responsibility among the superintendents, fief holders, provosts, town preachers, and town councils (Larson: 2010, 415). Bugenhagen included the basis of social welfare reform in the church orders because poor relief was a major component of the churches’ ministry and pastoral care, and the financial stability of institutions was crucial to the longevity of the Reformation goals. He believed that the establishment of a poor relief program was an indication of how far the Reformation had progressed (Bugenhagen: 1888, 78). Although poor relief became the responsibility of local lay authority, its rationale remained religious, supported by theological justification of work as service to God and the Christian call to love one’s neighbour. In Bugenhagen’s vision, charity was considered a general obligation of all Christians as an expression of neighbourly love. Following the German example, the Danish church order designated a plan for a common chest in each diocese that incorporated donations as well as the property and income from dissolved Catholic confraternities. The responsibility for creating the common chest fell to the church superintendents who, together with the royal administrators, were responsible for its management and for appointing the staff who would supervise and operate the ongoing duties of the common chest (Lausten: 1995, 32). While the mendicant houses in urban centres were given to poor relief, the wealthiest charitable institutions, i.e., the rural monasteries and their vast wealth were not left as charitable endowments but were appropriated by the crown or by the aristocracy (Riis: 1997, 141). While some of the urban Franciscan houses became charitable institutions, much of the resources from the confiscation of church property and its related revenues were absorbed by the crown or members of the aristocracy. For additional poor relief revenues, church leaders encouraged the population to give generously to the poor. Peder Palladius (1503–60), the first Lutheran bishop of Zealand and influential theologian in the Danish Reformation, asserted that people would be rewarded or punished by God according to the charity shown toward the

Johannes Bugenhagen and Christian III

poor (Lausten: 1995, 38). Meanwhile, the government attempted to limit begging. Beggars had to obtain special certificates from local officials, which were issued on the recommendation of the ministers. In subsequent reforms of poor relief, Copenhagen continued to depend wholly on voluntary contributions, while Ribe adopted a hybrid system of annual contributions from the town merchants and voluntary donations, and, later in Odense, Christian IV introduced an annual poor rate as a tax to care for the dependent poor (Cunningham/Grell: 1998, 22). 2.3.1 Schleswig-Holstein

The Reformation in the kingdom of Denmark-Norway was closely linked to the developments in the duchies of Schleswig and Holstein. The reason for this is not only found in their geographic position as the duchies between Germany and Denmark and their close political affiliation with Denmark, but also the fact that the evangelical movement made its earliest impact here (Lausten: 1995, 12). Members of the Danish royal family typically ruled parts of this region; Christian III did early in his career as duke and his younger brothers would when they came of age. For years, the provincial diet in Schleswig-Holstein strongly opposed Christian III; when he sought to put the church order for Schleswig-Holstein into effect under Bugenhagen’s advice, Christian was unable to do so (Novak: 1974, 130f). Although the church order for Schleswig-Holstein was prepared around the time of the Danish church order, it took Christian III over three years to convince SchleswigHolstein to accept the evangelical reform. In fall 1537, Bugenhagen wrote to the king, who had travelled to Schleswig-Holstein that he hoped the king’s trip to the Holsterlande [Schleswig-Holstein] should bring salvation to the place where churches and schools were not yet established and where the poor priests whom God had given them waited sorrowfully for a good order much more than the souls which have been lost into the Pope’s purgatory. (Bergsma: 1966, 119).

However, even at the provincial diet of Rendsburg on March 3, 1540, the opposition against the 1537 church order of the king was still so strong that the only feature approved was the appointment of the superintendents. When King Christian visited Schleswig-Holstein again, he was able to convince the cloister monks to accept the evangelical theology, and when the bishop’s seat in Schleswig opened up as a result of the death of the resident bishop on January 25, 1541, King Christian negotiated a treaty with the clergy chapter, which contained the stipulation that the new bishop be evangelical. Although Bugenhagen declined the position as superintendent of Schleswig-Holstein, Christian called on Bugenhagen again, in a letter dated January 6, 1542, for assistance in revamping church doctrine

33

34

Esther Chung-Kim

and ritual for Schleswig-Holstein so that the customs and ceremonies would be unified (Bugenhagen: 1888, 228).6 The king’s first choice was Bugenhagen because of his past partnership in reforming the churches and the university in Denmark during the first years of Christian III’s reign as king; but if this was not possible, the king requested that alternatively Luther, Melanchthon or Justus Jonas come instead (ibid., 229). In late January or early February 1542, Bugenhagen left for Schleswig-Holstein to revise the church order for this territory where it had already been translated out of Latin into Low German. After Bugenhagen’s work with the local church leaders in revising the Schleswig-Holstein order, it was accepted at the Diet of Rendsburg on March 9, 1542. In liturgical matters, this order was an expansion of the Danish order into 6 major parts: a) for the pastors; b) for the teachers; c) regarding the worship service; d) regarding the salaries of the church workers; e) for the selection of the bishops; and f) for the establishment of church libraries.7 The major differences in church practice from the Danish order were the use of German instead of Danish, the people joining with the priest in the Creed, a practice not followed in Denmark, and the elevation was omitted with no bells rung in connection (Novak: 1974, 133). Bugenhagen then participated in the Diet of Ribe to resolve problems hindering the effective implementation of the order (Hendel: 2015, 66). Despite Bugenhagen’s initial reluctance to attend the Diet of Ribe, the king recognized his talent in conflict resolution, and commissioned Bugenhagen to negotiate issues at Ribe (Bugenhagen: 1888, 324). In June 1542, Bugenhagen returned to his parish and his university duties in Wittenberg. Yet King Christian did not forget his debt to Bugenhagen and the other Wittenberg reformers, whose work was central to the development of the new evangelical religion. Starting in January 1542, Christian III arranged for the reformers Bugenhagen, Luther and Melanchthon to receive one ton of butter and one ton of herring per year. In June 1544, because of delivery problems, the king decided to send Bugenhagen, Luther, and Melanchthon each fifty gulden in cash instead of the food supplies. This honorary salary, which Bugenhagen called his “mercy money” was often used to support the ministers’ families. After Luther’s death in 1546, Bugenhagen, with Melanchthon, requested that the mercy money be given to Luther’s wife and children. Bugenhagen himself requested that if he died before his wife that this money would go to support his poor wife. Since their regular salaries would have to go to their replacements, when they retired or passed away, pastors were often concerned about the welfare of their families who could easily become

6 The position of Schleswig-Holstein superintendent passed on to another Lutheran, Tilemann Hesshusen in the summer of 1541. 7 See Die Schleswig-Holsteinische Kirchenordnung von 1542, in Gerald Dörner, Sabine Arend, and Eike Wogast (ed.), Die Evangelischen Kirchenordnungen des XVI. Jahrhunderts, vol. 23 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2017).

Johannes Bugenhagen and Christian III

impoverished and end up as recipients of the city’s poor relief if other arrangements for their provision had not been made. 2.4

Limits to this Cooperation

Christian III continued the late medieval tradition of trying to increase royal control over the church, except under a new Lutheran confession. In Denmark, kings pursued this policy of royal authority since the reign of Christian I (1448–81). Such an arrangement had originally been made possible through a close collaboration between the Curia and the Danish kings, which circumvented and undermined the power of the local prelates (Lausten: 1995, 34). The former cooperation of the Danish king with one set of religious authorities, namely the papal representatives (Curia), was meant to offset the influence of another group of religious authorities, namely the local bishops. Although this understanding between the pope and the king came to an end when Frederik I in 1526 suspended the traditional arrangements with Rome, royal interference in the affairs of the church continued. Christian III reinforced a well-established royal policy toward the church, with the main difference being that the change from Catholic to Lutheran confession served to harness such policies further (ibid., 35). In this respect, developments in Denmark fit neatly into the German model of the Protestant territorial estate under princely control, which was the model Christian III started with as a duke in Schleswig-Holstein. The hierarchy established in the Danish church order of 1537, which also applied to the duchies after 1542, subordinated the churches to the king, and presumably the king to God. The clearest example of the king’s authority over the church was his ability to ‘hand-pick’ the superintendents of the church whom Bugenhagen consecrated and installed (Larson: 2010, 418). Nevertheless, there were limits to the cooperation between ruler and reformer that surfaced within the political context. While Christian III shared the goal of evangelical reform of church and society in Denmark and surrounding territories, his right to rule was in effect only as long as he was on the throne. To maintain his position, he made diplomatic decisions based on protecting his reign. In spite of his personal commitment to Lutheranism, Christian III’s foreign policy was dictated by realpolitik, necessitated by the economic problems resulting from the recent civil war, and the dynastic problems created by the deposed king, Christian II, who remained imprisoned in Denmark. (Lausten: 1995, 40).8

8 Meanwhile, the king sought to establish dynastic contacts with the Hapsburgs and other Catholic rulers in Germany with attempts to appoint family members to princely Catholic bishoprics.

35

36

Esther Chung-Kim

Sufficiently occupied with problems ruling his own country and territories, Christian III accepted a peace treaty in Speyer, which worked against the interests of the German evangelical princes. This 1544 Treaty of Speyer between Denmark-Norway and the Holy Roman Empire included the emperor’s renunciation of the dynastic claims of Christian II’s children, thereby securing Christian III’s position for himself and his progeny. Despite Bugenhagen’s hope that Christian III would support the German princes, Christian III declined any military support for evangelical princes in the Schmalkaldic War (1546–47). Instead, Christian III focused on the reforms in his territories. Unlike Bugenhagen, who wanted to see Protestant reform flourish in as many places as possible, the king did not necessarily feel responsible for reform outside of his kingdom. His religious reform was limited to places where he had authority. Bugenhagen was likely disappointed that the king played the role of a typical ruler that conformed to diplomatic concerns (Lausten: 1984, 163). Yet Christian III wrote to Bugenhagen on December 30, 1546, noting that he regretted hearing about the closure of the Wittenberg school and would try to help further peace with the Emperor and Duke Moritz. He also believed that “he had recovered [from his illness] so that he could continue to support God’s plan for the future and hoped that God would give Bugenhagen good health and a long life so that he too could work for the growth of the gospel,” presumably in places where Christian III could not (Bugenhagen: 1888, 389). Their relationship weathered various disappointments and their epistolary communication continued for another decade until the end of their lives.

3.

Bugenhagen’s Vision for the Reformation

Despite his disappointments, Bugenhagen continued to think highly of King Christian and his support because Bugenhagen’s vision for the Reformation was embedded in the Danish church order. One of the lasting impacts of Bugenhagen’s church orders was his liturgical work, namely the outline of the worship service. In the construction of new liturgies, Bugenhagen aimed for reform, not re-creation. In the confessional part of the Danish church order, a special reference highlighted the forgiveness of sins by God’s grace alone, an important principle of the Reformation not as explicitly pointed out in his other church orders (Novak: 1974, 127). The primary purpose in his liturgies was to help believers express their faith in God (ibid., 171). Since he intended the adaptations to the worship order specifically for the churches in a given area, he contextualized special requirements of the church and incorporated the traditions of the area (ibid., 167f). Bugenhagen wanted believers to practice their faith through correct worship, a deeper understanding of the Bible, and care for their neighbors and the truly poor around them. Likewise, he instructed ministers to pay attention to the needs of the deserving poor. In his 1532

Johannes Bugenhagen and Christian III

tract, Against the Thieves of the Cup, Bugenhagen reiterated his ongoing concern for good primary schools, learned and godly preachers, the sick, and the needs of the poor (Bugenhagen: 2015, 737). He wrote, We let the hungry person stay hungry like the godless people do and give him nothing [to eat] but the sacrament. Then we become [like those] Corinthians about whom Paul writes, “The one is hungry, the other is intoxicated.” Indeed, they did not begrudge the poor the sacrament, but they did not grant them food for their hungry stomachs. (ibid., 742).

For Bugenhagen, the gospel and faith were the key motivating factors for individual and communal charitable work (Hendel: 2009, 547). In the establishment of the common chest as a public institution, Bugenhagen was convinced both theologically and pragmatically that the whole community, not only a select few, was responsible for the care for its members (ibid., 557). Since resources for public assistance came from parish common chests, royal donations, and voluntary contributions, pastors worked with town officials in the labour of collecting and distributing funds to the worthy poor. By 1558, a royal decree obliged all Danish parishes to set up a common box (Jütte: 1994, 202). But the dependence on voluntary donations for public assistance led to varied results and constant shortfalls, especially when private charity was low. Based on the Pauline passages of Galatians 6:10 and 1 Timothy 5:8, Bugenhagen urged all who were able, to care for those around them, including one’s immediate family, extended relatives, employees, neighbours, and other acquaintances, for even one’s enemies should not be ignored during times of great need. Hence, the poor chest was intended to supplement, not supplant, private poor relief, since some people did not have enough resources to care for the needs of their family or had no relatives who were able or willing to assist them (Hendel: 2009, 548). Bugenhagen advocated that the cities should get separate funds for poor relief, which often took the form of hospitals serving the cities and their surrounding regions (Arfmann: 2019, 276). The three-year civil war leading up to the Reformation in Denmark resulted in the economic ruin of a large number of people and extremely difficult living conditions for the lower classes without resources (Jørgensen: 1990, 9). As Denmark experienced a period of economic recovery for the remainder of the sixteenth century, private charity would increase in the second half of the century. 3.1

Priority of financial support for ministers and teachers

In Bugenhagen’s experience, the proper upkeep and economic stability of the church and university required constant attention (Leder: 2002, 369). The problem was

37

38

Esther Chung-Kim

acute because the poverty in the churches jeopardized the ministry of preaching and the teaching of Protestant doctrine and practice. In Bugenhagen’s letter to Christian on December 3, 1536, he advised the King about the management of resources for the church, arguing that a good orderly kingdom would have a large supply of ecclesiastical property dedicated to supporting the churches, schools, and poor relief, including the sick, abandoned clergy and teachers, dowries, poor students, and any other needs that might arise (Bugenhagen: 1888, 142f). For Bugenhagen, the support of churches meant much more than the basic salaries and benefits of pastors and teachers, but included a range of social services managed by the pastors and teachers. In his church orders and letters, Bugenhagen emphasized the need for supporting and accommodating ministers in the churches, teachers in the schools, and students in the university, presumably preparing for service to the churches or schools. While the church orders addressed the needs of these groups, Bugenhagen repeatedly urged the support of poor pastors and teachers, because resolving the problem of poverty for pastors and students was crucial for the long-term well-being of the church and university. He advocated repeatedly in his letters for the material support of pastors and their families. Despite the formidable increase in royal wealth from the confiscation of episcopal and monastic properties and the many promises recorded in church ordinances, the Reformation churches faced extremely poor economic conditions. The church ordinances provided that each superintendent’s palace should employ at least six persons; however, the bishop’s annual salary, beyond what he received in disbursements of produce, amounted to less than what a single good artisan might earn (Lausten: 2002, 115). The salaries of pastors also declined, while smaller parishes, which had previously struggled to support a single unmarried Catholic priest, were now unable to support a married pastor and his entire family. After his work on the coronation and Danish church order in the summer of 1537, a significant portion of Bugenhagen’s work was to assess the needs of the churches and the university and to find ways to rebuild and repair these institutions. In November 1537, he notified the king of his obligation to the churches and schools in Holsterland that lacked provisions and the poor priests there who still waited for supplies; yet he also pointed out that they needed more preachers in the cities (Bugenhagen: 1888, 155f). Bugenhagen sought to fill this shortage of preachers, even when current preachers could not be well maintained or supported. In a letter from December 1537, Bugenhagen explained that while Palladius had found numerous learned and pious priests in the villages who could fill the shortage of trained educated preachers in the cities, these priests

Johannes Bugenhagen and Christian III

begged for God’s mercy that we would not place them and their wives and children away from the fields giving them meager food into the miserable cities because [while] many in the villages have food, those in the cities only have hardship and toil. (ibid., 160).

The new reality of married clergy meant that feeding their families was a major concern: support for the clergy meant sustenance for their families too. In Bugenhagen’s last extensive letter to the Danish superintendents before leaving the country on April 28, 1539, he described the main role of a superintendent as the leading minister – to provide continual guidance for the formation of the Danish church (Leder: 2002, 397). Superintendents were responsible for the leadership of the church and consequently dedicated to the encouragement, exhortation, recruitment and evaluation of pastors, teachers, and other church leaders. However, the superintendents spent a great deal of energy negotiating with the royal authorities and repeatedly requesting the resources needed to bring about the religious and social changes. One area of repeated concern was the inadequate provision of poor pastors and minimal material resources that did not provide enough funds for the church. Selected by the king and his advisors and installed by Bugenhagen, these superintendents were the sons and grandsons of burghers, not nobles; they were not great landholders as the previous bishops had been (Larson: 2010, 419). Instead, they received a salary from the crown. Their manifold duties included ensuring the prosperity of the schools so that qualified students could eventually be sent to study at the university. At the end of this letter, Bugenhagen complained about serious problems in the administration and handling of the material resources of the church, school, and poor relief (Leder: 2002, 399). He understood that adequate provisions for the ministers and for the students in training needed to be put in place for lasting institutional change. In later years, intra-Lutheran rivalries and conflicts threatened the financial support for pastors and their families. In Bugenhagen’s Dedication Letter on October 1, 1550 to Christian III for his last major work, Commentary on Jonah, Bugenhagen clarified that the slander against him and the Wittenberg school were based on jealousy and rivalry, which consequently resulted in good preachers losing their support and salary and eventually, leading to their dismissal and exile with their wives and children (Bugenhagen: 2012, 236f). Years after the creation of his church orders calling for the provisions of pastors, he continued to demand attention to the precarious living situation of pastors. These concerns would continue into the next two decades. In his letter to Christian III, dated January 13, 1546, Bugenhagen reiterated that many ministers were so poor that they could not stay in their parishes. The inadequate provisions for church personnel and poor preachers prevented youth from taking up religious studies in favor of more lucrative work. Funds were limited in part because the onethird portion of the collected tithes, which had previously gone to the lord-bishops,

39

40

Esther Chung-Kim

now went to the crown. In other words, two-thirds of the tithe income went to the local churches and the ministers, while one-third of the tithe income, the bishops’ portion, was paid to the king. Bugenhagen proposed that such difficulties could be remedied if the well-funded king would let the superintendents keep their full tithes (Bugenhagen: 1888, 346). Since the bishop’s tithe previously was meant to ensure that churches were well kept and maintained, Bugenhagen urged that the entire tithe money go to the churches and poor relief. While vast amounts of the church’s wealth in the bishops’ estates went to the crown, people still had to pay tithes. Meanwhile, the nobility retained their traditional privilege of exemption from paying tithes on their private estates. The crown now drew on the tithe income to pay for various royal expenses, including the superintendents’ salaries and schools. Because of his relationship with the king as advisor and spiritual mentor, and nevertheless not his subject, Bugenhagen was in a special position to make a proposal for the king to donate the royal portion of the tithe to support some of these struggling institutions. Bugenhagen’s influence may have been at work when Christian III gave up the royal tithes to fund some charitable purposes. In response to countless complaints about the poverty of the superintendents, the priests, and their churches, the king merged numerous parishes, demolished some churches, and in certain cases awarded salary supplements out of the royal tithes (Lausten: 2002, 116). The king repeatedly reminded the people of their duty to pay their tithes and challenged town officials to supplement clerical salaries, but eventually Christian III had to reform the system of salaries (ibid., 117). Because of Bugenhagen’s position at the University of Wittenberg, Christian III regularly requested assistance with the recruitment of clergy. In a letter from February 22, 1544, he supplemented his request for newly printed books by Wittenberg reformers and his money gift to buy food supplies, namely for the butter and herring that were not delivered properly, by asking for Bugenhagen’s help in finding a preacher for his miners in Norway and agreed to take care of the pastor’s salary and provisions (Bugenhagen: 1888, 283). 3.2

Priority of financial support for students

Another recurring concern in the letters was the financial aid for students preparing for the ministry. Bugenhagen’s urgency to find support for students to study at the University was to create a pipeline of young preachers to fill vacant positions. In Bugenhagen’s letters to Christian III, Bugenhagen made regular requests for the funding and scholarship of students preparing for the ministry. He followed up with regular reports that gave an accounting of how the money was used as well as updates on the Danish students, since Christian III regularly sent scholarships for a large number of students to study at the University of Wittenberg. To support healthcare and poor relief, the royal tithes of 39 parishes were assigned to the

Johannes Bugenhagen and Christian III

hospital of Copenhagen in 1555 and this revenue also provided daily meals to 20 poor students (Riis: 1997, 135). The practice of royal scholarships for deserving students continued with Christian III’s son, King Frederik II, who followed his father’s practice to ensure the care of 24 poor students at the cathedral school in Aarhus (Seesko: 2019, 292). He did this by earmarking the king’s portion of the tithe of ten parishes for poor students, a practice that Bugenhagen had suggested to Christian III previously, namely giving up the one-third portion of the royal tithe to make up for financial shortfall in the care of the poor. King Christian III and Bugenhagen agreed on the need for Lutheran-educated leaders to staff the churches and universities. Christian III willingly accepted the responsibility to help train and educate leaders of the next generation and even reminded Bugenhagen to make further requests for poor students (Bugenhagen: 1888, 287). In the same correspondence from June 25, 1544, Christian III noted that he was thankful for the peace agreement with the Emperor in Speyer. With his congratulations for Bugenhagen’s election as Bishop of Cammin and news about Christian’s younger brother, the Duke of Schleswig-Holstein, who would become Bishop of Bremen when the old bishop died, Christian III, in his August 14, 1544 letter, expressed his wish to see Bugenhagen again and trusted him with the distribution of funds to aid students, so that a special report on its use was not necessary (ibid., 295f).9 In June 4, 1549, Bugenhagen made a specific recommendation for a student needing financial aid, who also wrote his own letter of petition: I have written in the last letter to Your Majesty about a poor boy of Ribe who had studied in Copenhagen and is now studying here but has been abandoned by friends and suffers misery and poverty, as Your Majesty will see in his attached letter. I beg that Your Majesty will come to his aid and give him help for his studies (ibid., 452f).

Bugenhagen saw first-hand the plight of poor students and sought to find sources of funding so that they could continue their studies.

4.

Conclusion

The Reformation in Denmark started with the magistrates of major towns and cities taking over the larger urban monasteries and turning them into hospitals 9 In his letter from January 5, 1545, Christian writes that he would have liked to send to Bugenhagen some special treats from his kitchen but since they were not delivered according to his orders, he now changed the delivery to money instead. Perhaps the delivery boys assuming that the treats would not last the journey helped themselves to the savory treats. Regardless of the reason, Christian hopes that Bugenhagen will not mind and recognize his good intention (Bugenhagen: 1888, 322).

41

42

Esther Chung-Kim

for the local poor and sick, while the larger rural monasteries dissolved, over a generation, in the 1580s and 1590s. Therefore, the Reformation in Denmark was a gradual affair, entering its finishing stages at the beginning of the seventeenth century (Cunningham/Grell: 1997, 20). The foundation of the Reformation in Denmark benefited greatly from the cooperation and partnership between Bugenhagen and King Christian III. While cooperation between religious reformers and political rulers was not unusual, the close partnership between Bugenhagen and Christian III was noteworthy because of their ongoing correspondence, shared goal of establishing religious reform, and mutual personal concern. This relationship led to Christian III reorganizing the church standards and administration according to Bugenhagen’s Lutheran ideals. Financial shortages would challenge the full realization of this vision in their lifetime, but they promoted the ideals for the support of educated married clergy, qualified teachers, scholarships for students, a robust university, and a broader poor relief through hospitals and other social services. This relationship strengthened the foundations of the reform movement in Denmark, which ultimately shaped the establishment of the Reformation in Scandinavia. King Christian III’s attitude of responsibility for the religious life in his kingdom would continue with the king’s son and successor, Frederik II. In 1560, Frederik II assured Queen Elizabeth of England that, in the spirit of his father, he would oppose all errors and protect the true religion (Grell/Lyby: 1995, 118).10 In Bugenhagen’s view, a stable church with trained clergy and a thriving university with capable students ensured the social welfare of the whole society. Because pastors served as representatives of the state and the people, they functioned as the main communicators of social needs to the rulers. Because the reformer and ruler were like-minded in their goal of spreading the gospel, they became partners in establishing a new structure of the church with the king as its overarching earthly authority. This royal Reformation may have offered only slight to modest changes in liturgy, worship, and vestments, but ushered in a major shift in the authority of the political ruler over the churches. Despite their subordinate role, ministers, preachers, and church staff would carry the main responsibilities for providing spiritual, educational, and social support for their communities.

10 Calendar of State papers, Foreign, Elizabeth I, III, London 1865, no. 181 (Grell/Lyby: 1995, 118).

Johannes Bugenhagen and Christian III

Bibliography Primary Bugenhagen, Johannes (2015), “Against the Thieves of the Cup”, Lubeck 1532, in Kurt H. Hendel (ed.), Johannes Bugenhagen: Selected Writings, vol. 1, Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 589–754. Bugenhagen, Johannes (2012), “Dedication Letter to King Christian III (1. Oct 1550),” in Martin J. Lohrmann, Bugenhagen’s Jonah: Biblical Interpretation as Public Theology, Minneapolis, Minnesota: Lutheran University Press, Appendix 2, 235–241. Bugenhagen, Johannes (1888), Otto Vogt (ed.), Dr. Johannes Bugenhagens Briefwechsel (BBW) Stettin: Leon Saunier. Bugenhagen an Christian III (3. Dec 1536), BBW, Letter 60. Bugenhagen an Christian III (21. Nov 1537), BBW, Letter 67. Bugenhagen an Christian III (28. Dec 1537), BBW, Letter 68. Bugenhagen an Elector John Frederick (5. July 1539), BBW, Letter 78. Bugenhagen an Christian III (6. July 1539), BBW, Letter 79. Christian III an Bugenhagen (6. Jan 1542), BBW, Letter 101. Bugenhagen an Christian III (19. Aug 1542), BBW, Letter 107. Christian III an Bugenhagen (29. Jan 1544) BBW, Letter 131. Christian III an Bugenhagen (22. Feb 1544) BBW, Letter 133. Christian III an Bugenhagen (25. June 1544), BBW, Letter 138. Christian III an Bugenhagen (14. August 1544), BBW, Letter 141. Christian III an Bugenhagen (5. January 1545), BBW, Letter 151. Bugenhagen an Christian III (12. Apr 1545), BBW Letter 154. Bugenhagen an Christian III (13. Jan 1546), BBW, Letter 165. Christian III an Bugenhagen (14. Oct 1546), BBW, Letter 182. Christian III an Bugenhagen (30. Dec 1546), BBW, Letter 188. Bugenhagen an Christian III (27. Apr 1548), BBW, Letter 211. Bugenhagen an Christian III (4. June 1549), BBW, Letter 231. Bugenhagen an Christian III (30. Oct 1554), BBW, Letter 282. Christian III an Bugenhagen (4. Mar 1556), BBW, Letter 289. Die Evangelischen Kirchenordnungen des XVI. Jahrhunderts: Schleswig-Holstein, vol. 23 (2017), Gerald Dörner, Sabine Arend, and Eike Wogast (ed.), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Kirkeordinansen 1537/1539. (1989), Det danske Udkast til Kirkeordinansen (1537). Ordinatio Ecclesiastica Regnorum Daniae et Norwegiae et Ducatuum Sleswicensis Holtsatiae etc. (1537). Den Danske Kirkeordinans (1539), Martin Schwarz Lausten (ed.), Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag. Luther, Martin (1937), Luther an König Christian III von Dänemark, 2 December 1536, Luthers Briefwechsel (1534–1536) (WABr) vol. 7, Weimar: Hermann Böhlaus, 602ff.

43

44

Esther Chung-Kim

Secondary Arffman, Kaarlo (2019), Revolution des Helfens: Der Versuch des Luthertums die Probleme der Armut zu lösen, Vienna: LIT Verlag. Bergsma, Johannes H. (1966), Die Reform der Messliturgie durch Johannes Bugenhagen (1485–1558), Kevelaer, Germ.: Butzon & Bercker. Grane, Leif (1990), Teaching the People – The Education of the Clergy and the Instruction of the People in the Danish Reformation Church, in Leif Grane/Kai Hørby (ed.), Die Dänische Reformation vor ihrem internationalen Hintergrund (The Danish Reformation against its International Background), Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 164–184. Grell, Ole Peter (1998), Scandinavia, in Andrew Pettegree (ed.), The Early Reformation in Europe Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 94–119. Grell, Ole Peter & Andrew Cunningham (1997), The Reformation and Changes in Welfare Provision in Early Modern Northern Europe, in Ole Peter Grell/Andrew Cunningham (ed.), Health Care and Poor Relief in Protestant Europe 1500–1700, London/New York: Routledge, 1–42. Grell, Ole Peter & Thorkild Lyby (1995), The Consolidation of Lutheranism in Denmark and Norway, in Ole Peter Grell (ed.), The Scandinavian Reformation: From Evangelical Movement to Institutionalization of Reform, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 114–143. Hendel, Kurt H. (2015), Johannes Bugenhagen: Reformer beyond the Limelight, in Kurt H. Hendel (ed.), Johannes Bugenhagen: Selected Writings, vol. 1, Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1–78. Hendel, Kurt H. (2009), Paul and the Care of the Poor during the Sixteenth Century: A Case Study, in Ward R. Holder (ed.), A Companion to Paul in the Reformation, Leiden and Boston: Brill, 541–571. Jørgensen, Carl E. (1957–58), Den lærde skole i Danmark fra Reformationen til ca. 1640, Jyske Samlinger, Ny Række IV, 49. Jørgensen, Harald (1990), L’assistance aux pauvres au Denmark, in Thomas Riis (ed.), Aspects of Poverty in Early Modern Europe, III: La Pauvreté dans les pays nordiques 1500–1800, Odense: Odense University Press, 9–34. Jütte, Robert. (1994), Poverty and Deviance in Early Modern Europe, Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Larson, James l. (2010), Reforming the North: The Kingdoms and Churches of Scandinavia, 1520–1545, New York: Cambridge University Press. Lausten, Martin Schwarz (1987), Christian d.3 og Kirken (1537–1539), Studier i den danske reformationskirke I, Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag. Lausten, Martin Schwarz (2002), A Church History of Denmark, Florence: Taylor & Francis. Lausten, Martin Schwarz (1995), The Early Reformation in Denmark and Norway 1520–1559, in Ole Peter Grell (ed.), The Scandinavian Reformation: From Evangelical

Johannes Bugenhagen and Christian III

Movement to Institutionalisation of Reform, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 12–41. Lausten, Martin Schwarz (1984), König und Kirche: Über das Verhältnis der weltlichen Obrigkeit zur Kirche bei Johann Bugenhagen und König Christian III. von Dänemark, in Hans-Günter Leder (ed.), Johannes Bugenhagen: Gestalt und Wirkung, Berlin: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 144–167. Lausten, Martin Schwarz (2005), Luther and the Reformation in Denmark, in Helmar Junghans (ed.), Lutherjahrbuch 71 Jahrgang 2004: Organ der Internationalen Lutherforschung, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 115–130. Lausten, Martin Schwarz (1990), Weltliche Obrigkeit und Kirche bei König Christian III von Dänemark (1536–1559) Hintergründe und Folgen, in Leif Grane/Kai Hørby (ed.), Die Dänische Reformation vor ihrem internationalen Hintergrund - The Danish Reformation against its International Background, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 91–107. Leder, Hans-Günter (2002), Johannes Bugenhagen Pomeranus - Vom Reformer zum Reformator: Studien Zur Biographie, Frankfurt: Peter Lang. Lorentzen, Tim (2008), Johannes Bugenhagen als Reformator der öffentlichen Fürsorge, Spätmittelalter, Humanismus, Reformation 44, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Novak, Loui (1974), An Historical Survey of the Liturgical Forms in the Church Orders of Johannes Bugenhagen (1485–1558), PhD diss. Iliff School of Theology. Riis, Thomas (1997), Poor Relief and Health Care Provision in sixteenth-century Denmark, in Ole Peter Grell/Andrew Cunningham (ed.) Health Care and Poor Relief in Protestant Europe 1500–1700, London/New York: Routledge, 129–146. Seesko, Per (2019), Between King and Congregation: Monastery Churches and Parish Organization in the Kingdom of Denmark after the Reformation, in Per Seesko/Louise Nyholm Kallestrup/Lars Bisgaard (ed.), The Dissolution of Monasteries: The Case of Denmark in a Regional Perspective, Odense: University Press of Southern Denmark, 273–293.

45

Christian Neddens

Justification and care Reformation images of social responsibility

1.

Preliminaries: the social imaginary

In what follows, I will examine a central theme of Lutheran confessional cultures – the relation between justification and care for the poor – using the example of central images of justification as well as so-called ‘alms panels’. Of course, we could search for this relation as reflected in the doctrinal texts, the confessional writings, or important ethical tracts. These are undoubtedly important sources, but there is much to suggest that the relationship between justification theology and social responsibility is not sufficiently visible solely in terms of the explicit treatments in written documents. Rather, it is often underlying formative motifs and concepts – which are difficult to put into words and which are expressed in gestures, pictures, songs, and customs – that shape the social structure and behaviour. It is these that express what Cornelius Castoriadis and Charles Taylor called the “social imaginary”: the fundamental beliefs and views by which societies are invisibly held together. And it is the imaginary that defines what is ‘real’ and how we shape our societies. In Taylor’s social theory, social imaginary means: the ways in which people imagine their social existence, how they fit together with others, how things go on between them and their fellows, the expectations that are normally met, and the deeper normative notions and images that underlie these expectations (Taylor: 2002, 106; cf. Taylor: 2004, 23–30).

According to Castoriadis, it may well be real images that stage our social imaginary, the “core scenes” and the “basic phantasm” of social reality. In these, the imaginary instantly establishes and opens up a structured system of relationships, in which the ‘inner’ and the ‘outer’ are set, separated and united; It outlines the possibilities of acting and perceiving, distributes archetypal roles, [...] decides on value and worthlessness, is the source of all later symbolic meaning (Castoriadis: 1984, 245, trans. CN).

It would be reasonable to assume that a part of this imaginary is to be discovered directly in the imagery that Lutheranism shaped and by which it was shaped.

48

Christian Neddens

In what follows I will show how Lutheranism’s core imaginary of religious and social existence – the doctrine of justification by grace – also shaped social care in Lutheranism. I will do this with the help of an exemplary selection of pictorial motifs from Lutheran alms panels of the sixteenth to eighteenth centuries. In order to provide an overview and to advance the thesis, it is unfortunately necessary to dispense with a detailed art historical analysis of the paintings. Where I have already provided such an analysis elsewhere, I have included references. Section one gives an overview of the changes in the context/administration of poor relief in the Lutheran countries in the Early Modern period. It will become clear that despite some commonalities across the various denominations, the confessional character played a major role both in the perception and the provision of care for the poor in Lutheranism. In short, it led not only to a secularisation of pious works, but also to a sacralisation of community life in the Lutheran territories.1 Section two shows how the Lutheran faith created new metaphors (or reinterpreted old ones) in the course of the 1520s. With the help of these new metaphors, the new Lutheran imaginary of the existence of faith came to the fore and began to be displayed. Metaphors of close social relationships play a central role here (Gutmann: 1991; Holm: 2006), especially the encounter with the Christ Crucified and depictions both of the marriage relationship and the parent–child relationship. Section three outlines how the core metaphors of the Lutheran faith in justification by grace can be rediscovered as central motifs in the pictorial works painted soon after the Reformation. Here it becomes clear that the dimension of social relationships and social care is included in and shaped by these programmatic paintings of justification.2 Social care is seen to be motivated in the mercy of God and is based on natural intimacy and the needs of those who are living with us. Therefore, the fourth and principal section of the article examines the motifs of Lutheran alms panels of the sixteenth to eighteenth centuries and compares these with metaphors of justification by grace alone. It will become apparent that central motifs are being applied, but that at the same time considerable shifts, reductions and expansions are taking place. The Lutheran alms panels reflect the difficulty of wishing to motivate community members to care on the one hand, while on the other hand avoiding the resurgence of any ideas of cooperation in salvation or of meritorious good works, both of which are highly problematic and contradictory

1 Against the interpretation of the Lutheran Reformation as secularisation by Taylor, see rightly Thiemann: 2014, 33: “What was once simply a workbench now becomes a means of serving the neighbour in need. What was once simply a dirty diaper now becomes an invitation to service to one’s child and spouse.” Cf. Martin Luther, Vom ehelichen Leben (1522), WA 10 II, 295f. 2 “Justification images” are not a category of art history. The term expresses the fact that, especially in the 1520s, not only confessional texts but also, especially in the Cranach workshop, programmatic pictorial works were created to express what is decisively Christian. See Neddens: 2015; 2018.

Justification and care

to the social imaginary of Lutheranism. More and more often, a paternalistic trait now appears, tending to make the poor the object of bourgeois mercy.

2.

Changes in social care in reformation time and their confessional motifs

In the Middle Ages, alms, and donations for the poor, for churches and for monasteries (especially for the mendicant orders) were given to attain salvation (Seelengerät). The poor were a natural part of God’s world, and further, the poor were themselves a part of the salvation system: it was their part to receive the alms that were necessary for the almsgiver to do good works, and the poor themselves were doing good works in helping the soul of the almsgiver with their prayers. There was a charisma of poverty – part of the evangelical advice that made the poor man a respected part of urban society but, by the same token, perpetuated poverty. The needs of the poor, and the social causes of poverty and inequality, were paid less doctrinal attention. Social responsibility and an improvement in the situation of the poor were hardly thought of (cf. Sachße/Tennstedt: 1998, 29). In the Reformation era, care for the poor changed in a drastic way. There were several reasons for this. Caring for the poor was increasingly taken over by the emerging citizen body. Following the Nuremberg Begging Order of c. 1370, regulations arose to get those who were willing into work, to support the shamefaced poor, to register and educate them, and to keep out incoming beggars and cheaters from outside. This development has been variously described as the communalisation, rationalisation, bureaucratisation and pedagogisation of poor relief (cf. Sachße/ Tennstedt: 1998, 30). But one of the reasons that accelerated the change after 1500 was undoubtedly that the religious system of salvation through good works was dropped. A new view on social responsibility was being created by the reformers. Debates of the nineteenth century about the significance of confessional differences in these developments were strongly influenced by confessional/ denominational concurrence. Accordingly, the Reformation was portrayed as a period of destruction or renewal of true Christian ethics, depending on one’s point of view (cf. Lorentzen: 2015, 205f). In the 1970s, this changed completely. Now an emphasis was laid on economic, social, and political components, as well as the evolution of ideas. Confessional motifs were rejected. Early Modern care for the deserving was labelled Sozialdisziplinierung (Gerhard Oestreich). It was argued, first, that the beginnings of poor relief had preceded the Reformation period, and, second, that humanism had developed similar positions to the Reformation

49

50

Christian Neddens

(Erasmus of Rotterdam, Geiler von Kaysersberg, Juan Luis Vives) (cf. Geremek: 1988, 222–228; Schneider: 2015, 76).3 Recently, however, the confessional significance of changes in poor relief has been taken more into account (Schubert: 1991, 105–132; Grell/Cunningham: 1997; Klein: 2004, 146–179; Kahl: 2006; Schmidt: 2006, 61–90; Oehmig: 2007; Lorentzen: 2008a, 369–376; Lorentzen: 2008b; Lorentzen: 2015, 203–232; Spehr: 2014, 51–73). On the one hand, the religious motivation for poor relief has been rediscovered.4 According to Schneider and Lorentzen, the expansion of communal care for the poor under Lutheran influence involved not secularisation, but the development of what one might call the Christian city, a “sacralisation of the community”. On the other hand, the influence of the Reformation for change in poor relief is perceived more strongly: To refrain from making the Reformation the crucial starting point for major changes in the poverty system does not really mean negating new theological insights with far-reaching implications for the traditional concept of religiously motivated help or even changes in practice. But it also helps to do justice to the multifaceted interdependencies of the Reformers with the late medieval developments and the reflections in humanistic circles around and after 1500 (Schubert: 2015, 76, trans. CN; cf. Schubert: 2004, 332–336).

In 1520, Luther had insisted in his Sermon von dem Wucher that begging should be abolished (WA 6, 36–60: 41f). In his An den christlichen Adel he had suggested that each city should care for their own poor, and that a common chest should be established to address the poverty problem (DDStA 1, 94f) – the beginnings of the welfare state. In 1523, Luther had written a foreword to the Leisnig Order of the Common Chest. This order was fundamental and significant insofar as Luther on the one hand did not attack the right of private property but, on the other, subordinated it to the common good. The common chest was intended to make it possible to care for all the needy according to their needs. Religious endowments were to go into the common chest, unless the donors and their heirs were suffering extreme hardship (DDStA 2, 404–415: 406 and 411). A whole series of historical studies deals specifically with the situation of poor relief in the free cities in the Reformation period (Bisle: 1904; Fischer: 1979; Oehmit: 1988; Kröger: 2006 et al.). Although the Nuremberg Order of 1522 was passed

3 Cf. Sachße/Tennstedt: 1998, 37: “Die Prinzipien des Bettelverbots bei gleichzeitiger kommunaler Unterstützungspflicht haben überall in Deutschland – auch in katholischen Gebieten – Verbreitung gefunden. Bei der Realisiserung sind allerdings Unterschiede nicht zu verkennen.” 4 Cf. Schneider: 2015, 74: “Nur sehr eingeschränkt war das eine Form von Sozialdisziplinierung.”

Justification and care

before the official introduction of the Reformation, it clearly breathes the spirit of the Reformation: Every Christian will render an account for his work (according to the Gospel) on the last day, namely, if he has loved, fed, watered, clothed, visited, and given help and encouragement to the poor and those in need for the sake of Christ, or if he has instituted many masses, built churches, made pilgrimages, and performed other such works that Christ did never command. Therefore, every Christian should aim his life, doings, and aspirations towards this goal, steadfast and free of any doubt, to trust in God and to prove that faith towards his neighbour with all brotherly love, help and care for the sake of Christ (cited after Sachße/Tennstedt: 1998, 67; transl. CN).

Loving care was no longer understood as the task of the individual, but of the community. “The Reformatory Public Care is ‘public’, insofar as it is to be made manifest, is visible to everyone, understandable to everyone and in everyone’s responsibility” (Lorentzen: 2015, 204; transl. CN). Accordingly, social workers (Armenvoigte) were recruited. Bucer and Calvin, but also Luther and Bugenhagen considered reintroducing the old church deaconry (Schneider: 2015, 78). Such communal care for the urban poor (Hausarme) was to have far-reaching consequences. On the one hand, it stigmatised poverty by esteeming work, also excluding the incoming poor from outside; on the other hand, with the identification of the poor and their life situations, the causes of poverty became more visible. Luther, Bugenhagen and others tried to convince the local authorities to address these causes, for example by school education for poor children. In 1528, Martin Luther wrote a foreword to the booklet “Von der falschen Betler buberey”, a work depicting the tricks and pickpocketing habits of travelling beggars and offering an insight into Rotwelsch, the language of itinerant vagrants (cf. Grimm: 1970, 222–234). We must conclude that it was written, as Luther says, to enlighten the princes and councils of the cities and make them understand that refusing the relief of poor citizens would increase numbers of evil and desperate vagabonds (WA 26, 639, 3–8). But – how were householders to be convinced to contribute to the common chest and help the poor, if such help was no longer a religious work that would earn God’s recognition? What was the connection between justification and care that Luther, and other theologians, had in mind? And if there was such a connection, should it not be possible to identify the poor and poor relief in the core socio-theological imaginary visualised in the imagery of Lutheran societies?5

5 A further task that cannot be addressed here would be to compare the partially differing developments in the various Lutheran territories.

51

52

Christian Neddens

3.

In search of metaphors and images of the ‘new’ faith (1520s)

In order to explore the connection between justification theology and social responsibility in early Lutheranism, Bo Holm has proposed a focus not on the (admittedly scanty) Lutheran social teachings (following Weber or Troeltsch), but on the core metaphors of the new faith. For it may be assumed that the new theological conception of the relation between God and man would also bring, implicitly and, as it were, under the skin, new forms of concrete social relations (Holm: 2017, 923). Bo Holm has shown how, simultaneously with the discovery of the new faith, Luther (and Melanchthon) also looked for metaphors in which to formulate it. And he finds what he is looking for in the realm of core family relationships in the shape of the marriage metaphor and the parent–child metaphor – both biblical, of course. The marriage metaphor, which Luther connects with the fröhliche Wechsel or happy exchange between justice and sin, plays a central role in his description of justification. At the same time, both Luther and Melanchthon use the parent–child metaphor to label faith an unconditional trust. Holm mentions: These notions of intimacy (while not exclusively Reformation) are so significant with the highly idealised form they receive in Lutheran theology that they have a strong influence on the intimacy of family life in the further development (Holm: 2017, 929; transl. CN).

But how powerful was this influence to be in practice? Did it also affect the world of images, which gives orientation to everyday life in churches, council chambers, and private houses? Luther and Melanchthon were not the only ones seeking in the 1520s for fresh metaphors to communicate the new faith. Cranach, Dürer, Schäufelin, Dell and other painters worked on images in which the new understanding of reality becomes visible in the illustration of books, leaflets, and even public and private spaces (Neddens: 2019). While at the beginning of the Reformation the status of the images in the new faith was still up for debate, towards the end of the 1520s, the Cranach workshop and others were in a creative phase in which new Reformation motifs and forms of presentation were being developed, or traditional ones revised. Significantly, this development ran parallel to the emergence of the written confessions, culminating in the Confessio Augustana in 1530.6 Short, concise textual and visual formulas were being developed that would convey the crucial evangelical understanding in a coherent way (Neddens: 2018).

6 The year 1529 could be called the “Bilderjahr der Reformation” (M. Hoberg). Cf. Wenz: 1996, 56, Note 24.

Justification and care

In the art of the Cranach workshop, justification by faith is expressed mainly in three types of pictorial motifs:7 first and fundamentally, in the intense meditation and imagination of the Christ Crucified; second, in the marriage motif, as described in Luther’s Von der Freiheit eines Christenmenschen and familiar both from Devotio moderna and from mysticism; and finally, in the new subject, Christ Blessing the Children. Being a child and being responsible for children from now on assumed a completely new role in art. This stock of visual core metaphors of salvation differs considerably from that of the late Middle Ages, where in addition to the meditation of the Christ Crucified and the Man of Sorrows (Erbärmdebild) this had consisted in particular of the Madonna, the Pietà and the Throne of Mercy (Gnadenstuhl), but also the World’s Judge and many saints.

Fig. 1 Lucas Cranach the Elder, Damnation and Redemption (1529), mixed technique on lime wood, Stiftung Schloß Friedenstein Gotha

7 For the relationship between justification theology and Lutheran visual culture, which cannot be treated in depth here, see Neddens: 2015.

53

54

Christian Neddens

a) Confronted with the Christ Crucified:8 The specific Lutheran imagination of justification by faith can be found in the so-called ‘Law and Grace’ panels,9 whose combination of motifs has been shown to have originated in the Wittenberg area (Fleck: 2010, 407).10 In the depiction of the Christ Crucified, the emphasis in Lutheranism is concentrated on the encounter with Christ, on communication, and on community: in looking at Him, I meet myself – recognise myself as a judged sinner – and at the same time, I find in Him the image of my Loving Redeemer (Fig. 1). This communicative punchline finds its expression in the ray of blood that connects Christ and the sinner in front of him. This dynamic, strong interpersonal relationship finds its final culmination in the predella of the Wittenberg Altarpiece (1548) as well as in a Wittenberg panel of the Christ Crucified in which, with the help of a large and extremely prominent inscription, Christ enters into a conversation with the believer. This means real participation, involving and being involved in this image. In the early sermons as well as the later texts, Luther writes that Christ must be inscribed and imprinted in the heart.11 For Luther, Christ and the believer come together in a specific and paradoxical anthropology: the Crucified becomes in one and the same moment the image of one’s own forlornness and of God’s overflowing love: and in so doing, it becomes the image of the judged and recreated human being.12 b) The marriage metaphor: In fact, Cranach also gave a significant role to the motif of the marriage metaphor. As a biblical scene, he chose Joh 7:53–8:11, the

8 The meditation of the Christ Crucified arose from a broad late medieval tradition. For Bernhard of Clairvaux, Aelred of Rievaulx, or Nicholas of Flüe, it was to learn how the emulation of the Crucified should lead into the deep affective empathy of his self-abasement (conformitas). Cf. Peng-Keller: 2007. 9 This “austermassen Schon / Lieblich / und tröstlich gemelde” expresses (according to the Renaissance poet Valentin Voith) the fundamental paradox in Christian faith: “Nemlich das alte und Newe Testament / den zorn und die gnade / den Todt un(d) das Leben”. Cited by Ehrstine: 1998, 513f. 10 The earliest preform is so far been documented in a woodcut, attributed to the Cranach workshop, in Urbanus Rhegius: 1525, folio E iii v. Cf. Reinitzer: 2006. 11 See Sermon von der Betrachtung des heiligen Leidens Christi (1519); Sermon von der Bereitung zum Sterben (WA 2, 131–142; 680–697). See also Auslegung des dritten und vierten Kapitels Johannis 1538–40 (WA 47, 60, 20–25): “So hat man ihnen auch an fast allen orttern an die wanth gemahlet und auff die muntze gepreget. Wolt gott aber, das er in unsere hertzen auch also gepreget und geschrieben were, wie es den billich sein soltte, das er ins hertz gesiegelt wurde, wie den die brauth im hohen liede Salomonis saget: ‘Drucke mich auff deinen arm, und siegele mich ins hertz.’” 12 Cf. Wenz: 2000, 10: “Bekennen heißt nach Luther im wesentlichen zum Bewußtsein, zur Erkenntnis, zur Anerkenntnis des wahren Verhältnisses zwischen Gott und Mensch kommen. Gott der Alleinheilige, der Mensch Sünder vor ihm!” The Christ immediacy as a double movement of spurning oneself and love for Christ is already found in the late Middle Ages, for example in Thomas de Kempis’ Discipleship of Christ. Cf. Leppin: 2015, 280f.

Justification and care

Pardoning of the Adulteress. By introducing just a few interventions, Cranach created a justification image from this motif of Venetian origin (cf. Engel: 2012). Numerous versions of this Cranach composition (from the early 1520s onwards)13 are known, like this late version of the younger Cranach (Fig. 2). Jesus and the adulteress are shown in an intimate confidentiality. Her head is inclined to his, and he protectively holds her right hand – a very close relation between sinner and Christ. As Luther points out, in this metaphor of bride and bridegroom, Christ is giving her His righteousness, and she is giving Him her sin.14

13 The motif could already be found in Cranach’s pre-Reformation work, if a drawing kept in the Herzog Anton Ulrich Museum and dated 1509 (but probably by a later hand) is actually this early. However, it is not the intimacy of Christ and the sinner that is in the foreground here, but the warning of self-righteousness. In a crowded scene, Jesus leans down to write with his fingers in the sand. Although he holds the adulteress by the hand, he turns away from her, so that the personal relationship plays a subordinate role. Cf. Koepplin/Falk: 1976, 514f.; Hofbauer: 2010, 96f. 14 Cf. Martin Luther, Resolutiones zu den 95 Thesen 1518 (WA 1, 541,31,33): “Et adulterae illi iam remissa erant peccata, antequam Christus se erigeret. At non illa hoc cognovit, cum tot starent circum eam accusatores, donec audiret vocem sponsi dicentis: Nemo te condemnavit, mulier? nec ego te condemnabo.”

55

56

Christian Neddens

Fig. 2 and 3: Lucas Cranach the Younger and workshop. Folding board with two pictures: Christ and the Adulteress (left), Christ Blessing the Children (right), 1545–50, 16 x 22cm each, oil on beech, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York

According to this image, Luther states in thesis 28 of the Heidelberg Disputation (1518): The sinners are beautiful, because they are loved, and they are not loved, because they are beautiful [...]. And that is the love of the Cross, born of the Cross, which goes there, not where she finds good, that she could enjoy, but where she can bring good to the poor and needy (Luther: 2016, 61; transl. CN).

c) The parent–child metaphor: Above all, the invention of the motif of Jesus and the Children (1520s as well) is a real innovation by the Cranach workshop (Fig. 3). If I am right, there were no medieval models for this motif, except perhaps in one specific respect the Madonna with Child and the Virgin of Mercy (SchutzmantelMadonna). In Cranach’s invention, the intimacy surprises: it culminates in the naked boy, seated unclothed on Jesus’ hand and being kissed by him. The child is loved – without doing any work at all. This closeness is extended in the rendition of the women raising and nourishing their children. In contrast, among the disciples, who find this intimacy around Jesus disturbing, there is incomprehension.

Justification and care

The parent–child motif finally returns in the image of Caritas, very common in Reformation panels (see Fig. 7). Caritas takes care of her children, hugs them. The proximity to the Madonna motif should not be overlooked, but in the case of the Madonna it was only Jesus who is beloved. In the Caritas motif, or in the Blessing of the Children, the children who are the beloved stand in for human beings as such – and they are beloved simply by virtue of the grace of the loving God.

4.

Social responsibility in core Lutheran ‘justification metaphors’

If we look at the basic texts for establishing care for the poor in the Lutheran territories, the connection between justification theology and social responsibility immediately catches the eye. Already in his preface to the Leisnig Chest Order, Luther justifies the installation of a common chest by God’s grace, paraphrasing 2Cor 1:3: Dear Lords and brothers, the Father of all mercy has called you into the communion of the Gospel, together with others, and has brought his Son Jesus Christ into your heart. And the wealth of the knowledge of Christ is so strong and effective in you, that you have made a new order of worship and community of goods according to the example of the apostles, so I have considered this order to be good and it should appear in print (Luther: 2014, 406; transl. CN).

The central idea in this paraphrase is the Father’s ‘mercy’, which establishes an intimate familiar community of his children through participation in Jesus Christ. The keyword ‘wealth’ is doubly connected to this idea through its linkage both to worship and to sharing in the common good, both of which have their starting point in the richness that is the knowledge of Christ. It is crucial here that the motivation to care for the poor comes from God’s mercy itself, as experienced by the congregation. The responsibility for good works follows naturally from God’s mercy. In the Brunswick Church Order (1528), Johannes Bugenhagen named three main goals for the order, intended to underline the close connection between preaching, teaching, and caring in the Lutheran territories: First of all, there are three things to look at: the first, to set up good schools for the children; second, to find preachers who recite the word of God purely to the people [... ]; third, to set up a common chest [... ] to maintain church services and to help the poor (Lietzmann: 1912, 3; transl. CN).

57

58

Christian Neddens

The theological significance of this intention is impressively evident in the title woodcut of the Hamburg Chest Order of Saint Nikolai in 1528 (Fig. 4): in a niche where one might expect to see the placement of the figure of a saint, a huge common chest is erected. For the true treasure of the Church is not the good works of the saints, but the caring community of believers: right worship in everyday life is not the veneration of the saints, but care for the poor.

Fig. 4: Hamburg Chest Order of Saint Nikolai in 1528, Staatsarchiv Hamburg

But need the Christian community be motivated to take on its social responsibility, or will this just happen of itself, driven by the Holy Spirit and God’s grace? Looking through Cranach’s oeuvre, it is astonishing that care for the poor seems to be lacking. Only in the Roman Catholic context of Cranach’s work do we find a relevant panel portraying good works. This depicts Cardinal Albrecht as Saint Martin, bedecked all over with jewellery and precious fabrics as he patronisingly puts a small coin in the bowl of a beggar (cf. Kotzur: 2008, No. 3). Here we see the old alms system. No social nor even any family relationship between the Cardinal

Justification and care

and the poor can be detected. Of course, in the context of the Reformation, such motifs were omitted. But what do we find instead? a) Confronted with the Christ Crucified: In Cranach’s work, therefore, we find no images of social responsibility connected with Christ’s salvific work. Typical biblical scenes in which Christ’s example and ethics are very closely connected are completely absent: neither the Good Samaritan, nor the World Judgement after Mt 25, nor the parable of Lazarus and the rich man after Lk 16 is to be found in his imagery. Once again, justification is to remain distanced from good and meritorious deeds. In later times, however, the motif of Poor Lazarus as an image of the suffering Christ is strongly taken up on Lutheran alms panels. b) The marriage metaphor: What about the motif of the ‘marriage’ between Jesus and the sinner? Is social responsibility at stake here? One might think that this is not the case, that these images just communicate the justification of the sinner. But the opposite is true. Where did Cranach’s patrons actually hang a work like Jesus and the Adulteress? In the church? In the domestic living room? Where else? In most cases, we do not know. But for Jesus and the Adulteress at least one exemplary hanging place is known to us, as shown by the Spalatin Chronicle of 1530, illustrated by the Cranach workshop. The motif is depicted in a scene where King Henry of Saxony is being asked for advice. In the background, above a door, beside a mirror and a window, a broad panel painting can be seen with the motif of Joh 7:3–8:11 in Cranach style (Fig. 5). The image of the sinner in the royal audience chamber carries an interesting double punchline. On the one hand, the image serves as an admonition to the ruler to follow the example of Christ and look with the eyes of Christ on all sinners who enter through the portal, with Luther saying, Make the sinner beautiful;15 on the other hand, the universality of sin is brought to light by the words of Jesus accompanying all pictures of this type: “He who is without sin throws the first stone.” The reliance on forgiveness and the reminder of mercy apply equally to the ruler. Thus, this impressive motif establishes a visual solidarity among sinners, depicted for all to see in the public space. The solidarity of all those who are dependent on God’s grace, and the view of the sinner as God’s beloved, form in my opinion one

15 Cf. Martin Luther, Von weltlicher Obrigkeit 1523 (WA 11, 229–281: 273, 13–24): “Und soll Christum ynn seyn augen bilden und also sagen: ‘Sihe, Christus, der uberst furst, ist komen und hatt myr gedienet, [... ].Also will ich auch thun, nicht an meynen unterthanen das meyne suchen, sondern das yhre, unnd will yhn auch also dienen mit meynem ampt [... ] Denn also hatt uns Christus than und das sind eygentlich Christlicher liebe werck.’“

59

60

Christian Neddens

of the central motifs of Lutheran social care. This is the Lutheran social imaginary par excellence.

Fig. 5 Lucas Cranach the Elder, Spalatin-Chronik (1530)

c) The parent–child metaphor: It has already been noted that in the Blessing of the Children panel, Christ’s attentiveness directly influences the relation between the women and their children. We have further seen that the figure of Caritas in Cranach’s image programme also has a strong Christological point. It is easy to recognise that Caritas too plays an important role in social relations. She provides a model of attentiveness and of care for the needy. This motif is impressively treated on a Reformation broadsheet by Peter Flettner (1535) illustrating a parable of Hans Sachs (Fig. 6). Caritas – love of brother for brother – is terribly mutilated by wicked egotism. Only once her wounds are healed by God can she return to the city of men. Concern for the loss of social care and for the Lutheran unity of faith and love find their expression both in parable and in woodcut (cf. Hamm: 1996, 1962–00).

Justification and care

Fig. 6 Peter Flettner/Flötner, Die brüderlich lieb hat keyn füß mer, leaflet with a parable by Hans Sachs, woodcut, around 1535, Herzögliches Museum Gotha

Similarly, in Cranach’s Caritas depictions, trust and love belong together. Characteristic for Cranach is Caritas’s nakedness and her involvement in nature (Fig. 7). Vitality, feeding, bodily affection, vivid communication characterise life here. Rather than being associated with exceptional good works, Caritas refers to life’s natural sharing, which arises from trust in the Creator’s care.16 Castle and city in the background are not depicted in contrast: there too, natural care for one another and

16 Luther emphasises how care springs from gratitude and joy. Cf. WA 36,394ff: “Ich soll dein Helfer, Christus, Heyland sein... propter hoc gaudium wil ich mich fortan freuen et facere quicquid debeo, solum propter gaudium, quia non praedicat justiciam praeceptorum, sed merum gaudium. [... ] Nobis natus salvator, des sol ich mich trosten. Ubi est fides in corde, sequitur tale gaudium und besserung totius vitae.”

61

62

Christian Neddens

attentiveness to life has space to unfold. This includes those institutions dedicated to education and help for the needy.17 For both Luther and Cranach, it is the highest worldly worship to care for those who are given into our responsibility, especially children. Not for nothing does Luther call the washing of diapers a ‘good work’ for the father of the family when he does it in Christian faith (cf. Vom ehelichen Leben 1522, WA 10 II, 296–297). Yes, “fathers are obliged above all to care for their children. This is the supreme worship that they can carry out with earthly goods”, Luther says (2014, 410; transl. CN). And the images of Christ’s Blessing of the Children are also to be understood in accordance with this. The task of taking care is here, literally, to be grasped with the hands. The children on these and on the Caritas panels stand for the immediate dependents who need our care to grow and learn, and ultimately in their turn to take responsibility for others. This, of course, fits perfectly well with Luther’s ethics of responsibility: what is to be done arises directly from the needs of those who are, so to speak, laid at our feet. There is no need for any special motivation for good works over and above watching for what they need.18

17 For Cranach’s Caritas, Melancholia forms the counter image. She is the one who does not take care of her children, who stays by herself, turns away from life, Luther’s homo incurvatus in seipsum. It cannot be ruled out that Cranach in the figure of Melancholia alludes to the sacred life of the monks and ascetics, since acedia/ melancholia was considered a monastic sin par excellence. Lustful but unfruitful, with no responsibility for the sharing of life, Melancholia remains alone with her visions rising from the imagining heart, the cor fingens. So, she would represent the hypocrite, as Luther – and probably also Cranach – knew about in person of Augsburg swindler Anna Laminit, who attracted considerable attention with her claim to feed herself only by the hosts. Luther visited her in 1511 and later mentioned her activities in his table speeches as ludibria Diaboli. See WA TR 4,582f., No. 4925 and 6,320f., No. 7005. Cf. Neddens: 2017. 18 In his letter to Johann Hess, which also appeared in print, Luther expresses these thoughts with the admonition to stay in the city even in time of epidemic and care for those in need. Cf. Ob man vor dem Sterben fliehen möge 1527 (WA 23, 338–379: 363–366).

Justification and care

Fig. 7 Lucas Cranach the Younger, Caritas, around 1537, oil on oak, 48.5 x 73.2 cm, Hamburger Kunsthalle

The Lutheran understanding of justification and care for the poor described here also has its problematic aspects, which have emerged at certain historical moments. 1) The poor from elsewhere: What about those in need who do not belong to ‘my’ house or community – the outsiders, the vagabonds and ‘gypsies’? The understanding of natural care leads on the one hand to a devotion to creaturely life, to the perception of natural need; but it can also lead to man-made distress being deemed extraordinary, ‘unnatural’, and thus dimmed and marginalised. Thus, the social imaginary of Lutheranism could be seen as encouraging the contemporary tendency of urban citizenries to exclude and stigmatise ‘gypsies’ and the poor who have come from elsewhere. 2) The work ethic and social care: In this context, I will take a look at Max Weber’s often-quoted theory of a new-found appreciation in the Reformation era of work and economic rationality, leading to the stigmatisation of poverty as laziness. I am not sure if this view is correct with regard to the Lutheran territories. Although Lucas Cranach was a clever entrepreneur and one of the wealthiest citizens in Wittenberg, no trace of such a high regard for work can be found in Cranach’s paintings. And although Wenzeslaus Linck, the Reformer of Altenburg, in 1523 praised work as a help against sin and idleness and an aid in keeping the commandments (Linck: 1523, 152ff.), it seems to me that it can scarcely be found in the social imaginary of early Lutheranism. Caritas cares for her children and ensures that life goes on,

63

64

Christian Neddens

but she does not work, in the true sense. In the same way, for Cranach the ideal of human life is not work, but play, love, and physical vitality.19

5.

Justification and care on the Lutheran alms panels

Fig. 8 Hans Schäufelin, Man of Sorrows 1522, oil on wood, 156.6 x 145 cm, Stadtmuseum Nördlingen

How was the visual representation of justification and care continued in the Lutheran territories? In the following decades, alms boxes were set up in many churches, and alms panels were hung above them. For example, the Wurttemberg

19 Instead, a lot of working tools can be found on Cranach’s Melancholia paintings. Melancholia is associated with the genius (and egomania) of the inventors and artists, symbol of a new time of sciences and arts and prosperity. She carves on a stick, and that is – in a sense – the parody of work par excellence. Cf. Neddens: 2017.

Justification and care

Chest Order prescribed that the alms box should have a plaque attached to it so that anyone could be admonished to give (cf. Scharfe: 1968, 262). These plaques can be read as a kind of oath of disclosure as to how the relation between justification and care was seen in the Reformation territories. a) Confronted with the Christ Crucified: For visualising care for the poor, what could be more natural than referring to the near and present Christ, who gave his life for us? The first Lutheran alms panel I know does exactly this, a choice that Cranach would have excluded. The panel is by Hans Schäufelin, done in 1522 as a pillar painting for the Nördlingen City Church. It hung directly above the new common chest, and expressed a strange connection between redemption and social responsibility (cf. Metzger: 1998, 75ff). Christ appears above the common chest as a resurrected Man of Sorrows, while in the background, citizens put money in the chest and provide for the poor (Fig. 8). The inscription refers to Dan 4,24: “Give your alms to the poor, so God will have mercy upon your sins.”20 The collection box and the alms panel were set up in parallel with the introduction of a new Order on beggary, and were probably inaugurated by the Lutheran-minded preacher, Theobald Billican. In his address, he remembered the mercy of God in 1 John 3 and 4, and admonished the congregation to have mercy on others too, so that the poor may bear witness to their brotherly love before God’s heavenly throne (cf. Metzger: 1998, 82). On the one hand, gratitude for God’s mercy is merged with care for the poor, a combination considered quite ‘Lutheran’; but on the other, the traditional idea of justice by meritorious works and the intercession and witness of the needy continues here. It almost seems as if, rather than the soul springing from purgatory as soon as the dime rings in the box, the present Christ will arise from the tomb-like box (cf. Kugler: 2011, 538). It is not hard to imagine why Schäufelin’s novel image did not become popular in the Lutheran countries. b) The marriage metaphor: The portrayal of a love relationship between Christ and the soul, widely used in mysticism circles, also continued in the printmaking and the painting of Lutheranism, and later into Baroque literature. As example of Lutheran paintings, we see here one of a series of thirteen emblems on the balustrades of the gallery of the village church at Brandshagen, Mecklenburg-Vorpommern (Fig. 9). Fides reaches out for Christ, who holds her by the arm. The inscription reads: “Who believes may hope for life, Who believes may see the open heaven” (Steiger: 2016, 74, trans. CN). But the idea of this relationship as a Hosea marriage, or as Christ and the Adulteress, largely disappears from practice; as far as I know, no aspects of social care can be further derived from it.

20 “Gebent ewr heilig almusen den armen so wierdet sich got über ewr sund erbarmen.”

65

66

Christian Neddens

Fig. 9 Fides, Saint Mary’s Brandshagen, MecklenburgVorpommern

c) The parent–child metaphor: Caritas and her children can be found in both the Lutheran and the Roman Catholic iconography of the Baroque to motivate caring for others. But the self-evident caring expressed by Caritas as portrayed in Cranach’s paintings in her nakedness and surrounded by nature has disappeared. Instead, the Caritas is now once again connected with the extraordinary works of love according to Mt 25, in the Lutheran territories also. As an example, here we see the alms panel by Anton Möller the Elder (c. 1563–1611) in Saint Mary’s Church, Gdansk (1607), a panel which was originally placed above the alms box (Steiger: 2016, 193) (Fig. 10). A tree trunk emerges from Fides below and nourishes Caritas, who is shown with her children; from Caritas, the good works grow, and the archery field above shows Christ as the World Judge. The reading instruction can be found at the bottom in a medallion: Temporal and eternal retributions are offered to the viewer for his works of love in favour – explicitly – of the domestic poor.21 21 “Drum öffne hier das Hertze dein / Vnd leg ein Gab in Kasten hier / Den Hausarmen zu hulff/ solchs dir / Vergelten wird Christus der Herr / Hie zeitlich v[nd] dort noch viel mehr” (cited in Steiger: 2016, 197). A similar example of the connection between Caritas and the works of mercy is shown on a copperplate engraving by Philippe Galle after Pieter Brueghel the Elder (1559). Here Caritas can be seen in the middle of the works of mercy, in an urban poor supply. The pelican on her head, who feeds his offspring with his lifeblood, is traditionally reminiscent of the salvific work of Christ.

Justification and care

Fig. 10 Anton Möller the Elder, Caritas (alms panel), 1607, Saint Mary’s Church, Gdansk

d) Christ as the poor brother/Christ meets the poor brother: In Mt 25, 31–46, we have a subject calling for more careful consideration. Two central motifs play a role here. On the one hand, there is the idea of reward, as encountered just above in the Gdansk alms panel: heavenly reward is promised for the works of mercy. On the other hand, Mt 25 mentions both the encounter with Christ in Suffering and his encounter with the “lesser brothers” (Mt 25: 40b). So, we are confronted with a metaphor of intimate relationship, but one that is not meritorious, but communicative. Surprisingly, this did not occur in Luther’s and Cranach’s early justification theology. The reason, I guess, may have been that the idea of reward resonated too much, and the relation between brothers may perhaps have seemed too symmetrical to be used to represent that between Christ and man. The question

Interesting is a copy of Pieter Brueghel the Younger, on which Caritas is missing in the middle. Cf. Schmidt: 2011, 207f.

67

68

Christian Neddens

Fig. 11 a and b: Alms Panel, Möckern, Saint Laurentius, sixteenth century, front and back.

is whether and how the Lutheran images of the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries solved these problems – or not. In fact, there were many representations of the works of mercy, which – like the Gdansk Caritas – so explicitly acknowledged the idea of reward that they were hardly compatible with the Lutheran doctrine of justification. This can be found, for example, on a sixteenth-century alms panel from Möckern (Fig. 11). The passages quoted, especially the last one (Prov 21:13), suggest an immediate connection between doing and receiving: “Whoso stoppeth his ears at the cry of the poor, he also shall cry himself, but shall not be heard.” One way of solving such problematic ambiguity between justification theology and ethics was to disambiguate the biblical stories or pictures artificially. This too, however, could be quite problematic. For example, the following two portrayals of the Good Samaritan point in this direction (Lk 10:30–37). The painting from the Lutheran Church of Mellenthin is inscribed: “Our wounds are cured by God alone.” While it is characteristic of the biblical parable that the listener takes on the role of the Samaritan as well as the man who is attacked, so that the parable has an active/ethical as well as a passive/soteriological component (cf. Luther about this text in a sermon in 1529; WA 29, 536–539), the image here reduces this ambivalence to the aspect of being cured through Christ.

Justification and care

Fig. 12 Emblem on the balustrade of the Lutheran Church in Mellenthin (eighteenth century?), Usedom

This can be seen even on the pulpit portal of Saint Mary’s Church, Rostock (1574), where the same scene is to be found under the inscription Eph 2:5 (“Even when we were dead in sins, He hath quickened us together with Christ; by grace ye are saved.”) (cf. Steiger: 2016, 663ff). The Christological/soteriological reading has completely displaced the ethical/exhortatory dimension. But there is a third, and I think a better, possibility. The emphasis of parables like Lk 10 or Mt 25 could be placed not on the aspect of heavenly reward, but on that of relationship. In fact, both these parables are about the nearness of Christ in the encounter with the poor and the needy. On Lutheran alms panels, a type of representation is to be found that connects the nearness of Christ and the encounter with the needy in a way that highlights not the believer’s own work, but the love of Christ. For example, on the alms panel from Schleusingen (1546), Christ shows awareness of the needy without associating caring for them either with good works or with heavenly reward (Fig. 13). The clearly visible plaque on the wall, quoting

69

70

Christian Neddens

Lk 6:36, remembers God’s mercy and emphasises sola gratia: “Be merciful as your Father is in heaven.” On an alms panel from the Lutheran Church in Bad Überkingen (1604), the emphasis is on the presence of Christ among the poor and needy. The wooden plaque was originally attached to a pillar above the alms box. An inscription promises: “Inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it to me” (Mt 25:40).

Fig. 13 Alms Panel, Schleusingen, Lutheran Church Saint John, 1546

Justification and care

Fig. 14 Alms Panel, Bad Überkingen, Lutheran City Church, 75 x 62 cm, 1604

But there is a further problem. With their intention to motivate the community member to donate, the alms panels usually address the citizen as benefactor, but not in the same moment as reliant on God’s mercy. This can easily create a paternalistic gap between those who need help and those who grant it. The community member’s own human need for help – because they, as much as the poor, are at God’s mercy – is lost from view. This is the case, for example, in a Frankfurt alms panel from 1531. Here on the one hand, mercy is simply mentioned as a sufficient motivation for caring: “Give to the domestic poor for God’s sake”; but at the same time, the paternalistic structure of this giving is unmistakable. This distortion of the message is even stronger on an alms panel from Augsburg (Fig. 15). Once poor relief had been reorganised in 1522 under the influence of evangelical sermons, six almsmen were responsible for the distribution of gifts there. In the middle, the alms panel shows the emblem of the city, with the date,

71

72

Christian Neddens

1537. Religious motivation has disappeared completely from the picture: only the act of giving to the poor is left.22

Fig. 15 Alms Panel, 1537, oil on wood, Kunstsammlungen und Museen der Stadt Augsburg, Maximilianmuseum

e) Poor Lazarus: The combination of the brotherhood of Christ with care for the poor received vivid resonance in yet another motif: Poor Lazarus (Luke 16:19–31). The Biblical Lazarus figure who suffers the deepest humiliation in front of the rich man’s house has a strong Christological dimension, also in view of his resurrection from the dead (Luke 16:31). We increasingly find the Lazarus motif in the context of almsgiving in seventeenth-century Lutheranism. Such a Poor Lazarus we find, for example, in the parish of Seester, where Lazarus holds the offering box (Fig. 16).23

22 If –in contrast to Augsburg – the religious motivation of giving was taken up, in most cases the idea of a reward for giving alms was predominant. Cf. Löcher: 1997, 464f. 23 In fact, it was not until 1654 that the figure of Lazarus was carved on the model of a sculpture, located in the area, and placed together with the alms box from 1613. But only in 1927 was the alms box placed on the head of Lazarus after the restoration of the figure.

Justification and care

Fig. 16 Alms Box with Poor Lazarus, 1613, Lutheran Congregation Seester

Similarly, a Poor Lazarus from 1696 is sculpted in front of the collecting box in the Saint Vitus Church, Barnstorf. Dogs are licking his wounds; above is written Prov 19:17: “He who has pity on the poor lends to the Lord, And He will pay back what he has given” (Fig. 17). Similar is an alms panel from Elmshorn (1661): “Dear Christians / Give to the poor, and God will have mercy on you” (Fig. 18). Similar panels are documented in the Rostock Saint Mary’s Church and the Königsberg Löbenicht Church (cf. Steiger: 2016, 659–662; Steiger: 2013, 69–88). The motif remains ambivalent. On the one hand, the idea of reward shimmers through; on the other, the aspect of the encounter with Christ in the poor is also echoed – but without the idea of reward.24

24 This theme, but focused on the rich man instead of Lazarus, can be found on an oil painting in the Saint Jacobi Church in Hamburg (1622). The picture shows the rich man and death, according to Luke 12:16–21, a typical memento mori. At the same time, however, the inscription above points to the social obligation that arises from wealth and in this respect recalls Lk 16:19–31: “Armot lijdt not.

73

74

Christian Neddens

Fig. 17 Alms Box, Saint Veit’s-Church Barnstorf, 1696. Inscription: Prov 19:17: “Wer sich deß armen erbarmet, der leihet dem Herrn, der wird ihm wieder guts vergelten”.

The Lazarus motif is widespread in the Baltic Sea region, and in many places becomes transformed into a secular form of the poor man. The popular wooden figure of Gubben Rosenbom (Old Man Rosenbom) in the Karlskrona Admiralty Church, Sweden, for example, is a collection box that originally stood outside the church. If you lift the figure’s hat, you can put in a coin for the poor. The figure holds a placard in one hand, which states: “I humbly beg of you, even though my voice may be weak, come and put a penny in but first lift my hat. Blessed are those that care for the poor.” Such pauper statues (called Vaivaisukko) have been quite common, especially in the rural areas of Western Finland, since the seventeenth century.

Barmherticheit ijs dott Gerechticheit leydt geuangen. Vntruwe regeert ijn allen Landen.” Cf. Steiger: 2016, 353.

Justification and care

Fig. 18 Alms Panel, Saint Nicolai Elmshorn, 1661

Fig. 19 Gubben Rosenbom, Karlskrona, Sweden

75

76

Christian Neddens

6.

Discussion and conclusions

The Reformation paintings by Cranach and his contemporaries show just three types of justification metaphors: the encounter with Christ Crucified, the marriage motif, and the parent–child metaphor. These core metaphors of justification in their turn had a role in the shaping of the social – by way of the texts as well as the images. Intimacy, corporeality, attentiveness, caring, and responsibility come into view here, at the heart of Lutheran faith. In all these images, the loving relation between Christ and the sinner is crucial – as well as the solidarity among sinners, who are equally dependent on God’s grace. The marriage metaphor portrays esteem for everyone, including the sinner reintegrated into the community. The parent–child metaphor shows spontaneous and natural care within the bonds of life. Charity, rather than being associated with extraordinary good works, refers to the sharing of life that arises from trust in the Creator’s care. And the image of the Crucified lets us discover in his suffering the brother, even the Christ. These core metaphors of justification combined with social care in Early Modern Lutheranism show two crucial points, as can be seen in the pictorial motifs of Cranach and his contemporaries: social responsibility, first, as motivated just in the mercy of God, and second, as something natural, vivid, and interpersonal, something based on the needs of those who live close to us. There follow certain consequences for the understanding of poor relief in the Lutheran territories: • The understanding of natural care leads, first, to a devotion to creaturely life, to the perception of natural needs. • It leads, second, to the depiction of high esteem for the common good, and for cooperative community and care as the central punchlines of Lutheran images of the social. • It can lead, third, to the dimming and marginalising of man-made distress. • Ultimately, attentiveness to the poor at hand and their life-situation renders the causes of poverty more visible. Luther, Bugenhagen and others tried to convince government to address these causes. As this analysis of alms panels has indicated, on the one hand the idea of reward came once again to play a greater role in the late Reformation and Baroque period; on the other, the community member giving alms to the poor was in most cases no longer visible in his existence as a justified sinner and recipient of God’s grace (as everyone is), but only as a benefactor and donor. In train with these changes, the view of the social also changed. Not always was it the solidarity among sinners and the natural care for life that was decisive, but paternalistic care for the needy by good Christians. At worst, the poor became passive objects of mercy. On the other hand, Mt 25 gave room for a further biblical metaphor, of intimate relationship. This, the brotherly poor Christ, came into the Lutheran imagery quite

Justification and care

late. The encounter of Christ as brother, in the poor man who is not necessarily part of the family but nevertheless close to me, was an important complement to the early Reformation metaphors of intimate human relations, if it only really became clear in the twentieth century. Some questions remain open. Single studies on the various artists and of the alms panels in the various territories could follow – in each case, compared with local regulations and institutions, and of course in interdenominational comparison. Then it would become even clearer how the metaphors and images differ, as would the extent to which they actually affected perceptions and the shaping of the social. It has been the ambition of the present study to cut the first path for this. What is certain, however, is that much effort was made in the Lutheran imagery to anchor social care at the core of justification – sometimes more convincing, sometimes less.

Bibliography Bisle, Max (1904), Die öffentliche Armenpflege der Reichsstadt Augsburg mit Berücksichtigung der einschlägigen Verhältnisse in anderen Reichsstädten Süddeutschlands. Ein Beitrag zur christlichen Kulturgeschichte, Paderborn: Schöningh. Bühren, Ralf van (1998), Die Werke der Barmherzigkeit in der Kunst des 12.–18. Jahrhunderts. Zum Wandel eines Bildmotivs vor dem Hintergrund neuzeitlicher Rhetorikrezeption, Hildesheim: Olms. Castoriadis, Cornelius (1984), Gesellschaft als imaginäre Institution. Entwurf einer politischen Philosophie, aus dem Französischen übersetzt von Horst Brühmann, Frankfurt: Suhrkamp. Ehrstine, Glenn (1998), Seeing is believing. Valten Voith’s Ein schön Lieblich Spiel von dem herlichen vrsprung (1538), Protestant “Law and Gospel” Panels and German Dramaturgy, Daphnis, Zeitschrift für Mittlere Deutsche Literatur 27, 503–537. Engel, Sabine (2012), Das Lieblingsbild der Venezianer. Jesus und die Ehebrecherin in Kirche, Kunst und Staat des 16. Jahrhunderts, Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Fischer, Thomas (1979), Städtische Armut und Armenfürsorge im 15. und 16. Jahrhundert. Sozialgeschichtliche Untersuchungen am Beispiel der Städte Basel, Freiburg i. Br. und Straßburg, Göttingen: Schwartz. Fleck, Miriam Verena (2010), Ein tröstlich gemelde. Die Glaubensallegorie ‘Gesetz und Gnade’ in Europa zwischen Spätmittelalter und Früher Neuzeit, Korb: Didymos. Geremek, Bronislaw (1988), Geschichte der Armut. Elend und Barmherzigkeit in Europa, München/Zürich: Artemis. Glüber, Wolfgang (2000), Darstellung von Armut und bürgerlicher Armenfürsorge im Spätmittelalter und in der frühen Neuzeit. Kunsthistorische Interpretationen von Altargemälden, Almosentafeln und Illustrationen, Frankfurt a.M.: Fachhochschulverlag.

77

78

Christian Neddens

Grell, Ole Peter/Andrew Cunningham (ed.) (1997), Health Care and Poor Relief in Protestant Europe 1500–1700, London/New York: Routledge. Grimm, Harold J. (1970), Luther’s Contribution to Sixteenth Century Organization of Poor Relief, Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 61, 222–234. Gutmann, Hans-Martin (1991), Über Liebe und Herrschaft. Luthers Verständnis von Intimität und Autorität im Kontext des Zivilisationsprozesses, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Hamm, Berndt (1996), Bürgertum und Glaube. Konturen der städtischen Reformation, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Hofbauer, Michael (2010), Cranach. Die Zeichnungen, Berlin: Edition Braus. Holm, Bo Kristian (2006), Gabe und Geben bei Luther. Das Verhältnis zwischen Reziprozität und reformatorischer Rechtfertigungslehre, Berlin/New York: de Gruyter. Holm, Bo Kristian (2017), Theologisch-soziale Formationen der lutherischen Wirkungsgeschichte, in Heinrich Assel/Johann Anselm Steiger/Axel E. Walter (ed.), Reformatio Baltica: Kulturwirkungen der Reformation in den Metropolen des Ostseeraums, Berlin/ Boston: de Gruyter, 921–932. Kahl, Sigrun (2005), The Religious Roots of Modern Poverty Policy: Catholic, Lutheran, and Reformed Protestant Traditions Compared, European Journal of Sociology 46, 911–26. Klein, Michael (2004), Der Beitrag der protestantischen Theologie zur Wohlfahrtstätigkeit im 16. Jahrhundert, in Theodor Strohm/Michael Klein (ed.), Die Entstehung einer sozialen Ordnung Europas, Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag, 146–179. Koepplin, Dieter/Tilman Falk (1976), Lukas Cranach. Gemälde, Zeichnungen, Druckgraphik. Zur Ausstellung im Kunstmuseum Basel, vol. 2, Basel: Birkhäuser. Kotzur, Hans-Jürgen (2008), Dommuseum Mainz. Führer durch die Sammlung, Mainz: von Zabern. Kröger, Silke (2006), Armenfürsorge und Wohlfahrtspflege im frühneuzeitlichen Regensburg, Regensburg: Pustet. Kugler, Andrea (2011), Almosenbild, in Herbert Uerlings/Nina Trauth/Lukas Clemens (ed.), Armut. Perspektiven in Kunst und Gesellschaft, Ausstellungskatalog Trier, Darmstadt: Primus, 535–538. Leppin, Volker (2015), “Solus Christus”. Zur Genese einer reformatorischen Exklusivpartikel aus der spätmittelalterlichen Passionsfrömmigkeit, in Volker Leppin, Transformationen. Studien zu den Wandlungsprozessen in Theologie und Frömmigkeit zwischen Spätmittelalter und Reformation, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 279–301. Lietzmann, Hans (1912), Johannes Bugenhagens Braunschweiger Kirchenordnung 1528, Bonn: Marcus & Weber. Linck, Wenzel (1523), Von der Arbeit und vom Betteln. Wie man der Faulheit zuvorkommen und jedermann zur Arbeit anhalten sollte, in Wilhelm Reindell (ed.) (1894), Wenzel Lincks Werke, part 1, Marburg: Oscar Ehrhardt. Löcher, Kurt (1997), Die Gemälde des 16. Jahrhunderts. Germanisches Nationalmuseum. Stuttgart: Hatje.

Justification and care

Lorentzen, Tim (2008a), Almosenbretter, Opferstöcke und Gemeine Kästen – Quellen zur Armenfürsorge vor und nach der Reformation, in Harald Melle /Stefan Rhein/Hans-Georg Stephan (ed.), Luthers Lebenswelten, Halle an der Saale: Landesmuseum, 369–376. Lorentzen, Tim (2008b), Johannes Bugenhagen als Reformator der öffentlichen Fürsorge, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Lorentzen, Tim (2015), Öffentliche Fürsorge in den evangelischen Kirchenordnungen des 16. Jahrhunderts, in Sabine Arend/Gerald Dörner (ed.), Ordnungen für die Kirche – Wirkungen auf die Welt. Evangelische Kirchenordnungen des 16. Jahrhunderts, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 203–232. Luther, Martin (2012: vol. 1/ 2014: vol. 2/ 2015: vol. 3), Deutsch-deutsche Studienausgabe (DDStA), vol. 1–3, Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt. Luther, Martin (2016), Studienausgabe, Lateinisch-Deutsch (LDStA), vol. 1, Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt. Luther, Martin, Dr Martin Luthers Werke, Weimarer Ausgabe, Weimar (WA). Metzger, Christof (1998), Reformatorische Bilder im Werk Hans Schäufelins (1480/ 85–1539/40), in Peter Poscharsky (ed.), Die Bilder in den lutherischen Kirchen. Ikonographische Studien, München: scaneg, 73–93. Neddens, Christian (2017), Melancholia und Caritas. Humanität im Vorletzten – Bildwelten Lars von Triers und des frühneuzeitlichen Luthertums, in Christophe Chalamet/ Andreas Dettwiler/Mariel Mazzocco/Ghislain Waterlot (ed.), Game over? Reconsidering Eschatology, Berlin/Boston: de Gruyter, 335–368. Neddens, Christian (2015), Heilsame Anschauung. Visuelle Kommunikation der Rechtfertigung auf dem Weimarer Altarretabel Lucas Cranachs d.J., in Bild und Bekenntnis, Die Cranach-Werkstatt in Weimar, hg. v. Franziska Bomski, Hellmut Th. Seemann und Thorsten Valk im Auftrag der Klassik Stiftung Weimar, Göttingen: Wallstein, 75–112. Neddens, Christian (2018), ‘Genuin lutherisch’ oder ‘allgemein christlich’? Konfessorische Bilder der Cranach-Werkstatt am Vorabend des Augsburger Reichstags (1525–1530), in Christoph Barnbrock/Gilberto da Silva (ed.), ‘Die einigende Mitte’. Theologie in konfessioneller und ökumenischer Verantwortung, Göttingen: Edition Ruprecht, 291–318. Neddens, Christian (2019), Die Wiederkehr der Bilder. Transformation und Reformation mittelalterlicher Heilsmedien in der Cranach-Werkstatt, in Wolfgang Behringer/Wolfgang Kraus/Roland Marti (ed.), Die Reformation zwischen Revolution und Renaissance. Reflexionen zum Reformationsjubiläum, Berlin: Lit, 181–210. Oehmig, Stefan (ed.) (2007), Medizin und Sozialwesen in Mitteldeutschland zur Reformationszeit, Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt. Oehmig, Stefan (1988), Der Wittenberger Gemeine Kasten in den ersten zweieinhalb Jahrzehnten seines Bestehens (1522/23–1547), Jahrbuch für die Geschichte des Feudalismus 12, 229–269. Peng-Keller, Simon (2007), Christliche Passionsmeditation als Schule der ‘Compassion’?, in Ingolf U. Dalferth/Andreas Hunziker (ed.), Mitleid, Konkretionen eines strittigen Konzepts, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 307–342.

79

80

Christian Neddens

Reinitzer, Heimo (2006), Gesetz und Evangelium. Über ein reformatorisches Bildthema, seine Tradition, Funktion und Wirkungsgeschichte, Bd. I: Text, Bd. II: Abbildungen, Hamburg: Christians Verlag. Sachße, Christoph/Florian Tennstedt (ed.) (1998), Geschichte der Armenfürsorge in Deutschland. vol. 1: Vom Spätmittelalter bis zum 1. Weltkrieg, 2nd , Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Scharfe, Martin (1968), Evangelische Andachtsbilder. Studien zur Intention und Funktion des Bildes in der Frömmigkeitsgeschichte vornehmlich des schwäbischen Raumes, Stuttgart: Müller&Gräff. Schmidt, Sebastian (2006), “Gott wohlgefällig und den Menschen nützlich”. Zu Gemeinsamkeiten und konfessionsspezifischen Unterschieden frühneuzeitlicher Armenfürsorge, in Sebastian Schmidt/Jens Aspelmeier (ed.), Norm und Praxis der Armenfürsorge in Spätmittelalter und früher Neuzeit, Stuttgart: Steiner, 61–90. Schmidt, Sebastian (2011), Religiöse Bildprogramme als Ausdruck kollektiver Einstellungen?, in Herbert Uerlings/Nina Trauth/Lukas Clemens (ed.), Armut. Perspektiven in Kunst und Gesellschaft, Ausstellungskatalog Trier, Darmstadt: Primus, 206–214. Schmidt, Sebastian (2015), Perspektiven auf Armut im Zeitalter der Reformation und Konfessionalisierung, in Irene Dingel/Ute Lotz-Heumann (ed.), Entfaltung und zeitgenössische Wirkung der Reformation im europäischen Kontext, Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 302–317. Schmidt, Sebastian (2016), The Economy of Love: Welfare and Poor Relief in Catholic Territories of the Holy Roman Empire (1500–1800), in Lutz Raphael (ed.), Poverty and Welfare in Modern German History, Oxford: Berghahn, 23–48. Schneider, Bernhard (2015), Caritas. Begriffe und Konzepte des Helfens in der Geschichte des Christentums in Deutschland seit dem 16. Jahrhundert, in Christoph Stiegemann (ed.), Caritas. Nächstenliebe von den frühen Christen bis zur Gegenwart, Ausstellungskatalog, Petersberg: Imhof, 74–87. Schubert, Ernst (1991), Die Antwort niedersächsischer Kirchenordnungen auf das Armutsproblem des 16. Jahrhunderts, in Inge Mager (ed.) Festschrift zum 10. Geburtstag für Hans-Walter Krummwiede. Jahrbuch der Gesellschaft für niedersächsische Kirchengeschichte 89, 105–132. Schubert, Ernst (2004), “Hausarme Leute”, “starke Bettler”. Einschränkungen und Umformungen des Almosengedankens um 1400 und um 1500, in Otto Gerhard Oexle (ed.), Armut im Mittelalter, Ostfildern: Thorbecke, 283–348. Spehr, Christopher (2014), Armut und Armenfürsorge im Kontext der Reformation, in Ralf Koerrenz/Benjamin Bunk (ed.), Armut und Armenfürsorge. Protestantische Perspektiven, Paderborn: Schöningh, 51–73. Steiger, Johann Anselm (2013), Das Gebet im Zeitalter der Reformation und des Barock. Ein Beitrag zu Martin Luther und Heinrich Müller sowie zur Bildtradition des armen Lazarus, Neuendettelsau: Freimund, 69–88. Steiger, Johann Anselm (2016), Gedächtnisorte der Reformation. Sakrale Kunst im Norden (16.-18. Jahrhundert), vol. 1+2, Regensburg: Schnell&Steiner.

Justification and care

Taylor, Charles (2002), Modern Social Imaginaries, Public Culture 14, 91–124. Taylor, Charles (2004), Modern Social Imaginaries, Durham/London: Duke University Press. Thiemann, Ronald F. (2014), The Humble Sublime. Secularity and the Politics of Belief, London/New York: I.B.Tauris. Urbanus Rhegius (1525), Vom hochwirdigen Sacrament des altars underricht, was man auß hayliger geschrifft wissen mag, Leipzig: Thanner. Wenz, Gunther (1996), Theologie der Bekenntnisschriften der evangelisch-lutherischen Kirche, vol. 1, Berlin/New York: de Gruyter. Wenz, Gunther (2000), “Das ist mein Glaube... ”. Luthers Großes Bekenntnis von 1528 (WA 26,499–509), in Gunther Wenz, Lutherische Identität. Studien zum Erbe der Wittenberger Reformation, vol. 1, Hannover: Lutherisches Verlagshaus, 9–34.

Illustrations Fig. 1:

Fig. 2:

Fig. 3:

Fig. 4: Fig. 5: Fig. 6:

Fig. 7: Fig. 8: Fig. 9:

Lucas Cranach the Elder, Damnation and Redemption (1529), Mixed technique on lime wood, Stiftung Schloß Friedenstein Gotha (Photo: Lutz Ebhardt, CC BY-NC-SA). Lucas Cranach the Younger and workshop, Christ and the Adulteress, 1545–50, 16 x 22 cm, oil on beech, Metropolitan Museum of Art New York (The Jack and Belle Linsky Collection, 1982, CC0 1.0). Lucas Cranach the Younger and workshop, Christ Blessing the Children, 1545–50, 16 x 22 cm, oil on beech, Metropolitan Museum of Art New York (The Jack and Belle Linsky Collection, 1982, CC0 1.0). Hamburg Chest Order of Saint Nikolai in 1528, Staatsarchiv Hamburg, Sign. 5123– St Nikolaikirche, Nr. XIII 1. Lucas Cranach the Elder, Spalatin-Chronik (1530); Landesarchiv Thüringen Hauptstaatsarchiv Weimar, Ernestinisches Gesamtarchiv Reg O 20–21, 191v. Peter Flettner/Flötner, Die brüderlich lieb hat keyn füß mer, leaflet with a parable by Hans Sachs, woodcut, around 1535, Herzögliches Museum Gotha. Lucas Cranach the Younger, Caritas, around 1537, oil on oak, 48.5 x 73.2 cm, © Hamburger Kunsthalle / bpk, Inv. Nr. HK-299 (Photo: Elke Walford). Hans Schäufelin, Man of Sorrows, 1522, tempera on wood, 156,6 x 145 cm, Stadtmuseum Nördlingen, Inv.-Nr. 19. Emblem at the balustrade, Saint Mary’s Church Brandshagen, MecklenburgVorpommern, in: Johann Anselm Steiger (2016), Gedächtnisorte der Reformation. Sakrale Kunst im Norden (16.–18. Jahrhundert), vol. 1, Regensburg: Schnell&Steiner, 73 (Photo: Johann Anselm Steiger).

81

82

Christian Neddens

Fig. 10:

Anton Möller the Elder, Caritas (alms panel), 1607, Saint Mary’s Church, Gdansk, in: Johann Anselm Steiger (2016), Gedächtnisorte der Reformation. Sakrale Kunst im Norden (16.-18. Jahrhundert), vol. 1, Regensburg: Schnell&Steiner, 195 (Photo: Johann Anselm Steiger). Fig. 11 a and b: Alms panel, Möckern, Saint Laurentius Church, sixteenth century (Photo: Andreas Mieth). Fig. 12: Emblem at the balustrade of the Lutheran Church in Mellenthin (eighteenth century?), Usedom, in: Johann Anselm Steiger (2016), Gedächtnisorte der Reformation. Sakrale Kunst im Norden (16.–18. Jahrhundert), vol. 2, Regensburg: Schnell&Steiner, 564 (Photo: Johann Anselm Steiger). Fig. 13: Alms panel, Schleusingen, Lutheran City Church Saint John, 1546, Sächsische Landesbibliothek – Staats-und Universitätsbibliothek Dresden © SLUB / Deutsche Fotothek. Fig. 14: Alms panel, Bad Überkingen, 75 x 62 cm, 1604, Inschriftenkommission der Heidelberger Akademie der Wissenschaften (Photo Harald Drös). Fig. 15: Alms panel, 1537, oil on wood, Kunstsammlungen und Museen der Stadt Augsburg, Maximilianmuseum. Fig. 16: Alms Box with Poor Lazarus, 1613, Lutheran Congregation Seester, near Elmshorn, (Photo: Joachim Senk). Fig. 17: Lazarus-Alms Box, Saint Veit Church Barnstorf, 1696 (Photo: Fritz Radtke). Fig. 18: Alms Panel, Saint Nicolai Elmshorn, 1661 (Photo: Linus Weilepp). Fig. 19: Gubben Rosenbom, Karlskrona, Sweden (Photo: Henrik Sendelbach, CC BY-SA 3.0).

David C. Fink

Against the Busybodies Philipp Melanchthon and the “Protestant Work Ethic” Protestants have always had a fraught relationship with work. No sooner had Luther and his earliest followers launched their assault on the late medieval church’s penitential-industrial complex, than conservative critics charged his theology with subverting the motivation for good works, while simultaneously giving free rein to the worst excesses of greed for gain. 1 In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, socialist critics viewed Luther’s reformation not as a revolutionary departure, but rather as a failure to launch: faced with the radical implications of his early teaching on Christian freedom in the Peasants’ Revolt of 1523–25, Luther retreated into political quietism, abandoning the peasants to slaughter and foreclosing on the possibility of any structural critique of the social organization of labour within Western Christendom.2 But it was in 1905, with the publication of Max Weber’s essay, Die protestantische Ethik und der Geist des Kapitalismus, that the Protestant relationship to work was given its most enduring problematic form. According to Weber, Luther’s Berufslehre constituted (along with Calvin’s theology of “doublepredestination”) one of the essential elements in the emerging ‘Protestant ethic’, which in turn served as the launchpad for modern capitalism, with its disenchantment of the world and secularization of society. Or rather: re-enchantment, for as a

Abbreviations: CR: Corpus Reformatorum: Philippi Melanthonis opera quae supersunt omnia (ed. Karl Gottlieb Bretschneider and Heinrich Ernst Bindseil et al.; 28 vols.; Halle, 1834–60); LW: Luther’s Works (75 vols.; St. Louis and Philadelphia, 1955–86; 2009–); MBW T: Melanchthons Briefwechsel: Kritische und kommentierte Gesamtausgabe: Texte (Stuttgart, Bad Cannstatt, 1991– ); MSA: Melanchthons Werke in Auswahl [Studienausgabe] (7 vols.; Gütersloh, 1951–75); PL: Patrologiae Cursus Completus, Series Latina, (Paris, 1862–1865); TAL: The Annotated Luther (6 vols.; Minneapolis, 2015–2017); WA: D. Martin Luthers Werke: Kritische Gesamtausgabe (72 vols.; Weimar, 1883–2009). 1 Among the errors with which Luther was charged by the papal curia in the bull Exsurge domine (1520) are the propositions that “in every good work the just man sins” and that “a good work done very well is a venial sin.” Though Luther would ultimately reject the distinction between mortal and venial sin, the condemnation of these propositions registers Catholic alarm at Luther’s suggestion, made explicit in his sermon On Two Kinds of Righteousness (1519), that good works performed for the purpose of securing righteousness coram Deo were damning rather than salubrious. For the reactions of Luther’s Catholic opponents and charges of antinomian radicalism, see Graham and Bagchi (2019). 2 Despite Engels’ negative appraisal of Luther as the “ideologue of the bourgoisie,” Marx held a more nuanced view of Luther as having inaugurated the first phase of the German revolution, a development with which his own efforts stood in dialectical continuity (Boer: 2019, 91).

84

David C. Fink

growing body of scholarship has argued, the rise of a market-dominated economy did not so much banish transcendent meaning as re-centre it: “Ironically, the rejection of works as means of salvation entailed a gospel of work; however worldly or secular these callings appeared, work inherited the sacral efficacy formerly ascribed to Catholic ritual” (McCarraher: 2019, 30).3 Weber’s analysis has generated a veritable mountain of scholarly writing, but despite sustained and often trenchant critique, the connection between modern capitalism and a distinctively Protestant ‘work ethic’ remains as strong as ever. As one recent historian puts it: “their presumptive relationship is part of the intellectual furniture of educated persons in the early twenty-first century, if only in the vague association of Protestantism with economic progress in contrast to the putative traditionalist backwardness of medieval Catholicism” (Gregory: 2012, 241). In the judgment of many contemporary theorists, however, this association appears more as a liability than as a marker of progress.4 Nowhere is this more evident than in the emerging ‘anti-work’ perspective in social and political theory, a critique which takes its point of departure from Weber and incorporates theoretical interventions from Marxist and feminist scholarship. In one of the seminal texts of this new perspective, Kathi Weeks observes that in the modern world, work is not just defended on grounds of economic necessity and social duty; it is widely understood as an individual moral practice and collective ethical obligation. Traditional work values—those that preach the moral value and dignity of waged work and privilege such work as an essential source of individual growth, self-fulfilment, social recognition, and status—continue to be effective in encouraging and rationalizing the long hours US workers are supposed to dedicate to waged work and the identities they are expected to invest there (Weeks: 2011, 11).

Weeks does not deny the value of work in itself, nor the necessity of productive activity; rather, her project involves a further development of Weber’s insight that capitalism inverts the eudaemonistic self-interest of the traditionalist perspective: instead of working to live, we now live to work (43f). Christian theology and ethics has until very recently adopted a generally positive evaluation of work, as a both an ontological necessity and an intrinsic good.5 However, in the last decade or so a growing number of theologians has identified, 3 Italics in original. 4 Dissent against the valorization of work is nothing new, of course. Nietzsche lamented the frenetic pace of labor in modernity and its negation of the ancient celebration of leisure in The Gay Science (1882), and although he identified this as “the distinctive vice of the new world,” he attributed it to racial, rather than religious impulses: “the savagery peculiar to Indian blood” (Nietzsche: 1965, 216). 5 See, for example, John Paul II’s 1981 encyclical, Laborem exercens; see also Volf: 2001, Jensen: 2006.

Against the Busybodies

to one degree or another, with the ‘anti-work’ perspective.6 Jeremy Posadas, in surveying the dominant currents in theological reflection on work, identifies the following axioms as loci for critique from a Christian anti-work perspective (2017, 342f): a) Work is essential to what it means to be human. b) Work is an intrinsic good in human life. c) Both a. and b. are derived from understanding God’s creative activity as work. d) Degrading forms of work are seen as a deformation of work’s essence, rather than a problem inherent to work. e) The solution to degrading labour is to redeem work by ameliorating its conditions, rather than restricting or eliminating its necessity.

Building on Weeks’ analysis, Posadas stipulates a narrower definition of work than is often deployed in the mainstream literature: “waged employment and the unwaged domestic labour that makes it possible,” or more precisely: “human productive activity and creativity compelled to serve the accumulation of capital” (349). The aim of a Christian anti-work ethic is thus to loosen the grip that waged labour holds on our time and energies, freeing us to direct our creativity and productive activities to better, more life-giving ends than the mere accumulation of capital. So far, little of the scholarship written from the anti-work perspective has engaged in any sustained way with the historical sources of the Protestant work ethic—namely, the writings of the sixteenth-century Protestant reformers themselves. Most have simply taken for granted some version of Weber’s account of Luther’s Berufslehre, and assumed that these sources are of no use in framing a theological response to the problem of work. In a perceptive recent essay on Henry David’s Thoreau’s “anti-work spirituality,” Jonathan Malesic highlights the challenges facing theologians working within a set of discourses impoverished by an uncritical valorisation of work: Because the most salient theological sources dealing with work in the Christian tradition exhibit this pro-work bias, the effort to formulate an anti-work theology will require considerable effort in the hermeneutics of recovery, finding elements of the tradition that can be repurposed to address the problems of work under neoliberalism. (2017, 311)

My aim in this essay is twofold: first, I hope to offer added texture to our historical understanding of early Protestant (specifically, Lutheran) theologies of work and vocation by examining the development of these themes in the thought of Philipp

6 For example: Rieger: 2009 and Tanner: 2019.

85

86

David C. Fink

Melanchthon, Luther’s friend and colleague at the University of Wittenberg for more than two decades. Despite the abundance of scholarly interest in Luther’s teaching on work and vocation, relatively little attention has been paid to Melanchthon’s views on these same topics.7 I argue, however, that Melanchthon put his own distinctive spin on these questions, recasting Luther’s Berufslehre in terms of a virtue ethic tailored for a post-Reformation theological and pedagogical context. Second, I aim to show that in at least some of its particulars, Melanchthon’s account of work and vocation is congruent with elements of the critique of our contemporary work culture as developed by theorists of the anti-work perspective. While it would be anachronistic and misleading to put Melanchthon forward as an ‘anti-work theologian’—on his own terms, at least, he was far from it—elements of his thought may be of interest to contemporary theologians engaged in the recovery of an ethical vocabulary that is both rooted in the earliest layers of the Protestant tradition and capable of sustaining an alternative social imaginary to that of neoliberalism. My analysis in this essay will proceed as follows. I begin with a short summary of Luther’s celebrated Berufslehre, noting areas where scholarly debates over the interpretation of Luther highlight the importance of gaining a clearer understanding of how his ideas were received in his immediate context. Next, I turn to consider aspects of Melanchthon’s teaching on work and vocation in two of his later writings, the Explication of the Proverbs of Solomon (1555) and a sermon outline, “The Story of Worried Martha” (Luke 10:38-42), published after his death. In both of these works, Melanchthon elaborates an ethic of work in terms of the virtue of sedulousness (sedulitas), a term which (so far as I can tell) he is the first writer to use as a term of art in theological ethics. This allows Melanchthon, in good Aristotelian fashion, to position moderate effort (studium mediocris) in one’s vocation as the golden mean between two extremes: ignavia (idleness) and polupragmosúnē (being a busybody). In contrast to many of his Protestant contemporaries, however, Melanchthon pays scant heed to the dangers of the former, while the unbounded striving of the busybodies calls forth surprising invective. Like most areas of the reformer’s thought, Melanchthon’s writing on this locus is complex, unfolding across a range of genres in creative tension between his theological debt to Luther and his humanist commitment to putting the literature of classical antiquity to

7 Very little scholarship has focused in particular on Melanchthon’s understanding of vocation. A 1982 article by Robert Kolb traced out the skeleton of Luther’s Berufslehre in the 1530 Confessio Augustana and in Melanchthon’s Apologia of the following year. Although Kolb allows that these texts closely reflect Luther’s teaching on these points, he asserts that “Melanchthon seems never to have so grasped Luther’s concept of the vocational structure of the Christian life that he could use it extensively” (6). More recently, Matthew Oseka has identified the “social and cultural impact of [Melanchthon’s] legacy”—including his teaching on vocation, work, and mundane life—as an area in which scrutiny of the relevant primary sources has been lacking (2017, 112).

Against the Busybodies

full use in the project of Christian education. The current state of research does not yet allow for confident generalization on many of these questions; accordingly, the present study is offered as an exploratory foray into an understudied area of Melanchthon’s thought. By focusing rather narrowly here on how Melanchthon develops his account of the virtue of sedulousness, I hope to generate further interest in the reformer’s Berufslehre as a whole, both within the guild of Melanchthon specialists and among social theorists who seek to take more nuanced stock of the reformation’s multi-faceted legacy vis-à-vis the ethics of work.

1.

Luther’s Theology of Vocation

Luther’s distinctive understanding of vocation is invoked in the scholarly literature far more often than it is analysed or clearly articulated from the primary sources. The potted version goes something like this: rejecting the late medieval bifurcation of society into sacred/clerical and profane/lay, Luther insisted that all Christians receive in baptism a ‘calling’ to serve God in their respective walks of life. Ploughing fields and nursing children is just as pleasing to God as celebrating mass or praying the canonical hours, so long as it is done in faith, which has the power to sanctify even the humblest of occupations. Hard work in one’s vocation does not secure salvation, but rather flows from the life of faith, which infuses it with all the power and vitality of God’s redemptive grace. Such a précis may be serviceable enough so far as it goes, but it overlooks some significant tensions and ambiguities in Luther’s thinking. First, despite the attempts of his later interpreters to impose terminological consistency, Luther’s use of the terms vocatio and Beruf reflects a more fundamental ambiguity latent in the Pauline text, which anchored Luther’s thinking on this point. In 1 Corinthians 7:20, Paul writes, “Let each of you remain in the condition (κλήσει) in which you were called (ἐκλήθη)” (NRSV). Or as Luther translated it: “Ein jeglicher bleybe in dem ruff, darinnen er beruffen ist.” Unlike the English of most modern translations, Luther declined to mask the ambiguity resulting from the equivocal use of these cognate terms (κλῆσις, καλέω) in the same sentence. As Christiane Frey observes, “literally, one could render the passage as ‘Each one should remain in the calling in which he was when God called him out’” (2008, 38).8 And in point of fact, Luther uses the terms vocatio/Beruf in both senses throughout his career. On the one hand, Luther often speaks of the vocatio Dei in terms consonant with Romans 4:17, where God “gives life to the dead and calls (καλοῦντος) into existence

8 Italics in original.

87

88

David C. Fink

the things that do not exist.” This leads to an expansive understanding of calling. Understood this way, the call embraces the Christian’s life from beginning to end. We are called out of darkness to the gospel through baptism. We are to call upon the name of the Lord in prayer and praise. We live our callings both on earth as children of the heavenly father and as fathers and mothers, teachers and pastors. And in the last day we will be called out of the grave. In each of these cases, the operative word is vocare/vocatio (Hagen: 2002, 261).9

According to this usage, all Christians receive a common calling in baptism to love and serve their neighbours in whatever circumstances they may find themselves. On the other hand, Luther also uses the term in connection with specific situations (Stand/Stände) or offices (Amt/Ämter)—that is to say, as an “external calling” (vocatio externa/eusserlich beruff; WA 34.2:306). As Robert Kolb explains: For Luther the situations and responsibilities which structure human life are part of the doctrine of creation. God places all people, not just Christians, in these situations; He assigns all people these responsibilities. Only those who trust in Him, however, recognize His hand in the construction of their situations. Only those who recognize His lordship perceive that their responsibilities are personal assignments from God. Luther used the word “calling” (Beruf ) for the assignments of daily life as the Christian perceives and practices them (Kolb: 1982, 6).

According to this usage, each Christian discerns a unique calling in the circumstances of daily life, which provide opportunity for putting into practice the common calling to love and serve one’s neighbour received by faith through baptism. The multiple valence of Luther’s use of the term vocatio/Beruf is not merely a linguistic tic; it connects directly with some of the most basic structures in his theology, including his law-gospel distinction and his doctrine of the two kingdoms.10 In brief, Luther understands human life as lived out with reference to two basic relationships. Before God (coram Deo), humans are purely passive, standing in a relationship of utter dependence on God’s mercy. In this relationship, our best efforts do nothing to establish righteousness, and the law of God stands in condemnation over our bent wills and our broken deeds. Only faith, which Luther understands as a purely passive reception of God’s gift of mercy through Christ, offers hope of redemption. Called into being by God’s creative word, faith unites

9 Italics in original. 10 My summary of Luther’s Zwei-Reiche-Lehre in this paragraph follows the account in Steinmetz: 2002, 112–125.

Against the Busybodies

the believer to Christ and establishes the community of faith, a community ruled by the word of God proclaimed in preaching and embodied in the sacraments. This is God’s right-hand kingdom, the Church. But not everyone receives this calling, and even for those who do receive it, the sinful power of the flesh continues to exert is malign influence (simul iustus et peccator). For this reason, God continues to rule the world through law, command, and coercion, all of which remain salient features of life in the human world (coram hominibus). God’s left-hand kingdom thus refers to human institutions of governance, guided by natural law and human wisdom, which function to restrain wickedness and secure at least a measure of human flourishing in temporal life. A major debate in twentieth-century Luther interpretation revolved around whether to understand Luther’s conception of Beruf primarily as a function of law or of gospel, of God’s left-hand kingdom or his right-hand kingdom. In his 1909 book Vår kallelse (Our Calling), the Swedish bishop Einar Billing argued for the latter: the vocatio Dei is a word spoken in God’s creative power, bringing new realities into being and infusing the Christian life with an outward-directed dynamism. As such, it brings liberating possibilities with the power to transform existing social structures. This is most evident when we consider that for Billing, the biblical paradigm for calling is the Exodus story, when God called Israel out of bondage in Egypt. Writing a generation later, another Swede, Gustav Wingren, argued that Billing had undervalued the extent to which Luther’s theology of vocation was anchored in his doctrine of creation (Wingren: 1957). Faith liberates Christians from bondage to the law coram Deo, and in so doing, it frees them to serve the neighbour under the law coram hominibus, in whatever station or situation they find themselves. For Wingren, this means that living out one’s calling means living under law, in God’s left-hand kingdom, a life characterized by suffering and the cross. Wingren’s account of Luther’s Berufslehre was the dominant one for most of the second half of the twentieth century, though it has not gone unchallenged. In a widely cited essay in 2002, Kenneth Hagen offered a trenchant critique of Wingren’s analysis, arguing that with his one-sided focus on creation-law-cross, “Wingren has voided the very goal and direction of vocation in Luther” (267), who viewed the Christian calling as oriented toward serving the needs of others. Rather than viewing these senses as competitive, Hagen argued that for Luther, “vocation is the connection between the right and left hands of God” (ibid., 261).11 My intent in this essay is not to weigh in on a controverted topic in the interpretation of Luther, but rather to specify a range of interpretive options within which we might expect to find Melanchthon. Aligning one’s understanding of Beruf with gospel and

11 A similar point was made, in a less polemical context, by Leif Grane (1987, 174).

89

90

David C. Fink

God’s right-hand kingdom stresses the transformative and liberating possibilities of vocation: here one is “a completely free lord of all, subject to none.” Aligning it with law and God’s left-hand kingdom stresses the duty of self-giving love: here one is “a completely dutiful servant of all, subject to all” (TAL 1:488). In what follows, I will argue that although Melanchthon preserves elements of both perspectives, there is a clear tendency in the texts surveyed to describe vocation as a function of creation and law.

2.

“Go to the Ant”: Melanchthon’s Exegesis of the Proverbs

The biblical book of Proverbs was the focus of sustained attention for Melanchthon over the course of his long career. According to Timothy Wengert, Melanchthon produced more commentaries on this text than any other biblical book, with the exception of Romans and Colossians.12 Less than a month after his appointment as Professor of Greek at the University of Wittenberg in August of 1518, Melanchthon wrote to Georg Spalatin indicating his intent to produce a tri-lingual edition of the Proverbs (MBW §24 [T1: 75]). This project never came to fruition, possibly owing to Melanchthon’s failure to develop a facility in the Hebrew language on par with his superb abilities in Greek and Latin.13 Nevertheless, Melanchthon continued his study of the Hebrew Bible alongside his other teaching duties, and he offered a series of lectures on the Proverbs in the winter term of 1523–24. An error-ridden transcript of these lectures was published by the Hagenau printer John Setzer later that year,14 a development which so angered Melanchthon that he forced Setzer to print a revised Latin translation of the Proverbs the following year.15 By the summer of 1527, Melanchthon was preparing a new set of lectures on Proverbs for the fall

12 My summary of Melanchthon’s publication history in this and the subsequent paragraph follows that of Wengert: 1997, 55ff. 13 Melanchthon’s contemporaries were deeply impressed with his skills as a linguist. One observer remarked that Melanchthon “taught over a wide range of subjects, including Hebrew, Latin, and Greek grammar, rhetoric, physics, and philosophy . . . and in teaching accomplishing as much in all his subjects as other professors did in one.” (CR 10:301; cited in Manschreck: 1958, 43). Modern scholars have been more cautious; R. Gerald Hobbs held that Melanchthon’s knowledge of Hebrew was “fairly basic,” a judgment shared by the Old Testament scholar James Alfred Loader (Hobbs: 2008; Loader: 2017, 6). 14 ΠΑΡΟΙΜΊΑΙ, sive Proverbia Solomonis filii Davidis, cum adnotationibus Philippi Melanchthonis (Haganau, 1524), VD 16 ZV 27852. 15 Salomonis Sententiae, versae ad hebraicam veritatem (Haganau, 1525), VD 16 B 3573; a second printing was run later that same year in Nuremberg (VD 16 B 3574).

Against the Busybodies

term, and in May of 1529 he published his Nova scholia, so titled as “to distinguish it from Setzer’s earlier fiasco” (Wengert: 1997, 55).16 Nearly twenty years would pass before Melanchthon returned to his early exegesis on the Proverbs, this time in the aftermath of the Schmalkaldic War, which found him trying to reassemble the scattered Wittenberg faculty at the behest of the Elector Maurice of Saxony. Melanchthon posted notice to the students of his planned course on the Proverbs in November of 1547, and he seems to have begun his lectures early the following year. This second set of lectures was not published until the summer of 1550, with the title, Explicatio Proverbiorum Salomonis.17 Lightly revised editions under the same title were published in 1552 and 1555, with the latter serving as the basis for the text included in the Corpus Reformatorum (CR 14:1-88).18 It is this revised edition of the Explicatio, which will serve as the basis of my analysis in this essay, though I have also consulted the earlier Sententiae (1525) and Nova scholia (1529) to get some sense of the consistency of Melanchthon’s approach to the text over time. One of Melanchthon’s chief concerns in the 1555 Explicatio was demonstrating how the proverbs of Solomon elaborated a practical theology of vocation, one suitable for shaping the mores of both parishioners and young students.19 The language of vocation runs like a golden thread throughout the Explicatio: by my count, he uses the Latin vocatio and its cognate verb a total of 55 times throughout the commentary.20 But the primary locus for Melanchthon’s discussion of work and vocation centres on his description of the virtue of sedulousness (sedulitas). This first arises in the context of comments on Proverbs 6:6: “Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise” (KJV). Here, if anywhere, we might expect to encounter a classic statement of the vaunted ‘Protestant work ethic’, but Melanchthon’s comments on this passage are much more complex and interesting. He begins not by commending the sheer industriousness of ants, as many previous commentators had done, but by observing the way that each performs its given function in pursuit of a common task:

16 Nova Scholia in Proverbia Salomonis (Hagenau, 1529), VD 16 B 3579. 17 Explicatio Proverbiorum Salomonis in schola Witembergensi recens dictata a Philippo Melanthone (Frankfurt/M, 1550), VD 16 M 3330. 18 Explicatio Proverbiorum Salomonis in schola Witembergensi recens dictata, Anno 1548. A Philippo Melanthone. Rursus edita (Wittenberg, 1552), VD 16 M 3332; Explicatio Proverbiorum Salomonis in schola Witembergensi dictata, Anno 1555. A Philippo Melanthone. Rursus edita (Wittenberg, 1555), VD 16 M 3333. 19 In his dedicatory epistle to Duke John Albert of Mecklenburg, Melanchthon had stressed the usefulness of an intimate knowledge of the Proverbs for young and old alike in forming public mores, but especially as a pedagogical tool for the young: “Before all else, our clear duty in the schools is to train our youth in this reading” (CR 7:709). 20 Significant discussions occur in the comments on Prov 3:27, 21:30, 22:2, and 23:4.

91

92

David C. Fink

First let us learn both that God has ordained positions of office or vocation [officiorum seu vocationum], and that God has mandated that each one work in his own vocation. He must not thrust himself into a strange vocation, but should strive to excel in his own with diligence and faith (CR 14:16).

Here Melanchthon is using the term vocatio in the more restricted sense we sometimes find in Luther—that is, as referring to specific “offices” (German: Amt, Ämter) or responsibilities (officia), rather than in the more diffuse sense of the Christian’s gospel ‘calling’ to serve the neighbor as Christ. In other words, the primary injunction here is: stay in your lane. The ant knows its job and sticks to its assigned labour, without falling prey to distraction. Contrast this with the moral drawn by one of the great patristic exegetes of the fourth century, Ambrose of Milan: The ant is a tiny creature, yet it dares to undertake things beyond its power. It is not driven as a slave to labour; rather, spontaneously and with freedom of foresight, it lays up provision for a future day. Scripture urges us to imitate the industry of the ant (Hexaemeron 6.4.16; PL 14:247).

Or, for a more proximate comparison, consider a remark on this verse by Tomasso de Vio, Cardinal Cajetan, in his 1545 commentary on the Proverbs: “This passage commends diligence and eager striving for opportunities to secure food, clothing, and other domestic goods.”21 For both Ambrose and Cajetan, the image of the ant was primarily an exemplar of industry in pursuit of earthly goods. Yet Melanchthon and Cajetan agree in rejecting a long history of allegorical interpretation that had spiritualized this and other diligence-proverbs as representations of the life of prayer and contemplation. For example, in his Enarrationes in Psalmos, Augustine had drawn upon the proverbial image of the ant to commend spiritual striving, rather than secular labour: See the ant of God. He rises day by day, he hastens to the church of God, he prays, he hears a reading, he chants a hymn, he digests that which he has heard, he thinks to himself about all this, and inside he is gathering up grains stored from the threshing floor. You who hear those very things which even now are being spoken, do just this. Go forth to the church, go back from church, hear a sermon, hear a reading, choose a book, open and read it (Enarrationes in Psalmos 67.3).

21 Parabolae Salomonis ad veritatem hebraicam castigatae (Lyons, 1545), 52.

Against the Busybodies

For many medieval interpreters, the ant was the image par excellence of the devoted monk, diligently labouring to pile up grace upon grace against the day of judgment. Melanchthon, of course, would have none of this. As early as the 1525 Sententiae, he had insisted on a strong link between labour and prayer, an emphasis which was carried over into the 1550 Explicatio and given a new name: sedulousness (sedulitas). Prayer and labour should always be thought of as conjoined. This virtue is called “sedulousness,” and this is its definition: sedulousness is that virtue by which firmly and consistently we desire, on account of God and the common good, to perform the duties appropriate to our vocation as commanded by God, who promises help to those who ask for it (CR 14:16).

This definition requires some elaboration. First, by identifying sedulitas as a virtue, Melanchthon was anchoring his understanding of vocation firmly in the tradition of Aristotelian ethics. Unlike its Latin near-synonym, diligentia, sedulitas had never been widely used as a term of art in medieval ethics, and one suspects that this was precisely its appeal for Melanchthon. Sedulousness was the golden mean between the extremes of ignavia (“idleness”) and πολυπραγμοσύνη (polupragmosúnē), the vice of being a striver or a ‘busy-body’. The latter is a relatively obscure term Melanchthon seems to have gathered from a number of ancient Greek sources, including the playwright Aristophanes. According to the classicist William Arrowsmith, the term was loaded with both moral and political connotations: polupragmosúnē is the very spirit of Athenian imperialism, its remorseless need to expand, the hybris of power and energy in a spirited people; in moral terms, it is a divine discontent and an impatience with necessity, a disease whose symptoms are disorder, corruption, and the hunger for change (Arrowsmith:1969, 3).

This is exactly the sense Melanchthon gave the term, and it is striking that even though the biblical proverb is directed against the sin of ignavia, by 1550 Melanchthon seemed far more interested in its vicious opposite: The idler is excessively inactive; the polupragmōn, or busybody, toils away after many unnecessary and pointless tasks, and takes upon himself callings that are not his own (alienis vocationibus). Thus, Achan, Pericles, and Demosthenes stirred up, by means of unnecessary strife, wars which could have been avoided (CR 14:17).22

22 In his Nova Scholia of 1529, Melanchthon used the term sedulitas, but without framing it as the mean between ignavia and polypragmosúnē. Instead, the “great and indefatigable sedulousness” of

93

94

David C. Fink

The vice of polupragmosúnē thus had two clear dimensions for Melanchthon. On the one hand, the warning against toiling away after “many unnecessary and pointless tasks” had wide application and set upper limits (however ill-defined), both qualitative and quantitative, on human productive activity at the individual level. If ignavia is a dearth of productive activity, polupragmosúnē names its excess. On the other hand, polupragmosúnē also had a clear political dimension, especially when it characterized wanton princes like the ancient Emperor Julian—whom, Melanchthon might have added, met his end prosecuting a pointless war against the Persians. But it is not only rulers who are prone to this vice. In his comments on Prov 23:4, “Do not wear yourself out to get rich,” Melanchthon linked polupragmosúnē with avarice, which arises from a lack of confidence that God will make one’s labour fruitful. The result is a frantic scramble after wealth and a willingness to bend the rules to get ahead; aucupia is another term Melanchthon deploys in this context: catching birds with snares. Avarice thus leads to a grasping polupragmosúnē, which in turn feeds into a predatory economy whereby one’s neighbours become one’s economic prey (CR 14:57). If it seems as though Melanchthon has wandered quite far from his textual starting point in Prov 6:6—“Go to the ant, O sluggard”—this should underscore the novelty of his exegesis. I am aware of no other pre-modern interpreter who used this text as a point of departure for warnings against polupragmosúnē or economic exploitation. Most interpreted it as a straightforward commendation of good, old-fashioned hard work, whether read literally, like Ambrose and Cajetan, or allegorically, like Augustine and generations of monastic commentators. Much more typical of this tradition is the view of Melanchthon’s fellow Protestant exegete, the German humanist Konrad Pellikan, who remarked on this passage: “Man is born for labour as a bird is born for flying.”23 Melanchthon, of course, never deprecated the notion of diligence, but nesting it within a broader account of virtue underscored his commitment to developing the Bible’s wisdom literature as a source for a balanced public ethic, rather than a simple moralism or monastic quietism.

3.

“Worried Martha”: Melanchthon’s Exegesis of Luke 10:38-42

Melanchthon’s exegesis of the Proverbs represents, by my reckoning, his first articulation of a theology of work and vocation structured around the antithesis between

the ant is held up in contrast to those who see after leisure for the flesh, which Melanchthon regards as the seedbed for vice (14r ). Thus, in his earlier exegesis of this passage, Melanchthon is much closer to the view of Ambrose and Cajetan. 23 Tomus Quartus, in quo continentur scripta reliqua, quae vocant hagiographa. . . (Basel, 1534), VD 16 B 2601; 208.

Against the Busybodies

sedulitas and polupragmosúnē. He returned to this theme sometime in the following decade in a sermon outline on the story of Christ’s visit to the home of Mary and Martha (Lk 10:38-42), elaborating on the antithesis between the virtue and the vice with greater erudition for a more academic audience. Pinning down the exact date of this composition is difficult.24 Melanchthon had initially published a short collection of model sermons, or postils, in 1544. These sermons—or rather, sermon outlines, consisting of annotations and a brief exegesis for each text—were soon translated into German, and they were among the most widely used postils of the sixteenth century, often employed in grammar school settings. This was made possible by their “fine, pure, and basic exegesis,” as one of Melanchthon’s early translators explained, and by the fact of their dramatically lighter heft in comparison with Luther’s massive Kirchenpostille.25 However, demand grew in the years that followed for a more substantial set of postils from Melanchthon, one suitable for use in more advanced academic context, but Melanchthon never published an updated edition during his lifetime. In 1594, the Heidelberg printer Matthew Harnisch published a much larger edition of the postils, completely reworking the older material and adding annotations on new texts based on Melanchthon’s lectures at the University of Wittenberg from the years 1549 to 1560. “The Story of Worried Martha” (Narratio de Martha Sollicito) was included in this later edition and was thus based on the lectures Melanchthon delivered sometime during the last decade of his life.26 Medieval interpreters had most commonly taken Martha and Mary as figural representations of the vita activa and the vita contemplativa, respectively (Grumett: 2006, 125).27 Nicholas of Lyra, for example, in commenting on this passage observed that Christ responded to Martha with compassion, “because the works of the active life lead one into worry and distraction of mind, and often they thrust one into disturbance.”28 Writers of saints’ lives had often taken this one step further, identifying Mary with the monastic life and Martha with the life of layfolk or secular

24 My summary in this paragraph follows the publication history of Melanchthon’s postils in Frymire: 2010, 495. 25 The commendation from Melanchthon’s translator, Johannes Pollicarius, accompanied the German edition of 1549 (cited in Frymire: 2010, 88). 26 Postilla Melanthoniana (Heidelberg: Harnisch, 1594); VD 16 M 3981 (CR 25:232-244). Unlike the Proverbs commentary, the 1594 postils represent an approximation of Melanchthon’s thinking, based on student notes from the lectures. In the passages I have examined for this study, however, they are wholly in keeping with Melanchthon’s thinking in the earlier text, both in style and in substance. 27 This was the majority view, but not the exclusive view: “In addition to standing for two different types of life or activity, they sometimes stood for two aspects of the church, two periods of history, or two types of prayer, and they were compared to the hands of God, the sides of Solomon’s throne, the chambers of Noah’s ark, the hands and wings of the creatures in Ezechiel 1.8, and the sacrificial birds in Luke 2.24” (Constable: 1995, 11). 28 Biblia Sacrorum cum Glossa Ordinaria . . . et Postilla Nicolai Lyrani, 6 vols. (Venice, 1603), 5:846.

95

96

David C. Fink

clergy (Constable: 1995, 26). Melanchthon, not surprisingly, rejected this view. “The monks,” he wrote, “have twisted this text to their own inept uses.” Instead, this story should be read as a warning against polupragmosúnē, “for he instructs us to do, to learn, and to carry out what is necessary in keeping with our vocation, and to flee that which is unnecessary” (CR 25:233).29 Much of Melanchthon’s exposition of this passage then proceeds in a sort of catechetical format, with questions and answers: What is the virtue opposed to polupragmosúnē? I answer: sedulousness. And to which commandment does it relate? It relates to the commandment: Honour your father, etc. For to this commandment pertains the teaching concerning the vocation belonging to each person: its opposites are idleness (ignavia) and polupragmosúnē. Sedulousness is the virtue of doing what is necessary, and fleeing the contrary. Where is this definition established? In the saying of Paul: “Let this be your ambition, to mind your own affairs” (1 Thess 4:11). Paul sets against that foolish human cupidity which is called “ambition” another ambition, which is wholly opposed to it. (CR 25:233)

So far, so good. But Melanchthon’s next question takes the discussion in an unexpected direction for a work of biblical exegesis: “Wasn’t Cicero a polypragmonicus?” (CR 25:233).30 Melanchthon owed profound debts to Cicero, both as a theorist of rhetoric and as an ethicist.31 Cicero’s letters and disputations were central texts in the arts curriculum at the University of Wittenberg throughout Melanchthon’s career, as the following lines, composed as a verse advertisement for his course of lectures on Cicero’s De officiis, indicate: I set before you a little tiny work by Tully, Which he wanted as a father to be the delight of his boy. It shows you what are the deathless rewards of virtue,

29 Melanchthon here identifies the warning against polupragmosúnē as the status of the narrative, a technical term he had first set out in his treatise on rhetoric of 1519. The status, he explained, is “nothing other than the principle and chief theme, in which the controversy consists and to which all arguments of the speech ought to be referred. Therefore one should inquire about the status at the beginning of speeches so it could be known to what end arguments are to be referred” (De rhetorica, p. H 2 rº; cited in Wengert: 1987, 184). 30 Italics by author. 31 On the former, see Springer: 2018, 122–144; on the latter, see Bauer: 1951 and Kuropka: 2016.

Against the Busybodies

And Tully himself calls you to real glory. The good author endows the untrained tongue with eloquence, That you may guard your fatherland and your fellow citizens. So, cheat the Genius just a little, and if you are wise, Learn from this brief book of Tully, please (Springer 2018, 132).32

Eloquence, in Melanchthon’s view, was more than mere verbal ornamentation. When deployed skilfully, and in accord with virtue, rhetoric could be an aid in guarding civil peace and tranquillity. In the postil on “Worried Martha,” however, Melanchthon observes that as a rule orators are of all men most restless in character, and he cites the careers of Demosthenes, Pericles, and Cleon as examples of the sort of busybody who stirs up civil unrest and leads the city into pointless and destructive wars. Cicero, however, proved for Melanchthon the exception to the rule. Faced with the prospect of civil war, he refused to assume command of the army against Julius Caesar when urged by his friends to do so, and Melanchthon credits this refusal to Cicero’s commitment to a specific form of justice: When a man bursts out from his vocation it cannot but happen that he becomes odious, because he does not uphold distributive justice. Distributive justice requires rendering to a person those things which are appropriate to him. Some wanted to make Cicero a leader against Julius [Caesar], but this was a pipedream. If he had agreed to this, Julius would have laughed him to scorn. But Cicero was wise, knowing that he was unable to lead the army. Therefore, he abhorred the offer and refused it, even though the son of Cato was threatening to murder him.33 When the work is to lead, one skilled in war must be chosen. In scholarship, a suitable professor must be selected. No one person knows everything: knights know riding; singers know singing; that is, each one should perform his own task, which is suited to his offices and skills. God wants men to be bound fast to their respective offices. For this reason, he wants the offices to be distinct, so that there are, as it were, chains of necessity binding human beings together (CR 25:233f).

Contrary to expectation—the expectation his status as an orator might lead one to expect—Cicero proves to be a secular analogue to Mary in Luke 10: both serve as figures of sedulousness in devotion to their duties, unwilling to be distracted from more needful things by the clanging tyranny of the urgent.

32 Original in Hartfelder, 81f. 33 According to Plutarch, on whose account Melanchthon’s reflections here are based, it was Cato who offered command of the army to Cicero, and Pompey the younger who threatened his life when he refused it (Plut. Cic. 39.2).

97

98

David C. Fink

4.

Conclusion

“Prayer and labour should always be thought of as conjoined” (CR 14:16). Formally, this seems to be a restatement of the Benedictine motto, ora et labora, but in Melanchthon’s view the monks had erred by pitting the vita activa and the vita contemplativa against one another, as alternate ways of life. In the reformer’s view, the life of prayer should so infuse the life of labour as to animate, direct, and occasionally even constrain it. As such, Melanchthon’s formulation of ora and labora constitutes his own linkage between gospel and law, between the kingdom of God’s right hand and that of his left. And yet, in elaborating his theology of work and vocation in the texts I have examined here, it seems clear to me that Melanchthon’s Berufslehre leans heavily in the direction of law and the left-hand kingdom. First, Melanchthon consistently uses the term vocatio as a synonym for ’office’ or ’station’ (officium), never (so far as I am aware), with the more expansive sense of the Gospel call. Second, Melanchthon identifies the duty to work in one’s vocation with the fourth commandment (“honour thy father and mother”). Like the family, these officia or vocationes are human institutions, governed by natural law and sanctioned by divine approbation in scripture—all of which makes them aids to human flourishing, rather than fetters from which to seek liberation—but situating them firmly in the category of law nonetheless. Finally, by formulating his theology of work in terms of virtue ethics and citing a virtuous pagan (Cicero) as a positive exemplar, Melanchthon was reinforcing the distinction between the language of work and the language of faith. What Wingren wrote of Luther applies just as fully to Melanchthon: “vocation belongs to this world, not to heaven; it is directed toward one’s neighbour, not to God” (1957, 10). On the basis of this exploratory foray into Melanchthon’s writing on work and vocation, I would like to conclude by suggesting some ways in which I think the perspectives outlined here might be brought into constructive dialogue with the aims of contemporary theologians critical of the modern valorisation of work. First, there is the matter of definitions. When Melanchthon considers work in connection with vocation, he is referring to something both more narrow and broader than the definition on which the anti-work theorists have focused their critique. In identifying vocatio with offices or stations in life (officia or Ämter), Melanchthon is focusing on the early modern equivalent of “waged employment and the unwaged domestic labour that makes it possible” (Posadas: 2017, 349). But unlike the modern ‘Protestant work ethic’, Melanchthon is insistent that not all such labour should be valorised. In order to qualify as virtuous, sedulous labour in one’s vocation must be ordered not to the accumulation of capital, but to the common good, a teleology utterly at odds with any account of the ‘spirit of capitalism’. In addition, Melanchthon’s alignment of vocation with law strongly suggests that he would reject any insistence that work is essential to what it means to be human.

Against the Busybodies

The function of law, in this context, is to act as a restraint upon human evil; as such, it represents a concession to the fallen conditions of life “east of Eden”, not a repristination of the Edenic command to keep and till the garden (Gen 2:15). Nor is there a sense in Melanchthon that work is an intrinsic good in human existence. Work can be a good in human life—or rather, it can provide the occasion for us to love our neighbours in concrete, tangible ways—but only when it is carried out in faith, directed to its proper end (i.e., the common good), and moderated in both quantity and quality. Melanchthon’s account of sedulousness positions virtuous work as a mean between the extremes of ignavia and polupragmosúnē, with the latter term bearing the twofold sense of frenetic overwork (quantitative) and work outside the duties to which one has providentially been called (qualitative). All of this strongly suggests that for Melanchthon, human work is not an intrinsic moral good. For the believer united to Christ by faith, God’s grace can so infuse one’s work with love as to open up new possibilities for liberation and the cultivation of beloved community (to use a more contemporary idiom). But even seen in this light, Melanchthon’s insistence that vocation is a function of law serves to set waged work within finite bounds. Consider the alternative: conceived in terms of gospel and God’s right-hand kingdom, one’s vocation would call forth unbounded and allconsuming effort: limitless work offered in gratitude for limitless grace. Conceived in terms of law and God’s left-hand kingdom, however, one’s vocation calls forth our sedulous efforts to meet the needs of our neighbours—and our neighbours’ needs are finite. I am not sure any of this makes Melanchthon an ‘anti-work’ theologian, but I do find it striking that he seems to have been more concerned about the dangers of too much work than too little. Toward the end of his postil on “Worried Martha,” Melanchthon returns to his earlier definition of sedulousness, this time formulating it as follows: Est virtus faciens officia vocationis mediocri vel iusto studio (Ich mus nicht so hoch spannen, non Stoice) et non irrumpens in aliena negotia. It is the virtue of performing the duties of one’s calling with moderate or equitable effort (I must not strain so hard, unlike the Stoics!), and not sticking one’s nose into matters that are none of one’s business (CR 25:243).

Perhaps theologians and ethicists seeking to moderate the demands of waged labour in the twenty-first century may find unexpected resources in the polemics of a sixteenth-century reformer against the busybodies.

99

100

David C. Fink

Bibliography Arrowsmith, William (1969), Three Comedies by Aristophanes, Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Bauer, Clemens (1951), Melanchthons Naturrechtslehre, Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 42.1–2, 64–100. Boer, Roland (2019), Red Theology: On the Christian Communist Tradition, Leiden: Brill. Constable, Giles (1995), Three Studies in Medieval Religious and Social Thought: The Interpretation of Mary and Martha, the Ideal of the Imitation of Christ, the Orders of Society, New York: Cambridge University Press. Frey, Christiane (2008), χλη̑σις/Beruf: Luther, Weber, Agamben, New German Critique 105, 35–56. Frymire, John M. (2010), The Primacy of the Postils: Catholics, Protestants, and the Dissemination of Ideas in Early Modern Germany, Leiden: Brill. Graham, M. Patrick/David Bagchi (2019), Luther as Heretic: Ten Catholic Responses to Martin Luther, 1518–1541, Eugene: Pickwick. Grane, Leif (1987), The Augsburg Confession: A Commentary, translated by John H. Rasmussen, Minneapolis: Augsburg Publishing House. Gregory, Brad S. (2012), The Unintended Reformation: How a Religious Revolution Secularized Society, Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Grumett, David (2006), Action and/or Contemplation? Allegory and Liturgy in the Reception of Luke 10:38–42, Scottish Journal of Theology 59.2, 125–139. Hagen, Kenneth (2002), A Critique of Wingren on Luther on Vocation, Lutheran Quarterly 16.3, 249–274. Hartfelder, Karl (1889), Philipp Melanchthon als Praeceptor Germaniae, Berlin: A. Hoffman. Hobbs, R. Gerald (2008), Pluriformity of Early Reformation Scriptural Interpretation, in Magne Sæbø (ed.), Hebrew Bible/Old Testament: The History of Its Interpretation, Vol. II: From the Renaissance to the Enlightenment, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 452–511. Jensen, David (2006), Responsive Labor: A Theology of Work, Louisville/London: Westminster John Knox Press. Kolb, Robert (1982), God calling, “Take care of my people”: Luther’s concept of vocation in the Augsburg Confession and its Apology, Concordia Journal 8.1, 4–11. Kuropka Nicole (2016), Melanchthon und die Ethik, Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche 113.3, 235–257. Loader, Alfred (2017), Die gestaltes van Philipp Melanchthon se Spreukekommentaar, Hervormde Teologiese Studies 73.4, 1–9. Malesic, Jonathan (2017), Henry David Thoreau’s Anti-Work Spirituality and a New Theological Ethic of Work 45.2, 309–329.

Against the Busybodies

Manschreck, Clyde (1958), Melanchthon: The Quiet Reformer, New York: Abigndon Press. McCarraher, Eugene (2019), The Enchantments of Mammon: How Capitalism Became the Religion of Modernity, Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Nietzsche, Friedrich (1965), Die Fröliche Wissenschaft, Sämtliche Werke 5, Stuttgart: Alfred Kröner Verlag. Oseka, Matthew (2017), Vindicatio Mundi: The Concept of Mundane Life in Melanchthon’s Theological Endeavours Seen from an Asian Perspective, Neue Zeitschrift für systematische Theologie und Religionsphilosophie 59.1, 110–136. Posadas, Jeremy D. (2017), The Refusal of Work in Christian Ethics and Theology: Interpreting Work from an Anti-Work Perspective, Journal of Religious Ethics 45.2, 330–361. Rieger, Joerg (2009), No Rising Tide: Theology, Economics, and the Future, Minneapolis: Fortress Press. Springer, Carsten (2018), Cicero in Heaven: The Roman Rhetor and Luther’s Reformation, Leiden: Brill. Steinmetz, David C. (2002), Luther and the Two Kingdoms, in Luther in Context, Grand Rapids: Baker, 112–125. Tanner, Kathryn (2019), Christianity and the New Spirit of Capitalism, New Haven: Yale University Press. Weeks, Kathi (2011), The Problem with Work: Feminism, Marxism, Antiwork Politics, and Postwork Imaginaries, Durham: Duke University Press. Wengert, Timothy J. (1987), Philip Melanchthon’s Annotationes in Johannem in Relation to its Predecessors and Contemporaries, Geneva: Librairie Droz. Wengert, Timothy J. (1997), The Biblical Commentaries of Philip Melanchthon, in Timothy J. Wengert/M. Patrick Graham (ed.), Philip Melanchthon (1497–1560) and the Commentary, Sheffield: University of Sheffield Press, 106–147. Wingren, Gustav (1957), Luther on Vocation, translated by Carl C. Rasmussen, Eugene: Wipf & Stock.

101

Maria Nørby Pedersen

Christian relief for the poor in Early Modern Denmark

From the ascent of King Christian III to the throne in 1536, Denmark conformed to the Evangelical Lutheran Church. Care for the poor has always been a central component of Christian practice, with Biblical texts enjoining the care specifically of widows, orphans, and the sick, but more generally for all those in need. Christian III and his council lost no time in addressing this charge and included it in their earliest ordinances, acts of legislation that outlined the king’s responsibilities towards the poor. This article, with a view to assessing the impact of Lutheran social teachings on Danish social policy, examines how the Danish kings and their councils interpreted the state’s parental responsibilities towards its poorest subjects as set forth in their legislation on social care in this period. It will argue that the Danish kings and councils saw their social responsibilities as including both the so-called ‘undeserving’ and ‘deserving’ poor, stipulating varying forms of care and discipline according to individual need and situation. The Danish historiography of poor relief has traditionally paid little attention to religion (e.g., Hansen: 1984; Jørgensen: 1983). Only a few Danish studies on this subject have pointed to the role of religion (Dahlerup: 1979; Jensen: 2004; Koefoed: 2017).1 Denmark has likewise served as only a minor case in the discussion of the history of European social policy, a discussion that has highlighted the importance of religion and confessional differences alongside socioeconomic factors, urbanism, and humanism (e.g. Arffman: 2019; Fehler: 1999; Gorski: 2003; Grell: 1997; Kahl: 2005; Lindberg: 1993; Molle: 2017; Safley: 2003). Research has emphasised, however, that even if social policy reforms in the sixteenth century varied from one Lutheran area to another, they had a common foundation, and that the reform of core theological ideas went hand in hand with the reform of social policies (Arffman: 2019, 294ff; Grell: 1997, 57f; Lindberg: 1977, 332; Wandel: 1990, 13; Witte: 2002, 16). Of similar relevance are the theological changes wrought by the Reformation in the Danish case: the changed theological understanding of reciprocal responsibilities, work, and service to one’s neighbour are of particular importance. More recent Danish research on poor relief has focused on the Enlightenment as the period of fundamental change in social policy, which inadvertently has downplayed any formative aspects of the preceding period (Henningsen: 2008; Johansen/Kolstrup:

1 Research in the Danish welfare state has more readily drawn lines from Lutheran theology to explain aspects of the Danish modern welfare system, see i.e. Knudsen: 2000.

104

Maria Nørby Pedersen

2010; Nørgård: 2018). Such concepts as the ‘deserving’ and ‘undeserving’ poor are also still in use among some Danish researchers. Such categorisation is now beginning to be questioned and a more critical stance adopted towards analysis of ‘the poor’ in aggregate (Gorski: 2005, 373; Hitchcock/Shoemaker: 2020; Nichols: 2007, 55; Safley: 2005). This critique also has implications for the study of state authorities and their policies, since the “early modern magistrates understood [...] that the poor were not all alike” (Safley: 2005, 9). The authorities of Early Modern Europe did differentiate between various categories of the poor in their legislation on poor relief, however, the question is how. This article will look directly at how the Danish kings and councils categorised the Danish poor, and the treatment they stipulated for the various categories. It will examine how the kings and councils outlined their responsibilities and defined the recipients of care in their legislation. The article will argue that already in the early Reformation, Danish kings and councils took responsibility for the poor and focused on structuring society through legislation intended to prevent lives of ‘idle begging’ on the street and to make the poor live productive lives. The various categories of the poor required different forms of attention; kings and councils therefore employed different means of voluntary and forced care and discipline, education, and setting people to work. The Early Modern kings and councils issued ordinances on social policy, which local regions were then required to follow and incorporate into their own particular regulations.2 In the words of recent scholars, post-Reformation law was a medium that “translated Lutheran ideas into social practice” (Holm/Koefoed: 2018), with legislation increasingly “thought of as a proactive means of pursuing aspired-to societal goals” (Kotkas: 2014, 209ff).3 This article therefore examines key pieces of legislation in order to discuss the impact of Lutheranism on how the state authorities defined who the poor were, how they valued their needs, and how they aimed to distribute care. We begin in 1536, when responsibilities for the poor passed to the king, and we end in 1708, with the publication of a significant social reform policy that brought together methods of care and discipline for various groups among the poor to create a Christian society based on lives of mutual service in the world – a society that left no room for so-called ‘idle’ beggars on the streets, who were seen as stealing from the common good.

2 Christian II had attempted something similar in 1521/22, but the law was short-lived. The consensus among scholars has otherwise been that social reform in European countries developed at local and civic level, the great exception being England (Wandel: 1990, 15). However, Denmark should also be counted beside the English case in this regard. 3 Toomas Kotkas bases his work on Swedish police legislation. Similarly, however, Danish policies on poor relief and on beggars were often (though not always) passed in police legislation.

Christian relief for the poor in Early Modern Denmark

1.

Lutheran social policy and theology in the sixteenth century

Social policy in the sixteenth century owes much to the Late Medieval period, when poverty was variously seen as a virtue, a sign of humility, and an image of Christ (but was also connected to the perceived vulgarity of poor labourers). Poverty was understood as being in a symbiotic relationship with wealth. The poor were the recipients of charity, which in turn ensured the giver’s salvation (Lindberg: 1993, 21–27). Perceptions of dishonest beggars and a shortage of labourers, however, had created concerns about ‘false’ begging and idle potential workers. Even though Christians were obliged to help all those in need, various Late Medieval authorities had introduced policies to control begging and to ensure that all those who were capable of work did so (ibid., 46). Perceptions of poverty were thus tightly connected to a theological explanation of its place in the world. The Reformation, based on new ideas of service to one’s neighbour and new attitudes to work, upset this system. Before turning to the Danish legal cases, I will give a brief overview of key Lutheran theological ideas and the components of the first Lutheran social policy.4 The Reformation had been grounded in disputes over the nature of salvation. The Lutheran idea of justification by grace alone destroyed the basis of medieval almsgiving and, with it, the elevated position of poverty. It redirected human attention away from the heavenly to the affairs of this world, where Christians were called upon to be active in the service of their neighbours, rather than for themselves or to attain salvation. There was no greater service to God than Christian love, by which not only were the three holy orders served – the office of priest, the estate of marriage, and the civil government – but also “every needy person in general with all kinds of benevolent deeds, such as feeding the hungry, giving drink to the thirsty, forgiving enemies, praying for all people on earth, suffering all kinds of evil on earth, etc.” (Luther: 1528, 365; cf. Lindberg: 1993, 99f). Christians following Lutheran theology were still called upon to help those in need by good and holy works, and those in need were still understood quite broadly.5

4 Lutheranism is here understood as developed by Martin Luther as well as his colleagues during the sixteenth century. Some scholars refer to a Wittenberg theology. 5 Some scholars have argued that alms culture in Denmark was characterised by residual medieval Catholicism and reciprocal expectations in relation to favours in this world and salvation in heaven, and that we therefore must reject any practical role played by the Lutheran understanding of charity for ordinary and ecclesiastical people (Hansen: 2017, 287; Petersen: 1997, 155). However, almsgiving was still a duty, and Lutherans could indeed express the hope that they would be rewarded for their good works, although “hope of reward could never be more than a pious hope, which found continuous expression in a religious context where clerical middlemen no longer existed to ease the Christian individual’s troubled journey towards salvation” (Grell: 1997, 49).

105

106

Maria Nørby Pedersen

Simultaneously, Lutherans believed that “there should be no beggars among Christians”.6 Luther’s own critique of begging practice incorporated both the existing concerns over what was seen as false begging and the Church’s inability (in Luther’s eyes) to feed the poor (c.f. Lindberg: 1977). The critique of mendicant orders also became a steppingstone to ideas on social policy, as formulated here by a Danish evangelical preacher: Your hand should not be reached out to take, and closed to giving, that is, you should not beg of others, but you should give to other truly needy [... ] Everyone should work, do with one’s hands that which is good, so that he can give to those who are needy and can do nothing (Laurentsen: 1533, 71).

Christians had been placed in the world to work, and to give from their work to those who were incapable of work and in need of help. Lutherans thereby combined the principle of universal love for the needy with the sacralisation of work. Everyday life became holy within Lutheranism (Holm: 2018, 101). Work was not important in its own right, but derived its importance from being done in service to God and to others for the benefit of the common good. In this respect, it was better than all the so-called holiness of the monks (Stopa: 2018 113ff). Lutheran theology explained that social relations consist of mutual giving and receiving. The idea of reciprocity was “the glue that holds societies together” (Holm: 2018, 88, 94). Additionally, Luther explained through the Seventh Commandment that doing one’s work poorly was the worst form of stealing. Luther defined stealing very broadly so as to include the Christian’s entire relationship to his neighbour. The Seventh Commandment thus become a command to further the interests of one’s neighbour, and “when they suffer any want, we are to help, share and lend to both friends and foes” (Luther: 1529, 340). Luther also focused specifically on aid for the poor. A Christian should take special care not to arrogantly turn away those “who need your aid”, since their cries to God would result in His vengeance (ibid., 339). Disregard for the poor would become a burden for the whole world. Luther also stipulated, further, that it was the responsibility of the authorities to “establish and maintain order in all areas of trade and commerce in order that the poor may not be burdened and oppressed and in order that they themselves may not be responsible for other people’s sins” (ibid., 340). Anyone consciously refusing to work was refusing God’s command, and such a person was no more than a thief, living off another’s gifts from God (Lindberg: 1993, 107ff). Lutheranism thus supported a changed conception of work as something positive in its own right.

6 The quote was formulated by Andreas Karlstadt, at a time when his and Luther’s thoughts aligned, cf. Lindberg: 1977.

Christian relief for the poor in Early Modern Denmark

Work had previously been seen in rather negative terms as a divine punishment for original sin (Molle: 2017, 14; Safley: 2005, 15).7 The Lutheran understanding of the authority of the state as analogous to household authority builds on the Fourth Commandment, implying that “politics is not primarily a matter of power, but a matter of care” (Holm: 2018, 98f). According to the doctrine of the three estates, the state was created by God to protect the two first estates – the Church and the household – “for the reception and the circulation of divine goods” (ibid., 98f). State authorities were obliged to care for their subjects in a “loving manner and do everything in order to be of use and help them” (Stopa: 2018, 121). Living through right faith meant that the Christian trusted in God to provide all that was necessary in this world; by this means the Christian was set free to live as a servant of his neighbour (cf. Stopa: 2018). In the Lutheran perspective, hardship and poverty could imply moral failure (Molle: 2017, 14). The elevation of daily work, in conjunction with the assumption that God would provide, had the potential to devalue the status of poverty. Moral deficiency was also thought to be the result of bad upbringing. At the end of his explanation of the Fourth Commandment, Luther wrote: “we have unruly and disobedient subjects because of how we reign over them” (Luther: 1529, 326f). While this is not to say that Reformation thinking labelled all who were poor as immoral, the association between poverty and immorality does seem to have had implications for social policy. A constant theme in Luther’s explanations in the Large Catechism is his call for a better education for young people. This agenda can also be seen in Early Modern Danish social policy. Luther further explained, citing the Fourth Commandment, that those in authority in this world were not only responsible for their subjects’ bodily welfare, but “if we want capable and qualified people for both the civil and the spiritual realms, we really must spare no effort, time and expense in teaching and educating our children to serve God and the world” (ibid., 326). Lutheranism thereby imposed on the ruling authority the responsibility to educate his subjects to a God-fearing and productive life, paying attention to worldly life and community through a policy resting on the principle of love and care.8 Luther’s early thoughts on social reform did not constitute a unified social policy, but evolved as a consequence of his overall critiques of the Church and his new theological ideas. Here he outlined his ideas for the common chest, as well as how

7 Lutheranism should be understood as part of wider movements in different parts of Renaissance society. On contemporary ideas of changing work ethics and perceptions of poverty and the poor, see Arffman: 2019. 8 Research has shown that the Ten Commandments became the guiding principles of law in Denmark, and that they should not only be understood in their function as prohibitions, but also as “guiding principles for good deeds towards one’s neighbour” (Koefoed: 2019, 16).

107

108

Maria Nørby Pedersen

the Christian community should “shift from selfishly gathering spiritual aids for their own salvation to gathering material aids for the succour of others” (Lindberg: 1977, 328). Christians should let no one go begging; every city should take care of their own poor (Arffman: 2019, 33ff). The earliest Lutheran social reform was the Wittenberg Beutelordnung of 1521, which Luther himself helped to write (Lindberg: 1977).9 This document was recently described as an experiment to see whether Luther’s social reform ideas could be put into practice (Arffman: 2019, 43f). It prescribed a chest with three separate keys to hold collected revenues for the benefit of the poor in hospitals and “for all weak, needy people” (“gebrechlich nottufftige perßon”) in the local congregation. Four honest parishioners, well acquainted with the poor and in a position to evaluate their needs and characters (and to distinguish those who were willing to work from those who were not), were elected to be stewards of the chest. The stewards were also expected to visit poor households to inquire about their needs, rather than waiting for extreme poverty to force poor people to seek help (Lindberg: 1977, 327). The Wittenberg order was a practical example, which placed responsibility for discerning need, directing relief, and taking the initiative firmly on the local authorities. The Beutelordnung and the reforms that followed in other towns outlined a complementary policy of poor relief and regulation of begging that was to become a characteristic of Lutheran social reform (Lindberg: 1993, 201; Petersen: 2016, 146). The remedy against begging was to be locally organised relief. This was articulated specifically and clearly by Luther’s colleague, the reformer Andreas Bodenstein von Karlstadt: We should not tolerate but rather expel such people [beggars]; not in an unreasonable and tyrannical manner but rather with willing help so that we Christians shall allow no one to come into such poverty and need that he is afflicted and caused to go and cry out after bread [... ] If we do not do this then we are not Christians [... ]. Thus, where one falls into poverty, everyone, and in particular, the highest civil authority should have compassion upon the poor [... ]. Christian magistrates should be particularly diligent to help our own, as Paul teaches (Von abtuhung der Bylder und das keyn Bedtler unther den Christen seyn sollen; Lindberg, 1993, 189ff).

The early reforms defined in theory a policy that combined the principles of mutual obligations to work and the Christian obligation to help those in need in order to prevent begging. Lutherans saw this as happening in practice through several proactive means: either setting beggars to work or expelling them, and preventing

9 ‘Beutel’ translates as small purse.

Christian relief for the poor in Early Modern Denmark

idleness and begging through education, local relief schemes, and the requirement to work.10

2.

Establishing care after the Reformation

Christian III was introducing Lutheranism in the wake of civil war. He published the first constitution, the Copenhagen ordinance, to secure peace in the first year of his reign, 1536 (Kolderup-Rosenvinge: 1824, 157). Thereby he transferred the administration of ecclesiastical affairs to himself, as well as all former Church property. This was the final break with the Catholic Church and the ecclesiastical laws on aspects of society such as marriage and poor relief. Through the Copenhagen ordinance of 1536, Christian III incorporated care for the poor into his responsibilities and positioned it as an immediate topic of political attention. Once the new king had taken control, Danish evangelical preachers sent him a proposal for the reform of Danish society. Its final words advised the king to reform the hospitals: as the authors stated, “a king who faithfully supports the poor, his throne will last an eternity” (Engelstoft: 1836, 187). The Copenhagen ordinance reflected the evangelical preachers’ concern to preserve hospital care, which seems to have been defined as the first resource in helping the sick poor who were unable to work to meet their basic needs. Hospitals were tied to the king, since all hospital accounts had to be presented annually to the king or his appointed representative (Kolderup-Rosenvinge: 1824a, 166). Tying the care of the sick poor to his own person and ensuring the continuation of care seems to have been important to Christian III. Following the dissolution of the bishoprics and the ecclesiastical institutions, the king actively stepped in to protect hospitals on several occasions in order to continue care for the sick poor. In several court cases, against the economic interests of the founding donors’ heirs, hospitals retained as many donations as possible, thereby ensuring that a number of hospitals and means to care for the poor were retained (Dahlerup: 1979, 205ff). Research has called attention to the importance of the hospitals, which have been seen as pre-eminent among relief institutions in Denmark (Arffman: 2019; Mikkelsen: 2008, 367; Witte: 2002, 16). New research has also highlighted the practice by the estate-owning nobility of creating and maintaining hospitals in accordance with the religious and social responsibilities placed upon those in authority (Knudsen: 2020). Although brief, the section on social policy in the Copenhagen ordinance follows the basic line of other early Lutheran social reforms. Organised relief was combined

10 Cf. Kahl: 2005 on the main differences between Reformed, Catholic, and Lutheran social policies from the Reformation to today.

109

110

Maria Nørby Pedersen

with the mission to abolish begging. In addition to hospital relief, the king and council permitted begging by the sick poor who could not find room in hospitals. They nevertheless looked severely on begging by those who were seen as capable of work. This is reflected in the law whereby any strong and able person found begging for God’s alms was to be punished with death (Kolderup-Rosenvinge: 1824, 166), a punishment that was amended in the following year. Research has mainly studied the regulations in the later Copenhagen ordinance of 1537 as an expression of the point at which the distinction between the so-called deserving and undeserving poor “was legally established in Denmark” and where the undeserving poor were seen as “the undeserving, able-bodied poor, whose claim to assistance should be rejected” (Petersen: 1997, 148). But the Copenhagen ordinance can also be seen as the expression of another principle, also found in other Lutheran social policies, which was to continue in Danish Early Modern social policy. In accordance with his kingly responsibility to make sure that all his subjects lived by God’s law (which in a Lutheran understanding meant a worldly obligation to work for the common welfare), Christian III was instigating a legal principle requiring work from everyone capable of it. The 1537 law reiterated that the elderly and the sick were permitted to beg, as were poor schoolchildren. Should a person deemed capable of work be found begging, however, he or she was to be “shown to work or shown of the city, if they did not want to work” (Kolderup-Rosenvinge: 1824, 181). Before imposing punishment, the local authorities were to require the able-bodied beggar to work. The expulsion of beggars from towns and districts was intended as a measure in response to disobedience to the requirement to work, not because they begged.11 As mentioned, the reform of social policy was conducted at state level in Denmark; however, the policy was built as a system that would function through local agency. The church ordinance of 1539 underlines this understanding of an overarching responsibility of the crown towards the poor (Rørdam: 1883, 40ff). In the text of the ordinance, Christian III explains that it is his intention to further the true Christian teaching and worship in Denmark, and that he is established as sole legislator with the responsibility of ensuring that his people live according to Christian teachings (Holm/Koefoed: 2018, 11, 14; Petersen: 2016, 132). The king and council included certain aspects of social policy in the church ordinance, but only in respect of the system of common chests, hospitals, and pastors’ responsibilities in regard to the poor and their situation. Everything to do with beggars, in other words, was left out of this godly ordinance, which was intended as an eternal law and binding on true Christian society. Local authorities were to create common chests in each parish under the supervision of diligent men (“poor people’s servants”) who loved

11 Begging tokens were also reintroduced by 1537, to distinguish the poor with an official permission to beg.

Christian relief for the poor in Early Modern Denmark

the word of God. Almsgiving remained a Christian obligation, and parish pastors were responsible for encouraging parishioners to show acts of love by giving alms to the common chests or to the hospitals. The king was thus ensuring, by means of the church ordinance, the framework within which ordinary people could meet their own obligations to help their poor neighbour with alms, while at the same time discouraging unsupervised almsgiving and begging. The ordinance also reinforced the understanding that responsibility for care of the poor lay with the king and his representatives.12 The regulation of begging was left to other pieces of legislation, such as the Copenhagen ordinance of 1537 (a “decree, police and order”) and the first ordinance on beggary of 1587. During the 1570s, however, beggars are increasingly described as troublesome in governmental correspondence. Consequently, Frederik II asked all the king’s lieutenants to prepare a new ordinance on beggars in 1582 (Sj.T. 15, 63f), and five years later, the first Danish beggars ordinance was published (Sj.T. 16, 301f). This describes the disorder created by the common beggars who habitually disregarded parish borders and swept across the kingdom, begging God’s alms away from more obedient recipients among the poor and needy. The problem was seen as residing both with the able-bodied (who were capable of work) and with the sick and the weak (who could be cared for in the hospitals): And because the greatest disorder which surrounds beggars in this country is mostly caused by those country beggars, tramps and hags who run and sweep through the Kingdom from one place and land to another and with great shameless boldness overrun good people without end and who will not stay at one place or have their subsistence in common hospitals (Sj.T. 16, 308).

These vilified country beggars, together with the vagrant poor who crossed district borders following ancient custom, challenged the established policy of locally structured care. The 1587 ordinance continued the policy of dealing with begging by means of relief. To stop illegal begging, the king and council strengthened the

12 Research has illustrated that, with Lutheranism, focus shifted away from poor relief based on the symbiotic relationship between giver and receiver of alms, to poor relief based on the duty of the active giver to the passive receiver with no rights (Petersen: 2016, 108). However, in the winter of 1573, Frederik II acted on his responsibility towards the poor, for whom he had a “Christian compassion”, because the poor had complained to him about high grain prices. It seems that the poor here had an awareness of the responsibility of the king to order price and trade so as to avoid burdening the poor. Consequently, they reacted to high grain prices by asking for fairer treatment by appealing to the king, invoking his sense of responsibility and duty towards their cause and his obligations towards them. Frederik II consequently wrote to the king’s lieutenants and superintendents, commanding them to register and provide grain to all the ‘house poor’ who had no means to earn money (Sj.T. 12, 102).

111

112

Maria Nørby Pedersen

regulations ensuring local relief for the needy poor, so that they would not disobey and attempt to beg in other parishes. All who were found to be begging illegally were to be ordered to return to his or her home parish; if they were unwilling and disobeyed this order, they were to be captured, punished, and expelled.13 The first ordinance on beggary was not revised until work began on the Danish Code with the introduction of absolutism in 1660. The King’s Code of 1665 then cemented the king’s responsibility to uphold Christian law and to ensure that his people lived by it as a political responsibility (Holm/Koefoed: 2018, 13f).

3.

Demanding work and educating all the poor to work in the seventeenth century

The Danish Code of 1683 (Secher: 1911) was a collection of previous legislation with the addition of new elements. It was intended to form a constant and eternal law. It included much the same content as the church ordinances on social policy towards the poor, and in the same way did not include policy regulating begging, policy which was published as separate legislation in the second ordinance on beggary of 1683. The Danish Code repeats that pastors are responsible for providing care for the poor by visiting the sick and admonishing people to give alms, as well as supervising to make sure the poor received what was given them (DC 2.7.2f). Only the sick, the crippled and the weak were to be admitted to the hospitals. All hospital residents “who could work something with their hands, or do something to benefit others” were now expected to do what little work they could, or to run the risk of being turned out (DC 2.19.7ff). Through the Code, the state authorities ordered every village to create a poorhouse for the homeless poor. The pastor should hold the keys to the alms box, which was to be hung next to the door of the poorhouse. Whereas the first ordinance on beggary had dealt mainly with the provision of local relief and measures to keep the poor within the bounds of their home parishes, in the second beggars ordinance the king and council now added and enhanced the requirement to work. In other respects, the old regulations were reproduced in the new ordinance (Sj.T. 119, 167ff). It has been argued that it was not until the late eighteenth century that the Danish authorities acknowledged that the poor who were capable of work should be given help and trained to work, rather than being punished with forced labour, if they were found idle and begging (Henningsen: 2008, 346f; Nørgård: 2018, 265f). Developments in the law and in 13 The principle of demanding that illegal beggars should work does not figure in this law, but can be found in several contemporary orders in which beggars and vagrants are forced to places to work. The idea that work should be required before a punishment was doled out resurfaces in the second beggars ordinance of 1683.

Christian relief for the poor in Early Modern Denmark

institutions throughout the seventeenth century, however, show that this must be placed earlier. As mentioned, as early as 1537 the king and council had intended to require work from the able-bodied beggar before resorting to punishment. In 1558, Frederik II had counted on finding workers among the “many poor people who run around complaining that they cannot find service and from the itinerant beggars” (TA 11/ 09/1558, 407). From the 1590s, Christian IV had sent out several letters asking his lieutenants to locate beggars and vagrants and send them to work on his fortresses (i.e., Sj.T. 19, 106).14 Some were even to receive pay (Sj.T. 25, 118). In 1641, a parishioner of Aarhus offered to provide the resources to set vagrant begging women to spinning work, and the king ordered the district authorities to find room in the town’s hospital for these women to be set to paid work (JT 10, 369). Christian IV also created the first correctional tugt workhouse in 1605 (Sj.T. 19, 106; J.T 5, 61). Danish historians have explained the forced labour imposed in these institutions as work exploitation connected to a mercantilist economic ideology, and the workhouses as prisons where work was a punishment (Henningsen: 2008, 340; Johansen/Kolstrup: 2010, 171; Petersen: 1997, 149; Vedel-Larsen: 2005, 147). When these explanations are used, forced-labour policies have simultaneously been called a “paradox” and a “dilemma” (Petersen: 1997, 149f). These arguments, however, have recently been nuanced by researchers arguing that the Danish workhouses should be understood as institutions that re-educated the inmates “to live the Good Christian Life for the benefit for themselves and society” (Larner: 2018, 401). New research has also demonstrated that the Danish tugt workhouses in the provinces were institutions that also housed disobedient children and dysfunctional families among their inmates, and were in fact public places where the state authority could take over the parental responsibility to educate un-Christian children in religion and in work (Koefoed: 2021).15 Recent research has also reconceptualised the Early Modern organisation of work, suggesting that “the household was not the only organisational unit for early modern work; there were many other types that sometimes cut across and superseded it” (Ågren: 2017, 8). The Danish tugt workhouse can therefore be

14 A part of these letters is also devoted to capturing dangerous and criminal vagrants for punishment. 15 Research on prison history, such as The Prison and the Factory (Melossi/Massimo: 2019), has also traditionally provided explanations of workhouses. This field has traced the roots of prisons back to workhouses, guiding the view of these institutions as tools to punish poverty and reform the poor to productivity through discipline. Even though the Danish tugt workhouses probably have a connection to continental and English workhouses and houses of correction, it is reasonable to assume that a Danish Lutheran culture would have coloured the institutions. The tugt and workhouses were national projects in Denmark, and the initial conception was not of prisonlike institutions but institutions of education and care, albeit care that also implied particular kinds of punishment.

113

114

Maria Nørby Pedersen

said to form a supplementary unit to the household, in which state authorities took over the parental responsibility for the poor and demanded a similar combination of religious education, work training, and punishment. Danish research has generally written off the centuries preceding 1770 as a period in which punishment and social discipline of the poor were prioritised over care (Henningsen: 2008, 346; Johansen/Kolstrup: 2010, 197; Petersen: 2016, 167f). But it has also been argued that the view of Early Modern social discipline as something purely oppressive and negative reveals more about modern-day values “than any truth about the past” (Safley: 2005, 446).16 Additionally, the Lutheran understanding of the nature of earthly authority implied responsibility for caring for the population’s bodily and spiritual welfare as well as for meting out punishment to effect improvement (Koefoed: 2019, 13). Punishment and discipline were conceptualised as tools, rather than goals in their own right. In creating the first tugt workhouse in Denmark, Christian IV explained the institution as a response to his responsibility “as a Christian authority to have a Christian supervision” of the elimination of begging. The tugt workhouse was intended to take in vagrants, both male and female, who “run about begging and are unwilling to earn their bread with the work of their hands” (Sj.T. 20, 50). Inside the tugt workhouse, they were to be trained in a craft with which they could earn their daily bread. The king expanded the tugt workhouse with a (supposedly) separate children’s house in 1620 for the whole kingdom, intended for the teaching of reading, writing, and a craft to orphans, or to the children of parents who were unable to direct them to a craft and a God-fearing life (Sj.T. 22, 154f). These two institutions ceased to exist in 1650 after the death of the king, once the institution’s debt was too high. In 1621 and 1643, Christian IV urged local authorities to found children’s houses in other cities to support poor and orphaned children with food and clothes while they were taught a craft (Sj.T. 22, 182f; Secher: 1903, 122). The magistrates of Viborg and Aalborg did subsequently create and manage children’s houses, but the full extent of the practice is unknown (J.T.11, 40; Ørnbjerg: 2011). The authorities in charge of poor relief in Copenhagen may also have used the king’s request to create their own children’s house for the poor children of Copenhagen,

16 Safley’s analysis of Augsburg’s orphanages and orphans are interesting in regard to the impact of religion. He concluded that “admission to Augsburg’s Orphanages was an act of social integration and confirmation” and not characterised “in terms of segregation and exclusion” as poor relief often is; also, that the orphanages’ “goal was to teach the children a social competency and become fully integrated citizens of Augsburg”, meaning “productively employed in one of its trades, regularly worshipping according to one of its confessions, meekly submitting to its governing authorities, respectably conforming to its accepted values.” The poor in the city seem to have “understood economic self-sufficiency and social integration [. . .] as desirable ends, as gifts of prestige and worth” (Safley: 2005).

Christian relief for the poor in Early Modern Denmark

where children could receive care and basic education and learn a craft. This institution was torn down during a siege in 1658, but re-erected in 1662 when the king donated a building in the area of Christianshavn to the poor relief authorities. He argued that this would once again help to eliminate begging in the capital, supply poor schoolchildren with the care they needed during their education, which they had previously enjoyed, and revive the spinning industry and create “other useful manufactures for the common good and the benefit of the poor” (Rørdam: 1889, 443). This new tugt and children’s institution, managed by the Copenhagen poor relief authorities, was probably intended to continue the work originally carried out in Christian IV’s institutions. It became an institution for poor children and adults, disobedient children and servants, vagrants and beggars for the whole kingdom (Larner: 2018; Stuckenberg: 1893). In the second ordinance on beggary, the king and his council asked the local authorities to create more workhouses for the benefit of those who wished to work and as institutions for those who lived idle lives: So that those who would like to work also could be helped to do so, then should our King’s lieutenants with the superintendents in every district hereby be advised to call together all distinguished people, ecclesiastical and worldly, in their districts, who could have abilities, willingness and means for the common good to organise [... ] some manufacture of wool, leather, hemp, flax or something else, whereby those who lived in idleness, and especially the youth, could be kept to earn their bread legally (Sj.T. 119, §16).

The king and council were here defining through law the responsibility of local authorities to create institutions in which the authorities could help, teach, and set people to work under the law. The workhouses were understood as places for both voluntary and forced labour, and they were described as places of learning and training for all “idlers and beggars who do not have a token as well as those who beg outside the city or district where they have their home” (ibid., §17). The ordinance rules that when people had finished their training in workhouses and when those who had previously been “idlers and beggars” “could honestly support themselves, then they may be released again” (ibid.). Through this law, the state authorities were thus defining a responsibility to correct where morality had failed, or a proper upbringing had been lacking. The problem of begging was in the law still connected to the problem of not working for the common good, continuing the policy of counteracting begging and idleness by building local relief schemes on begging tokens for those “who are so needy that they in no way can earn their living through work” (ibid., §1). The regulations dealing with the requirement to work explain forced labour not as a means to further production and profit, or indeed as simple punishment, but as forced help and forced training for work.

115

116

Maria Nørby Pedersen

The king and his council legitimised the law through the notion that a bad upbringing could yield only bad results: idleness is a root to all evil, on account of which, all, who from youth have been accustomed to begging and idleness, and not been kept to learn anything good, usually with higher age, fall to thievery and many other like gross vices, which brings them to an ignominious death, instead of such people, if they in their youth had been supervised, doing the country service, and learnt so much that they could in their age have had their honest upkeep (Sj.T. 119, 167).

The preface here frames an understanding of the state authorities’ responsibility, not only to manage idleness, but to prevent it and its imagined consequences. This refutes suggestions that it was only in the latter part of the eighteenth century that social policy began to be focused on “transforming the beggar from an idler into a hardworking, ‘happy’ man” (Henningsen: 2008, 347). It has also been argued that social policies shifted significantly after 1770, when the authorities “regarded it as their task to care for the unemployed poor” and began focusing on creating productive, educated citizens for the common welfare by educating poor children and requiring work of all who were poor (Nørgård: 2018, 265f). As I have demonstrated, however, the authorities had focused on children at a much earlier date, seeing the securing of their correct upbringing as paramount to prevent idle lives in poverty. As mentioned above, a life of unwilling disobedience to work and idle begging was seen as the result of a bad upbringing. Policy to secure a proper upbringing dates back to the sixteenth century. In the first ordinance on beggary, parents had been placed under the supervision of pastors, who were ordered to admonish parents to send their children to school or train them to work. This supervisory duty was reiterated in 1621 in regard to all parents when they were placed under the supervision of principal guardians in the towns, and reiterated once again in the Danish Code of 1683 (Sj.T. 22, 182ff; DC 2.7.1; DC 3.18.7). In the second ordinance on beggary, king and council wished to secure the upbringing of children by ruling that children not going to school or without occupation could be removed from their families if their parents persisted in keeping them idle and sending them out to beg. In this case, children were to be sent to the children’s house in Copenhagen to work and to learn a trade (Sj.T. 119, 172, §18). Remembering the reasoning behind the Lutheran critique of begging – that daily work was a holy obligation, and that failing to work was equivalent to stealing from the common good – Danish social policy was anchored in the question of how to ensure that able-bodied Christians upheld the godly command to work. The importance of education to a God-fearing working life related not only to children, but also to

Christian relief for the poor in Early Modern Denmark

wayward adults. This connection between forcible care and discipline only became clearer in the eighteenth century.

4.

Christian relief for the poor with the ordinances of 1708

It is possible to follow a line in Danish legislation from the first beggars ordinance of 1587 (outlining the framework laid down by the king for a local relief system), through the second beggars ordinance (which continued the local organisation, but intensified the focus on setting the poor to work), to the third step in the social legislation, published in 1708 (which combined the previous legislative developments within a new and highly religious and comprehensive organisation of care and discipline). When Frederik IV took charge in 1699, he “had thought on, how greater zeal and carefulness than hitherto could be had for the necessities of the poor, along with eliminating the vast begging, as well as forcing the strong and idle to work” (Sj.T. 330, 27/10/1708). This resulted in two pieces of legislation, each divided equally into two parts (Sj.T. 182–183, 599ff). The first, entitled “On Beggars in Denmark, except Copenhagen”, was devoted to regulations for the towns and for the countryside; the second was entitled “On relations regarding beggars, poor children, true alms receivers and vagrants in Copenhagen, as well as alms for their support”.17 This time, the king and council incorporated substantial religious reasoning in their social policy. In including regulations on the organisation of collected and distributed alms through the common chest in each parish, the ordinances now incorporated law that had previously been expressed solely in terms of eternal law. The policy was explained in terms of the Lutheran understanding that work was performed in the service of God and one’s neighbour, so that the fruits of work were the property of the Christian community and therefore should be used to support the needy: It is only proper that every one of the blessings he from God has received again blesses God in his poor. God does not demand from anyone what he does not have (countryside, §5).

17 Any influence by known Pietist individuals was rejected by the Danish historian Birgitte Løgstrup in 1967 in a detailed archival study. The two ordinances were originally intended as one for the kingdom of Denmark only. However, the king and commissioners thought it better to divide the law into two, since the differences between the circumstances of Copenhagen, towns and the countryside was too great and would make too large a document, making it difficult for the pastors to read it from the pulpit twice a year.

117

118

Maria Nørby Pedersen

All were obliged “by the law of God and Nature” to give alms with “love and generosity towards their poor fellow Christians” (Copenhagen, preface to second part on alms). While the commission preparing the ordinances discussed the question of how sufficient alms were to be secured, the king seems to have decided both the outcome and the principle of almsgiving: “that a freely given gift is never to be forced” (City, §2). Throughout the ordinances, alms are mentioned as an obligation on all, but they are to be given of free will. This implies an understanding that good deeds flow naturally from faith and that forcing them would make them acts of sin. With this understanding, the king thus secured the original policy of the Reformation period: that is, laying down the legal framework, which made it possible for his subjects to practice good deeds in right faith.18 As their titles show, these two pieces of legislation were intended to structure social policy that could be applied to several different kinds of poor people. The prefaces to the ordinances refer to “Christian relief ”. This included care for the needs of those unable to support themselves, help to provide work opportunities and keep people from unemployment. Through these means, begging and its consequences could be eliminated (City, preface). This preface to the ordinance concerning cities and the countryside illustrates that relief and the requirement to work were understood as a connected policy, one that was intended both to eliminate begging (thereby relieving the king’s subjects of a burden and spurring generosity) and prevent idleness and immorality. The policy of locally organised alms relief was now developed in new detail, with a clearer definition of who could receive alms and what behaviour was expected of those registered. In the countryside, the poor relief authorities were first to register the blind and the bedridden, and make sure they had enough to live on. Next, young children whose parents had died were to be registered. The pastor was to place these children with another household, ensuring the child’s care and upbringing, with the foster household receiving compensation from the common chest. Finally, those who could not support their families because they had large numbers of children or because of poor health could be registered to receive alms from the chest (Countryside, §3).19 A person could not, however, be registered to receive alms if their poverty was self-inflicted by excessive drinking or other vices. Once registered, the poor were to be placed under the supervision of the local pastor. Recipients of alms must not “love drink and gluttony”, or fight. They should not be “frivolous in their mouths with swearing or other unseemly talk”

18 The laws did, however, include many sanctions if the gift was not paid. 19 The definition of alms recipients in Copenhagen was: (1) orphans; (2) old citizens who cannot work; (3) sick and bedridden who cannot work; (4) sick and crippled who can work but a little; (5) sick with the hope of recovery; (6) poor people who cannot work enough for their upkeep; (7) fatherless children of citizens under 14 (1708, Copenhagen, §9).

Christian relief for the poor in Early Modern Denmark

(City, §8). They should live God-fearing, seemly lives (Countryside, §19). Should the pastor detect unseemly behaviour, he was first to punish hard with the word of God. If this did not change anything, he could withdraw the alms temporarily, thus curbing the wrongdoer’s “evil nature” through hunger. If this failed as well, the pastor was to see to it that the person in question was sent to one of the relief institutions in Copenhagen that were managed by the national board of poor relief directors. In this way the law defined and organised care for the ‘seemly’ as well as the ‘unseemly’ poor. Those who misbehaved or were disobedient were not left to fend for themselves, but instead were to be directed to care and discipline in institutions that were better suited to their disobedient nature. The Christian relief defined in 1708 also continued and developed the requirement to work.20 The ordinances reassert the understanding that the authorities had a responsibility to set illegal beggars and vagrants to work (and to punishment) in the tugt workhouse.21 However, the king and council aimed not only to set illegal beggars and vagrants to work, but also to help the poor more generally to work. As already demonstrated, the requirement to work for the poor (illegal) beggar had existed in Danish social policy since 1537. An early example of a practice securing work opportunities for the poor is the mention in the Copenhagen poor relief reform of 1631 of a workhouse where poor people could collect raw materials to work (Henningsen: 2007, 3). As already stated, the Danish Code required the poor in the hospitals to do what little work they could. In 1708, the king and council demand that “all the poor who could work, whether they want to or not, must be sent to work in the cities where Manufacturing businesses are present” (City, §6). Although this seems not to include alms recipients (though it is unclear what is meant by “the poor” here), these few sources, seen in conjunction with the Danish Code, imply that there existed a policy of requiring all poor persons to work in Early Modern Denmark. The actual practice of requiring the poor to work prior to the 1770s remains, however, a subject calling for further research. Keeping poor people in work was defined by the Danish state authorities as just as important a part of Christian relief as the collection and distribution of alms. The 1708 ordinances additionally include a broad requirement for work that goes beyond the poor, touching on matters relating to service and ensuring that children learn a craft. Servants who found themselves out of a job were to avoid all idleness,

20 Research has recently highlighted the demand for work as a Lutheran characteristic of Danish social policy in general (Petersen: 2016, 162ff) Nevertheless, the demand for work has also been explained as the product of poor relief reforms of the Enlightenment and enlightened philosophy (Nørgård: 2018, 265). 21 This time the authorities imagined an expansion of the tugt institution in Christianshavn (Børnehuset), with a rasp house for men (a house of correction in which wood was rasped to powder for use in the dyeing trade) and a spinning house for women.

119

120

Maria Nørby Pedersen

drinking, gambling, and loose living, and were to ensure that they had a new place of employment by the next changing day, as well as documents explaining their circumstances and references. Here, even if the starting point is beggars and poor relief, the king and council demonstrate an understanding of social policy that is not just a matter of specifying the morality required from the poor, but the broader intention of specifying the morality of working relations. Recalling the Lutheran statement in the catechism that work poorly done was the greatest kind of thievery may provide some context here. Servants who could not account for an honest living with the legally required documents were regarded as vagrants, and received the same treatment as others considered to be stealing from the common gifts of society: they were to be placed in a rasp or spinning house to do forced labour (Copenhagen, a, §22, §24). The ordinances also built on the previous policy that it was the responsibility of parents to keep their children “at school, in honest service, crafts and other honest employments, as well as, especially, frequent church attendance” (ibid., §15). Several obligations were repeated and developed further in relation to orphaned children of artisans and to homeless children, with the ultimate aim of teaching children a craft by prescribing several solutions involving family placement and guardianships. The local poor inspectors themselves could also act in the place of absent or failing parents, drawing on the notion that the authorities had a special responsibility towards the poor. This is consistent with recent research arguing that state authorities and parents in Denmark understood the responsibility to bring up children as a site of negotiation, where parents could ask local and state authorities for help in raising their children, and authorities, by the same token, could interfere in household affairs (Koefoed: 2021). The argument here is that the tugt workhouses of the mid-eighteenth century were institutions in which authorities could take over the parents’ responsibility. The regulations of 1708 mention the children’s house in Christianshavn as the place of last resort where the authorities can make sure that children are set to learn a trade (Copenhagen, a, §17). The 1708 regulations for the countryside demanded that schools be opened wherever they were lacking, especially to teach children registered as among the poor. Additionally, parents were obliged to set their children to work on the farms as soon as they were able, rather than keep them in idleness (Countryside, §21). In this way, all parents – or the appropriate authority in the parents’ place – were ascribed the responsibility of keeping children from idleness and raising them to a productive life. This policy was explained in law as preventing the bad habits that were seen as arising from idle (begging) lives: bad habits that were imagined to be passed on from inadequate parents to their children. The government of Frederik IV understood Christian relief as including helping all the poor, albeit in different ways. A commission working on the questions of beggars in Copenhagen in 1703 summarised their task to include supplying

Christian relief for the poor in Early Modern Denmark

the needy with what they needed to survive, securing work for the able-bodied and expelling foreign beggars (Report of 31/08/1703, see K.Sj.T. 58 11/03/1702). The 1708 ordinances continued the combined policy of eliminating begging and organising local relief. This time the king and his council restricted begging to almost nothing. Begging tokens, once a primary tool for the control of begging, now disappeared from the law. After 1708, it was legal to beg for just one year with a special letter of permission on grounds of sudden misfortune at sea or by fire. Research has seen these ordinances as an expression of the first national ban on begging (Hansen: 2008, 173ff). Begging and giving alms to beggars were directly banned in the capital; however, no such clear ban was imposed in the rest of Denmark. The change in policy on begging regulation in 1708 was nevertheless an expression of social policy drawing nearer to the principle of serving one’s neighbour through communal relief: a principle that left no room for beggars. At this point, Danish policy moves even closer to the Lutheran idea that eliminating begging went hand in hand with properly locally organised (and funded) poor relief (Petersen: 2016, 147). Those who could not work (enough) should be helped with the bare minimum of support; those who could, should be “secured” work, as mentioned in the passage above, even if this meant being forced (helped) to work in a rasp or spinning house and trained in a craft. This mission was backed by a policy aimed at preventing people living on the street, which consisted of a long tradition of ensuring that children received basic education and learnt a craft, either in schools or (if necessary) in workhouses – all with the common good in mind. It also reiterates the idea of the proactive responsibility of authorities (as drawn up by Luther in the Beutleordnung of 1521) to seek out the poor, care for their different needs and prevent begging.

5.

Religious teachings and forced help

The king and council were, as mentioned, much concerned in the 1708 ordinances with delineating an honest morality. They concerned themselves especially with the religious life of the poor. Those claiming alms were supposed to be placed under supervision and under several obligations as a condition for receiving their alms. This represents a further development in the authorities’ responsibility for caring for the spiritual welfare of their poor subjects, as well as expressing the authorities’ perception of the association between poverty and immorality. In Copenhagen, the registered poor could collect their alms by showing an official note signed three times a year by the pastor to prove that they had attended church, the Eucharist and teaching in the catechism (Copenhagen, a, §8). The registered poor, it was ordered, were to be given a specific area in which to sit in church, so the pastor “better could pay attention to their devotion and their state during the

121

122

Maria Nørby Pedersen

sermon” (City, §18). If there were no built-in pews to reserve to the poor, they were to be given folding chairs to take in with them. The bellringer was responsible for checking reasons for absence and reporting to the pastor. The pastor and his helpers were to admonish the poor to fear God and to live in seemly manner, to abstain from vice and bad habits, to go to church diligently, and not to cross the parish borders to beg anywhere else (ibid., §17; countryside, §19). Every Sunday, from noon to evening, schoolmasters were to teach the catechism to all those under sixteen, supervised by the priest or chaplain. Fixed punishments were prescribed for children who failed to attend, or for those preventing them from attending. In addition, all who were registered as poor who were able to attend this Sunday teaching were to do so. This was required so that the poor could “again learn that which they have forgotten, or learn from new that which they did not know” (City, §19). For the countryside, it was specified that everyone under sixteen (not just the children of poor families) should receive teaching in the catechism. With only slight differences between Copenhagen, the cities and countryside, poor children and adults alike were obliged to attend church and receive religious teaching in order to collect their alms from the common chests. This seems to indicate a particular understanding of the morality of the poor – that they were in greater need of religious teaching than others, or that they might have forgotten something, as the paragraph for the cities mentions. While this understanding of poverty is clearest in 1708, it is already present in the church ordinance of 1539, where it was stated that the poor “had most before others need to hear the Gospel” (in the section on visitation of the sick and poor). This raises the interesting question, calling for further research, of whether the poor in Early Modern Denmark were perceived as being spiritually poorer than others, following the change with Lutheranism in the morality of poverty. It may also have something to do with poverty being a cross sent from God, to bear which in proper patience teaching was required. Or it may be due to the close connection between “the sick” and “the poor”: the church ordinance of 1539 describes the pastor’s responsibility to visit the sick and the poor to provide comfort and teaching beside the sickbed. Either way, the poor seem to be regarded as being in greater need than others of receiving teaching in their religion. The 1708 ordinances were in several respects the culmination of social policies that began with the Reformation and that formed a detailed vision of “Christian relief ” that cared for all who were poor. This relief included a policy to ensure that, from childhood, people would learn a craft and receive both schooling and religious teaching in church. In adulthood, there were means to ensure that people continued to attend church and to work or to receive an education. Ultimately, it was the state authorities’ responsibility to force people to do it. The legislation also ensured that local authorities would assume the responsibility to provide for their poor subjects, and that everyone else also had the opportunity to act on their

Christian relief for the poor in Early Modern Denmark

Christian obligation of love for their poor neighbour. In these respects, the 1708 ordinances and the preceding legislation from which they grew demonstrate that legislation to ensure that all members of society lived working lives and acquired a basic education consisting of the Lutheran teachings dates back to before the Enlightenment. The Enlightenment influenced social policy, but it did so on the basis of a firm Lutheran legacy.

6.

Conclusion

In the early Reformation, the king and council positioned social policy as an immediate topic of political attention, as other Lutheran reformers had done. Care for the poor who were incapable of work was to be given primarily in hospitals, to a lesser extent by permitted begging in the parish. The king assumed final responsibility for the care of the poor, adult and child. He and his council ordered relief to be managed by the local authority, answering to the district and finally to the state authority, thereby building a framework within which the population could act on their Christian responsibilities to care for the needy with acts of love (alms relief). This policy, founded on local responsibility but with the final responsibility resting with the crown, next turned to eliminating the ancient habits of countryside beggars (able-bodied and weak alike) who crossed parish borders as they begged, as well as making sure that all the able-bodied worked to the common good. By 1537, the king and council had introduced the legal requirement for the illegal beggar who was capable of work firstly to be shown to work, and then for punishment to be meted out in case of unwillingness to work. Throughout the Early Modern period, the Danish kings and councils continued to maintain, even enhance, the responsibility they had undertaken to care for the poor and to organise a framework within which their subjects could live up to their responsibilities towards the poor. Work was required from all the poor: this was a godly demand of all in order to be of service to the Christian community. The poor in hospitals were required to do what little work they could in order to receive their alms. By 1537, the king and council had assumed responsibility for finding work for those of the poor who showed unwillingness to work – and to set the unwilling to work, by force if necessary. The establishment of tugt workhouses in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries furthered this policy. Care for the poor also meant attending to their religious education. In 1536, schoolchildren were secured the right to beg in order to be able to attend school. Poor adults were regarded as being in most need to hear the gospel. Idleness and unwillingness to work were seen as the product of a deficient upbringing. The Danish kings and councils therefore assumed responsibility for preventing idle begging lives by mandating both education in religion and training in work, for children as

123

124

Maria Nørby Pedersen

for adults. They assumed responsibility for placing poor orphans in private households or in state institutions (the children’s houses, the tugt workhouses). If parents were found to be failing in their responsibility, the authorities were responsible for taking the child in hand and securing care, a proper upbringing, and training in a craft elsewhere. Poor adults who served the community through a life of work were cared for in hospitals, poorhouses, or before 1708 by begging in one’s home parish. If the alms-receiving poor acted in an unseemly manner in any way, they were transferred to care and discipline in the social institutions of the capital depending on the individual situation. Those who had shown unwillingness to work and were found to be living idle lives of begging were to be forced to discipline in the tugt workhouses. In this way, the state authorities showed that it was their intention to continue to care for those adults who were seen as wayward, and educate them to a proper Christian working life. The social policy of the Early Modern Danish authorities can thus be seen to have been built firmly on the foundation of the Lutheran understanding of the responsibility of parents and of authorities to care for and discipline their children and their subjects, as well as the special responsibility of the highest authorities for the needy poor. This article, by weaving the theological understandings of Early Modern Danish Lutheranism into the history of Danish social policy, has demonstrated that the Danish state authorities saw themselves not only as responsible for caring for the needy and decent poor who were incapable of work, but also, drawing on notions of parental responsibility for care and discipline, for the unseemly and unwilling idle poor. The needs of the poor and the needy were diverse; accordingly, their care and discipline were also diverse. The care and discipline chosen, however, were variations on a common theme. The Early Modern kings and councils had laid down in law a social policy that was intended to secure all their subjects’ Christian education and upbringing in correct fear of God, and resulting in a working life.

Bibliography Arffman, Kaarlo (2019), Revolution des Helfens. Der Versuch des Luthertums, die Probleme der Armut zu lösen, Zürich: Wien LIT-Verlag. Dahlerup, Troels (1979), Den Sociale Forsorg og Reformation i Danmark, Historie, 13 (1), 194–207. Engelstoft, Chr. Thorn. (1836), Reformantes et Catholici tempore, quo sacra emendate sunt, in Dania concertantes: specimen inagurale (see page 185–188 for transcription of the proposition in low German). Fehler, Timothy G. (1999), Poor Relief and Protestantism: The Evolution of Social Welfare in Sixteenth-Century Emden, Aldershot: Ashgate.

Christian relief for the poor in Early Modern Denmark

Gorski, Philip S. (2005), Comment on Sigrun Kahl, European Journal of Sociology, 46 (2), Cambridge University Press, 371–377. Gorski, Philip S. (2003), The Disciplinary Revolution: Calvinism and the Rise of the State in Early Modern Europe, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Grell, Ole Peter (1997), The Protestant Imperative of Christian Care and Neighbourly love, in Ole Peter Grell/Andrew Cunningham (ed.), Health Care and Poor Relief in Protestant Europe 1500–1700, London: Taylor & Francis Group, 42–63. Hansen, Bente Dahl (1984), Betler eller almisselem: Studier i Offentlig Fattigforsorg i Sjællands Stifts Landsogne 1708–1802, Odense: AiO Tryk. Hansen, Peter Wessel (2008), Den Strafværdige Gavmildhed: synet på almissegivning, betleri og fattiglove i 1700-tallets Danmark, Fortid og Nutid, September, 173–197. Hansen, Peter Wessel (2017), The Age of Miracles? Alms culture and charitable donations in Copenhagen, c. 1770–1830, in Ole-Albert Rønning/Helle Møller Sigh/Helle Vogt (ed.), Donations, Inheritance and Property in the Nordic and Western World from Late Antiquity until Today, London/New York: Routledge, 269–293. Henningsen, Peter (2007), Det Københavnske Fattigvæsen: Fattigvæsenets administration og lovgivning, 1629–1828, incl. en selektiv litteraturliste, København: Stadsarkivets digitale skriftserie nr. 6. Henningsen, Peter (2008), Copenhagen Poor Relief and the Problem of Poverty, ca. 1500–1800, in Søren Bitsch Christensen/Jørgen Mikkelsen (ed.), Danish Towns during Absolutism, Aarhus: Aarhus University Press/Danish Center for Urban History, 325–363. Hitchcock, Tim/Robert Shoemaker (2020), London Lives. Poverty, Crime and the Making of a Modern City, 1690–1800, Open Access Electronic Edition: https://www.londonlives.org/book/index.html. Holm, Bo Kristian/Nina Javette Koefoed (2018), Studying the Impact of Lutheranism on Societal Development. An introduction, in Bo Kristian Holm/Nina Javette Koefoed (ed.), Lutheran Theology and the shaping of society: The Danish Monarchy as Example, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 9–24. Holm, Bo Kristian (2018), Dynamic Tensions in the Social Imaginaries of the Lutheran Reformation, in Bo Kristian Holm/Nina Javette Koefoed (ed.), Lutheran Theology and the shaping of society: The Danish Monarchy as Example, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 85–106. Ingesman, Per (2014), Reformation and Confessionalisation in Early Modern Denmark, in Lars Ivar Hansen/Rognald Heiseldal Bergesen/Ingebjørn Hage (ed.), The Protracted Reformation In Northern Norway, Stamsund: Orkana Akademisk, 29–48. Jensen, Carsten Selch (2004), Byerne og de Fattige – den internationale baggrund for den Danske Udvikling, in Søren Bitsch Christensen (ed.), Middelalderbyen, Aarhus: Aarhus University Press/Danish Centre for Urban History, 295–323. Johansen, Hans chr./ Søren Kolstrup (2010), Dansk Fattiglovgivning indtil 1803, in Jørn Henrik Petersen/Klaus Petersen/Niels Finn Christiansen (ed.), Frem mod Socialhjælpstaten, Dansk Velfærdshistorie, vol. 1, Odense: Syddansk Universitetsforlag, 159–198.

125

126

Maria Nørby Pedersen

Jørgensen, Harald (1983), Det Offentlige Fattigvæsen i Danmark 1708–1770, in Oppdaginga av Fattigdomen: Sosial Lovgiving i Norden på 1700-talet, Oslo/Bergen/ Stavanger/Tromsø: Universitetsforlaget, 29–107. Kahl, Sigrun (2005), The Religious Roots of Modern Poverty Policy: Catholic, Lutheran, and Reformed Protestant Traditions Compared, Archives Européennes de Sociologie, 46 (1), 91–126. Knudsen, Tim (2000), Den nordiske protestantisme og velfærdsstaten, Aarhus: Aarhus Universitetsforlag. Knudsen, Søren Broberg (2020), Enevældens velgørere. Hospitaler for fattige på fynske godser cirka 1700–1750, Herregårdshistorie 16, 111–130. Koefoed, Nina Javette (2017), Social Responsibility in the Protestant North: Denmark and Sweden, in Leen Van Molle (ed.), Charity and Social Welfare, Leuven: Leuven University Press, 251–280. Koefoed, Nina Javette (2019) Authorities who care: The Lutheran Doctrine of the Three Estates in Danish Legal Development from the Reformation to Absolutism, Scandinavian Journal of History, 44:4, 430–453. Koefoed, Nina Javette (2021), Households and State-Building in Early Modern Denmark, in Knut Dørum/Mats Hallenberg/Kimmo Katajala (ed.), Bringing the People Back In. Statebuilding from Below in the Nordic Countries ca. 1500–1800, London: Routledge 2021, 127–145. Kolderup-Rosenvinge, J. L. A. (1824), Danske recesser og Ordinantser af kongerne af den Oldenborgske stamme, Kjøbenhavn: Gyldendal. Kotkas, Toomas (2014), Royal Police Ordinances in Early Modern Sweden: The Emergence of Voluntaristic Understanding of Law, Leiden/Boston: Brill. Laurentsen, Peder (1533), En stacket undervisning, in Rørdam, Holger Fr. (1885), Danmarks christelige Prædikanters gjensvar paa prælaternes klagemaal, text nr. 5, 1–76. Larner, Anette Ekström (2018), The Good Household Gone Bad. Tracing the Good Household in early modern Denmark through crime and incarceration, unpublished PhD dissertation, Aarhus University. Lindberg, Carter (1993), Beyond Charity: Reformation Initiatives for the Poor, Minneapolis: Fortress Press. lindberg, carter (1977), ”There Should Be No Beggars Among Christians”: Karlstadt, Luther, and the Origins of Protestant Poor Relief, Church History: Studies in Christianity and Culture, vol. 46 (3), 313–334. Luther, Martin (1528), The Confession concerning Christs’ Supper – Part III, in Robert H. Fischer (ed.) Luther’s Works. Word and Sacrament III, vol. 37, Fortress Press, 360–372. Luther, Martin (1529), The Large Catechism of Dr Martin Luther, translated by Kirsi I. Stjerna (2016), Minneapolis: Fortress Press. Løgstrup, Birgit (1967), Fattigvæsenet i København omkring 1700 med særligt henblik på Fattigforordningen af 24. September 1708, unpublished master thesis.

Christian relief for the poor in Early Modern Denmark

Melossi, Dario/Massimo Pavarini (2019), The Prison and the Factory: Origins of the Penitentiary System (40th Anniversary Edition), Basingstoke/Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan. Mikkelsen, Jørgen (2008), Poor Relief in Provincial Towns in the Kingdom of Denmark and the Duchy of Schleswig, ca. 1700–1850, in Søren Bitsch Christensen/Jørgen Mikkelsen (ed.), Danish Towns during Absolutism, Aarhus: Aarhus University Press/Danish Centre for Urban History, 365–430. Mogensen, Christina Lysbjerg (2016), Idealstat og Lov: En Analyse af Embedsmandsstaben i Chrsitian II’s land og bylov (1522), PhD Thesis, Aarhus University. Molle, Leen Van (2017), Charity and Social Welfare, Leuven: Leuven University Press. Mührman-Lund, Jørgen (2014), ”Efter ethvert steds særdeles omstændigheder”: Politi og Lokalsamfund under den Danske Enevælde, Temp, 5 (9), 68–92. Nichols, Tom (2007), Others and Outcasts in early modern Europe: picturing the social margins, Burlington: Ashgate. Nielsen, M. H. (1897), Fattigvæsenet i Danmark 1536–1708, Aarbog for Dansk Kulturhistorie, Aarhus: Jydsk Forlags-forretning, 69–124. Nørgård, Inger Lyngdrup (2018), The Role of Charity in Public Relief, 1708–1871: Copenhagen as case, Scandinavian Journal of History, 43 (2), 260–283. Petersen, Erling Ladewig (1997), The Wrath of God. Christian IV and Poor Relief in the Wake of the Danish Intervention in the Thirty Year’s War, in Ole Peter Grell/Andrew Cunningham (ed.), Health Care and Poor Relief in Protestant Europe 1500–1700, London: Taylor & Francis Group, 144–162. Petersen, Jørn Henrik (2016), Fra Luther til Konkurrencestaten, Odense: Syddansk Universitetsforlag. Rørdam, Holger Fr. (1883) Danske kirkelove, vol. 1, Kjøbenhavn: Thieles Bogtrykkeri. Rørdam, Holger Fr. (1889) Danske kirkelove, vol. 3, Kjøbenhavn: Thieles Bogtrykkeri. Safley, Thomas Max (2003), Introduction, in Thomas Max Safley (ed.), Reformation of Charity: The Secular and the Religious in Early Modern Poor Relief, Boston: Brill, 1–14. Safley, Thomas Max (2005), Children of the Laboring Poor. Ecpectation and Experience among the Orphans of Early Modern Augsburg, Leiden/Boston: Brill. Secher, V. A. (1903), Corpus Constitutionum Daniæ, vol. 5, København: Nielsen & Lydiche. Secher, V. A. (1911), Kong Christian Den Femtis Danske Lov, København: Nielsen & Lydiche. Stopa, Sasja Emilie Mathiasen (2018), “Honor Your Father and Mother” The Influence of Honor on Martin Luther´s Conception of Society, in Bo Kristian Holm/Nina Javette Koefoed (ed.), Lutheran Theology and the shaping of society: The Danish Monarchy as Example, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 107–128. Stuckenberg, Fr. (1893), Fængselsvæsenet i Danmark 1550–1741, København: Centraltrykkeriet. Vedel-Larsel, Birgitte (2005), Kampen mod de Uværdige Fattige, in Peter Henningsen (ed.), Patrioter og Fattigfolk: Fattigvæsenet i København ca. 1500–1800, Københavns Stadsarkiv and Københavns Kommune, 141–162.

127

128

Maria Nørby Pedersen

Wandel, Lee Palmer (1990), Always among us: Images of the Poor in Zwingli’s Zurich, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Witte, John (2002), Law and Protestantism: The Legal Teachings of the Lutheran Reformation, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ørnbjeg, Jakob (2011), Da den lokale fattigforsorg i Aalborg blev statsreguleret, Siden Saxo, 2, 17–25. Ågren, Maria (2016), Making a Living, making a Difference: Gender and Work in Early Modern European Society, New York: Oxford University Press.

Unpublished sources, National Archive Sjællandske Tegnelser, Danish Chancellery (Sj.T) Koncepter og Indlæg til Sjællandske Tegnelser, Danish Chancellery (K.Sj.T) Tegnelser over Alle Lande, Danish Chancellery (TA) Jyske Tegnelser, Danish Chancellery (J.T)

Johanna Annola, Riikka Miettinen

Piety and prayers Religion in the lives of the indoor poor in Finland, 1600s–1960s

1.

Introduction

This article examines the role played by religion, and in particular by religious practice, among the poor and the recipients of poor relief in Finland from the Early Modern period to the mid-twentieth century. The focus is mainly on the area of modern Finland, first as part of the Swedish Kingdom until 1809 and thereafter annexed to the Russian Empire as an autonomous Grand Duchy. The article also covers about five decades following independence in 1917. During the time scope of this article, from the early seventeenth century up to the 1960s, the population was primarily Lutheran, and Lutheranism guided the principles in the poor relief system. The article examines the most significant continuities and changes in the relationship between religion and the norms and practices governing poor relief and the poor themselves. Our focus here is primarily on the poor within the official poor relief system managed by the Crown or state, and, in modern times, organised by administrative parishes under the supervision of state poor relief officials. First, we provide background by discussing the connections between the guiding principles in the poor relief system and Lutheranism. In the second part, we look at the ways in which religion was regulated by law and by official guidelines concerning poor relief, particularly for indoor poor relief. Alongside the normative level, we are interested in how such rules, imposed top down, were carried out in practice. The last part discusses everyday religious practice among the poor and the staff in the poor relief institutions, particularly prayers, churchgoing, and the provision of religious literature. Thus, the article deals with the structures and practices that framed the religious lives and worship of the institutionalised poor. We will show how the norms prescribed and ideals envisioned by the Church and state authorities shaped religious practice, creating the preconditions for religious experience within the poor relief institutions. In part, we are dealing with ‘lived religion’, more broadly understood as religion that is carried out and performed in everyday life (e.g.: Hall: 1997; Duffy: 2005; Katajala-Peltomaa/Toivo: 2017; 2022). The primarily normative materials available describe not only the guidelines and structures, but also the interactions and conflicts between norms and religious practice in daily life. As elsewhere in society, people residing in poor relief institutions

130

Johanna Annola, Riikka Miettinen

had space to ‘live out’ their faith and navigate the religious framework largely set by the authorities. This approach adds to what is known already about the role of religion in poor relief institutions, and, more generally, among the poor in Finland. In part, this contribution also adds to the growing body of research on the agency of the poor and ‘pauper power’ in past societies (e.g., Carter/James/King: 2019; Green: 2006; Green: 2016; Tomkins: 2007). Historical research on the religious and, in particular, Protestant aspects of poor relief systems and practices is plentiful,1 although more attention has been paid to churches as institutions and to the influence of religious dogma in the various denominations of Christianity on the organisation of poor relief systems than to aspects of ‘lived religion’. The interconnections between Lutheranism and poor relief in the context of Finland have been studied especially by Kaarlo Arffman, Åke Sandholm and Pirjo Markkola. Arffman’s (e.g., 2002; 2006; 2008) extensive scholarship has mostly focused on theology, Lutheran dogma, and the functions of the Church in the poor relief system. Sandholm’s (1973) comprehensive study is of great importance here, as one of its central topics is religious practice in the earliest poor relief institutions – hospitals – in medieval and Early Modern Finland. In her studies, Markkola (2000, 118–123; 2002, 148–162; 2007, 210–226) discusses Church social work (diakonia) and its relationship to poor relief in modernising Finland. In addition, Markkola and Johanna Annola have studied Revivalist private charities and their interface with statutory poor relief (Markkola: 2000, 123–131; Markkola: 2002, 239ff, 245f; Annola: 2015). Most studies on hospitals and poorhouses in Sweden and Finland focus on organisation, funding and socioeconomic conditions (e.g. Fagerlund: 1886; Helgesson/Lindskog: 2000; Jaakkola: 1994; Pulma: 1985; Pulma: 1995; Toropainen: 2014; Turunen/Achté: 1976); but some also mention religious practice, such as prayers and other rituals, churchgoing, pastoral care, or the religious spirit expected of the staff in these institutions (e.g. Eriksson: 2017, 79, 102, 114f, 149; Helminen: 2014, 102f; Sandholm: 1973, 266–398 in hospitals in Early Modern Finland; Sandholm: 1974, 78–86; Annola: 2011, 78f, 143f, 191f in poorhouses). The article therefore builds on earlier scholarship as well as on diverse sources from the seventeenth to mid-twentieth century. The main bulk of the sources consists of legislation and other normative guidelines related to poor relief, Early Modern hospital documents, nineteenth- and early twentieth-century poorhouse inspection records, newspapers, and oral history material, such as interviews and written responses to public oral history collections. Unfortunately, documents directly describing everyday lives, and especially the religious elements, in the poor

1 E.g. Anderson: 2009; Christiansen/Markkola: 2005; Cunningham/Grell: 1997; Grell: 1997; Kahl: 2005; Koefoed: 2017; Molle: 2017; Safley: 2003.

Piety and prayers

relief institutions from the first two centuries under examination are scarce. However, conclusions have been drawn largely based on normative materials, sporadic cases and contextualisation.

2.

The Lutheran principles of the poor relief system in Sweden and Finland

As has been well established in previous scholarship, the connection between Lutheran dogma and poor relief practices in Northern Europe is strong. To Martin Luther, work was the principal means of fighting poverty. As poverty of the ablebodied was self-imposed, a consequence of their laziness, they were not to be helped with alms or other forms of poor relief. The infirm and disabled poor, by contrast, were not responsible for their sorry state, and should therefore be supported by their fellow parishioners. This aid was to be organised by the local community by way of collective funds, and was to extend only to those in need among local residents. Begging was absolutely not to be tolerated. The sternness of this attitude was also rooted in the question of vagrancy – a phenomenon deemed a threat to societal order (Arffman: 2008, 42–55; Cunningham/Grell: 1997; Kahl: 2005, 91–126; Raunio: 2002). These principles had a direct influence on and far-reaching consequences for the formation and later the development of poor relief systems and legislation, including in Sweden and Finland. After the Reformation, most Lutheran states, like Sweden, built and modelled their social welfare structures after Luther’s ideals and the reforms carried out in several German towns. The state assumed legislative power over the organisation of poor relief as well as tithes from the Church, but the local clergy and parishes remained responsible for implementation. In general, the duties of parishes and parishioners to tend to their local poor, for example by building and maintaining poorhouses and participating in the costs, continued to increase throughout the Early Modern period.2 In the aftermath of the Napoleonic wars, Finland became a Grand Duchy under the Russian Empire. However, the precepts and basic principles governing the poor relief system did not change, as the Finnish areas were permitted to adhere to the existing legislation. The autonomous position also allowed the continuation of established practices when passing new laws. Thus, the parish had responsibility for organising and financing poor relief for the local poor. After the reorganisation

2 For a general overview in English, see e.g. Arffman: 2006; Koefoed: 2017, 255f and Kouri: 1997. For the poor laws and legislation in Early Modern Sweden, see Dahlberg: 1893, 24–103.

131

132

Johanna Annola, Riikka Miettinen

of local administrations in 1865, poor relief became the responsibility of a nonecclesiastical administrative unit, the administrative parish (kommun, kunta).3 In practice, the decisions in parishes and administrative parishes alike were made by local Poor Relief Boards, which became mandatory in 1852. Poor relief also remained a lay responsibility after independence (Pulma: 1994; Jaakkola: 1994; Urponen: 1994; for or an overview in English, see Markkola: 2007). Hence, the Lutheran model of the local parish organising poor relief for its own residents largely characterised the poor relief system in Sweden and Finland. This can be seen in the principles governing the funding of the poor relief system: as poor relief was local, in other words intended only for residents or those born in the locality, funding also came primarily from local residents. The system was funded in the early years by Sunday and other holy day collections, donations, and portions of certain fines, but increasingly, from the late seventeenth century onwards, by small mandatory sums to be donated to the parish poor relief funds in connection with baptisms, weddings, funerals, and estate inventories. However, these by no means sufficed. The Crown provided a set yearly income in the form of portions of tax revenue destined for certain types of poor relief institutions – mainly for hospitals, which since medieval times had isolated lepers but increasingly also housed the insane as well as other disabled or infirm poor. Thus, the funding for the system, though state-led, was not provided by the Crown, but primarily left to the parish pastors who were in charge of collecting the necessary funds into the parish money chest (Kouri: 1997; Miettinen: 2018, 297f).4 A new system, introduced in the late seventeenth century (esp. in 1698 in Sweden’s Finnish provinces) but spreading to parishes from the late eighteenth century, made participation in the costs of poor relief less voluntary, a fixed responsibility for resident landholders. Each local pauper, following their acceptance by the parish meeting, the parish Poor Relief Board or, later, the Poor Relief Board of the administrative parish, was allocated to some three to six farms (fattigrote) that were to support him. This form of poor relief was very direct: the pauper rotated from one farm to another, receiving food and shelter for a specified period, or resided nearby and was provided for by the farms (e.g., Kouri: 1997; Miettinen: 2018, 300, 311; Pulma: 1985, 154–158; Jaakkola: 1994, 130ff). Nevertheless, it was only the passing of the Poor Relief Act of 1852 that ensured a coherent system of compulsory

3 The boundaries of administrative parishes often followed those of parishes. 4 Expanding the funding pool for local poor relief, e.g. Ordinance over beggars and the poor 1698, §. IV–VIII. E.g. for the funding of Själö hospital, see Fagerlund: 1886, 27–39. Similar local common chests were introduced in many Lutheran social reforms (see e.g. Cunningham/Grell: 1997), although not everywhere (for example, in Early Modern East Frisia and the town of Emden, see Fehler: 1999).

Piety and prayers

local taxation for poor relief. After the reorganisation of local administrations in 1865, funds were collected by municipal rates.5 Finding a balance between the outdoor and indoor care of the poor was characteristic of poor relief practices in Sweden and Finland. The long-term development can be seen as a vacillation between the Crown or state ambitions to institutionalise the poor and the decentralisation of poor relief to local landholder households.6 So-called outdoor relief was the principal means of poor relief throughout the period of interest, for most of the poor lived outside institutions. Poor relief was at times distributed to the ‘deserving poor’ in the form of food (grain) and other necessities (see e.g., Alaja: 2013, 190–196, 241–248; Miettinen: 2018, 301f) and, increasingly and especially in the twentieth century, in money. Alongside rotating the upkeep of the pauper between named farms, another form of outdoor poor relief was also in use during the nineteenth century and up to the early twentieth century: boarding out the local poor to landholders, who would be given a certain amount of grain, or later money, in return for their upkeep. As there was great interest in keeping the costs of poor relief down, the poor were at times ‘sold’ to the lowest bidders at public pauper auctions (Jaakkola: 1994, 132–133; Rahikainen: 2002). The second form of poor relief, indoor relief, consisted of housing and necessities provided in institutions like the Early Modern parish poorhouses, hospitals (in some towns), special hospitals for lepers (and later, mostly for the insane), and the nineteenth-century poorhouses that were established by administrative parishes. Early on, in the late sixteenth- and seventeenth-century legislation, parishes were ordered to establish poorhouses and towns to maintain small hospitals to house their poor residents (Church Ordinance of 1571; Alaja: 2013, 87–89; Dahlberg: 1893, 24–35);7 but as mentioned, decentralised forms of poor relief, in effect outsourcing the care to local landholders, were soon introduced, and these predominated from the late eighteenth to the late nineteenth century. As very few parishes actually built or maintained poorhouses or hospitals, indoor relief remained relatively insignificant for the majority of the poor (Alaja: 2013, 112ff, 308ff, passim; Miettinen:

5 For an overview in English of the legislative reforms of 1852 and 1865, see Markkola: 2007. 6 The establishment of poorhouses and hospitals was stipulated as mandatory in legislative documents from the 1570s onwards, e.g. Church Ordinance of 1571; Ordinance on beggars and the poor in 1642; Church Law of 1686, Cap. XXVIII; the Code of 1734: Section on building, Cap. XXVI, §. 1; Begging Order of 1817 and the Poor Relief Act of 1852. Cf. the emphasis on outdoor poor relief and ‘decentralisation’, i.e. the poor residing and/or being supported directly by local households, e.g. in the ordinance related to beggars, 1731. 7 The same institutionalisation of the poor was also emphasised, for example, in the ordinance on beggars and the poor in 1642 and in Bishop Gezelius’s instructions on poor relief issued to the Diocese of Turku in 1673: Ordinance on beggars and the poor in 1642; Gezelius 1673, Cap. XII.

133

134

Johanna Annola, Riikka Miettinen

2018, 306–309; Pulma: 1985, 150, 154–173, 214). In the late nineteenth century, the central administration of the Grand Duchy of Finland reintroduced indoor relief as the most cost-effective way of providing for the various categories of the poor. But despite the increase in the number of poorhouses, decentralised forms of poor relief persisted in administrative parishes. An additional factor was that rather than rely on the formal poor relief, which often came with a stigma, people preferred to rely on their kin and other informal forms of aid and communal care throughout the period discussed (Jaakkola: 1994; Alaja: 2013; Annola: 2011; Annola: 2017; Miettinen: 2018). The division into ‘deserving’ and ‘undeserving’ poor determined eligibility to receive the aforementioned official forms of poor relief – aid from the local poor relief funds, or housing in a hospital or poorhouse – well into the twentieth century. Poor relief was intended as a last resort, and only for the poor who were infirm or disabled – in other words unable to support themselves by work – and whose kin were unable to take care of them (Alaja: 2013, 82–84, passim; Miettinen: 2018, 287f, 295–300).8 Within Protestant religious dogma, poverty in an able-bodied person was regarded as a sign of a sinful life: such people breached the norms of diligence and of self-support by work. It was considered important to steer the ‘undeserving’ able-bodied poor through work towards repentance and improvement. This pattern of thought led to the emergence of the workhouse system in Reformed Protestant Northern Europe (Kahl: 2005, 91–126). In Finland, the able-bodied poor could be sentenced to prison workhouses (arbetshus, työlaitos), workhouses for women (spinnhus, kehruuhuone), and public works throughout the period in question (e.g., ordinance passed in 1540 in Schmedeman: 1706, 10; the Hired Labour Acts in 1664 and 1686 in Schemedeman: 1706, 381f and 1078. See also Pulma: 2018). Prison workhouses were specifically penal institutions for vagrants or itinerant landless people and served as a means to control labour markets, mobility, and begging. These institutions were managed by the Crown (later the state), and they coexisted with the locally managed poorhouses. The Early Modern parish poorhouses (fattigstuga, köyhäintupa) were rather modest institutions, often mere huts, where the poor lived among themselves, unattended. The emergence of the nineteenth-century ‘mixed’ poorhouse (fattiggård, köyhäintalo) in Finland is linked to legislators’ fluctuating attitude towards temporary need. While the Poor Relief Act of 1852 recognised temporary illness or other misfortune as valid grounds to apply for poor relief, the Poor Relief Act 8 This division is clearly a matter of great importance as the eligibility criteria for poor relief are repeatedly discussed and re-specified, e.g. in the ordinance on beggars and the poor 1698 and the law proposals issued in the mid-seventeenth century and in 1668 (published in Dahlberg: 1893, Attachments A and B).

Piety and prayers

of 1879 departed from this principle (Poor Relief Act of 1852; Poor Relief Act of 1879). The new Act, modelled after similar ones passed in England and Wales (1834), Denmark-Norway (1860s), and Sweden (1871), stipulated that all ablebodied applicants for poor relief were to be classified as ‘undeserving’ and placed in poorhouses. This gave rise to the ‘mixed’ poorhouses, which accommodated both able-bodied and disabled poor and were funded by administrative parishes. Unlike the Early Modern parish poorhouses, the new poorhouses were managed by a resident director and followed the principle of ‘less eligibility’. In addition, the able-bodied inmates were expected to fulfil their obligation to work by taking care of the infirm inmates and of household chores, livestock, agriculture, and forestry (Jaakkola: 1994; Annola: 2019). The era of the ‘mixed’ poorhouse lasted from the 1880s until the passing in 1922 of a new Poor Law, which marked once again a shift towards a more lenient attitude to temporary need for poor relief. Moreover, the new law emphasised the importance of establishing different institutions for the different categories of help-seekers. As a result of this, ‘mixed’ poorhouses were gradually turned into retirement homes, which were primarily intended for the elderly but additionally for individuals with minor mental health issues. The retirement homes strove to meet modernising standards of care for the elderly, for example by paying attention to the premises as well as the proper nursing and housekeeping skills of the staff (Jaakkola: 1994; Annola: 2011, 53–59; Annola: 2020). The shift from poorhouses to retirement homes was a gradual one, and its implications for religious practice in the institutions will be discussed later in this article.

3.

Regulations on religious practice

The earliest post-Reformation legislation on poor relief – the ordinance for hospitals passed in 1533 and the section on hospitals and poorhouses in the Church Ordinance of 1571 – already contained several regulations concerning religious matters that manifested Christian and Lutheran ideals. Both sets of ordinances include specific passages on the organisation of spiritual care for those residing in the institutions. The smaller parish poorhouses were to be under the pastoral care of local parish pastors, while the hospitals were to house their own assigned clergy: a hospital pastor or preacher who was to arrange all regular services and the pastoral counselling for the inhabitants who formed a single congregation. If necessary, at least for the more populous institutions, an additional priest could be hired to preach, teach, lead prayers, and help in the other regular pastoral duties. Religious practice was a mandatory part of everyday life within the institutions. For example, the Church Ordinance that was in force between 1571 and 1686 outlined and scheduled the communal prayers: the Lord’s Prayer before meals,

135

136

Johanna Annola, Riikka Miettinen

another prayer after, blessings and the giving of thanks for those who helped them, and, at least once a day, prayers for the good of the Realm, the authorities, and all those supporting the hospital (Church Ordinance of 1571; Dahlberg: 1893, 26–35; Sandholm: 1973, 278, 282, 292f, 366f, 384). Legislation and guidelines passed during the seventeenth century made further specifications about religious practice. Like everyone else, paupers residing inside or outside institutions were, on pain of punishment, to attend church at the very least every Sunday and on major holy days, to learn the Catechism and thus the basic tenets of Christian and Lutheran doctrine, and regularly, at least four times a year, to go to confession followed by communion.9 Additionally, the poor residing in hospitals were to pray their morning and evening prayers on their knees and also attend a service on Thursdays. Non-attendance was punishable by the loss of daily food and drink rations. There were also to be daily prayers, led by the pastor, as well as one sermon per day at the hospital (or nearby) church. Those unable to attend due to their infirmity or disabilities were to be visited occasionally by the clergy (Church Law of 1686, Cap. XXVIII, §. 10; Rudbeckius: ca. 1620 [1900]; Sandholm: 1973, 279–283, 294–297, 365–368; Sandholm: 1974, 78, 80).10 The principle of obligatory religious observance for residents in poor relief institutions continued well into the twentieth century. However, from the nineteenth century the number of mandatory religious observances was decreased: for example, the public church service on Thursdays was abandoned (e.g., guidelines for the Själö hospital in 1814 in Fagerlund: 1886, Attachment VI). While the Poor Relief Acts of 1852 and 1879 do not contain guidelines for religious practices in poorhouses in principle (Poor Relief Act of 1852; Poor Relief Act of 1879), an ample body of instructions was distributed by Finnish state poor relief officials, the most prominent of these being the Inspector of Poor Relief.11 In a guidebook published in 1899, the Inspector provided administrative parishes with practical advice on how religion was to be practised in poorhouses. According to these instructions, the inmates were to be provided with an opportunity to go to church, but it was equally important that regular prayers were held in the institution. The inmates were also to be allowed to keep their small belongings such as the Bible

9 For legislation concerning mandatory religious practice, see Kuha: 2016, 60–65, 69, 104–105. E.g. a statute passed in 1665 in Schmedeman: 1706, 453–454; Church Law of 1686, Cap. II, §. 1, Cap. XI, §. 1, 2, Cap. XII, Cap. XIV. 10 E.g. those staying at the Vadstena veterans’ hospital were similarly to participate in services, on pain both of penalties and of expulsion from the hospital (Eriksson: 2017, 79, 102). 11 In 1888, Finland became the first of the Nordic countries to introduce a supervisory state official, the Inspector of Poor Relief, who was to ensure that the existing poor relief and health legislations were observed on a local level, and to give tutelage to local authorities on poor relief (Pulma: 1995; Annola: 2016).

Piety and prayers

or a hymnbook upon entering the institution, and additional religious literature was to be made available in the poorhouse (Helsingius: 1899, 235). A 1920s edition of the guidebook shows, however, that while religion continued to play a prominent role in the retirement homes of the twentieth century, religious practices, such as “regular prayers in the mornings and in the evenings as well as on Sundays”, were no longer associated with obedience and discipline, but rather with a “positive” atmosphere and the wellbeing of the elderly residents, who were “used to hearing the Word” (Tavastähti: 1926). The importance of pastoral counselling comes across in the legislation and guidelines related to poor relief throughout the period of interest. Personal spiritual care and pastoral visits to the infirm and dying constituted major parts of the laws and instructions for the clergy, and the orders given to hospitals and poorhouses also emphasise this part of their responsibilities (Sandholm: 1973, 284–295, passim; e.g., Church Ordinance of 1571, section on pastoral visits to the sick and section on hospitals and poorhouses; Gezelius: 1673, Cap. VIII; Church Law of 1686, Cap. XVII). As late as in 1922 it was stipulated in the new Poor Law that if a sick recipient of poor relief wished to see “a pastor or other religious teacher”, their wish was to be granted (Poor Law of 1922, 36 §). The law can be seen both as a continuation of an old practice and as a step towards religious pluralism, which was further promoted by the passing of the Law on Freedom of Religion the same year. While pastors were expected (but not mandated by legislation) to visit the nineteenth- and early twentieth-century poor relief institutions regularly, the everyday spiritual guidance of the inmates was the responsibility of the person in charge of the institution. In most cases the late nineteenth-century poorhouses and retirement homes were managed by a matron (Annola: 2019). In 1892, the Inspector of Poor Relief published competency requirements for poorhouse matrons. It was specifically pointed out in the booklet that for a matron, instilling “the fear of God” into inmates’ minds was equally important – if not more important – than taking care of their physical needs. If the fear of God did not reign in the institution, the poorhouse would become “a nest, a seedbed for indecency, discontent and obstinacy”, and the inmates would soon sink into “limp indifference and bitter despair”. To prevent this, the matron was to guide the inmates on their spiritual paths and offer solace to the dying. Therefore, Christian devotion, the “living fear of God”, was to be an integral part of the mindset of a good poorhouse matron (Helsingius: 1892, 1f). The Inspector also stressed the key role of the matron in his later publications (Helsingius: 1899; Helsingius: 1917), and this emphasis was repeated by other writers (e.g., Nilsson: 1914; Muutamia ajatuksia kunnalliskodin johtajattaren uskonnollisuudesta: 1935). In the Early Modern period, great significance was attached to the content of sermons and to teaching and preaching “the Word of God” as understood in Lutheran dogma. Several sets of guidelines speak of the importance of having a well-versed

137

138

Johanna Annola, Riikka Miettinen

preacher in the hospitals. Moreover, as an ideal of Lutheranism, “the Word” had to be administered in the vernacular; thus in the hospitals in Finnish-speaking areas, all pastoral services had to be conducted both in Swedish and in Finnish (Sandholm: 1973, 279, 283, 291–294, 312ff; Sandholm: 1974, 78f). Similarly, the nineteenthand early twentieth-century guidelines for poorhouse matrons contained some instructions regarding the content of their spiritual guidance (Helsingius 1899, 93; Helsingius 1913; Helsingius 1917, 101f). For example, in a guidebook published in 1917, matrons were encouraged to avoid dull repetition of the same prayer day after day. Instead, they were to bring everyday worries to the Lord – after all, “an honest, living prayer” would have a more profound impact on the inmates. Newcomers in particular would feel welcome “in the name of Jesus”, despite their faulty lives. Furthermore, an honest prayer would be the best way to convey the atmosphere of the institution in the spirit of Joshua’s words: “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord” (Helsingius: 1917, 101f). The Early Modern clergy were also to allocate enough time for teaching the Catechism, as hospital inhabitants, like everyone else, were required to learn its contents. Pastors were to test this knowledge – a prerequisite for receiving communion – every Sunday, or on some other holy day before officiating at the service. However, the prerequisites were lower for the elderly infirm and for ‘mutes’, and in practice also for the insane or mentally disabled, because communion was considered an absolute necessity and a pivotal element in the Lutheran faith and ritual (Sandholm: 1973, 321–332, 343ff, 351–355; Church Law of 1686, Cap. VIII, §. 3). Alongside the pastors, their superiors also supervised knowledge of the Catechism and the churchgoing and other religious practices of those residing in poor relief institutions. The discharge of pastoral duties in hospitals was also overseen during episcopal visitations and visitations by the dean (Sandholm: 1973, 331–343; Häkli: 2015, 20–26; e.g., during the visitation of the dean in Glöskär hospital in Åland in 1661, in Acta Visitatoria (Österbladh: 1908), 505, 508). The legislation and hospital ordinances emphasised “Christian ways of life”, which included not only diligent religious practice but also vaguer ideals such as a “godly”, respectable, decent, peaceful, and “silent” lifestyle in the institution.12 Quarrelsomeness and staying outside the hospital overnight were mentioned especially as breaches of such norms. Negligence and disobedience meant that the resident could lose daily rations or, at worst, his or her place and be banished from the institution (e.g., Church Ordinance of 1571, 198f; Gezelius: 1673, Cap. XII, §. II; Church Law of 1686, Cap. XXVIII, §. 11; e.g., in the hospital for war veterans in Vadstena, see

12 Also, e.g. harmony, ‘fear of God’, and specific orders related to chastity, see Sandholm: 1973, 208–218. For similar religious and moral ideals in determining the ‘deserving’ poor in Early Modern England, see Hindle: 2004.

Piety and prayers

Eriksson: 2017, 102, 146). The poor in turn deployed the same rhetoric, pleading religious values and morals and referring to “being a good Christian”, their Christian way of life and diligent devotions in petitions for relief or placement in a hospital (Andersson: 2012, 46ff; Israelsson: 2016, passim; e.g., in petitions presented in Helgesson/Lindskog: 2000, 42 and Sandholm: 1973, 420). Another particularly Lutheran tenet related to behavioural ideals in the Early Modern poor relief legislation was the imperative to work, which was also applied within the institutions. Several ordinances lay down that the less infirm, or those momentarily feeling better, should be ‘of use’ and, for example, take care of the less fortunate (e.g., Church Ordinance of 1571, 199; Gezelius: 1673, Cap. XII, §. II, also: IV).

4.

Prayers, churchgoing, and religious literature in poor relief institutions

The ideals of recurrent prayers that were promoted and ordained by the authorities appear to have been followed, in the sense that praying and prayer gatherings were common daily practice in the poor relief institutions throughout the period in question, or at least well into the first decades of the twentieth century. Alongside the regulations that made participation mandatory on pain of penalties, the prayerbooks preserved and listed in hospital possessions as well as mentions of prayers taking place speak of their high incidence in Early Modern hospitals. The daily practice was fairly consistent according to surviving sources, which include only a few mentions of failure to arrange the mandatory daily prayers. These, like the morning and evening prayers and saying grace, were led or read by the hospital preacher or a resident who could read or remember them word for word. The most important ones were the prayers organised daily at the church administered by the pastor or preacher: this was a longer event, with hymn singing, readings from the Bible, and several prayers. The Lutheran ideal that all prayers should be administered in both Swedish and Finnish posed problems for some of the clergy. However, even if the prayers were arranged, of course some inhabitants occasionally neglected to participate and were duly punished or reprimanded. For some hospital residents, learning the several daily prayers proved difficult; others were more devout, and not only memorised them but also acquired prayerbooks, hymnals and spiritual literature (Sandholm: 1973, 278–283, 312ff, 369, 372–375; Sandholm: 1974, 80f). In general, praying was a significant part of the everyday lives of the poor, or at least those who accepted the main tenets of Christianity. After all, those residing in the institutions, and most poor relief recipients in general, were in their ‘poor’ situation due to disability or infirmity. Like Catholicism, Lutheran Christianity included the prospect of divine healing; God was regarded as having the ultimate power over one’s life, health, and conditions (Eilola: 1999, esp. 101f). Thus, seeking a cure or alleviation through prayer and other religious practice is a recurrent theme

139

140

Johanna Annola, Riikka Miettinen

in Early Modern sources.13 Moreover, prayer was considered to be the means to overcome the Devil’s temptations to despair and his powers to torment the soul and the body; prayers throughout the day kept such forces of evil at bay and called on the divine powers to protect and help (Sandholm: 1973, 370f). Prayer, churchgoing, and other religious practices were also strongly encouraged by the clergy visiting the infirm (Sandholm: 1973, 382–392; Sundmark: 2008). The late nineteenth-century and early twentieth-century poorhouse inspection records indicate that attending prayers was compulsory for the inmates (e.g. Sortavala Rural District papers; Kymi papers). Overall, the records portray the prayers as a disciplinary practice, or as an integral part of the daily routine in a poorhouse, rather than as a gathering with a spiritual purpose. This is well in line with the notion that the goal of the poorhouse was to make the inmates control themselves through self-imposed conformity to contemporary Christian patriarchal norms. The power that underpinned the prevailing order took the form of constant surveillance of the inmates and the imposition of discipline on them (Foucault 2005; Annola: 2019). However, the inspection records also show that the surveillance around prayers worked both ways. For a matron who was expected to lead the prayers,14 this was the very moment when the inmates’ attention was keenly focused on her. Assembled in the dining hall, waiting for their meal, the inmates were likely to mark every irregularity vis-à-vis the prayers and report their observations to the Poor Relief Board. In 1906, for example, the matron of Hausjärvi poorhouse, in the south of Finland, suddenly fainted while leading the prayers; before long, a rumour spread that she suffered from epilepsy. The matron was given notice (Hausjärvi papers, see also Jyväskylä Rural District, Maaria, Jyväskylä and Lappeenranta papers). In so far as small mistakes or misfortunes could prove disastrous to a matron, the inmates’ watchfulness can be interpreted as their way of wielding ‘pauper power’ or ‘pauper agency’ (Green: 2006; Green: 2016; Annola: 2019; Carter/James/King: 2019). The disciplinary purpose of the prayers declined over time, which had to do with the transformation of poorhouses into retirement homes during the interwar period. As able-bodied inmates were removed from the institutions, there was probably no longer any need for strict disciplinary practices. At the same time, the communality around Sunday prayers in particular also diminished, which had to do with the increasing secularisation of society (see e.g., Nokkala: 1986), but also with the advent of modern technology such as the radio. This change is apparent in

13 E.g. in court records that at times include testimonies describing the daily conduct of the ill or their kin. E.g. Lower court records (Finnish National Archives): Jääski, Lappee, Ranta/Äyräpää KO a 17: 236 (Lappee 30 Sept 1680); Ylä-Satakunta KO a 9: 348 (Orivesi 2 Sept 1681), KO a 11: 1323–1327 (Loimijoki 7–8 May 1700) and KO a 73: 19v (Orivesi/Kuorevesi 16–20 Jan 1753). 14 On some occasions, however, the pastor or a visitor such as a teacher or an itinerant preacher might take the matron’s place (e.g. Jyväskylä papers; Korpilahti papers; Pennanen 1974).

Piety and prayers

the oral history material. One of the informants, the former matron of a retirement home who took up her post in 1920, mentioned that she had enjoyed the sight of the residents gathering for Sunday prayers in their neat Sunday clothes (Pennanen: 1974). Another informant, the daughter of a matron, remembered the residents sitting together in the dining hall in the 1930s and 1940s, listening to the service that was broadcast on the national radio every Sunday morning (Vilenius: 2007). A third informant, who used to visit a retirement home regularly in the 1960s, reminisced that the Sunday service was broadcast directly from the local church to the retirement home, so that the inmates could listen to the sermon in their own rooms (Vanhustenhoito ennen ja nyt). Another major feature characterising the religious lives of the poor who resided in institutions was churchgoing. As mentioned, the Early Modern legislation stipulated several daily religious services and events to be carried out in the church. Not much is known about church attendance in the Early Modern Finnish hospitals, but we can assume that it was common practice on the stipulated days and hours of prayer, at least for those inmates able to walk; certainly, the repercussions of non-attendance, loss of daily rations or at worst expulsion, were severe enough to encourage diligent participation. The hospital budgets for wine and communion wafers suggest that churchgoing for communion was quite close to that stipulated in the legislation and to that estimated on average of people at the time.15 It has been estimated at some three to four times per person yearly on average. Some records of episcopal visitations mention diligent churchgoing, while others reprimand some inhabitants for non-attendance. No doubt, there were individual differences. People explained their absence by bad weather or lack of appropriate clothing; others were simply described as “arrogant” (Sandholm: 1973, 357–363; e.g., budgets published in Fagerlund: 1886, 42–47, 162f and Attachment III). Not much is known about those residing in the few existing Early Modern parish poorhouses but, presumably, they attended the local church that stood right next to them. A church building on the hospital grounds or nearby was a necessity for the rites prescribed to take place in church. However, some of the Early Modern town hospitals had to do without one even for long periods, for example when buildings had collapsed. Some of these hospitals were allocated the use of other churches in the town (Sandholm: 1973, 315–318; Sandholm: 1974, 81f). For example, during an episcopal visitation in 1676 the pastor of Helsingfors hospital complained about having to hold the services and prayers “in storm and bad weather, under the open sky” (Visitation record 6 October 1676 in Häkli: 2015, 91). The church in town allocated to the hospital residents had burnt down more than a year before. The situation did not get much better until 1734, when a new church building was

15 However, there were major regional and individual differences. See Kuha: 2016, 69, passim.

141

142

Johanna Annola, Riikka Miettinen

constructed: for decades the hospital had to make do with a small hovel, which at least provided some shelter (except for lepers, who had to stand outside: Sandholm: 1973, 317; Sandholm 1974, 81f). Kronoby hospital in Ostrobothnia, established in 1631, built a church in the mid-seventeenth century. The small Glöskär hospital in the Åland Islands, which primarily housed lepers, lacked a church throughout its existence between 1652 and 1672. The more populous hospitals, like those in Vyborg and on Själö Island near Turku (Åbo), typically had a church building on their grounds. Nevertheless, collapsing buildings and times of crisis like the military occupation after the Great Northern War meant that hospital staff and residents had to find other locations for worship (Sandholm: 1973, 315–318). Churchgoing could be a challenge for lepers, whom those not infected wished to avoid; in most hospitals, like Vyborg and Själö, they had a segregated space in the church from where they could follow the service and participate (Helminen: 2014, 102f; Sandholm: 1973, 318ff; Sandholm: 1974, 81f). The regulations concerning religious practice could thus not be followed at all times. Moreover, only some of the hospitals housed pastors or preachers: others relied on the visits of nearby parish clergy. Some hospitals, for short periods of time, had no clergy to celebrate the necessary rites, for example during the first years after establishment and in the crisis years of war and occupation.16 For several years in the mid-seventeenth century, for example, the local pastor assigned to Glöskär hospital in Åland island neglected his duties, and in particular refused to officiate at services for the lepers.17 There are sporadic mentions of absent clergy and other troubles, which meant that occasionally religious ceremonies and pastoral care were not available (Sandholm: 1973, 293f, 320, 385, 393). While it was not stipulated in the Poor Relief Act of 1879 that a poorhouse inmate should be allowed to go to church, this was nevertheless encouraged by state poor relief officials (Helsingius 1899). Furthermore, poorhouses and later retirement homes were often located in close proximity to the local church to facilitate the residents’ access to Sunday services.18 The source material indicates, on the one hand, that the residents were usually keen on going to church, because “the weekly 16 Lists of clergy serving in hospitals in Early Modern Finland in Sandholm: 1973, 415–419 and in Fagerlund 1886, Attachment XII. 17 Documents concerning Glöskär hospital in Åland published in Fagerlund: 1886, 160ff, and as a continuing problem in 1661 in Acta Visitatoria (Österbladh: 1908), 507. 18 On some occasions, the proximity presented a problem: for instance, in 1909 the master of Liperi poorhouse complained that people living on the outskirts of the parish were in the habit of using the poorhouse as their “quarters” during their weekly trips to church. While staying in the poorhouse, the churchgoers often tried to hire able-bodied inmates to work on their farms as summer helpers. Thus, the visits disturbed the everyday life of the institution, and some inmates indeed ran away from the poorhouse, stealing clothes as they went (Liperi papers). Later on, the proximity of a poor relief institution to the church seems to have been an unmixed advantage. For example, one of

Piety and prayers

outing brought variety to their everyday life in an institution” (Frågelistmaterial om fattigvård); But on the other, church attendance could result in conflicts – after all, inmates could only exit the institution with the matron’s permission. For example, in 1908 the inmates of Urjala (Urdiala) poorhouse, in the south of Finland, complained that the matron did not let them go to church because, according to her, they lacked proper clothing (Urjala papers, see also Eurajoki papers). Similarly, the master of Kymi (Kymmene) poorhouse, in the southeast of Finland, had in 1917 allegedly denied an inmate access to Holy Communion. The inmate had then used the telephone to call a minister, for which he was punished by isolation in confinement (Kymi papers). The gradual shift from poorhouses to retirement homes marked a change in churchgoing as well. The more recent sources show that churchgoing was not strictly observed in retirement homes. The matron of Kiihtelysvaara retirement home, in the east of Finland, remembered that residents used to get ready in good time before setting off for church, either on foot or by horse (Pennanen: 1974). Another informant mentioned that in the post-war period, there were pews in the local church reserved for the residents of the retirement home. These were located close to the altar and “were equipped with a special hearing aid” (Vanhustenhoito ennen ja nyt). A sign of religious practice on a more individual level is that some of the inhabitants in poor relief institutions read and even possessed spiritual literature. During the seventeenth century, many hospitals still lacked a Bible and postils, and the volume of printed books in these institutions was presumably quite low. Yet in the eighteenth century, there are significantly more mentions of religious books, in particular hymnals (Psalm bok) that also included the Catechism both in Finnish and in Swedish. Some of those who died in hospitals left behind hymnals, prayerbooks, catechisms and other devotional literature as part of their estates. For example, a few residents of Turku (Åbo) hospital had owned Philipp Kegelius’s Twelve spiritual meditations (Tolf andelige betrachtelser), and two female ‘inmates’ in Helsingfors hospital who had died in 1748 and 1780 left unspecified prayerbooks. The religious books that the hospital preachers and churches possessed were sometimes lent to some residents (Sandholm: 1973, 297–303; 376–381; Sandholm: 1974, 80f). However, the possession of such relatively expensive items as books was most likely not widespread in the poor relief institutions. Nor was the ability to read widespread among the lower classes in Early Modern Finland; there were major regional and individual differences in both the ability to read and the possession of spiritual literature. Generally, both were already more common in the

the informants recollected that as people went to church, they usually also visited the municipal retirement home to greet their friends and relatives there (Vanhustenhoito ennen ja nyt).

143

144

Johanna Annola, Riikka Miettinen

mid-1700s in the coastal regions and western Finland – much earlier than in the eastern Finnish areas (Laine/Laine: 2010, 258–293). It can be presumed that most of the poor memorised the daily reiterated common prayers and the catechetical basics (e.g., based on catechetical examinations: Sandholm: 1973, 331–343). Most mentions of religious literature in late nineteenth-century poorhouses are complaints. According to a press cutting dated 1909, the inmates of Lappee poorhouse, in the east of Finland, had nothing to read. “We should keep in mind”, reminded the anonymous writer, “that old people, too, are human beings who yearn for knowledge, albeit they no longer need information on politics but on the eternal questions” (Lappeenranta papers). The writer suggested that the inmates should therefore be provided with suitable Christian newspapers. Socialists,19 on the other hand, often adopted a contrasting view on the question of what poorhouse inmates should read. In the early twentieth century, it was stated in the leftist newspaper Eteenpäin that the inmates of Kymi (Kymmene) poorhouse were mostly provided with outdated “religious trash”, including the Postil and a devotional book named “The Voice in the Wilderness”, as well as journals that dealt with missionary work abroad. The anonymous writer suggested the local socialists improve the situation by donating to the inmates an issue of Eteenpäin, because old people “were hardly interested in remote news” such as those about missionary work (Kymi papers). It appears, however, that religious literature survived the transformation of poorhouses into retirement homes. For example, the retired matron of Kiihtelysvaara retirement home remembered that from the 1920s to the 1960s, a resident might have the Bible, a hymnbook, an almanac, or a copy of “the book by Thomas à Kempis” (Pennanen: 1974).20 A retired nurse who had been active during the post-war years recalled an elderly male resident who was in the habit of standing in the middle of the room, reading the Bible aloud to his roommates. The nurse explained how this one time, during the evening medication round, I asked him to show me which part he was reading. To my astonishment, I noticed that the man was holding the Bible upside

19 The socialists regarded the poorhouse system as a prime example of inequality in municipal decisionmaking and as oppression of the poor, and were thus eager appeal to public opinion by publishing exposés of poorhouses in the newspapers. The main problem was that even though Finland had introduced universal suffrage in national elections in 1906, universal suffrage in local government elections had to wait until late 1917. Prior to that, the right to vote was based on property qualifications, and the poorest people had no chance to participate in decision-making, for example, on poor relief (Annola: 2011, 234–239). 20 This refers to the widely disseminated late medieval devotional book De Imitatione Christi, parts of which were already included in the first Finnish language prayerbook, published in 1544 (Holma: 2008, 32ff).

Piety and prayers

down. I found out later that he was illiterate. He had memorised all those chapters by listening to his family members read aloud. (... ) I never disclosed to the other inmates what I had noticed. (Vanhustenhoito ennen ja nyt)

This example also indicates that as compulsory school attendance was only introduced in Finland in 1921, illiteracy was by no means uncommon among the elderly in the post-war years.

5.

Conclusions

Religion and religious practice continued to play a major role in the lives of the poor throughout the period in question. As we have seen, the norms laid down for poor relief institutions maintained several religious features well into the early twentieth century. Lutheran ideas laid the foundations for the organisation and later the development of the poor relief system – most importantly, for the understanding of poor relief as the responsibility of local communities: first of parishes, later of administrative parishes. Mandatory church attendance and prayers continued for centuries. Various communal religious services were provided for the indoor poor throughout the period in addition to spiritual literature, offering many ways to perform the devotions and participate. It must be pointed out that we have only focused here on certain religious practices among the indoor poor, although religious worship took various manifestations; for example, rituals related to religious festivities like Christmas and Easter and funerals were a major part of institutional life that deserve more attention (e.g. for dealing with death in poorhouses, see Annola: 2022). The major long-term change that took place during the roughly 350 years we have examined here is that the forms and number of compulsory religious observances, and also the clerical presence and functions in the poor relief institutions, alike diminished. The clergy were no longer present daily, for example, leading the prayers and preaching the homily; many of the functions previously presided over by clergy became the responsibility of the lay staff. This development reflects a general change that was taking place in the role of the clergy; similarly, medical and social care professionals took over many of the tasks previously performed by clergymen. These changes reflect the overall modernisation and secularisation of society in Finland, as well as the professionalisation of social care work. As amply shown in earlier scholarship, the development elsewhere in Lutheran and Protestant Europe followed a similar path. Nevertheless, prayer, churchgoing, and additional personal and communal religious practices continued to flourish within the poor relief institutions. Not all

145

146

Johanna Annola, Riikka Miettinen

participated eagerly, of course; some are, and have always been, more devout than others. It should be noted that as the available source material tends to concentrate on conflicts and disruptions rather than on peaceful daily life, negligence or religious behaviour breaching the norm are over-represented, and may create a biased or exaggerated image. Still, even these perhaps exceptional accounts manifest the many ways in which individuals ‘lived’ religion. Although the authorities laid out the framework and preconditions for religious practice, not all followed the norms. Some experiences of personal devotion can be traced throughout the period of interest. After all, in practice, religious worship needed no intermediaries or specific sites; for example, the presence of spiritual literature in poor relief institutions indicates that “the Word of God” was not only dispensed by clergy or in churches, but was present amid everyday life in the institution.

Bibliography Acta Visitatoria, in Kaarlo Österbladh (ed.) (1908), Boëtius Murenius’ Acta Visitatoria 1637–1666, Helsinki: Suomen kirkkohistoriallinen seura. Alaja, Paavo (2013), Suomen maalaisseurakuntien köyhäinhoito luterilaisen ortodoksian aikana (1571–1686), Helsinki: Suomen kirkkohistoriallinen seura. Anderson, Karen M. (2009), The Church as Nation? The Role of Religion in the Development of the Swedish Welfare State, in Kees van Kersbergen/Philip Manow (ed.), Religion, Class Coalitions, and Welfare States, New York: Cambridge University Press, 210–235. Andersson, Sara (2012), Hospitalsverksamhet i brytningstid: En undersökning av de fattiga i hospitalsförteckningar, ansökningsbrev samt sysslomannaförslag i några svenska städers hospital under 1700-talet, Uppsala: Uppsala universitet. Annola, Johanna (2011), Äiti, emäntä, virkanainen, vartija: Köyhäintalojen johtajat ja yhteiskunnallinen äitiys, 1880–1918, Helsinki: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura. Annola, Johanna (2015), The Conflict Between Lived Religion and State Control of Poor Relief: The Case of Emma Mäkinen’s Private Orphanage at the Turn of the 20th Century, Perichoresis 13, 77–96. Annola, Johanna (2016), Agency and Structures in Poor Relief: The Initiation of State Control of Poor Relief in Finland and Sweden, 1880–1920, Nordic Historical Review 22, 203–222. Annola, Johanna (2017), Out of Poverty: The Ahrenberg Siblings, 1860–1920, Journal of Finnish Studies 20, 132–163. Annola, Johanna (2019), Maternalism and Workhouse Matrons in Nineteenth-Century Finland, Women’s History Review 28, 950–966. Annola, Johanna (2020), Bad Nursing? Workhouse Nurses in England and Finland, 1855–1914, European Journal for Nursing History and Ethics 2, 3–24.

Piety and prayers

Annola, Johanna (2022), To the Undiscovered Country: Facing Death in Early TwentiethCentury Finnish Poorhouses, in Katajala-Peltomaa, Sari/Raisa Maria Toivo (ed.), Histories of Experience in the World of Religion, London: Palgrave Macmillan, 247–267. Arffman, Kaarlo (2002), Luterilainen auttamisjärjestelmän vallankumous, in Virpi Mäkinen (ed.), Lasaruksesta leipäjonoihin. Köyhyys kirkon kysymyksenä, Jyväskylä: Atena, 157–186. Arffman, Kaarlo (2006), The Lutheran Reform of Poor Relief: A Historical and legal Viewpoint, in Virpi Mäkinen (ed.), The Lutheran Reformation and the Law, Leiden: Brill, 205–230. Arffman, Kaarlo (2008), Auttamisen vallankumous: Luterilaisuuden yritys ratkaista köyhyyden aiheuttamat ongelmat, Helsinki: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura & Suomen kirkkohistoriallinen seura. Begging Order of 1817. Julistus Kerjäämisen Estämisestä, 9.9.1817. Carter, Paul/Jeff James/Steve King (2019), Punishing Paupers? Control, Discipline and Mental Health in the Southwell Workhouse, 1836–1871, Rural History 30, 161–180. Christiansen, Niels Finn/Pirjo Markkola (2005), Introduction, in Niels Finn Christiansen/Klaus Petersen/Nils Edling/Per Haave (ed.), The Nordic Model of Welfare: A Historical Reappraisal, Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 9–30. Church Law of 1686, in Lahja-Irene Hellemaa/Anja Jussila/Martti Parvio (ed.) (1986), Kircko-laki ja ordningi 1686, Helsinki: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura. URL: http:// www.mlang.name/arkisto/kyrkio-lag-1686.html, and in Swedish, e.g. in Samfundet Pro fide et christianismo (utg.) (1936), 1686 års kyrkolag med inledning av Gabriel Thulin, Stockholm: Svenska kyrkans diakonistyrelse. Church Ordinance of 1571, in Samfundet pro fide et christianismo (1932), Laurentius Petris Kyrkoordning av år 1571, Stockholm: Svenska kyrkans diakonistyrelses bokförlag, esp. 193–199. Also published in Sven Kjöllerström (1971), Den svenska kyrkoordningen 1571, jämte studier kring tillkomst, innehåll och användning, Lund: Håkan Ohlssons Förlag. Code of 1734. Also known as the Civil Code of 1734. In Finnish: Ruotzin Waldacunnan Laki Hywäxi luettu ja wastan otettu Herrain Päiwillä Wuonna 1734. URL: http://agricola. utu.fi/hist/kktk/lait/1734/, and in Swedish: e.g. Sweriges rikes lag: gillad och antagen på Riksdagen år 1734, Stockholm: 1808. Cunningham, andrew/Ole Peter Grell (1997), Health Care and Poor Relief in Protestant Europe 1500–1700, London/New York: Routledge. Dahlberg, B. H. (1893), Bidrag till svenska fattiglagstiftningens historia intill midten af adertone år hundradet, Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksells. Duffy, E. (2005), The Stripping of the Altars, 2. edition, New Haven/London: Yale University Press. Eilola, Jari (1999), “Ehkä se on Jumalasta, mutta se voi olla pahoista ihmisistäkin” – Sairauden kokeminen, tulkinta ja parantaminen uuden ajan alussa, in Heikki Roiko-

147

148

Johanna Annola, Riikka Miettinen

Jokela (ed.), Vanhuus, vaivat ja erilaiset, Jyväskylä: Jyväskylän historiallinen arkisto vol. 4, 95–144. Eriksson, Peter (2017), Vadstena krigsmanshus: En studie av den svenska kronans inrättning för sårade och gamla soldater cirka 1640–1780, Linköping: Linköping Studies in Arts and Sciences. Fagerlund, L. W. (1886), Finlands leprosorier: 1, 1. S:t Jörans hospital, 2. hospitalet på Sjählö, 3. hospitalet på Gloskär, Helsinki. Fehler, Timothy g. (1999), Poor Relief and Protestantism: The Evolution of Social Welfare in Sixteenth-Century Emden, Aldershot: Ashgate. Foucault, Michel (2005), Tarkkailla ja rangaista, Helsinki: Otava. Gezelius, Johannes (the elder) (1673), Perbreves commonitiones: eller korta påminnelser, hwilka tilförende styckewijs, effter som tilfälle hafwer gifwitz i visitationerne, äro vthi församblingarna effterlemnade, Åbo. Green, David (2006), Pauper Protests: Power and Resistance in Early Nineteenth-Century London Workhouses, Social History 3, 137–159. Green, David (2016), Pauper Capital: London and the Poor Law, 1790–1870, London/New York: Routledge. Grell, Ole Peter (1997), The Protestant imperative of Christian Care and Neighbourly Love, in Andrew Cunningham/Ole Peter Grell (ed.), Health Care and Poor Relief in Protestant Europe 1500–1700, London/New York: Routledge, 42–63. Hall, David d. (1997), Lived Religion in America: Towards a History of Practice, Princeton University Press. Helgesson, Michael/Bengt I. Lindskog (2000), Dessa arma uslingar..: Sjuk-och fattigvård i 1700-talets Karlskrona, Blekinge: Blekinge museum. Helminen, Mikko (2014), Kruununhospitaalien sosiaalinen ympäristö: Tutkimus Seilin ja Kruunupyyn hospitaalien erityisalueista 1600-ja 1700-luvuilla, Turku: University of Turku. Helsingius, Gustaf (1892), Anvisningar rörande den praktiska utbildningen af föreståndarinnor för fattiggårdarna, Helsingfors: Kejserliga Senatens tryckeri. Helsingius, Gustaf (1899), Handbok i fattigvård, Helsingfors: Simelii arfvingar. Helsingius, Gustaf (1913), Siveellinen elämä köyhäintaloissa, Köyhäinhoitolehti 13. Helsingius, Gustaf (1917), Köyhäinhoidon käsikirja, 2nd issue, Porvoo: Holger Schildt. Hindle, Steve (2004), Civility, Honesty and the Identification of the Deserving Poor in Seventeenth-Century England, in Henry French/Jonathan Barry (ed.), Identity and Agency in England, 1500–1800, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Holma, Juhani (2008), Sangen ialo Rucous: Schwenckfeldiläisten rukouskirja Mikael Agricolan lähteenä, Helsinki: Yliopistopaino. Häkli, Esko (2015), Biskops-och prostvisitationsprotokoll från det äldre Viborgska stiftet, Helsinki: Societas Historiae Ecclesiasticae Fennica.

Piety and prayers

Israelsson, Jezzica (2016), In Consideration of My Meagre Circumstances: The Language of Poverty as a Tool for Ordinary People in Early Modern Sweden, Uppsala: Uppsala universitet. Jaakkola, Jouko (1994), Sosiaalisen kysymyksen yhteiskunta, in Jouko Jaakkola/Panu Pulma/Mirja Satka/Kyösti Urponen (ed.), Armeliaisuus, yhteisöapu, sosiaaliturva: Suomalaisen sosiaalisen turvan historia, Helsinki: Sosiaalisen turvan keskusliitto, 71–161. Kahl, Sigrun (2005), The Religious Roots of Modern Poverty Policy: Catholic, Lutheran and Reformed Protestant Traditions Compared, Archives Europeennes de Sociologie 66, 91–126. Katajala-Peltomaa, S./R. Toivo (2017), Religion as Experience, in Sari Katajala-Peltomaa/ Raisa Maria Toivo (ed.), Lived Religion and the Long Reformation in the North of Europe, Leiden: Brill, 1–18. Katajala-Peltomaa, Sari/Raisa Maria Toivo (ed.) (2022), Histories of Experience in the World of Religion, London: Palgrave Macmillan. Koefoed, Nina Javette (2017), Social Responsibilities in the Protestant North: Denmark and Sweden, in Leen van Molle (ed.), Charity and Social Welfare: The Dynamics of Religious Reform in Northern Europe, 1780–1920, Leuven: Leuven University Press, 251–280. Kouri, Erkki (1997), Health Care and Poor Relief in Sweden and Finland, c. 1500–1700, in Andrew Cunningham/Ole Peter Grell (ed.), Health Care and Poor Relief in Protestant Europe 1500–1700, London: Routledge, 163–198. Kuha, Miia (2016), Pyhäpäivien vietto varhaismodernin ajan Savossa (vuoteen 1710), Jyväskylä: Jyväskylä Studies in Humanities 286. Laine, Esko M./Tuija Laine (2010), Kirkollinen kansanopetus, in Jussi Hanska/Kirsi VainioKorhonen (ed.), Huoneentaulun maailma: Kasvatus ja koulutus Suomessa keskiajalta 1860-luvulle, Helsinki: The Finnish Literature Society, 258–306. Markkola, Pirjo (2000), The Calling of Women: Gender, Religion and Social Reform in Finland, 1860–1920, in Pirjo Markkola (ed.), Gender and Vocation: Women, Religion and Social Change in the Nordic Countries, 1830–1940, Helsinki: Finnish Literature Society, 113–145. Markkola, Pirjo (2002), Synti ja siveys: Naiset, uskonto ja sosiaalinen työ Suomessa, 1860–1920, Helsinki: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura. Markkola, Pirjo (2007), Changing Patterns of Welfare: Finland in the Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries, in Steven King/John Stewart (ed.), Welfare Peripheries: The Development of Welfare States in Nineteenth and Twentieth Century Europe, Bern: Peter Lang, 207–252. Miettinen, Riikka (2018), Vaivaiset ja työkyvyttömät uuden ajan alun maaseudulla, in Riikka Miettinen/Ella Viitaniemi (ed.), Reunamailla. Tilattomat Länsi-Suomen maaseudulla 1600–1800, Helsinki: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura, 284–340. Molle, Leen Van (ed.) (2017), Charity and Social Welfare: The Dynamics of Religious Reform in Northern Europe, 1780–1920, Leuven: Leuven University Press.

149

150

Johanna Annola, Riikka Miettinen

Nilsson, Axel (1914), under pseudonym N-n, Kansakoulunopettajatar ja köyhäintalonjohtajatar keskustelevat, Köyhäinhoitolehti 8. Nokkala, Immo (1986) Ehtoollispakkokysymys Suomessa, 1818–1910, Helsinki: Suomen kirkkohistoriallinen seura. Ordinance on beggars and the poor 1698. Kongl. Maj:ts förnyade Stadga och Förordning, huru med Tiggiare och Fattige, som rätt allmoso behöfwa, så ock med Landstrykare och lättingar, förhållas skall. Datum Stockholm den 21 October Anno 1698, in Anders Anton von Stiernman (ed.) (1766), Samling utaf kongl. bref, stadgar och förordningar &c. angående Sweriges rikes commerce, politie och oeconomie uti gemen, ifrån åhr 1523. in til närwarande tid, vol. 5, Stockholm, 726–730. Ordinance on beggars and the poor of 1642. Kongl. May.tz til Swerige, wår allernådigste drottnings och frökens, Ordning och Stadga, huru hållas skall medh Tiggiare och fattige som rätt Allmoso behöfwe: Item medh Landstrykare och Lättingar. Linköping. URL: http://libris.kb.se/bib/19400769. Ordinance related to beggars 1731. Publication angående Tiggare 18.8.1731, in Modée R. G. (ed.) (1746), Utdrag Utur alle ifrån 1729 års slut utkomme Publique Handlingar, Placater, Förordningar, Resolutioner och Publicationer, Som Riksens Styrsel samt inwärtes Hushållning ock Författningar i genem, jämwäl och Stockholms Stad i synnerhet, angå, vol. II, Stockholm, 937–938. Pennanen, Maria (1974), an interview, Kper Y/06547–Y/06550, Folklore Archives, Tampere University. Poor Law of 1922. Köyhäinhoitolaki, 1.6.1922. Poor Relief Act of 1852. Keisarillisen Majesteetin Armollinen Asetus Yhteisestä vaivaistenholhouksesta Suomen Isoruhtinaanmaassa, 22.3.1852. Poor Relief Act of 1879. Keisarillisen Majesteetin Armollinen Julistus Yleisestä Waiwaishoidosta Suomen Suuriruhtinaanmaassa, 17.3.1879. Pulma, Panu (1985), Fattigvård i frihetstidens Finland. En undersökning om förhållandet mellan centralmakt och lokalsamhälle, Helsinki: Suomen Historiallinen Seura. Pulma, Panu (1994), Vaivaisten valtakunta, in Jouko Jaakkola/Panu Pulma/Mirja Satka/ Kyösti Urponen (ed.), Armeliaisuus, yhteisöapu, sosiaaliturva: Suomalaisen sosiaalisen turvan historia, Helsinki: Sosiaalisen turvan keskusliitto, 15–70. Pulma, Panu (1995), Valtio, vaivaiset ja kuntien itsehallinto: Gustaf Adolf Helsingius valtion ja kuntien välisen suhteen muokkaajana, in Seppo Tiihonen (ed.) Virkanyrkit ja muita hallintohistorian tutkielmia, Helsinki: Painatuskeskus, 99–126. Pulma, Panu (2018), Irtolaiseksi joutumisen riski Länsi-Suomessa 1700-luvulla, in Riikka Miettinen/Ella Viitaniemi (ed.), Reunamailla. Tilattomat Länsi-Suomen maaseudulla 1600–1800, Helsinki: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura, 264–283. Rahikainen, Marjatta (2002), Compulsory Child Labour: Parish Paupers as Indentured Servants in Finland, c. 1810–1920, Rural History 13, 163–178.

Piety and prayers

Raunio, Antti (2002), Kristittyjen keskuudessa kenenkään ei pitäisi kerjätä – Köyhyyden ongelma Lutherin teologiassa, in Virpi Mäkinen (ed.), Lasaruksesta leipäjonoihin. Köyhyys kirkon kysymyksenä, Jyväskylä: Atena, 132–156. Rudbeckius, Johannes johannis (ca. 1620), Om hospitaler och siukestughor/Någhre Kyrckio Stadgar, in Herman Lundström (ed., 1900), Biskop J. Rudbeckius’ Kyrkio-stadgar för Westarås stift, Uppsala. Safley, Thomas Max 2003, Reformation of Charity: The Secular and the Religious in Early Modern Poor Relief, Leiden: Brill Academic Publishers. Sandholm, Åke (1973), Kyrkan och hospitalshjonen. En undersökning rörande omsorgen om de sjuka och fattiga i välfärdsanstalterna i Finland, Helsinki: Suomen kirkkohistoriallinen seura. Sandholm, Åke (1974), Hospitalet i Helsingfors 1550–1840: Huvudstadens äldsta social-och sjukvårdsantalt, Helsinki: Helsingfors-samfundet. Schmedeman, Johan (1706), Kongliga Stadgar, Förordningar, Bref och Resolutioner ifrån Åhr 1528 intil 1701 angående Justitiae och Executions Ährender, Stockholm. Sundmark, Stina Fallberg (2008), Sjukbesök och dödsberedelse: sockenbudet i svensk medeltida och reformatorisk tradition, Skellefteå: Artos. Tavastähti, Elli (1926), Köyhäinhoidon käsikirja, Porvoo: WSOY. Tomkins, Alannah (2007), The Experience of Urban Poverty, 1723–82: Parish, Charity and Credit, Manchester: Manchester University Press. Toropainen, Veli-Pekka (2014), Spitaalisten saari – Seilin hospitaalin varhaisvaiheita, Genos 85, 210–225. Turunen, Sakari/Kalle Achté (1976), Seilin hospitaali 1619–1962, Helsinki: Leiras. Urponen, Kyösti (1994), Huoltoyhteiskunnasta hyvinvointivaltioon, in Jouko Jaakkola/ Panu Pulma/Mirja Satka/Kyösti Urponen (ed.), Armeliaisuus, yhteisöapu, sosiaaliturva: Suomalaisen sosiaalisen turvan historia, Helsinki: Sosiaalisen turvan keskusliitto, 163–260. Vanhustenhoito ennen ja nyt (2016–2017), Kansanrunousarkisto Oral History Collection, Finnish Literature Society.

Unpublished sources Eurajoki papers, the Archives of the Inspector of Poor Relief Fb:11, Finnish National Archives. Frågelistmaterial om fattigvård (1980), oral history collection on poor relief, Swedish Literature Society in Finland. Hausjärvi papers, the Archives of the Inspector of Poor Relief Fb:19, Finnish National Archives. Jyväskylä papers, the Archives of the Inspector of Poor Relief Fb:23, Finnish National Archives. Jyväskylä Rural District papers, the Archives of the Inspector of Poor Relief Fb:27, Finnish National Archives.

151

152

Johanna Annola, Riikka Miettinen

Korpilahti papers, the Archives of the Inspector of Poor Relief Fb:20, Finnish National Archives. Kymi papers, the Archives of the Inspector of Poor Relief Fb:13, Finnish National Archives. Lappeenranta papers, the Archives of the Inspector of Poor Relief Fb:13, Finnish National Archives. Liperi papers, the Archives of the Inspector of Poor Relief Fb:33, Finnish National Archives. Lower court records (from different localities), Collection of renoverade domböcker, Finnish National Archives. Maaria papers, the Archives of the Inspector of Poor Relief Fb:9, Finnish National Archives. Muutamia ajatuksia kunnalliskodin johtajattaren uskonnollisuudesta (1935), Huoltaja 6. Sortavala Rural District papers, the Archives of the Inspector of Poor Relief Fb:16, Finnish National Archives. Urjala papers, the Archives of the Inspector of Poor Relief Fb:21, Finnish National Archives. Vilenius, Sirkka (2007), an interview, in the possession of Johanna Annola.

Nina Javette Koefoed

Lutheran social responsibility and the early Danish welfare state

1.

Introduction

In 1536, King Christian III implemented the Reformation in Denmark by royal act. There had been popular interest in the evangelical movement and preaching by evangelical pastors in the larger Danish cities before a two-year-long civil war in which the Lutheran confession was a central issue. With the Reformation, the Church effectively disappeared as an independent institution in Denmark, and became part of the state (Ingesman: 2019). The Evangelical Lutheran church became the only church permitted in the kingdom of Denmark, up to the point at which freedom of religion was introduced with the first democratic constitution of 1849.1 In the centuries following the Reformation, theologians from the University of Copenhagen were the king’s close political advisers, a function they retained until the second half of the eighteenth century (Krogh: 2000). A century after the Reformation, in 1660, King Frederik III’s introduction of absolutism forged an even stronger connection between state political power and the Lutheran confession.2 The King’s Code (1665), Frederik III’s absolutist constitution, committed Frederik and his successors to the Augsburg Confession and to ensuring that his subjects should live according to its dictates (Koefoed: 2019).3 The Lutheran Reformation brought about an abrupt closure of the hospitals and the poor relief connected to the Catholic Church, by making the poor and the sick the responsibility of the king, and, more slowly, a re-structuring of the poor relief system under the king. How far religion and the various confessions played a role in the development of Early Modern poor relief in Europe – alongside the other factors of humanism, the economy, war, and demographic development – has been much debated. Most research, however, has focused on the Reformed and Catholic areas of Europe, in a few cases addressing Lutheran areas in Germany (Arffmann: 2019; Gorski: 2003; Grell/Cunningham: 1997; Lorentzen: 2018). The

1 Small units of other religious communities were gradually allowed. 2 Before that the king had shared power with a governing council (rigsråd) consisting only of high nobility. Before the Reformation, the bishops had also had positions on the governing council. 3 The king and queen’s personal commitment to the Evangelical Lutheran church still apply to the Danish monarch today.

154

Nina Javette Koefoed

Lutheran countries of Scandinavia, despite exhibiting the tightest connections in Europe between a single confession and the power of the state, have seldom played a central role in these discussions. Besides historians of Early Modern Europe, scholars of the welfare state too have looked for a connection between the religious confessions and the various welfare state models in Europe today, especially since the various welfare models seem to follow confessional lines (Kahl: 2009; Manow/van Kersbergen: 2009). Here the Scandinavian countries have figured more prominently in the debate than in the study of the Early Modern poor relief system, owing to the alleged distinctiveness of a Nordic welfare model. In general, the welfare state scholars have ascribed greater explanatory importance to the Lutheran confession than the Early Modern scholars (Knudsen: 2000; Nelson: 2017; Petersen: 2016; Østergaard 2005), although this link has been more frequently assumed than demonstrated on the basis of empirical study.4 This chapter locates the first universal welfare principles, and through this the foundation of the Danish welfare state, in the poor relief of Early Modern Denmark. In so doing, it contributes a focus on the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries to the field. The chapter examines how the Lutheran idea of social responsibility established a path dependency from the religiously framed poor relief legislation of the early eighteenth century to the understandings in the 1849 constitution of poor relief and education as social rights, and poor relief as the responsibility of the new political citizen. It argues that the two central and interlocking themes of the Lutheran understanding of the responsibility of the absolute king – the obligation to care for all poor persons and the obligation to compel his subjects each to care for his neighbour – developed, in combination, into the constitutional social rights and obligations of the new citizen, and informed the negotiation of universalist principles for poor relief and education following the implementation of the constitution.5 The ambition to improve the poor through education and the social responsibility to support the poor reflect, I argue, a Lutheran cultural heritage as much as that from the Enlightenment and socialism.6 The focus is on legislation. Legislation tends to reflect the norms and ambitions of the state. In setting the framework for possible new solutions, legislation establishes path dependencies, in that new legislation continues to develop those principles and

4 In most introduction to early modern poor relief, religion is not ascribed explanatory force, see e.g. Johansen/Kolstrup: 2010. 5 Universalism is identified as a fundamental idea of the Nordic welfare system together with redistributive tax financing. (Hilson: 2020). The connection between Lutheranism, literacy and free education in the Nordic countries has been less controversial. (e.g. Appel/Fink: 2013; Lindmark: 2011). 6 Especially the latter part of this, the social responsibility towards all poor as inherited in Lutheranism, is inspired by the work of Nørby Pedersen, see also this volume.

Lutheran social responsibility and the early Danish welfare state

practices established by preceding legislation, rather than breaking with them. Path dependencies are understood here as the way in which specific ideas and principles introduced as guiding societal norms and legislation develop, accumulate, and inform legislation through different processes of political and societal debates as well as practices (Pierson: 2000). I argue that the principles that ultimately developed into the universalism of the modern welfare state can be located in Early Modern Lutheran confessionalism.

2.

Social responsibility in the 1708 poor laws

The church ordinance of 1537/39 defined the responsibility of the king to include care for the poor, but legislation in the area was slow to develop.7 Only in 1708 did a poor law address the question of regular provision for the poor throughout the country. This legislation consisted of two ordinances: one for Copenhagen, and a separate one for towns and the countryside.8 The legislation prohibited begging, established a system for financing and administering poor relief, and defined the poor who were to be supported (Poor Law 1708 a, b). There had been attempts over the previous century, concentrated in Copenhagen and a few other towns, to prohibit begging and provide for the poor through poor relief systems (Mikkelsen: 2008); the ambition in 1708 was to combat the increasing problem posed by beggars and vagrants by means of a locally administered and financed system with powers to remove them from the streets and ensure sufficient help for the remaining poor (Poor Law 1708b, preface).9 Research on the impact of the 1708 legislation and its practices has tended to take two contrasting views. One of these emphasises the insufficiency and insecurity of the system defined in the 1708 legislation, focusing on the demands placed on the poor and especially the moral and religious standards they were required to meet (Jørgensen: 1979; Mikkelsen: 2008). The other view sees the 1708 legislation as ground-breaking, with poor relief becoming a public right for those fulfilling the criteria. In this view the legislation establishes the principle of helping the poor based on knowledge of their needs, emphasising the education of poor children (Appel/Fink: 2013; Bonderup: 2002; Henningsen: 2008; Jørgensen: 1982; Mikkelsen: 2008). Both views have focused on Copenhagen. But the situation in Copenhagen

7 See Nørby Pedersen in this volume for an analysis of the early post-Reformation poor legislation in Denmark, including the regulation of beggars. 8 Towns were provincial market towns, and countryside the land outside these provincial towns. 9 Countering both begging and vagrancy, and the centralised legislation regarding public relief which operated on the local level through church structures, were central Lutheran ideas introduced under the poor law in the city of Wittenberg in 1520–21 (Arffman: 2019).

155

156

Nina Javette Koefoed

with regard to the number of beggars and financial needs was not typical of the country at large, and therefore poor regulation in Copenhagen is not necessarily representative of the ideology behind the government’s overall approach to the poverty problem (see, e.g., Henningsen: 2008). This chapter therefore focuses on the poor legislation for the towns and the countryside, with some contextual allusions to Copenhagen. In the towns and in the countryside, poor relief became the task of a group of poor inspectors comprising the pastor, one representative from the municipal authority, and at least two good citizens10 or farmers11 (Poor Law 1708b, Towns, §2; Countryside, §1–2). All contributions for the poor were to be collected in a common poor chest (Poor Law 1708b, Towns, §3; Countryside, §8). Local councils of poor inspectors were obliged to present their accounts to the poor directors in Copenhagen every year, once the bishop and the county governor had approved them (Poor Law 1708b, Towns, §10). Local hospitals were to be administered in accordance with their deeds of foundation, but were also required to have their accounts approved by the bishop and prefect and sent to the poor directors in Copenhagen (Poor Law 1708b, Towns, §11).12 Despite being donated and run by the local nobility and thus founded as private institutions, local hospitals nevertheless functioned as part of the public poor relief system (Knudsen: 2018). Poor relief was thus distributed locally by both clerical and secular authorities at all administrative levels – local, regional, national – and all contributions to the poor were collected in one chest. This meant that all private alms were distributed through the public system. 2.1

Poor relief as God’s ordinance

The 1708 ordinances understand poor relief as a Christian obligation both in regard to organisation by the authorities and contributions from citizens. Poor relief in itself is articulated as “the Lord’s doing” (Poor Law 1708b, Towns, §2). This wording is similar to that in the church ordinance of 1537/39, where poor relief is categorised as part of God’s ordinance (Holm/Koefoed: 2018), juxtaposing care for the poor next to preaching of the right belief and sacraments. This juxtaposition is a central part of Reformation and Lutheran theology.13 When poor relief is articulated in

10 11 12 13

“fornuftige og redelige Borgere”. “vittigste og beste Sogne-Mænd”. According to Brian Pullan (2008) this is common practice in Early Modern Europe. See Chung-Kim’s contribution in this volume for an introduction to the Danish Church Ordinance, Bugenhagen, and social responsibility as part of the Reformation theology. The obligation to give alms as part of the Lutheran confession was pointed out by historian Troels Dahlerup in a short article

Lutheran social responsibility and the early Danish welfare state

the 1708 ordinances as the Lord’s doing, this indicates that care for the poor is still understood as something the king is to organise to fulfil God’s will. This impression is reinforced by the preface to the 1708 ordinance, where previous legislation concerning the provision for the poor is worded as “particular Christian and Royal carefulness”, and the provision itself as “Christian care” (Poor Law 1708b, preface) or “a Christian deed” (Poor Law 1708a, preface).14 The organisation of poor relief was a Christian responsibility for the absolute king. In the last paragraph of the ordinance for both towns and countryside, all the king’s subjects are requested to send suggestions for improving the system to the poor directors in Copenhagen (Poor Law 1708b, Towns, §23; Countryside, §25). Under absolutism, subjects could, and did, send suggestions for improvement to the king in the form of petitions (Bregnsbo: 1997),15 but this extraordinarily open request is unusual for legislation; it shows a specific humility on the part of the government towards organising this divine duty in the best way. Articulating this duty as a divinely imposed instruction from the Lord is also used to motivate the king’s subjects to give alms to the poor: “to the assistant and continuous preservation of this doing of the Lord, show good proofs of their Christian love towards their poor and suffering equal Christians” (Poor Law 1708b, Towns, §2).16 Not only is the relief of the poor God’s will, but citizens’ support of the poor is described as a Christian act of neighbourly love, while it is “un-Christian” to withhold alms (Poor Law 1708a, part II, §3).17 Thus the legislation expresses not only the absolute king’s obligation to care for the poor, but also his obligation to ensure that his subjects fulfil their own obligation of neighbourly love. 2.2

Compulsory voluntary charity

In towns, both civil and clerical employees had to pay a yearly contribution to the poor chest from their salary, a kind of poor tax (Poor Law 1708b, Towns, §1). All others were to assign themselves annually a “voluntary gift” to the poor from the “blessing God had given them”. The amount people signed up for was to be listed in

14 15

16 17

in 1979 as an argument for continuity in the obligation to give to the poor across the Reformation (Dahlerup: 1979). All translations of quotes from the Danish legislation are by the author. Danish research traditionally sees the agricultural reforms from mid-eighteenth century as pioneering in the request from the king to the population to come forward with suggestions for improvement. “til dette gudelige værks befordring og bestandig konservation lade se gode prøver af deres kristenkærlighed imode deres fattige og nødlidende jævn-kristne”. Also in Copenhagen to give to the poor is framed as “love and generosity towards the equal-Christian” (Poor Law 1708a, Part II, §1).

157

158

Nina Javette Koefoed

a book kept by the poor inspectors – and the pastor was to make sure that people promised to contribute according to their means.18 Should a citizen fail to pay up without reasonable cause, his name was to be read aloud from the pulpit (Poor Law 1708b, Towns, §2).19 In the countryside, failure to make payments for the poor could lead to distraint of property (Poor Law 1708b, Countryside, §6). Here, too, people signed up for a specific amount. The pastor was to go first as a good example. People were not to give more than they could afford, but “everybody should, from the blessing he had received from God, bless God in his poor limb” (Poor Law 1708b, Countryside, §5).20 The poor were to have their alms without “grumble and grouch, evil and angry words, with a kind heart” (Poor Law 1708b, Countryside, §6).21 The poor could complain to the pastor if they were not treated well, and the pastor was to remind those giving poor relief “not to give the poor reason in his distress to sigh over him towards God” (Poor Law 1708b, Countryside, §6).22 This stipulation calls to mind Luther’s statement that the poor would wail to God if turned wrongly away (the Large Catechism, the Seventh Commandment). There is no doubt that legislators saw giving to poor fellow Christians as a duty of neighbourly love. 2.3

Good works and neighbourly love

That individuals could voluntarily decide the amount of the alms they subscribed to give has been named as one of the reasons why the system failed to provide proper finances for the poor relief (Henningsen: 2008). Within the religious framework of the legislation, however, voluntary choice regarding the amount of alms, but not the alms in themselves, makes sense. The King’s Code of 1665 obliged the absolute king not only to live according to the Augsburg Confession, but also to ensure that his subjects did so. Danish research has acknowledged this religious obligation and uses it to explain the criminalisation of sin in terms of the Ten Commandments (Stenbæk: 1972). But whereas sinning against the Ten Commandments has been understood as doing what was forbidden, less attention has been given to the Ten Commandments as a guide to neighbourly love and to the political obligation to regulate society according to that principle.

18 In Copenhagen those who paid at least 1 per cent of their salary did not have to sign up in the book with a voluntary contribution to the poor. (Poor Law 1708a, Part II §1). 19 Nørgård has described the 1708 poor law as an institutionalisation of a Christian culture of alms (Nørgård: 2017, 65). 20 “at enhver af den Velsignelse, hand af Gud har annammet, igien velsigner Gud i hans fattige Lemmer”. 21 ”uden knur og mur, onde og vredagtige ord, af et velvilligt hjerte”. 22 “ikke give den fattige årsag i sin nød at sukker over ham til gud”.

Lutheran social responsibility and the early Danish welfare state

Luther’s break with works righteousness has caused many to conclude that no connection survived between good works and Lutheranism, or even that alms and other kinds of good works were a hangover from Catholicism, proving that ordinary people never became real Lutherans (Hansen, 2017). The Augsburg Confession shows that from a very early stage, understanding the relationship between salvation by faith alone and the Christian duty to good works is very problematic: Our teachers are falsely accused of forbidding Good Works. For their published writings on the Ten Commandments, and other of like import, bear witness that they have taught to good purpose concerning all estates and duties of life, as to what estates of life and what works in every calling to be pleasing to God (The Augsburg Confession, §20).

The Confession further explains that good works are necessary because they are the will of God. A person’s heart is turned to good works through their faith, and only those who believe truly in God will do good works of their own accord (The Augsburg Confession, §20, Of Good Works). Good works are the result of faith, and the Ten Commandments are called on as concrete guidelines for good works. In his explanation of the Seventh Commandment, “Thou shalt not steal”, in the Large Catechism, Luther first defines stealing as “to acquire someone else’s property by unjust means” in any understanding of those words, including servants not doing their job properly or people cheating in everyday business. But it is not enough not to steal; one is also obliged to protect one’s neighbour’s property. Otherwise, God will punish. Finally, the obligation to give to the poor is addressed: In addition, we are commanded to promote and further our neighbours’ interests, and when they suffer any want, we are to help, share, and lend to both friends and foes (The Large Catechism, the Seventh Commandment).

The obligation of giving to the poor is also included in the explanation that God protects the poor, punishes those who allow them to suffer, and rewards those who give to them (The Large Catechism, the Seventh Commandment). The articulation of good works in terms of punishment and reward confuses the picture of Luther’s break with works righteousness; but a rewarding and punishing God, above all in this world but also with implications in the next, is central to Lutheran theology. Good works matter because that is living according to God’s will, but salvation cannot be bargained for through good works (Dahlerup: 1979; Pullan: 2008). God can punish and reward in this world; God expects people to share the good fortune he has given with the poor. In this respect, the 1708 legislation imposes an obligation to charity, but makes the size of the contribution voluntary to ensure that people gave according to their

159

160

Nina Javette Koefoed

individual means and with a good and loving heart. This stipulation reflects the same political obligation on the Augsburg Confession that led to the criminalisation of deeds which offend against the Ten Commandments: the requirement to regulate that the deeds of all the king’s subjects must be in accordance with the word of God, even though inner belief was the concern of the individual (Koefoed: 2018b). Besides the annual voluntary subscriptions for the poor, collections were made in a poor box circulated on occasions that gave reason to be grateful to God, such as weddings and at the birth of a child (Poor Law 1708b, Towns §2). In the towns, the legislation indicates that gifts for the poor are a distribution of gifts from God: “whatever is given to the poor from pious children of God, whom God has helped in one way or the other...”. (Poor Law 1708b, Towns §4).23 All contributions and alms collected in the various poor boxes were to be collected together in the common poor chest and administered by the poor inspectors. In Copenhagen, poor boxes were to be placed where people were prospering (in trade, in barge-borne goods transportation, at gaming) (Poor Law 1708a, part II, §6–11). Donations made to a specific group or purpose were to be respected, but otherwise all alms were to be part of the ordinary poor relief system, not given out according to the poor inspectors’ individual preferences (Poor Law 1708b, Towns §4; Poor Law 1708a, part II, §4). This centralised public administration of even private donations depersonalises the relation between individual recipients and alms-givers, and emphasises the general Christian obligation to contribute to the poor relief system. A final kind of contributions was composed of fines. Fines could, for example, be levied on heads of households who failed to send their children or servants below the age of sixteen to attend the reading of the catechism in church with the schoolmaster every Sunday afternoon (Poor Law 1708b, Towns §19). The reading of the catechism bound together not only poor relief and school, but also poor relief and the household. 2.4

Educating the poor

The beneficiaries of alms were defined in various categories,24 but no matter which category they belonged to, so long as they were able-bodied, they had to attend the teaching of the catechism in church every Sunday, in order to “learn again what they had forgotten, or what they did not know before” (Poor Law 1708b, Towns

23 “Hvad som bliver givet til de Fattige af fromme GUds-Børn, som GUd haver hiulpet udi en eller anden Maade”. 24 In the countryside these groups were the blind and sick; orphans; and those unable to earn enough to support their family (Poor Law 1708b, Countryside §3). In Copenhagen there were seven different groups, still covering the same three groups (Poor Law 1708a, Part I, §9).

Lutheran social responsibility and the early Danish welfare state

§18; Countryside §22).25 Basic religious knowledge was deemed essential for the poor: they were required to attend church every Sunday and had their own space in church to make it easier for authorities to monitor attendance (Poor Law 1708b, Towns §18).26 Poor children could attend school for free. In this respect, the poor regulation of 1708 grants poor children the right to school and makes education a universal right; even their books were to be paid for from the poor chest (Poor Law 1708b, Countryside §20). In the countryside, poor children were to work when they were old enough; parents who did not keep their children in work could lose their alms (Poor Law 1708b, Countryside §21). The importance of educating the poor reflects the responsibility that Luther placed on household authorities in the context of the Fourth Commandment. Nordic research tracing the influence of the Fourth Commandment, “Honour thy father and mother”, has tended to focus on the obligation to obey. But Luther’s teaching of this commandment also places social obligations on authorities. He emphasises that God does not want tyrants in the office of father and mother, but authorities who: earnestly and faithfully discharge their office, not only to support and provide for the bodily necessities of their children, servants, and subjects, etc. but most of all, to train them to the honour and praise of God (The Large Catechism, Fourth Commandment).

He also explains why: For if we wish to have excellent and apt persons both for civil and ecclesiastical government, we must spare no diligence, time, or cost in teaching and educating our children, that they may serve God and the world (The Large Catechism, Fourth Commandment).

This obligation on household authorities to provide for children and servants and educate them as good Christians and good subjects was codified in legislation during the seventeenth century (Koefoed: 2018a). The social obligation of the household – to feed and educate children and servants – parallels Luther’s derivation of the responsibility to feed the poor from the Seventh Commandment. The same parallel between social responsibility in household and

25 “at de kand lære igien det, de have glemt, eller af ny det de før ikke have vidst”. Only poor children had to attend in the countryside. 26 In Copenhagen, demands to attend church and teaching of the Catechism were still there, but seem to have been administered more loosely – the pastor just needed to attest that the poor had often attended church, the altar, and teaching of the catechism. (Poor Law 1708a, part I, § 8).

161

162

Nina Javette Koefoed

state is also visible in the Augsburg Confession, where state and family are named as institutions for charity: [.... ] Meanwhile, it does not destroy the State or the family, but very much requires that they be preserved as ordinances of God and that charity be practised in such ordinances (The Augsburg Confession, §16, Of Civil Affairs).

Both state and household have a shared responsibility for neighbourly love for the poor. The 1708 legislation frames this obligation when the king obliges his subjects to charity in accordance with the Seventh Commandment through the centralised public administration of alms to the poor. Religious education and the willingness to work are seen as inseparable and are part of both obligations – that of raising children and servants, and that of responsibility for the poor. In both cases, the intention was to turn the recipients into good Christians and good subjects. Work as an element in the education of the poor, as well as their general behaviour, is also a central feature of the 1708 poor legislation, as is the limiting of social responsibility to the poor of the local district.

3.

The Lutheran legacy in the 1802–03 poor law

At the turn of the century, new poor laws were issued. New legislation covering Copenhagen came out in 1799, and then in 1802–03 for the rest of the country. This legislation, which remained in force until 1891, has been interpreted both as a reiteration of the 1708 poor laws (Jørgensen: 1982) and as a completely new approach (Henningsen: 2008; Nørgård: 2017).27 The second view, emphasising the influence of the Enlightenment in the intention to improve the poor and fight poverty, and that of mercantilism on the approach to work, has tended to prevail. It has been argued that this legislation was the first to establish poor relief as a social right (Henningsen: 2008; Mikkelsen: 2008). But as shown above, the belief in improvement through work and education was not new in 1799; it was already embedded in the existing approach to the poor. Moreover, even though it did not always work out that way in practice, the legislation of 1708 did approach poor relief as the right of the poor, including education.28 That said, the new poor laws did accentuate and develop certain aspects of the poor relief system. 27 The connection to the poor relief reform in Hamburg is often pointed out, and there is a clear tendency in this research to emphasise elements that connect Denmark to the picture in the rest of Europe. However, the connection in the poor relief system in Hamburg back to Bugenhagen’s poor reforms is overlooked: see Chung-Kim’s contribution in this volume. 28 See also Nørby Pedersen’s contribution in this volume.

Lutheran social responsibility and the early Danish welfare state

3.1

Defining the poor and poor relief

In 1803, the last of the new poor laws was issued, covering towns outside Copenhagen. It was almost identical with the legislation for the countryside given the previous year. As before, poor relief was to be administered by a group of poor inspectors, consisting of the pastor, a representative from the public administration in the town, and two or more respected men29 from each parish. The poor committee was subordinated to the local prefect (stiftamtmand). A difference from 1708 is that the bishop has disappeared as an authority and the poor committee is now supplemented by the local bailiff (Poor Law 1803, §1–2). Even though the pastor is still a central figure, the poor relief administration has thus moved further towards secular authority. Those who were in need were to turn to their local pastor. They would be questioned by him and the other poor inspectors about their connection to the town, any previous support, their needs, and the causes, as well as whether they could earn something themselves or whether friends and family could in any way support them (Poor Law 1803, §12). Poor relief here includes not only provision and housing, but also school and education. It also includes medical help, and care in case of illness (Poor Law 1803, §15). Those who could not work sufficiently to support themselves were to be provided with work according to their means (Poor Law 1803, §10).30 In Copenhagen, the organisation of the poor relief system under the 1799 legislation reflects the understanding of what poor relief is to cover. In addition to a centralised management which supervised or controlled local poor relief across the country, the system was divided between five different commissions: one for relief, one for industry and work, one for school, one for health services, and one for policing the poor (Poor Law Copenhagen, 1799, §6–10; §21). This organisation reveals the areas in which the authorities had an obligation to provide social welfare. The purpose of the poor relief is described thus: to accept all in need, who do not have, and are not able to provide necessary sustenance; moreover to ensure as much as possible, that the old and weak amongst these got alms, that those who could work were given work if they were willing to do this, but were kept from idleness and placed in the need to work if they rather would beg than do legal work, that the sick are cured, the young given knowledge, good moral and industry (Poor Law Copenhagen, 1799, §1).31

29 “agtbare Mænd”. 30 This had also been a principle in the 1708 legislation. Local investigations indicates that this was also practised in at least some towns (Berg: 2020). 31 “At antage sig alle Trængende, som ikke have, og ikke selv kunne forskaffe sig, nødtørftig Underholdning; samt at sørge for, saa meget som muligt, at de Gamle og Svage blandt disse nyde Almisse, at de

163

164

Nina Javette Koefoed

In all three pieces of the legislation, the tasks of the poor relief system are defined broadly so as to include all poor persons, no matter what kind of help they were to receive. The help itself was differentiated32 and included alms, work, compulsory work, health care, and schools – all areas central to the modern welfare state, and all of them elements already present in the post-Reformation poor relief system. They were part of the obligations placed on the individual Christian subject, the authorities, and the household according to the Fourth and Seventh Commandments. In the towns, the poor who should be supported were defined as those who “cannot by their own effort, in a legal way, acquire the most necessary sustenance” (Poor Law 1803, §3).33 As before, the town’s responsibility was limited to the poor of the district (Poor Law 1803, § 4–6).34 These were divided into three categories: the old and sick; orphaned children, or children “whose parents’ mind, health, or customs is of such constitution that rearing and raising the children ought not to be entrusted to them”; and finally, families or individuals incapable of earning enough to support themselves and their family (Poor Law 1803, §4–7). Although these classifications have been counted as one of the innovations of the new legislation (Henningsen: 2008; Nørgård: 2017), they were in fact already in use in the 1708 legislation for the countryside. Those who could do some work were to be supported through work according to their strength (Poor Law 1803, §10). This probably supported the establishment of a home industry in some towns in the eighteenth century in association with workhouses (Berg: 2019). It demonstrates the continuation of responsibility placed on authorities to include all poor persons in the poor relief system in such a way that those who could work would receive work rather than alms (Poor Law Copenhagen, 1799, §33). 3.2

Raising children of the poor

The new legislation did, however, subtly alter the categorisation of the poor who were to receive alms. These changes, at first sight seemingly insignificant, in fact pushed the boundary between household and state in important ways. The 1708 poor law had included only orphaned children as recipients of alms; in 1803, children whose

Arbeidsføre gives Arbeide, naar de ere villige til at erhverve, men derimod afvendes fra Lediggang, og sættes i Nødvendighed til at arbeide naar de hellere betle, end lovlien erhverve, at de Syge helbredes, at de Unge anføres til Kundskab, Sædelighed og Arbejdsomhed. . .” 32 As Nørby Petersen points out in her contribution to this volume, Early Modern poor relief and social responsibility can also be understood in this way. 33 “der ej ved egne kræfter, på lovlig måde, kan erhverve sig nødtørftig underholding”. 34 This was also the case before.

Lutheran social responsibility and the early Danish welfare state

parents were deemed incapable of caring for them in a responsible way are added to this category. This provision resembles an early seventeenth-century regulation in towns, tasking a special board of guardians with monitoring how parents raised their children so as to ensure that they kept them in school and in honest work (Koefoed: 2018a). The new legislation transfers this authority to the poor relief committee; simultaneously, the principles for raising children properly are made more diffuse. The poor committee was now also to supervise the upbringing and education of children whose parents were receiving poor relief of various kinds (Poor Law 1803, §9). All children on public relief were to attend school from their sixth year, as well as attending teaching given by the pastor (Poor Law 1803, §37). They were to receive instruction in reading, writing, and arithmetic, and they were to have the necessary books for free (Poor Law 1803, §38). If children failed to attend school regularly, the poor commission was to remind the parents of their duty to make their children attend; if that did not work, children were to be removed from their parents or foster parents (Poor Law 1803, §39). This principle too had been part of Danish legislation since the early seventeenth century; however, its inclusion in the poor relief legislation signals a transformation of general demands on households into a demand specifically on the households of the poor. In the Copenhagen legislation, the purpose of school is described as ensuring that the children: ... are led to such knowledge as is necessary and useful for people and the citizen in general; and: that they are taught and exercised in such work that could in the future provide them with sustenance in lack of other work, or useful occupation in free hours (Poor Law, Copenhagen, 1799, §61).

Through attending school, poor people were to be educated as good citizens. This was the function played by church attendance and the teaching of the catechism in the legislation of 1708 – and the obligation that Luther had placed on authorities. In the legislation a hundred years later, the purpose is still to make sure that each member of the community would grow up to be useful citizens capable of providing for themselves. The responsibility for ensuring this still lies with the local authority and the poor commission. 3.3

The poor box

In the 1803 legislation, it becomes the task of the poor commission to establish an overview of numbers of the poor and the help required, which was used annually to calculate the finances required in the coming year (Poor Law 1803, §30).

165

166

Nina Javette Koefoed

All contributions for the poor were still to be collected in a common poor box. Contributions were initially voluntary, but the commission could impose a compulsory poor tax if necessary to cover needs. Additional sources of income were taxes levied on property, fees from public auctions, fines, contributions to the church poor boxes, voluntary gifts in connection with trade in property, and interest on properties given to the poor (Poor Law 1803, §42). Poor inspectors were also to collect voluntary gifts to the poor (Poor Law 1803, §24). Contributions through fees on public auctions and voluntary gifts in connection with the property trade appear to be an extension of the role given to poor boxes in 1708, as the church poor boxes continued to form part of the common poor box together with voluntary gifts. The most significant shift is the possibility to compel people to contribute through tax, even though voluntary contributions are still preferred. Another change with profound implications is the estimation of financial needs in terms of the numbers and needs of the poor rather than contributions. In Copenhagen, all members of the household were encouraged to sign up for a contribution to the poor: the master of the house and his wife should urge their servants and children to follow their example (Poor Law Copenhagen, 1799, §176). Contributions to poor relief continue to be articulated as neighbourly love, and this obligation includes everybody. In addition to voluntary subscribed contributions, poor boxes were to be used on relevant occasions and in church (Poor Law Copenhagen, 1799, §175; §177–778). They were also used in connection with trade, pubs and clubs, at parties, and in private homes subject to agreement with the poor commission (Poor Law Copenhagen, 1799, §180). The use of the poor boxes shows a continuity in the areas of societal life in which neighbourly love was to be shown in situations reflecting one’s own good fortune.35 The poor commission could also collect money through organizing concerts and theatre performances (Poor Law Copenhagen, 1799, §181–182), a way of raising money that was often connected with private initiatives and philanthropy. The 1799/1802–1803 legislation still shows that the intention was for all gifts for the poor to be distributed through the public poor relief system. There was considerable overlap between private and public funding, but the preference is for private contributions to be under public control. Deciding on the proper help for the various categories of the poor is seen as a public task. Even private foundations with independent boards were to be administered in collaboration and agreement with the public poor relief system. Private fundraising, both by individuals and by larger groups through, for example, newspapers, was prohibited as begging.36 35 Hansen’s studies of alms in Copenhagen show that people did give to the poor in situations where they felt gratitude towards God, for instance after childbirth (Hansen: 2017). 36 Hansen’s studies of alms in Copenhagen shows that the deserving poor did advertise in the newspapers as a discreet way of receiving alms (Hansen: 2017).

Lutheran social responsibility and the early Danish welfare state

Private philanthropy did in fact continue to grow alongside the public system (Hansen: 2017; Nørgård: 2017), but that was not the intention of this legislation. Nørgård’s investigation of poor relief in Copenhagen has revealed that one reason for the growth in private philanthropy was the lack of trust that the money would be spent properly and efficiently under the public system, a discussion that grew more prominent in the course of the nineteenth century (Nørgård: 2017). 3.4

Regulating the poor

The aim of the 1799/1802–1803 legislation was still, essentially, to keep people from begging. Children who begged without their parents’ knowledge were to be warned; if they continued, they were to be punished with a rod (Poor Law 1803, §50–51). All beggars were punishable by imprisonment, but, in contrast with the previous legislation of 1708, beggars were simply to be punished, without any clear attempt to improve them through work (Poor Law 1803, §46–49). In Copenhagen, close regulation of the poor was made the responsibility of the poor police. They were to make sure that all those who received public relief behaved themselves. This included not showing: defiance towards superiors, drunkenness, incompatibleness, unwillingness to work, bad behaviour of parents against children, and of children against parents, negligent processing of raw material, corruption of entrusted goods or working tools and other public or household disorder and non-virtue (Poor Law Copenhagen, 1799, §157).

In the earlier legislation, it had been the pastor who had been responsible for keeping an eye on the first part of this list, to ensure that life within all households was in accordance with the Fourth Commandment. The teaching of the catechism had designated the second half of the list as violations of the Seventh Commandment (D.C.; Pontoppidan: 1953/1737; Balle: 1840/1791). Thus the 1799/1802–1803 legislation incorporates the moral regulations of household and society that were founded on Lutheran Christian law and had been embedded in the earlier legislation; but the focus of the regulations is now shifted from households in general to the households of the poor. The legislation thus represents a movement from the regulation of all households and subjects to regulation of the poor, as citizens gained more influence and power through the poor commission and other local institutions. This change of focus is connected with a broad understanding of social welfare as including not only alms, but work, school, health, and good behaviour. School and education are now an obligation placed on the poor so that they can contribute to society, as Luther put it. The social responsibility of authorities represented in these poor laws is to

167

168

Nina Javette Koefoed

provide and to educate – through school or through work. Contributing to the poor is still an obligation on the individual, a neighbourly duty: voluntary at best, and linked to the individual’s material condition in life. The public administration of private means continues, and is emphasised. Rather than representing a break with earlier poor relief legislation, therefore, the poor laws of 1799/1802–03 build a bridge from the religious obligation placed on the absolute King to care broadly for all poor persons to a democratic welfare state in which this responsibility falls on the citizen – not just within his own household, but on society in general.

4.

The 1849 constitution: poor relief as a social right

In 1849, Denmark got its first democratic constitution. The poor laws of 1799/ 1802–03, however, were not replaced. It is tempting to conclude that nothing developed in regard to poor relief. Poor relief and free school were, however, made constitutional rights: “He who cannot provide for himself or his own, and whose care is not the responsibility of anyone else, is entitled to receive aid from the state” (Danmarks Riges Grundlov, 5 June 1849, §89). And further: “Children, whose parents do not have the possibility to ensure their education, will be given free teaching in the common primary school” (Danmarks Riges Grundlov, 5 June 1849, §90). Under absolutism, the state had been the king, and the poor had been the king’s responsibility – a responsibility ordained by God. Now, with democracy, the poor became the responsibility of the new political citizens. Political citizenship – the right to vote – was granted to men of a certain age who were economically responsible for their household and not in the service of another household. It has been summarised as citizenship for the master of the house (Horstbøll: 1999). The political citizen had to be able to provide for himself and his family – and also for the poor. In this respect, the new democratic state now became an extended household in which the political citizen, the master of the house, took on the same obligations towards society and its poor as towards his household: to provide and to educate. The ability to provide became a masculine marker of citizenship; any failure to pay back poor relief funds meant loss of the right to vote (Koefoed: 2014). The movement from being responsible for a household to being a responsible citizen included the development of the rights of subjects. What had formerly been an obligation on authority now also became a right of the poor citizen and in this perspective the social obligations of the authority towards all subjects could be turned into a platform for negotiation of (universal) rights. The loss of political rights under the constitution concomitant with being a recipient of poor relief was not the first time rights had been lost in connection with poor relief. In the first half of the nineteenth century, receipt of public relief had been followed by loss of civil rights such as property-owning rights and the

Lutheran social responsibility and the early Danish welfare state

right to marriage (Koefoed: 2014). The loss of political rights under the 1849 constitution was the culmination of this development, but it also accentuated the built-in problems with universal rights followed by general sanctions. The loss of political rights accentuated the problem of the working poor who, through some kind of misfortune – unemployment, accident, or sickness – could no longer support themselves and their families for a shorter or longer time and turned to the poor relief system for help. The loss of rights was thought to encourage the “idle poor” to work and stay out of the relief system. Simultaneously, there was an understanding that the loss of rights, especially of political citizenship, demotivated the “honest and deserving” poor. This led to intense public debate about how to organise a poor relief system in which those who could support themselves were compelled to do so, while “morally correct” individuals and families were helped in ways that supported their dignity and citizenship. In these debates, the young democracy was working to find ways in which it could take on responsibility for different categories of the poor, and ways to distinguish different kinds of relief in a political system that in principle gave all citizens the same rights and duties. There was no doubt that the poor and their provision, health, and education (including moral behaviour) were the responsibility of society and thus of the new political citizen; but the precise nature of that responsibility was still being explored. In the previous century, those capable of work had been the responsibility of the state in the sense that they were provided with work, either voluntarily or compulsorily. Work was an important element in their education as good Christians and good subjects; it was necessary for the redeeming of their souls, a duty for the authority to care about (Koefoed: 2021); and it was also part of a mercantilist policy. With inspiration from liberalism, work in the nineteenth century became the responsibility of the poor; the responsibility of the state to provide work disappeared, while social relief also became a constitutional right. The recipients of public relief therefore changed from the sick, orphaned children, and those who could for some reason not provide for themselves and their family – as long as they behaved in a morally correct manner – to the category of those who had previously been compelled to work. This development had been under way since the late eighteenth century, and can to some extent explain the growth of private philanthropy, because of mistrust in the way the public system spent its money and a growing debate about the “worthy” and “unworthy” poor (Nørgård: 2017). 4.1

The poor boxes

From the beginning, the connection between political and social rights in the 1849 constitution was challenged. Between 1848 and 1850, Denmark was at war with Prussia in southern Jutland. Soldiers at war who could not provide for their family

169

170

Nina Javette Koefoed

and turned to the poor committee lost their political rights as a result of fighting for their country. Out of respect for the soldiers, the war had resulted in a relatively broad voting right with no requirement for property or income, but the social relief system threatened to take that right away from the soldiers again. Already in 1848, government published a circular encouraging local administration to give relief to soldiers and their families without loss of rights. This was repeated in 1864, when hostilities were renewed between Denmark and Prussia/Austria (Jørgensen: 1979, 97f; Kolstrup: 2010, 245).37 The circular on relief for soldiers’ families was followed by several special laws in the winters of 1853–1858. These were passed to help poor working-class families during the cold winters in cases of unemployment, accident, or illness (Jørgensen: 1979, 100; Kolstrup: 2010, 246ff). They showed that it was possible for the young democracy to take on social responsibility without conditions on the recipient in cases of poverty for which the recipient was not responsible. This same spirit also resulted in 1855 in a bill suggesting a poor box to support the deserving poor through voluntary contributions. As advanced in its original form in 1855, the bill proposed this be administered through churches and parishes, restoring the voluntary approach to poor relief out of Christian neighbourly love. In its final form, however, once passed in 1856, the administration had become secular, thus connecting the social responsibility inherent in Lutheran Christianity with the new political citizen. The new bill also continued the principle of public distribution of private alms. Contributions from poor boxes in the church as well as voluntary gifts for the poor were to support the deserving poor through this common poor box (Jørgensen: 1979, 107ff; Nørgård: 2017, 165; Kolstrup: 2010, 249ff). These initiatives show the new government trying to find solutions for including both the deserving and the non-deserving poor in the public poor relief system. On the one hand, the poor box was a continuation of the pre-existing system, in which the various categories of the poor were a public responsibility but were to receive different kinds of help and treatment. On the other, the poor box also established two distinct areas of responsibility: a public system with compulsory contributions and the loss of rights that would fulfil the fundamental obligation of society, and a voluntary system that would provide for fellow citizens (Nørgård: 2017, 165). But the poor box system proved unable to provide for all the deserving poor, and became part of the discussion about how a differentiated poor relief system could support people through different means in order to keep the idle poor away from public help and preserve the motivation and rights of the deserving poor. This was a discussion that tried to achieve a balance between the two motivating forces of

37 Absolutism was replaced by constitutional democracy in January 1848 and a government appointed to run the country, while a commission worked on the first constitution, given in June 1849.

Lutheran social responsibility and the early Danish welfare state

the constitutional right to social relief that had developed from the obligation on authority to care for all poor persons, and the desire to achieve this through publicly controlled systems which could make the system efficient both economically and educationally. 4.2

The citizen’s social responsibility: private or public relief?

If the deserving poor could only receive help through the public system with the attendant and degrading loss of political rights, then an obvious way to help them was through private means – outside the political public system. Nørgård has argued that during the nineteenth century public and private funding were increasingly split in the course of the nineteenth century, as private donors lost faith in the ability of the public system to help the various categories of the poor in the best way (Nørgård: 13, 133).38 The search for ways of organising differentiated help for the poor in the young democracy led to an intensified debate over philanthropy in the second half of the nineteenth century (Koefoed: 2014), a debate which was also about how the social responsibility of the new citizen was to be understood and organised.39 Voluntary contributions to private philanthropy in some respect resembled the eighteenth-century system, with contributions that were compulsory in principle, but voluntary in size, although now voluntary contributions were distributed through the poor box. However, charity and care for the deserving poor were now also a specific obligation of the citizen. In 1869, pastor Johan Holck at the Church of Our Saviour in Copenhagen published a short book, On Charity and Voluntary Poor Relief in Copenhagen. Here he describes the obligation of the citizen towards society as a consequence of democracy: With the larger freedom and independence, which since 1848 had been introduced in all our circumstances, naturally follows a larger obligation to the citizen in the state [.....], it is the obligation of every citizen to devote both time and effort in the service of the whole society (Holck: 1869, 1).

According to Holck, it was the duty of the citizen to contribute to society as much as they could. Contributions might take the form of time or money, but in his opinion

38 Nørgård sees this as part of a movement in which the public poor relief supported the worthy poor in the eighteenth century, then changed its focus to the unworthy in the nineteenth century once poor relief was seen as a right. This perspective does not take into account the social obligation under absolutism to provide work for those who could not work. 39 As Newby’s contribution in this volume shows, this question also had international / Scandinavian perspectives.

171

172

Nina Javette Koefoed

philanthropy was an essential component of active citizenship (Holck: 1869, 3). Holck’s was a prominent voice in the debate over the form, content, and status of private poor relief in relation to public provision. He argued that a system of private poor relief was necessary to prevent poverty from ruining society, because for recipients of the public poor relief, “a good amount of self-esteem and self-respect and by that, a good amount of true capability and inclination to make an effort would be lost” (Holck: 1869, 3). In other words, the public poor relief system, with its necessary loss of rights, would also result in a demoralisation of the good and deserving poor, and this would ruin society. In 1869, a political commission was asked to develop ideas for a system that could differentiate between the deserving and non-deserving poor and thereby solve the problem of deserving citizens who would lose their political rights and self-esteem on asking for poor relief. The commission suggested a system that combined public poor relief with private philanthropy. The ambition was to keep the expenses of public relief down and to target the help that was given. Within the private system, the deserving poor were to receive help without loss of rights; help was to be given voluntarily by their fellow citizens, who would devote time and money to this social responsibility in accordance with their status as a political citizen (Jørgensen: 1979/1940, 121ff). A religious act of charity was thus rendered an act of citizenship, while in principle still representing the idea already present in 1708: that private means could serve an obligatory societal purpose, even though the organisation now suggested was private rather than part of the public system. In 1872, a bill building on the suggestions of the poor committee was put forward in parliament. The proposed bill did not, however, as the commission had suggested, forge a closer connection between a voluntary private system and the public poor relief system. There was widespread unwillingness to govern private philanthropy through politics and legislation (Jørgensen: 1979/1940, 130ff). Moreover, there was concern that voluntary contributions would not be sufficient to solve the problem (Landstinget: 1872, sp. 179). One speaker argued that the free and private poor relief system could be seen as fulfilment of a Christian duty on society, while the public poor relief was the fulfilment of the civic duty of civil society – a duty, moreover, to be hard on the unworthy poor (Landstinget: 1872, sp 175). This division of social responsibility between private and public responsibility, between Christian love and citizenly obligation, was new. It shows us the dilemmas inherent in organising a poor relief system through which the state, represented by the citizen, took care of all the poor, as the absolute state had done through the close connection between religion and politics. As anticipated, the voluntary system of private philanthropy did not prosper, because insufficient funds were collected. Attempts in the second half of the nineteenth century to find ways of supporting the deserving poor outside the public poor relief system turned out to be short-lived, rather than pointing towards a new way of organising poor relief.

Lutheran social responsibility and the early Danish welfare state

5.

Renewed public responsibility for the old and sick

The proposed new poor law of 1872 was not passed, and for almost twenty years afterwards, political troubles in parliament prevented the enactment of any social legislation. The legislation of 1799/1802–03, inherited from absolutism, therefore continued in force until the end of the nineteenth century. As Lottrup Rasmussen has shown, this meant that the poor relief system was developed and negotiated locally, and through custom rather than legislation (Rasmussen: 2019). Earlier research tended to see local nineteenth-century practice as harsher and more inhumane than intended by the law and by central government (Jørgensen: 1979, 186). While this argument is part of the picture, it does not consider either the possibilities for the poor to negotiate their position or the responsibility taken in local practice, as demonstrated in newer approaches (Hitchcock/Schoemaker: 2020 (2015); Rasmussen: 2019). These negotiations show both how poor citizens perceived their social rights, and how authorities approached their social obligations in practice. The distribution of private alms through public poor committees in both the first (1708) and the second (1799–1802/3) rounds of poor laws meant that several private funds were still being administered through the public system at the end of the nineteenth century. In Aarhus, in addition to public help inside and outside the poorhouse, the poor commission also administered various kinds of charity distributed publicly but without loss of rights. These included allotments or poor gardens established by the city council, as well as grant homes established by private persons and administered by the poor commission. The poor commission also distributed several grants established by private persons in the form of a foundation, while private committees also distributed some grants. The poor committee was thus effectively responsible for distributing different kinds of help to different categories of the poor: not only did it exercise the power to decide how to categorise individual persons, but it was also involved in the negotiation of social rights and the content of citizenship (Rasmussen: 2019). On several occasions during harsh winters at the end of the century, the city council in Aarhus tried to make the Charity Society organise a daily distribution of hot food for the poor. They even offered to pay. The Charity Society did not regard this as their responsibility, and the city council ended up organising a specific committee to oversee the initiative. The city council and the poor committee were thus recognising their responsibility towards all poor persons and were distributing several kinds of poor relief that did not lead to the loss of rights. In a town of the size of Aarhus, the members of the city council and the Charity Society were, if not exactly the same men, then closely connected in social networks. These men prioritised help for the starving poor through the harsh winters as a concern of the city council rather than their work within the charity (Koefoed: 2014; Rasmussen:

173

174

Nina Javette Koefoed

2019). This is an example of the tendency to regard social responsibility towards the poor in temporary need as a public – rather than private – concern. One of the key points in the discussions of private philanthropy was how to help deserving families to stay out of public relief. But as the above example indicates, in practice these families were not an important target for philanthropy. Instead, the focus within the charity sector was on the old, the sick, children, and widows (Koefoed 2014; Lützen 1998; Rasmussen, 2019). Both sets of previous poor laws, in 1708 and in 1799/1802–03, had included these people in the first and second category of people to receive alms. The third category – those capable of work but not sufficiently to support themselves and their families – were those with citizenship to lose, but they were not the focus of philanthropic help. Their inability to support themselves and their families placed them in the category of the non-deserving (Koefoed, 2014; Rasmussen, 2019). The passing of a new poor law in 1891, together with legislation on an old age pension and followed by legislation for sickness insurance in 1892, was the first step towards organised public poor relief without loss of rights: something that could be regarded as a right of citizenship, rather than a bargain between the individual and the poor committee concerning that person’s dignity. This step, however, was built on the tradition developed from the time of the Reformation of regarding all poor persons as the responsibility of the state. 5.1

The deserving poor as a public responsibility

In 1891, a new poor law came into force. It was a political compromise and to a large extent just a confirmation of existing legislation. Nevertheless, research has characterised it as fundamental in establishing the two central pillars on which the Danish welfare state was able to develop fully in the course of the twentieth century. This was the public financing of poor relief through taxes and local administration in the municipality, seen as an inheritance from the nineteenth century and a characteristic of the Danish system, together with a philanthropic system working in a supplementary way but not integrated into the poor relief system (Kolstrup: 2010, 309f). In the debates of the 1891 legislation, all suggestions from the 1872 bill to allow the private system care for the deserving poor have disappeared (Kolstrup: 2010, 306). The poor boxes had also proven a very limited success; in the new poor law, the idea of a privately funded system has disappeared, and responsibility for all poor persons is taken on by the public system, with greater focus on how the poor are to be treated (Kolstrup: 2010, 310). What stayed from previous legislation was the loss of rights attendant on being a recipient of almost all kinds of poor relief. With a few exceptions, such as cases of medical help and special cases of chronic illness, overall there was no political will to change the consequences of receiving poor relief, or to reduce the term of

Lutheran social responsibility and the early Danish welfare state

these losses. It was decided, though, that constitutional rights such as the right to vote could be regained after staying out of help for five years. Moreover, the public was obliged to provide homes for the homeless. In addition to this, administration of poor relief was changed and restricted. Although the use of poorhouses had increased in the 1870s and 1880s, they had never become a centralised or dominating aspect of poor relief (Rasmussen: 2019; Voss: 1975).40 The poorhouses and working institutions were abolished by the 1891 legislation, as was a countryside tradition of supporting the poor by letting them walk from farm to farm to be supported a couple of days at each place. Auctions at which children and older people were outsourced to those who would house them for least in return for their labour were forbidden (Kolstrup: 2010, 302–303). In addition to the new poor law, legislation on an old age pension was passed. This was where the state took the greatest responsibility for the deserving poor – elderly citizens who had worked and contributed to society all their lives. These citizens (together with widows and children) had previously been a key target of philanthropic work. Now all citizens over the age of sixty who had not received poor relief in the last ten years became entitled to an old age pension if they were in need (Petersen: 2010a, 359). This was distributed as public relief, but with no attendant loss of rights, and in independent legislation outside the poor law. It became a social right of citizenship. This, together with the few cases established in the poor law in which public support did not entail loss of rights, established a possible principled basis for poor relief in Denmark. In the eighteenth century, a householder had been obliged not only to provide for and educate his household, but also to support his servants in case of sickness. The sick were an integrated part of the poor relief system, with shorter or longer periods of illness the main reason why many workers had to turn to poor relief. Preventing good workers from becoming recipients of poor relief in case of accident or short-term illness was a central part of the discussion of the deserving poor, and the motivation for differentiating the public poor relief system. The debate ran as part of the discussion of the poor laws, but also independently, which led to the establishment of health insurance societies. Following the poor law in 1891, these societies became part of the solution to separating the laws on sickness and the poor laws. Whereas both the poor law and the old age pension were built on a universal system of public financing, health insurance was financed as helping to self-help through insurance. Everyone was encouraged to sign up, voluntarily and individually, to a health insurance society. In 1892, legislation on a health insurance system

40 Rasmussen’s account of poor relief in the town of Aarhus shows that more was spent on outdoor relief than on the poorhouse.

175

176

Nina Javette Koefoed

gave economic state support to health insurance. All members received up to thirteen weeks of financial help (sixty weeks within three years), as well as free medical care and hospital treatment for themselves and their children. The intention was that people would show responsibility by signing up, but for a sufficiently low fee to give the working class the opportunity to insure themselves (Petersen: 2010b, 462). The three pieces of legislation in 1891 and 1892 thus divided poor relief into discrete areas: social relief, care for the old, and care for the sick. All these had previously been one area of social responsibility – a responsibility shared between household and state in various constellations, but addressed in a single piece of legislation. Education had also been part of this responsibility, but singled out early as an independent and universal social right (Appel/Fink: 2013).

6.

Conclusion

The universal welfare state was not born with the Reformation. However, path dependencies reflecting Lutheran social teaching on the twin mutually reinforcing themes of the social responsibility of authorities and neighbourly love run through the poor relief legislation from the Reformation through to the formation of the central elements of the modern Danish welfare system at the end of the nineteenth century. This article has argued that social responsibility towards all poor persons as a public matter, financed through public means, and administered locally and according to state legislation reflects a Lutheran heritage. So does the ambition to educate and improve the recipient of social funding as well as the obligation to work placed on the recipient. The 1708 poor law addressed the King’s obligation to care for the poor, made clear in the church ordinance of 1537/39 and underlined as a political obligation with the commitment to the Confession of Augsburg in the King’s Code of 1665. By the Confession of Augsburg, the king was obliged to ensure that all his subjects lived according to the Ten Commandments. The legislation reflected the Seventh Commandment, which was read as an injunction to good works and love of one’s neighbour. Contributions to the poor were made obligatory as a principle even as the amount of charity remained voluntary as alms to be given with a loving heart. The local administration of the common poor chest and the distribution of all charity through the public administration established a system in which public authorities became responsible for distributing private charity as part of the public poor relief system. This corresponded with Luther’s thoughts: that charity should be distributed not on an individual level, but through centralised systems in which the needs of the poor individual could be evaluated; and so did the local administration of local funding to the local poor, as specified in the king’s legislation.

Lutheran social responsibility and the early Danish welfare state

These two aspects of the poor relief system also established path dependencies in the subsequent poor legislation. The principle of compulsory contributions of a voluntary size was gradually transformed into a tax contribution. However, the obligation to make voluntary contributions continued up to the end of the nineteenth century, as did public administration of private contributions. The 1849 constitution and its stipulation of freedom of religion challenged the connection between poor relief, private contributions, and the Church. Private philanthropy never acquired an official role in the care for the poor through the legislation. Although in the eighteenth century private philanthropy had co-existed with the public system, it was not until the constitution was in place that the discussion of its role in society became significant. Once the new poor legislation of 1891 included particular categories of the poor in the public relief system without concomitant loss of rights, philanthropy once again started to lose its importance. In this respect, the nineteenth century represents the discussion of how the state and the new political citizen could take responsibility for the poor – for all the poor – without the obligation to provide work that was embedded in the absolutist mercantilist model, and without neighbourly love as a political argument. The answer emerged as differentiated poor relief and the obligation of the citizen as an act of citizenship rather than as Christian neighbourly love. The obligation towards the poor was not just a matter of material provision. The education of the poor as good subjects through church and school was central to the 1708 legislation, reflecting the social obligation of the household and the general duty of the Lutheran authority to its subjects in both household and state. Luther’s explanation of the Fourth Commandment and his doctrine of the three estates meant that authorities within all three estates were modelled on parental authority, with mirrored social obligations in household and society and interchangeable between authorities. With the emergence of the new political citizen under the constitution of 1849, it was now the citizen who was allocated the social responsibility to provide for and educate his household as well as the poor of his local community. The household authority had now become the state authority. Even though ways of supporting the poor changed, the responsibility to educate the poor through church and work was a continuum right through the poor legislation from 1708 onwards. In the poor laws of 1708, the education was religious, and work – itself part of that religious education – was provided by the state in voluntary or compulsory form. Educating and improving the individual were important to make them capable of contributing to society, but also because they fostered the good works that were a sign of faith. The legislation of 1799/1802–03 represents a shift from a comprehensive obligation on all households to educate their members in a specific way to an obligation placed especially on poor households. This shift was intertwined with the gradual involvement of the king’s subjects in local administration – a very slow democratisation of local government. Simultaneously,

177

178

Nina Javette Koefoed

liberalism replaced mercantilism; and the understanding of work changed from something to be provided and organised by the state to the responsibility of the individual.

Bibliography Primary The Augsburg Confession, in Robert Kolb/Timothy J. Wengert (2000) (ed.), Book of Concord: The Confessions of the Evangelical Lutheran Church, (BC), Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press. Danish Code, D.C., Kong Christian V.s Danske Lov af 1683. The Danish Constitution, Danmarks Riges Grundlov, af 5 June 1849. Poor Law (1708a), Forordning om forhold med Betlere/fattige Børn/ rette Almisse=Lemmer og Løsgængere I Kiøbenhavn/ saa og o Almisse til Deres Underholdning (On Relations, regarding Beggars, poor children, true alms recievers and loose wanderers in Copenhagen, as well as, on alms for their support), 24. September 1708, in Henningsen, Peter (ed.), Det københavnske Fattigvæsen. Fattigvæsnets administration og lovgivning, 1629–1828, incl. En selektiv litteraturliste, København: Stadsarkivets digitale skriftserie nr. 6 (2007). Poor Law (1708b), Forordning om Betlere i Danmark saavel paa Landet, som i Kiøbstæderne, Kiøbenhavn undtaget, 24. september 1708 (On Beggars in the cities and countryside, except Copenhagen), in Schou, J. H. (ed.), Cronologisk Register over de Kongelige Forordninger og aabne Breve, samt andre trykte Anordninger, som fra Aar 1670 af ere udkomne, Copenhagen. Poor Law Copenhagen (1799), Kongelig approberet Plan for Fattigvæsenets Indretning og Bestyrelse i Staden Kiøbenhavn og dens forstæder af 2. juli 1799, in in Schou, J. H. (ed.), Cronologisk Register over de Kongelige Forordninger og aabne Breve, samt andre trykte Anordninger, som fra Aar 1670 af ere udkomne, Copenhagen. Poor Law (1802), Kgl. Approberet Plan for Fattigvæsenets Indretning og Bestyrelse paa Landet i Sielland, 15 juni 1802, in Schou, J. H. (ed.), Cronologisk Register over de Kongelige Forordninger og aabne Breve, samt andre trykte Anordninger, som fra Aar 1670 af ere udkomne, Copenhagen. Poor Law (1803), Reglement for Fattigvæsnets provisoriske Indretning og Bestyrelse i Danmarks Kiøbstæder, 5. juli 1803, in Schou, J. H. (ed.), Cronologisk Register over de Kongelige Forordninger og aabne Breve, samt andre trykte Anordninger, som fra Aar 1670 af ere udkomne, Copenhagen.

Lutheran social responsibility and the early Danish welfare state

Secondary Appel, Charlotte/Morten Fink-Jensen (2013), Da læreren hold skole. Tiden før 1780, Dansk skolehistorie, vol. 1, Aarhus: Aarhus University Press. Arffman, Kaarlo (2019), Revolution des Helfens. Der Versuch des Luthertums, die Probleme der Armut zu lösen. Nordic Studies in Religion and Culture, vol. 5, Zurich: LIT Verlag GmbH&Co. Balle, N.E. (1840 (1791)), Lærebog i den Evangelisk-Christelige Religion. Copenhagen. Berg, Laura Luise Løkke (2020), Aarhus Fattigvæsen 1760–1803. På kanten mellem reformation og oplysningstid, MA thesis, Aarhus University. Bonderup, Gerda (2002), Health Care Provision and Poor Relief in Enlightenment and 19th Century Denmark, in Ole Peter Grell/Andrew Cunningham/Robert Jütte (ed.), Health Care and Poor Relief in 18th and 19th Century Northern Europe, London: Routledge. Bregnsbo, Michael (1997), Folk skriver til kongen. Supplikkerne og deres funktion i den dansk-norske enevælde i 1700-tallet, Copenhagen: Selskabet for Udgivelser af Kilder til Dansk Historie. Dahlerup, Troels (1979), Den social forsorg og reformationen i Danmark, Historie / Jyske Samlinger, Ny række, 13. Gorski, Philip S. (2003), The Disciplinary Revolution: Calvinism and the Rise of the State in Early Modern Europe, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Grell, Ole Peter/Andrew Cunningham (1997), The Reformation and Changes in Welfare Provision in Early Modern Northern Europe, in Ole Peter Grell/Andrew Cunningham (ed.), Health Care and Poor Relief in Protestant Europe 1500–1700, Oxon/New York: Routledge, 1–42. Hansen, Peter Wessel (2017), The Age of Miracles? Alms Culture and Charitable Donations in Copenhagen, c. 1770–1830, in Ole-Albert Rønning/Helle Møller Sigh/Helle Vogt (ed,), Donations, Inheritance and Property in the Nordic and Western World from Late Antiquity until Today, Oxon/New York: Routledge, 269–293. Henningsen, Peter (2008), Copenhagen Poor Relief and the Problem of Poverty, ca. 1500–1800, in Søren Bitch Christensen/Jørgen Mikkelsen (eds), Danish Towns during Absolutism: Urbanisation and Urban life 1660–1848, Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 325–363. Hilson, Mary (2020), The Nordic Welfare Model, in Annika Lindskog/Jakob StougaardNielsen (ed.), Introduction to Nordic Cultures, London: UCLPress. Hitchock, Tim/Robert Schoemaker (2020 (2015)), London Lives: Poverty, Crime and the Making of a Modern City 1690–1800, Open Access Electronic Edition, https://www. londonlives.org/book/. Holm, Bo Kristian/Nina Javette Koefoed (2018), Studying the Impact of Lutheranism and Societal Development: An Introduction, in B. K. Holm/N. J. Koefoed (ed.), Lutheran Theology and the Shaping of Society: The Danish Monarchy as Example, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprect, 321–340.

179

180

Nina Javette Koefoed

Holck, J.C. (1869), On Charity and Voluntary Poor Relief in Copenhagen, Copenhagen. Horstbøl, Henrik (1999), Politisk medborgerskab og Junigrundloven – den almindelige valgrets begrebshistorie, Den jyske Historiker 83/83, 168–180. Ingesman, Per (2019), King, Chruch and Religion: the Ecclesiology of Kong Christian III of Denmark and Norway, in Sivert Angel/Hallgeir Elstad/Eivor Adersen Oftestad (ed), Were We ever Protestant? Essays in Honour of Tarald Rasmussen, Berlin: De Gruyter, 73–90. Johansen, Hans Chr./Søren Kolstrup (2010), Dansk fattiglovgivning indtil 1803, in Jørn Henrik Petersen/Klaus Petersen/Niels Finn Christiansen (ed.), Dansk Velfærdshistorie, Frem mod socialhjælpsstaten, vol. 1, 1536–1898, Odense: University Press of Southern Denmark, 159–198. Jørgensen, Harald (1979 (1949)), Studier over det offentlige fattigvæsents historiske udvikling i Danmark i det 19. Aarhundrede, Copenhagen: Selskabet for udgivelser af kilder til Dansk historie. Jørgensen, Harald, “Det offentlige fattigvæsen i Danmark 1708–1770,” in Birgitta Ericsson (ed), Oppdaginga av fattigdomen. Sosial lovgivning i Norden på 1700-talet. (Universitetsforlaget, Oslo, 1982) Kahl, Sigrund (2009), Religious Doctrines and Poor Relief: A Different Causal Pathway, in Kees van Kersbergen/Philip Manow (ed.), Religion, Class Coalitions, and Welfare States, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 267–296. Kersbergen, Kees van/Philip Manow, Religion and the Western Welfare State – The Theoretical Context, in Kees van Kersbergen/Philip Manow (ed.), Religion, Class Coalitions, and Welfare States, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1–38. Knudsen, Søren Broberg (2018), Godgørende Godsejere. Oprettelse a hospitaler på landets godser i 1700-tallet, MA thesis, Aarhus University. Knudsen, Tim (2000) (ed.), Den nordiske protestantisme og velfærdsstaten, Aarhus: Aarhus Uniisversity Press. Koefoed, Nina Javette (2014), Performing Male Political Citizenship: Local Philanthropy as an Arena for Practicing and Negotiating Citizenship in Late Nineteenth-Century Denmark, in Krista Cowman/Nina Javette Koefoed/Åsa Karlsson Sjögren (ed.), Gender in Urban Europe: Sites of Political Activity and Citizenship, 1750–1900, New York: Routledge, 162–177. Koefoed, Nina Javette (2017), Social Responsibility in the Protestant North: Denmark and Sweden, in Molle, Leen van (ed.), Charity and social Welfare: The Dynamics of Religious Reform in Northern Europe 1780–1920, vol. IV, Leuven: Leuven University Press, 251–280. Koefoed, Nina Javette (2018a), Regulating Eighteenth Century Households: Offences against the Fourth and Sixth Commandment as Criminal Behaviour, in Tyge Krogh/Louise Nyholm Kallestrup/Claus Bundgård Christensen (ed.), Cultural Histories of Crime in Denmark 1500 to 2000. New York /Oxon:Routledge, 57–74.

Lutheran social responsibility and the early Danish welfare state

Koefoed, Nina Javette (2018b), Den gode kristne og den gode borger, in Nina J. Koefoed/ Bo K. Holm/Sasja E. M. Stopa (ed.), Religion som forklaring? Kirke og religion i stat og samfund. Festskrift til Per Ingesman, Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 213–230. Koefoed, Nina Javette (2019), Authorities who care: The Lutheran Doctrine of the Three Estates in Danish Legal Development from the Reformation to Absolutism, in Scandinavian Journal of History, vol. 44,4, 430–453. Koefoed, Nina Javette (2021), Negotiating Memory and Restoring Identity in Broken Families in Eighteenth-century Denmark, in Journal of Family History 46,1, 30–45. Kolstrup, Søren (2010), Fattiglovgivningen fra 1803 til 1891, ´in Jørn Henrik Petersen/ Klaus Petersen/Niels Finn Christiansen (ed.), Dansk Velfærdshistorie, Frem mod socialhjælpsstaten. Vol. 1, 1536–1898, Odense: University Press of Southern Denmark, 199–310. Krogh, Tyge (2000), Oplysningstiden og det magiske. Henrettelser og korporlige straffe i 1700-tallets første halvdel, Copenhagen: Samleren. Lindmark, Daniel (2011), New Wine into Old Bottles: Luther’s Table of Duties as a Vehicle of Changing Civic Virtues in 18th and 19th Century Sweden, in Daniel Tröhler et al (ed.), Schooling and the Making of Citizens in the Long Nineteenth Century: Comparative Visions, New York: Routledge, 28–36. Lorentzen, Tim (2018), Meßbare Folgen einer ”Reformation der öffentlichen Fürsorge“: Beispiele aus Pommern, in H. Assel/J. A. Steiger/A.E. Walter (ed.), Reformatio Baltica. Kulturwirkungen der Reformation in den Metropolen des Ostseeraums, Berlin/Boston: Metropolis 2, 445–462. Luther, Martin (2000 (1529), The Large Catechism, in Robert Kolb/Timothy J. Wengert (ed.), Book of Concord: The Confessions of the Evangelical Lutheran Church (BC), Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press. Lützen, Karin (1998), Byen Tæmmes. Kernefamilie, sociale reformer og velgørenhed i 1800-tallets København, Copenhagen: Hans Reitzels Forlag. Mikkelsen, Jørgen (2008), Poor Relief and Provincial Towns in the Kingdom of Denmark and the Duchy of Schleswig, ca. 1700–1850, in Søren Bitsch Christensen/Jørgen Mikkelsen (ed), Danish Towns during Absolutism: Urbanisation and Urban life 1660–1848, Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 365–410. Nelson, Robert (2017), Lutheranism and the Nordic Spirit of Social Democracy: A Different Protestant Ethic, Aarhus: Aarhus University Press. Nørgård, Inger Lyngdryp (2017), Beskyt de værdige fattige! Opfattelser og behandling a fattige i velgørenhed, filantropi og fattigvæsen i København 1770–1874, Odense: University Press of Southern Denmark. Petersen, Jørn Henrik (2016), Fra Luther til konkurrencestaten, Odense: University Press of Southern Denmark. Petersen, Jørn Henrik (2010a), Debatten om alderdomsforsørgelsen frem mod alderdomsforsørgelsesloven af 1891. Baggrund og indhold, in Jørn Henrik Petersen/Klaus Petersen/

181

182

Nina Javette Koefoed

Niels Finn Christiansen (ed.), Dansk Velfærdshistorie, Frem mod socialhjælpsstaten. Vol. 1, 1536–1898. Odense: University Press of Southern Denmark, 311–390. Petersen, Jørn Henrik (2010b), Sygeforsikring indtil 1898, in Jørn Henrik Petersen/ Klaus Petersen/Niels Finn Christiansen (ed.), Dansk Velfærdshistorie, Frem mod socialhjælpsstaten. Vol. 1, 1536–1898, Odense, University Press of Southern Denmark, 391–484. Pierson, Paul (2000), Increasing Returns, Path Dependencies, and the Study of Politics, American Political Science Review 94,2, 251–267. Pontoppidan, Erik (1953 (1737)), Sandhed til gudfrygtighed i en enfoldig og efter Mulighed kort, dog tilstrækkelig Forklaring over Doktor Martin Luthers lille Katekismus, Øster Snede: Eget forlag. Pullan, Brian (2008), Poverty, Charity and Social Welfare, in John Witte Jr./Frank S. Alexander (ed.), Christianity and the Law: An Introduction. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press) Rasmussen, Leonora Lottrup (2019), De fattiges ret. Forhandlinger af social medborgerskab som status og praksis i stat og kommune, 1849–1892, PhD thesis, Department of History and Classical Studies, Aarhus University. Stenbæk, Jørgen (1972), En kirkeretslig vurdering a Danske Lovs 6. bog – strafferetten, Kirkehistoriske Samlinger 5, 58–90. Voss, Lilla (1975), Fattigdom og forsorg i 1880’erne, in Lilla Voss et al (ed.), Sociale studier i Aarhus 1870–1906. Kriminalitet, prostitution og fattigdom, Aarhus: 321–445. Østergaard, Uffe (2005), Lutheranisme og den universelle velfærdsstat, in Jens Holger Schjørring/Jens Torkild Bak (ed), Velfærdsstat og Kirke, Copenhagen: Anis, 147–184.

Andrew G. Newby

“Brothers of the Nordic Tribe” Danish Famine Aid to Sweden and Finland 1867–68* Research on charitable fundraising for disaster victims in the twenty-first century has highlighted the extent to which donations tend to be intragroup (typically, meaning a distinction between domestic and “overseas” or foreign recipients, with the majority of donations favouring the former group) (CAF: 2006; Zagefka/James: 2015, 173). However, it has also been noted that “increasing the salience of a common identity has been found to favourably affect intergroup attitudes”, and that the development of “psychological proximity” has a positive impact on the decision to donate (ibid., 174). Therefore, in the case of mid-nineteenth-century Denmark, this can mean an extension of the prevailing norms of charitable actions and almsgiving (and the metaphor of the ‘Lutheran Household’), firstly from the strictly local to the national context, and then in turn to a much broader definition of the ingroup (Koefoed: 2017, 256; Koefoed: 2018, 330–4; Holm/Koefoed: 2018, 29). Large-scale, public charitable interventions in Denmark were made on behalf of a number of causes after the mid-1860s, when, it has been argued, “philanthropy in Denmark reached its height” (Koefoed: 2017, 269). A selection of key campaigns is outlined in Figure 1. While the different campaigns noted here reflected various degrees of ‘psychological proximity’ for the Danish people, all of the beneficiaries were somehow capable of being constructed as part of a Danish ingroup. The fundraising for the Slesvig survivors and families (a renewed campaign following the Treaty of Prague1 ), as well as the rebuilding of Viborg Cathedral, were framed as self-evidently crucial national causes.2 The campaigns for hurricane victims in the Danish West Indian

* The author wishes to acknowledge the feedback and advice given during the development of this article by: Dr. Nina Javette Koefoed; two anonymous referees; and members of the ReNEW Nordic Studies research seminar, University of Helsinki. Translations are the author’s own unless indicated. 1 Initial fundraising sought to alleviate to suffering of the injured and bereaved of the 1864 campaigns. This was followed up after 1866 when the Treaty of Prague – which confirmed Slesvig-Holstein as German territory – caused significant displacement from the region. Geopolitical terms “Southern Jutland”, “Slesvig” and “Northern Slesvig” were all used by contemporaries to describe the region. 2 That is not to ignore occasional regional tensions. For example, Aalborg Stiftstidende (7 Feb. 1868) criticised Fædrelandet’s implication that Viborg Cathedral’s rebuilding programme should primarily be a concern for Jutland rather than the whole kingdom.

Selected Danish charity campaigns, 1865–1869.

184 Andrew G. Newby

“Brothers of the Nordic Tribe”

islands of St. Thomas & St. John, as well as the apparent ‘famine’ in south-west Iceland in late 1868, can be seen as a paternalistic (indeed, colonial) Danish response to crises in its wider empire (Horning: 2013; Loftsdóttir/Pálsson: 2013; Harris: 1975).3 The fundraising in Copenhagen for ‘West Russia’ in early 1869 was part of a transnational response to the distress among the Jewish community in Suwałki, and can be treated as a separate case (Carlsson: 2013, 53f).4 In the cases of Norrland and Finland, both of which experienced devastating crop failures, triggering famine, in 1867–68, it was necessary for interested Danish philanthropists to justify how these people were part of the Danish ingroup. Thus, by constructing Swedes and Finns as ‘fellow Scandinavians’ at this time, those people become worthy of Danish aid.5 This positioning of Norrland and Finland in the Danes’ ingroup did not happen without promotion and publicity from interested individuals, and there was a strong impetus given to these aid campaigns by men who either had a close connection to the Scandinavist movement, or otherwise a bilateral relationship via trade, culture, or other personal connections to either Sweden or Finland. The (Pan-) Scandinavist movement had developed from the 1840s, with many of its supporters considering its ultimate goal to a unified Scandinavian state (sometimes including Finland, generally in the context of a reunification with Sweden) (Newby: 2013, 159f; Hilson: 2006). The historical roots of the Scandinavist concept were in the late eighteenth century, when Finland was still a part of the Swedish kingdom, and a common (Lutheran) religion was a key element of this identity. Although Finland was separated politically from ‘Scandinavia’ in 1809, it retained its Lutheran religion and associated social structures even as a part of the Russian Empire (Thorkildsen: 2014, 90f; Markkola/Naumann: 2014). Therefore, while Finland’s relationship to Scandinavism was ambiguous from contemporary ethnic, political, or linguistic perspectives, it had strong enough historical and – vitally – religious links for any zealous Scandinavists to argue for its inclusion in the movement.6

3 Fundraising in Denmark in 1865–66 for the church building in Kyrkjubøur, in the Faroe Islands, can also be seen in this colonial context. Other “domestic” public charity campaigns at this time included: support for the families of herring fishermen drowned in an accident off Kikhavn in late 1866; building a new church in Humlebæk (1866–7, opened in 1868); and – a larger-scale national effort initiated by Carl Ploug – subscriptions for a statue of Frederik VII (1868, completed in 1873). 4 Suwałki is now an eastern part of Poland. 5 Danish campaigns for crises in the southern Swedish provinces of Blekinge and Småland (1869) can arguably be bracketed with the Norrland case, although Blekinge’s former position as a part of the Danish kingdom (until the Treaty of Roskilde, 1658) gave that relatively small campaign an additional historical resonance. 6 I have preferred the term ‘Scandinavism’ throughout this article, but ‘Scandinavianism’ can also be used in English language contexts. For a useful analysis of the development of concept of Scandinavism and its variations (including the distinctions between ‘Scandinavian’, ‘Nordic’, etc.) see Hemstad: 2018.

185

186

Andrew G. Newby

Scandinavism was therefore a contemporary of other ‘Pan’ movements in Europe, such as those which eventually brought about German and Italian state unification (Glenthøj: 2019). By 1867, though, the notion of a united Scandinavia seemed to have been fatally undermined by the Swedish government’s failure to join an anti-Prussian alliance in 1863, and subsequent catastrophic defeat for Denmark in the war against Austria-Prussia in 1864 (Hemstad, Møller/Thorkildsen: 2018, 13). Although it was subsequently presented as a death-knell for political Scandinavism, the War of 1864 nevertheless loomed large in the fundraising rhetoric for both Norrland and Finland in 1867. On the one hand, the campaign for Swedish Norrland made great play of the historical ‘brotherhood’ between the peoples of the Sweden and Denmark (along with Norway), implying that Scandinavism was a broad folk movement that would overcome the short-term consequences of the failure of the Swedish state to assist in 1863–4. Finland, on the other hand, was presented as a country worthy of aid not only because of historical connections with Scandinavia, but also because a number of its people had indeed heard the call in 1864 and travelled to fight against Austria-Prussia. As fundraising campaigns for both Norrland and Finland famines needed to compete for Danish citizens’ ‘mites’, and in particular against the ongoing collections for the survivors of 1864 and their families, developing a sense of ‘psychological proximity’ was important for success. In British fundraising for both Norrland and Finland, the Lutheran faith practiced by those regions’ needy inhabitants was stressed repeatedly (Newby: 2014, 76–9; Newby: 2015, 112). In this case, the qualities associated with Lutheranism – sedulity, honesty, self-sufficiency – were intended to assure donors that their charity would be put to good use. In the Danish campaigns, mentions of religion are notable by their absence, as the Danes were already well aware that the Swedes and Finns were overwhelmingly of the same religion as themselves (Sinnemäki et al.: 2019, 17). This implied a common understanding of what constituted a ‘deserving’ recipient of aid, and thus offered reassurance to any Danish benefactors that their donations would not be distributed carelessly. This, in turn, facilitated the extension of the Danish ingroup to include Sweden and Finland (Thorkildsen: 2017).

1.

Famine in Swedish Norrland and Finland, 1867–68

Famines of varying degrees of severity had become so prevalent in the late 1860s that an editorial in the London Standard claimed: “no phenomenon of the age is more remarkable than the enormous failure of Nature in many countries of Europe, Africa and Asia.” (Standard, 13 Jan. 1868). A few months later, a similar argument was put forward in the People’s Press:

“Brothers of the Nordic Tribe”

The Irish famine was nothing compared to the horrors of this now-prevailing at Tunis. We do not hear much now from the famine in Finland, but it has been fearful there and in the north of Sweden. In Russia we learn that the famine is spreading far and wide and pestilence is apprehended to follow in its wake. (People’s Press, 17 Apr. 1868).

The storms and night frosts that struck northern Sweden in the late summer / autumn of 1867, destroyed unharvested crops, and left large swathes of the historical Norrland region in a state of acute crisis (Västerbro: 2018, 28–36; Häger, Torell/ Villius: 1978; Ludvigsson: 2017). As in neighbouring Finland, the capricious frost could be framed as the main short-term trigger for famine, but disaster had loomed for some time (Nelson: 1988, 38–45; Myllyntaus: 2009). As with all pre-industrial societies, famine7 was recurrent in Sweden, and the repeated crop failures of the 1860s had put extreme pressure on resources, particularly in the provinces of Norrbotten and Västerbotten (Nelson: 1988, 38–53). In his comparative account of crises in Ireland and Sweden, Donald H. Akenson has argued that it is hard to see how a rise in the crude death rate from 17.9 in 1866 to 27.0 per thousand in 1868 did not involve some emaciated or fever-twisted bodies… the real problem in assessing what happened lies in the indeterminate nature of the public records. (Akenson: 2011, 142)

More recently, Västerbro notes excess deaths on a national level in Sweden of: 4,000 (1867); 9,000 (1868), and 14,000 (1869). He does not, however, venture to state “exactly how many of these were the result of famine, in the form of direct hunger or its various associated diseases.” (Västerbro: 2018, 315). On the other hand, Marie Clark Nelson’s pioneering study on the Norrland famine noted the success of the relief efforts, and relatively low mortality, despite the peasants of the region living in “misery and destitution”. (1988, 174). There was less doubt around the extent of “emaciated and fever-twisted bodies” on the eastern side of the Gulf of Bothnia, and indeed Nelson stressed that even in the worst-hit areas of Västerbotten and Norrbotten, the death-rates “pale[d] in comparison with the situation in Finland.” (1988, 93). The Finnish crisis of

7 This article follows Marie Clark Nelson’s broad definition of famine as “distress caused in large populations by lack of access to food,” and in particular addresses the use of the term hungersnød (famine) by contemporaries in relation to relief activity in Denmark (Nelson: 1988, 29). Despite the eventual difference in mortality, during both the Norrland and Finland crises in 1867–68, Danish sources referred to hungersnød (famine / hunger emergency), and the people as nødlidende (distressed). The equivalent terms, hungersnöd / nödlidande (Sw.) and nälänhätä / hädänalaiset (Fi.) were also used in Swedish and Finnish sources. For a broader discussion of the problems of translating the English word ‘famine’, see de Waal: 2005, 9–32. For Swedish euphemisms, see Västerbro: 2018, 13.

187

188

Andrew G. Newby

1867–68, triggered by the frosts of early September, wiped out the annual harvest and marked the final, terrible culmination of several years of ever-increasing precarity. The crude death rate of approximately 8% marks it as one of human history’s most lethal famines (Ó Gráda: 2009, 23f; Voutilainen: 2016, 173–85). While the approximately 138,000 deaths were not equally distributed, either socially or regionally, the 1867–68 famine in Finland can be considered a ‘national’ disaster to a greater extent than the Swedish case. Kari Pitkänen estimated 120,000 excess deaths in Finland 1866–69, as well as approximately 46,000 averted births (1992, 87). Häkkinen and Forsberg note the raw figure of 137,702 deaths in 1868 alone (2015, 99). Although Finland had been a part of the Russian Empire from 1809, its own senate in Helsinki was responsible for domestic economic and relief policies, and this element of ‘self-sufficiency’ was frequently noted in the international press, especially when fundraising campaigns sought to frame the Finns as ‘deserving’ recipients of aid.

2.

The Norrland Famine Relief Campaign, Oct. 1867 – May 1868

In the summer of 1867, concern within Sweden for the population of Norrland was such that subscriptions had opened and charity events were organised, including an “extremely well attended” concert in Lund on 28 July (Lunds Veckoblad, 30 Jul. 1867).8 It is notable that alongside reports about the potential crisis in the north, correspondents to southern Swedish newspapers discussed the ongoing viability of Scandinavian union, including the situation in Southern Jutland, and the role that Finland might play in the Scandinavist movement (Lunds Veckoblad, 30 Jul. 1867). These discussions were given further impetus by the mass Scandinavist “folk meeting” which was held at Ringsjö, about 30km northeast of Lund, on 4 August 1867 (Jönköpings Tidning, 24 Jul. 1867; Folkets Avis, 27 Jul. 1867; Hvad Nytt? 31 Jul. 1867). The meeting’s invitation reiterated the idea that, for the people of Norden to achieve political unity, they had to consider themselves as belonging to the same ‘folk’. Among the Danish signatories were three enthusiastic Scandinavists who, within a few weeks, would launch a fundraising campaign in Denmark on behalf of the distressed population of Norrland: the businessman Harald Fritsche; Nils I. Termansen, Jutland farmer and member of Denmark’s lower house of parliament (Folkething); and Carl Ploug, editor of the Fædrelandet newspaper in Copenhagen and a member of the upper house of the Danish parliament (Landsting) (Lunds

8 For the programme, see Lunds Weckoblad, 27 Jul. 1867.

Cumulative sums raised in Denmark for various charity campaigns, 1867–9

“Brothers of the Nordic Tribe”

189

190

Andrew G. Newby

Weckoblad, 30 Jul. 1867).9 Ploug had founded the Danish Scandinavian Society in 1843, and two years later claimed that Scandinavism has been granted “worldhistorical ratification” after the Scandinavian students meeting in Copenhagen (Fædrelandet, 24 Jun. 1845. See also Collett: 2011, 88ff). Mass meetings of university students from all parts of the region (including Iceland and Finland) became the key symbol of Scandinavism, although the future of the entire movement was in jeopardy after 1864 (Bragadóttir: 2017, 85ff). The Nordiske Samfund was founded in Denmark in 1865, but initially worked in secret before its founder Carl Rosenberg established a newspaper to convince the Danish peasantry of the value of Scandinavism (Harvard/Hillström: 2013, 90f).10 As a contribution to the rehabilitation of the Scandinavian ideal, the Ringsjö meeting was for a broader constituency and represented an opportunity for Scandinavists to prove that a sense of common “nationality” still existed within the region (Aftonbladet, 5 Aug., 7 Aug., 8 Aug. 1867). In the following weeks, Ploug used the Norrland crisis to promote contemporary humanitarian values, but also to emphasize that Denmark and Sweden remained part of the same Scandinavian tribe, despite the crisis of 1864. The initial reports in Denmark focused on the Swedish relief effort, the charitable response of “public and private men”, and elements of “self-help”, such as the national railway company giving free freight for food aid (Dags-Telegrafen, 16 Sep. 1867). In Norrland, according to the Swedish newspapers, the famine is so great that the population has to eat bark-bread, so-called Iceland moss, and soup made from remnants of hay, mixed with rye flour. In Stockholm, Gothenburg and other towns, collections have been instigated to relieve the emergency. Help is urgently needed, and above all, quickly (Aarhus Stifts-Tidende, 31 Jul. 1867).

The night frosts of 3–4 September, which exacerbated an already desperate situation, added a sense of urgency to the reports from Norrland. Within a month, Danes were able to assist their ‘neighbours’ directly with the arrival of the steamboat Thor, which had sailed from Gothenburg to the Jutland ports of Aarhus and Horsens to purchase grain for Norrland (Göteborgs Handels- Och Sjöfartstidning, 9 Sep. 1867; Aarhus Stiftstidende, 10 Oct. 1867; Dagens Nyheter, 11 Oct. 1867). In addition to the Thor initiative, a relief committee was established in Copenhagen to oversee charitable contributions from all around Denmark for the distressed Norrlanders. 9 Ploug and Fritsche, along with Orla Lehman, were part of the editorial board of Nordisk Tidskrift, which had launched in 1866 to examine “any political, economic [or] social issues which are closely related to more-or-less all of the Nordic people.” Fædrelandet, 13 Apr. 1866. See also Eriksson: 1954. 10 The newspaper was initially Blad til Menigmand, latterly Uge-Blad til Mengimand. Rosenberg (1829–1885) was also a part of the Danish contingent with Ploug and Fritsche in Ringsjö.

“Brothers of the Nordic Tribe”

A stirring call to action appeared in Carl Ploug’s Fædrelandet, on 10th October, as he launched the fundraising committee. Copenhagen’s relief campaign for Norrland was overseen by a group of men, generally in prominent political positions and with strong cultural or business links with Sweden. The nominal head of the committee was Hans Rasmussen Carlsen, a member of the Folkething, recent Interior Minister (1863–4) and owner of the Gammel Køgegård estate, who had close connections with Ploug, and a longstanding interest in the Scandinavist project (Møller: 1960, 155f; Friis: 1934–36, 621). Alongside Carlsen was Wolfgang (von) Haffner who became a member of the Folkething in 1866, and went on to become Interior Minister for a short spell in 1869–70 (Berlingske, 28 Apr. 1887; Jorgenson: 1935, 302). Anker Heegaard (1815–1893) was not a politician, but rather a businessman, well-known both in Sweden and his native Denmark for his ironworks (Stockholms Dagblad, 20 Dec. 1893). Businessman Harald Fritsche, another close associate of Ploug also maintained strong business and cultural links with Sweden, and had been present at Ringsjö a few weeks earlier (Nationaltidende, 27 Jul. 1905). Completing the committee was Ploug himself, and his companion from Ringsjö, the farmer and politician Nils Iokum Termansen, editor of the 1865 memoir, Mindeblade fra Danmarks Trængselsaar (Kolding Folkeblad, 10 May 1892). The response from Sweden was swift, with Charles XV expressing “special recognition for this sincere act of humanity, the full significance of which was appreciated not only by the distressed themselves, but also by the entire Swedish public.” (Fædrelandet, 19 Oct. 1867). 2.1

Fundraising rhetoric

Constructing the recipients of aid as members of an ingroup, and developing the idea of ‘psychological proximity’ as a means of encouraging donations, therefore played an important part in the committee’s fundraising rhetoric in 1867. As with the British fundraising for Norrland, potential donors in Denmark were reminded that they had enjoyed a good harvest in 1867, and that even after making contributions to domestic causes, there should still be something left over for “distress which is so close to us”. (Fædrelandet, 10 Oct. 1867; Aftonbladet, 14 Oct. 1867). Given that the inhabitants of southern Denmark were physically considerably closer to Milan or Bordeaux than Norrland towns like Haparanda, this type of rhetoric was a clear effort to emphasise the psychological aspects of proximity between Danish and Swedish people. Unlike the equivalent British campaign, though, which emphasised the hard-working, improvable, Lutheran qualities of the famine victims, the Danish press – taking the Swedes’ Lutheranism for granted – focussed rather on ethnic and historical kinship, as well as the more general appeal to “humanity” (Zagefka/James:

191

192

Andrew G. Newby

2015, 175). Launching the fundraising drive in the pages of Fædrelandet, Carl Ploug was unequivocal on the issue: It is known from the public press that in the vast northernmost provinces of our Neighbourand Brotherland, Sweden, Norrland, a famine prevails… It is quite natural that anyone who has any heart must be touched upon hearing about the great misfortune that has struck our close relatives, those who live so near to us... by making good the suffering of our fellow humans and tribespeople, it also helps to strengthen the good and brotherly relations between the people of Norden. (Fædrelandet, 10 Oct. 1867).

Uge-Blad til Menigmand, the official organ of Danish Nordiske Samfund, was just as emphatic, and stressed the levels of aid from other countries already received by Sweden (Uge-Blad til Menigmand, 11 Oct. 1867). Provincial newspapers joined the campaign, pre-empting the establishment of relief sub-committees throughout Denmark, often facilitated or led by prominent municipal figures, church ministers or, where they were present, Swedish consuls.11 For example, Folkets Avis reported the establishment of sub-committees in Aarhus and Aalborg, adding that anyone who cared for the misfortune of their “brothers” should offer up anything they could spare (Folkets Avis, 21 Oct. 1867). This was echoed by a letter from “A Danish Woman” to Fædrelandet, which argued that people often refrained from donating because they believed their small contribution could not make a difference (Fædrelandet, 19 Oct. 1867). As “a quick response” was needed to the Norrland crisis, “A Danish Woman” suggested that a woman in each household should take responsibility for gathering the various “mites”, no matter how small. Other messages in the regional press underlined the need to show “tangible support for their distressed brothers” in Norrland, despite the continuing priority of the Southern Jutland (i.e., Slesvig) Societies (Fædrelandet, 16 Oct. 1867). 2.2

Fundraising initiatives

Publicity for the Norrland famine relief fund spread around Denmark, prompting local fundraising initiatives, from October 1867 to the close of the campaign in May 1868. These activities themselves reflected international trends, comprising concerts, bazaars, and theatrical displays (sometimes with aristocratic or celebrity patronage, and often organised by women), charity auctions, raffles and lotteries, and – most immediately and most widespread – donations of varying sizes from

11 These included e.g. Harald Schoubye and Sophus Ørting in Aarhus and Ebeltoft; S. Th. Amorsen in Haderslev; Chr. Bønnelyche in Nysted / Falster, H.B. Rach in Rønne; and Pastor Hans Rudolf Panduro in Silkeborg.

“Brothers of the Nordic Tribe”

around the country which were published in local and national newspapers. Lots of small donations seemed to represent a ‘national’ gift rather than simply the munificence of a handful of wealthy, well-connected businessmen.12 Most of these were small, ad-hoc, local events, including fireskillings indsamling 13 (reinforcing the idea that every ‘mite’ was important), sales of handicrafts, collections are boys’ gameshooting meetings, collections at schools and local charity theatre performances from Southern Jutland to Bornholm. Newspaper subscriptions also came in from all around Denmark, and – as in other countries – reflected the full range of society from children and widows to aristocrats. As one report explained: “no opportunity is being left unused to think of the unfortunate people who are fighting famine.” (Bornholms Avis, 7 Nov. 1867). The reports in early 1868 that a young farm labourer in Lilleheddinge was giving public readings of the poetic works of the Danish author Anton Nielsen, and using the money raised to provide relief for the starving inhabitants of Swedish Norrland, was presented in Denmark as evidence of a spirit of selfless philanthropy which was developing in every part of the land (Fædrelandet, 22 Feb. 1868; Norrländska Korrespondenten, 28 Feb. 1868; Norrbottens Kuriren, 5 Mar. 1868, quoted in Nelson: 1988, 133). Lilleheddinge is a small settlement in southeastern Sjælland, and is one of the closest points between Sweden and Denmark. In the mental geography of the Scandinavists, therefore, this represented an intersection of two key parts of Scandinavia, rather than simply the work of a young man who lived near the very southern tip of Swedish Kingdom. This relatively small event was also covered in the Swedish press, and demonstrated the potential for local initiatives to be given much greater symbolic importance – especially when there was an editorial interest in promoting Scandinavism (such as in Aftonbladet, which was edited at the time by “one of the leading Scandinavists in [Sweden]”, Carl Ploug’s longstanding friend August Sohlman) (Aftonbladet, 17 Feb. 1868; Kurunmäki: 2000, 28; Glenthøj: 2019, 264). Large set-piece fundraising events also took place, which gave the Danish aristocracy in particular an opportunity to show their compatriots – but also their peers in other countries – that they were in full accord with European patterns of philanthropy (Roddy, Strange/Taithe: 2019, 5, 12). An impressive bazaar for Norrland took place in Copenhagen over three days (Sat. 16–Mon. 18 November, 1867), held

12 Ploug argued that this type of fundraising “reinforced the popular character” of the cause. Moreover, while the publication of subscription lists gave social capital to the donor, they also guaranteed that the contribution had been received, and was being used for the purpose intended. See Fædrelandet, 16 Jun. 1868. 13 The fireskillings indsamling (or bidrag) – literally a “four shillings collection” – was as an established method of fundraising, dating from at least the early 1850s. See e.g. Berlingske, 13 Jul. 1853. A four-shilling coin was one of the smaller units of Danish currency prior to the reforms of 1873–5.

193

194

Andrew G. Newby

in the “Riddersalen”, Schimmelmanns Palais, Bredgade (Dags-Telegrafen, 26 Oct. 1867; Fædrelandet, 7 Nov., 15 Nov., 16 Nov. 1867). Its organising committee comprised various women from the capital’s high society: Edda Grøn, Signe Lehmann, Signe Puggard, Ida Sørensen, and Caroline Watt (de Mylius: 1995, 67–71; DagsTelegrafen, 31 Oct. 1867; Fædrelandet, 29 Oct., 31 Oct. 1867). The bazaar received considerable publicity, celebrity endorsement from Hans Christian Andersen (who donated a copy of Dickens’ Dombey and Son, signed by Andersen), and the launch of a charity book collection, En Skærv i sang til basaren for Norrlændingerne, (edited by the poet, politician and historian Frederik Barfod, and dedicated to Carl Ploug, August Sohlman and Georg Krohg) which featured a wide variety of Scandinavist and other “patriotic” songs from the region (Barfod, 1867; Folkets Avis, 16 Nov. 1867).14 The details of the bazaar – reported in both Denmark and Sweden – reflect the efforts made by the organising committee to involve royalty and celebrities, donating watercolours by eminent Danish artists, other valuables, and hand-made items for sale and auction (Berlingske, 16 Nov. 1867; Post- och Inrikes Tidningar, 18 Nov. 1867). The bazaar eventually raised a total of 2392 rdr, 4s, and this was forwarded via Count Wachtmeister, Sweden’s ambassador in Copenhagen, to the Stockholm Relief Committee (Fædrelandet, 21 Nov. 1867). The Scandinavist echoes in the Danish aid for Norrland were amplified by the major fundraising concerts (billed as “Scandinavist Concerts”) which took place in early November (Folkets Avis, 19 Oct. 1867; Dagbladet, 30 Oct. 1867; Weber: 1972, 366; de Mylius: 1995).15 Two concerts were arranged in which the student choirs of Lund and Copenhagen performed jointly in each other’s towns (Uge-Blade til Menigmand, 8 Nov. 1867; Dagbladet, 11 Nov. 1867; Lolland-Falsters Stiftstidende, 13 Nov. 1867). The original intention was for one of the concerts to raise money for the Slesvig refugees, and the second for the Norrlanders, but it was decided “on account of the urgent need…”, to have both concerts for the benefit of Norrland (Fædrelandet, 21 Oct. 1867). This aspect of the concerts seems particularly notable, as it clearly prioritised Norrland over the Slesvig emergency, which was ostensibly the main ‘national project’ in Denmark at this time. With the Lund students crossing from Malmö, and given a warm reception before their concert at Copenhagen’s casino, the symbolism relating to the Scandinavist student meetings of the two previous decades was plain (Fædrelandet, 1 Nov. 1867; Harvard: 2013, 61–2). When the reciprocal concert took place, before 900 spectators, in Lund, the Danish people

14 Odense, University of Southern Denmark, Hans Christian Andersen Centre: Donation by H.C. Andersen of a copy of Charles Dickens’ Dombey and Son, with the dedication: “Til Bazaren til Fordeel for de Nødlidende i Norrland 1867 fra H.C. Andersen.” 15 Copenhagen, Royal Danish Library: Concert af Studenter-Sangforeningerne fra Lund og Kjøbenhavn, Novbr. 1867: for de Nødlidende i Norrland.

“Brothers of the Nordic Tribe”

were thanked for the “brotherly love” that they had shown during the Norrland crisis (Aarhus Stiftstidende, 12 Nov. 1867). The fundraising for Norrland in Southern Jutland perhaps gives the best indication of the ways in which charity was used not only to show the benevolence of the Danish people, but also for wider political purposes. Having been ‘lost’ to the Germans in 1864, these fundraising campaigns permitted the Danish population of Slesvig to demonstrate their continued ‘mental citizenship’ as a part of Denmark. In the early days and weeks of the campaign, committees in Flensborg and Sønderborg were reported as being particularly active, efforts, which prompted the “thanks of the whole Swedish people” (Dagbladet, 11 Oct. 1867; Thisted Amtsavis, 17 Oct. 1867; Fædrelandet, 23 Nov. 1867; Fyens Stiftstidende, 23 Nov. 1867. Vestslesvigsk Tidende, 16 Dec., 17 Dec. 1867). A fascinating glimpse into the ‘imagined communities’ which were being formed at this time occurred in Sønderborg, a town in southern Jutland, located at the intersection of two ‘pan’ movements – Germany and Scandinavia. Here, it was reported that women from the Danishspeaking population were organising a bazaar for the people of Norrland, while their German-speaking equivalents were holding a collection for the inhabitants of the Saxon town of Johanngeorgenstadt, many of whom had been left homeless and destitute by a fire in August 1867 (Berlingske, 26 Oct. 1867; Roskilde Avis, 27 Nov. 1867). With Johanngeorgenstadt lying over 600km from Sønderborg, and Luleå well over twice as far to the north, these relatively small fundraising events demonstrated the potential strength of wider identities, and their importance in constructing ‘deserving’ ingroups. The psychological proximity overrode the physical distance between the donors and the beneficiaries. Bertha Hahn (1848–1916) was one of the organisers of the Sønderborg bazaar (Possing: 2003). In her memoirs five decades later, Hahn downplayed Scandinavist motives, but nevertheless acknowledged the importance of philanthropy in maintaining a connection between Slesvig and the rest of Scandinavia: We held a bazaar in Sønderborg for the benefit of the needy in Norrland, where there was harvest failure and distress, and the people of the country streamed in with their donations, and they even came in themselves and bought and paid handsomely. There was no Scandinavist element to it, just that anything north of the Kongeå could count on compassion as soon as it was invoked, and on practical support wherever possible. On that occasion we had two eventful days with little fanfare in good Danish company… (Hahn: 1913, 114).16

16 From 1864 the Konge River (Kongeå) demarcated most of the political border between Denmark and Germany. I am grateful to Frederik F. Ørskov for help with parts of this translation.

195

196

Andrew G. Newby

It is perfectly possible that Hahn and her fellow organisers acted purely out of social responsibility, as active citizens, but nevertheless her comment indicates that contemporaries seemed to identify a “Scandinavist element” in the event (Koefoed: 2017, 271). The bazaar also gave her the opportunity to act as a Danish citizen, even though the post-1864 territorial changes meant that Sønderborg was now in Germany. The German-language newspaper in Haderslev, Nord Schleswigs Tidende, also weighed in, demonstrating the contested nature of the fundraising and prompting sarcasm from Danish sources: “Nordsl. Tid.” is angry, that support is being given to those South Jutlanders, who have returned to their homesteads, and emphasises with indignation that there is not only famine in Norrland, but one can also find regions of harvest failure in East Prussia, and a fire in Saxony, which misfortunes appear to this publication to be more appropriate objects of Danish charity than the distress of the North Slesvig people. In conclusion, the paper urges the gentlemen, who are responsible for the distribution in Slesvig of the funds raised in Denmark, that in discharging their duties they should not take in to account whether the recipient is Danish or not (!)(Viborg Stiftstidende og Adrese-Avis, 27 Dec. 1867).17

In addition to exposing elements of Scandinavism, the Danish fundraising for Norrland highlighted sensitivity around the integrity of the Danish kingdom itself, especially the contested areas of Southern Jutland. For example, when the Swedish government published an interim report of the funds raised for Norrland in December 1867, it included the donations from Flensborg and Sønderborg under the total for Germany, something that Ploug was quick to challenge in the pages of Fædrelandet: …it should be noted that in the German figures are included 2075:50 from Flensborg [and] 3231:32 that has come from Sønderborg, “which amounts must be attributed to the Danish people’s collection.” Denmark’s amount… would therefore be 51,455:40, and Germany’s adjusted to 58,347:18. (Aftonbladet, 9 Dec. 1867; Fædrelandet, 14 Dec. 1867).18

The same point was made when the committee was wound up in May 1868, as Ploug rejoiced that the call for donations “reverberated” around the whole of Denmark, and “several parishes of Danish Slesvig that are, as yet, still separate from us.” The

17 The original Danish text concludes with an exclamation mark in brackets. 18 The final table is reproduced in Nelson: Bitter Bread, 133 (which uses Swedish currency, attributing 80,435.13 rdr to Denmark, 13.8% of the total overseas contributions).

“Brothers of the Nordic Tribe”

anticipated help for the “neighbour- and brotherland”, he concluded, had been well exceeded (Fædrelandet, 27 May 1868). If ‘brotherhood’, and the idea that the Scandinavian people were ‘one folk’ was central to much of the Copenhagen Norrland Relief Committee’s rhetoric, there also seems to have been a competitive narrative which attributed to Denmark the moral high ground in the region. In response to a story from Stockholm’s Aftonbladet, which highlighted the overseas contributions to Norrland, various Danish newspapers took the example of Newcastle-Upon-Tyne not as a demonstration of British beneficence, but rather as an extension of the pan-Scandinavian impulse: It is not only in Sweden, but also in Denmark and Norway, and other places abroad, which have been seats of Scandinavian colonisation, that these collections have made great progress. Thus, for example, Newcastle alone has collected a sum of several thousand rdr, which is more meaningful as most of the Scandinavians in that city are Danes or Norwegians (Kjøge Avis, 26 Oct. 1867; Aarhus Stiftstidende, 26 Oct. 1867).

Significantly, this was followed by an allusion to the Book of Proverbs, in the claim that “it cannot be denied, as we Danes know, that here as on many other occasions we have poured fiery coal on to the heads of our ‘brothers across the sound.’” (ibid.).19 The Swedish failure of 1864 was not used as a reason against donating, therefore, but to demonstrate the strength of Danish social responsibility, and that Danes were very much the big brothers amidst the rhetoric of “Scandinavian fraternity” (Glenthøj: 2019, 264).

3.

The Finnish Famine Relief Campaign, Feb. – Aug. 1868

Although Finland was a part of the Russian Empire in the 1800s, its historic, civic and religious (and, indeed, linguistic) ties to Norden meant that the Grand Duchy had been used, sporadically, in Pan-Scandinavian rhetoric after the 1840s.20 This discourse was particularly notable in Sweden during the Crimean War – and for

19 See Proverbs 25:21-22 – “If your enemy is hungry, give him food to eat: if he is thirsty, give him water to drink… In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head, and the Lord will reward you”. 20 Finnish, a non-Scandinavian language used by the majority of the inhabitants in Finland, could be added to the Grand Duchy’s political status as part of the Russian Empire as a means of distinguishing it from its Scandinavian neighbours. On the other hand, Swedish was still very much perceived by outsiders as the language of the elite in 1860s Finland, notwithstanding the language statutes of 1863. The prevalence of Swedish-language newspapers allowed relevant Finnish stories to be translated easily into Danish, which accentuated the ‘psychological proximity’ between Danes and Finns.

197

198

Andrew G. Newby

example in contemporary British propaganda that encouraged Sweden to join the war against the Tsar by holding out Finland, and therefore the fullest possible Scandinavian Union, as a prize (Newby: 2013, 160). The Finns were also connected to Scandinavia by religion. Lutheranism can be said to have developed in different ways in the Nordic countries – and maybe even that “in the battle between Lutheranism and national identity, national identity won” (Thorkildsen: 2017, 52). The impact of Lutheranism on civil society, nevertheless, was a key overarching factor in any sense of supranational ‘Scandinavian’ identity (Stenius: 1997; Jalava/Stråth: 2017). Moreover, Lutheranism “became an important part of Finnish nationalism that emerged in the nineteenth century.” (Thorkildsen: 2017, 45). For the Danes, there was a more concrete reason to think of the Finns as their ‘brothers’ in 1867. If the failure by the Swedish state to send troops had been perceived as a fatal blow for the Scandinavist dream, then the presence of a handful of Finnish volunteers in the Danish forces in 1864 seemed to offer hope of a much wider ‘Nordic’ consciousness. In February 1864, Finnish sources reported that Herman Liikanen, a renowned veteran of Garibaldi’s campaigns in Italy, was heading for Denmark, to help stem the Austro-Prussian advance in Southern Jutland (Suometar, 13 Feb. 1864). He was joined by some young compatriots – bringing the total number of Finns to around eleven – but the symbolic presence of these Finnish soldiers vastly outweighed their numerical significance (Helsingfors Dagblad, 14 Mar. 1864; Suometar, 15 Mar. 1864; Estlander: 1926, 81). This symbolism was amplified when Liikanen was injured during the iconic, disastrous battle at Dybbøl, meaning that it was possible to propagate the idea of a Finnish blood sacrifice for their Danish ‘brothers’. It was also significant that during his time in hospital in Copenhagen, Liikanen became friends with Vilhelm Thomsen, a young linguist who would later travel around Finland as part of his inquiries into the Finnish language (Boeck: 1936, 238). As Liikanen and his compatriots arrived in Denmark, a “small national party” was held in the southwestern Finnish town of Turku, arranged by the Danish ViceConsul, C.M. Malm (Åbo Underrättelser, 5 Mar. 1864). At the end of the evening, a collection for the widows and orphans of fallen veterans of the Slesvig War raised 187 Danish rdr. (Dagbladet, 14 Mar. 1864; Fædrelandet, 30 Mar. 1864).21 A couple of weeks later, a lecture on the Danish-Germany situation by H. Heinrich Brauneiser,22 a student Lutheran priest, born in Copenhagen of Slesvig descent, attracted a capacity crowd of 800 in Helsinki at the university’s main lecture theatre (Suomen Julkisia Sanomia, 17 Mar. 1864; Wiborgs Tidning, 26 Mar. 1864; Dagbladet, 30 Mar.

21 This sum was expressed as 600 Finnish Marks in the Finnish press. 22 Brauneiser became a pastor in Flensborg, but died, aged 30, in 1869. (Berlingske, 21 Aug. 1869; Dannevirke, 20 Aug. 1869).

“Brothers of the Nordic Tribe”

1864). Again, a collection was made for the widows and orphans of “Denmark’s war against the Germans”, the crowd proclaimed “Long Live Denmark!”, and suitably Danophile speeches were made well in to the night (Helsingfors Dagblad, 21 Mar. 1864; Päivätär, 21 Mar. 1864; Helsingfors Tidningar, 21 Mar. 1864). Although this atmosphere indicated some bilateral sympathies between Denmark and Finland, wider claims that this soirée demonstrated “Skandinaviske Sympatier i Finland” were made in some Danish outlets (Dagbladet, 30 Mar. 1864) This reminder of Finland’s physical and psychological proximity to Denmark, the idea that Finns had heard the call to arms where the Swedes has failed, as well as the idea that Finland should be constructed as a part of ‘Scandinavia’, would prove extremely significant when Finland itself required emergency aid a few years later. Stories of distress from Finland were reported in Denmark through the 1860s, but not always in a way that suggested close psychological proximity – for example, referring to the famine in “Russian Finland” (Fædrelandet, 10 Oct. 1867; Aarhus Stiftstidende, 15 Nov. 1867; Berlingske, 24 Dec. 1867; Bornholms Avis, 7 Jan. 1868). Trade links provided an initial stimulus for aid to Finland, as the merchant Christian Schierbeck channelled donations from Helsingør, to Carl Gustav Wolff in Vaasa. (Åbo Underrättelser, 14 Dec. 1867). The Scandinavist Uge-Blade Til Menigmand, as a part of its promotion of the Norrland campaign, also reminded readers of the crisis in “unhappy Finland, where distress is even greater than that of the Norrlanders, and which is let down by Russia”. Finland, the article continued, deserved aid from Denmark, because “during the war of 1864 they sent us money… and some Finns even came to fight in the Danish ranks, one of them ending up severely wounded”. And while not including Finland as a part of political Scandinavia at this stage, the piece concluded that “Finland also stands in a different relationship to Scandinavian Norden than any other country in the world.” (Uge-Blade Til Menigmand, 20 Dec. 1867).23 As the Finnish crisis escalated, this narrative took hold in the Danish public press. An unnamed correspondent from Turku at the turn of 1867–68 made an explicit appeal to the Copenhagen Folkets Avis, using familiar tropes of the limits of self-sufficiency, the pitiful plight of mothers and children, and emphasising the idea of reciprocity of aid after the Finnish interventions over Slesvig: … at this time collections are made in Denmark for the distressed people in Norrland; the distress there is also great, but it bears no comparison to the distress and misery prevailing here in Finland… many families living in different parts of the country have had to leave their house and their land, with a beggars’ pack on their backs… the mother must, with

23 Final sentence in the original reads: “Men Finland staar ogsaa i et andet Forhold til det Skandinaviske Norden end noget Land i Verden.”

199

200

Andrew G. Newby

broken heart, listen to her starving infant expel heart-wrenching screams… hunger drives these people to eat almost anything… collections have been arranged here in the country. but the contributions received are far from sufficient… In Sweden there is enough to contend with in helping the Norrlanders, and in Russia they do not care about us… Any such little help would come to us, and it should perhaps not be forgotten that Finland during the Slesvig Wars also provided Denmark with its assistance, both in money and in warriors… (Folkets Avis, 21 Jan. 1868).

In a final appeal to moral responsibility, the piece concluded by informing readers that one of the Finns who helped to organise the fundraising in 1864 now “felt the knock of famine on their own door” (ibid.). Interested parties in Copenhagen established a relief committee, apparently on the initiative of Freytag von Lonringhoven (the Russian Consul in Copenhagen) and, once more, Carl Ploug (Finlands Allmänna Tidning, 6 Mar. 1868).24 In this case, Ploug did not take a position on committee, but rather he used Fædrelandet to promote the fundraising campaign. The appeal was launched on 21st February 1868, referring to the “notorious” and “deadly” famine, stressing that it was a national rather than localised crisis, and accentuating the “great willingness for sacrifice” that the better-off Finns had already displayed. This appeal also crystallised the narrative of a moral imperative for Danish contributions, not only because “other countries” had already done so, but more especially because “Denmark stands under a debt of gratitude to the Finnish people who, during our last war, sent both volunteers to our armies and money to our wounded and the relatives of our fallen.” (Fædrelandet, 21 Feb. 1868; Dagbladet, 22 Feb. 1868). Most of the men on the Copenhagen Finnish relief committee had cultural or professional ties to Finland. It was led initially by Professor Herman Willhelm Bissen, a Slesvig-born sculptor who had been a protégé of Thorvaldsen, and, latterly, tutor to Finnish sculptors Walter Magnus Runeberg (the eldest son of Finland’s ‘national poet’ J.L. Runeberg) and Johannes Takanen (Wiborgs Tidning, 31 Aug. 1867; Dags-Telegrafen, 11 Mar. 1868; Hufvudstadsbladet, 31 Mar. 1868).25 Bissen was accompanied by Professor Christian Winther26 , the internationally-renowned poet and another acquaintance of J.L. Runeberg, and Dr. Peter Plum, formerly the personal physician to the Danish Princess Dagmar (Maria Feodorovna), in

24 Carl Gottlieb Freytag von Loringhoven (1811–1882). Studied at Dorpat (Tartu) graduating in 1832. He changed post (to Danzig) in May 1868. He donated 50 rdr himself to the Finnish campaign. (Fædrelandet, 29 Feb. 1868). 25 Bissen had been born in 1798 in Slesvig By, and died in Copenhagen in March 1868. 26 Winther had become acquainted with J.L. Runeberg, via Walter Runeberg, in the early 1860s, and had had his own works published in Swedish translation (Ett hjertas gåta and Ett reseäfventyr) in the Helsinki newspaper Hufvudstadsbladet during spring 1867. See Runeberg: 1946, 165.

“Brothers of the Nordic Tribe”

St. Petersburg 1866–7 (Hufvudstadsbladet, 25 Oct. 1866; Helsingfors Dagblad, 1 Nov. 1866; Dagbladet, 3 Mar. 1915).27 Also on the committee was Jens Peter Trap, long-serving secretary of the Danish royal cabinet, and renowned scientific author (Suomalainen Wirallinen Lehti, 25 Apr. 1868; Kjøbenhavns Adressecomptoirs Efterretninger, 5 Apr. 1866; Fædrelandet, 21 Feb. 1868; Suomalainen Wirallinen Lehti, 5 Sep. 1868). Two merchants with business interests in Finland, both of whom also participated regularly in philanthropic enterprises – O.B. Suhr, and P. de Coninck – completed the committee (Berlingske, 6 Oct. 1875; Nationaltidende, 31 Oct. 1898; Dannebrog, 1 Nov. 1898).28 Following the launch of the appeal, attempts were made to frame Finns as members of the Danes’ ingroup. The most explicit example of this appeared in the columns of the Aarhus Stiftstidende: “As most of our readers are undoubtedly aware, the most terrible famine prevails in Finland, which is [scything down] people in huge numbers” (Aarhus Stifts-Tidende, 24 Feb. 1868.) The writer stressed that, just as other countries had risen to the challenge of helping Finland, so now a committee had been formed in Copenhagen, providing an opportunity for Danes to follow suit. The needy, it was emphasised, were “brothers of the Nordic tribe” (ibid.). The Copenhagen funds were transferred to Finland by the former Danish ViceConsul Henrik Borgström. In April 1868, funds totalling 9,000 Finnish marks were deposited by this committee, with varying amounts distributed in Kuopio, Vaasa, Oulu, Hämeenlinna, and the northern part of Turku-Pori provinces. Finland’s plight continued to feature in the Danish press (Aarhus Stifts-Tidende, 23 Apr. 1868; Bornholms Tidende, 26 May 1868). There were occasional fundraising events, which carried a hinted at Scandinavist solidarity, such as a masquerade ball held by the Norwegian Society, and a concert by the Swedish Handicraft Song Society in Copenhagen (Dags-Telegrafen, 8 Mar., 13 Mar. 1868). In general, though, the Finnish charity campaign in Denmark was characterised by small individual donations, listed in the capital’s newspapers. Eye-witness reports gave momentum to the campaign. The Illustreret Tidende featured a series of “Sketches from Finland”, written by the young philologist Vilhelm Thomsen (Illustreret Tidende, 19 Jan. 1868 & seq.). Thomsen’s visit to Finland was a part of his linguistic studies, and the articles did not focus on the terrible conditions of the Finnish people, as much as present a standard tourist impression of Finland at the time. However, Thomsen was an energetic Fennophile and collected funds specifically for the people of Ylikannus, Ruovesi and parts of northern TurkuPori province (Helsingfors Dagblad, 13 Feb. 1886; Tampereen Sanomat, 10 Mar. 27 Dagmar had married the tsesarevich, future Tsar Alexander III, in 1866. 28 The identity of the ubiquitous consul “P. de Coninck” is surprisingly elusive, but it seems to be Charles Edouard de Conick, trading under the name of his father Pierre. He apparently took over his father’s “timber and tar” business in Finland in the 1860s.

201

202

Andrew G. Newby

1868).29 Thomsen was co-opted to the Copenhagen Relief Committee after H.W. Bissen’s death in March 1868. Danes received frequent updates about the distress in Finland, including first-hand accounts from some of the worst-hit parishes, including Ikaalinen, Mouhijärvi, Kauhava and Ruovesi (Haderslev Avis, 14 Feb., 28 Mar. 1868; Fædrelandet, 18 Apr. 1868).30 Lists of donations also continued to appear regularly in the Danish press until the committee was wound up on 15 August 1868 (Dags-Telegrafen, 16 Aug. 1868). The extent to which funds were raised for Finland in Southern Jutland demonstrates the depth of gratitude that was felt for the Finnish volunteers’ participation in the 1864 war. Even before the launch of the official national relief campaign, a dilettante theatre production in Aabenraa was staged for the Finns’ benefit (Berlingske, 17 Feb. 1868). In the weeks that followed, the town of Haderslev also became a focal point for Finnish fundraising, under the energetic leadership of newspaper editor Hans-Rudolf Hiort-Lorentzen (Elberling, 1896; Haderslev Avis, 17 Mar. 1868). Smaller subcommittees were established in surrounding villages, which emphasised the universal responsibility of local inhabitants to donate their “mites” to the suffering Finns (Fædrelandet, 7 Mar. 1868; Vestslesvigsk Tidende, 6 Jun. 1868). The Haderslev Avis newspaper also ran a serialised account of “A glimpse at the interior of Finland”, taken from Runeberg’s writing and designed to elicit sympathy at the hardship so stoically endured by the Finnish peasantry (Haderslev Avis, 16 Mar. 1868 & seq.).31 A harrowing story from Pielisjärvi at the end of April 1868, coinciding with the highest mortality of the whole Finnish famine period, was nevertheless qualified by the claim that “the help that has been sent from overseas has already been bearing happy fruits in many places.” (Vestslesvigsk Tidende, 24 Apr. 1868). A separate committee in Visby, by Tønder, was also formed at the beginning of April, and engaged actively in gathering funds from surrounding farms and villages (Haderslev Avis, 7 Apr. 1868; Vestslesvigsk Tidende, 5 Apr. 8 Apr., 22 Apr., 15 May, 6 Jun. 1868). Eventually, almost one-third of the final total sent to Finland from the Copenhagen committee (1924:8 rdr. out of 6719:61 rdr.) originated in “Northern Slesvig” (Fædrelandet, 18 Jul. 1868; Dannevirke, 18 Aug. 1868).32 As can be seen in figure 2, the overall sum raised for the Finnish famine was significantly smaller than those for Norrland, which is perhaps an indication of

29 The poetry / literary collection Axet, which was published in 1867 by the Finnish Literature Society to raise funds for the destitute Finns, includes a poem in praise of Thomsen, written by “T.L.” in Ruovesi, 30th June 1867.   30 The account from Ruovesi was from an original report by the parish priest J.W. Durchman in Helsingfors Dagblad, 2 Apr. 1868. Letter sent from Ruovesi on 23 March. 31 A translation of Runeberg’s Några ord om nejderna, folklynnet och lefnadssättet i Saarijärvi socken, published originally in Helsingfors Morgonblad, 6 Jul., 13 Jul., 16 Jul. 1832. 32 Full details of local donations in are in Haderslev Avis, 19 Feb. – 17 Apr. 1868, passim.

“Brothers of the Nordic Tribe”

relative ‘psychological proximity’ in the two cases, but possibly also compassion fatigue, or indeed that potential benefactors were being faced with too many choices regarding charitable donations. As with Norrland, however, the Danish contributions composed a large proportion of Finland’s overseas aid in 1868, and the fact that relatively small amounts coming from a large number of people, rather than large donations from a handful of rich merchants, boosted the symbolic element of this being a national effort on the part of the Danes.33 There was a sense of genuine appreciation from the recipient communities in Finland that their distress was being eased, even a little, by the Danish contributions (Dagbladet, 3 Mar., 9 Jun. 1868; Fædrelandet, 19 Mar. 1868). On 31 December 1868, a letter of thanks was sent from Finland (“with signatures from all around the country”) to the Danish people, via Consul de Coninck. It was reprinted in Danish newspapers towards the end of 1869, and expressed gratitude for the aid, as well as an assertion that Finns feel closely connected to Denmark “through the great interests of culture”, and an affinity with the Danish people because of “the steadfastness that the Danish people of all ages, like our own, have shown in testing times… may the hand of the Almighty always protect the fortunes and future of the loyal Danish people!” (Fædrelandet, 7 Oct. 1869). The sense of reciprocity that saw the Danes respond to the Finnish contribution to the 1864 war, continued into the 1870s, when Finns established an appeal to help the Danish coastal population, which had been badly affected by storm floods in November 1872. In this case, C.M. Malm, the Danish consul in Turku who had been a vital conduit in both 1864 and 1868, argued that “Finland should remember that when famine raged here, it was not forgotten by the Danish people, and so this sense of gratitude compels us to send our mites, no matter how small, to the distressed population of Denmark.” (Åbo Underrättelser, 3 Dec. 1872).

4.

Conclusion

The charity campaigns which took place in Denmark on behalf of Norrland and Finland in 1867–68, while raising much less money than concurrent ‘domestic’ causes, nonetheless provided a significant proportion of the overseas contributions in both cases.34 The campaigns comprised an early indication that the interpretation

33 Private aid donations totalled over half a million Finnish marks during the worst crisis year of 1867–68, approximately half of which came from outside Finland. (Häkkinen/Newby: 2019, 98f). 34 In the Norrland case, when all contributions were enumerated, Denmark was the largest source of external aid (approximately 13.8% of the total). In Finland, Denmark was the fourth largest source of external funds (including Russia), though this only comprised 4% of the national total. (Häkkinen/Newby: 2019, 98f; Nelson: 1988, 133).

203

204

Andrew G. Newby

of Lutheran philanthropy or poor relief – hitherto applied on a local level – was capable of operating in a much broader context. This phenomenon seemed to get impetus from the traumatic events of 1864, and indeed the laws relating to the poor were reformed “to give special help to the deserving poor in difficult times, thereby acknowledging that need could arise owing to special causes and that it was the obligation of society to care for these poor through the public relief system” (Koefoed: 2017, 260f). Lutheran responsibility, and the idea of an extended ‘Lutheran household’, only offers a partial explanation for the enthusiastic nationwide Danish fundraising, and it is possible to identify several areas in which the people or Norrland and Finland were consciously a part of the Danes’ ingroup – which here can be imagined as a part of an extended family or locality. Lutheranism itself was one of the ways in which the Finnish and Swedish people connected to Denmark, but within this were other assumed qualities (e.g., sedulity, honesty) which increased the ‘deservingness’ of the recipients. Moreover, on a broader societal level, Danes could donate with apparent confidence that the funds would be distributed according to Lutheran poor relief norms – for example that work tasks would be required in return for aid, thereby protecting the morals of the beneficiaries. The fundraising also exposed various interlinked national and supranational issues. On the one hand, the newspaper campaigns, led by Fædrelandet and its arch-Scandinavist editor Carl Ploug, stressed cultural and historical interconnectedness between Denmark, Sweden and Finland. The recent memory of 1864 was used to bind Finland and Denmark more closely, but the potentially damaging consequences of the Swedish state’s failure to send military aid was downplayed. The deeper historical and cultural connections were used to suggest that the current crisis in Scandinavism was merely a short-term aberration. On the other hand, there was a great deal of self-conscious Danish nationalism bound up in these fundraising efforts. Some of the rhetoric promoted the idea that, within a Pan-Scandinavian framework, Denmark was primus inter pares, and that their intervention on behalf of their ‘distressed brethren’ demonstrated a degree of moral superiority. The fundraising also gave Danes in the recently ceded territories in Southern Jutland the opportunity to demonstrate their essential Danishness by participating in a cause which linked them culturally and even politically to Denmark and, by extension, Scandinavia. Whilst acknowledging national specificities, it must also be stressed that the events in Denmark reflected wider European trends. As the British Lady’s Newspaper had put it in 1856, “it is the fashion to think beyond ourselves; or it is, rather, perhaps, an evidence of our civilization” (Lady’s Newspaper, 15 Nov. 1856). Norway’s Aftenbladet, in the Spring of 1868, also described “today’s concept of humanitarianism and reciprocity between nations.” (Le Nord, 11 Mar. 1868; Finlands Allmänna Tidning, 23 Mar. 1868). The modes of fundraising seen in Denmark

“Brothers of the Nordic Tribe”

– balls, bazaars, subscriptions – were commonplace throughout Europe.35 Various elements of the fundraising rhetoric (including the idea that every donation – no matter how small – was valuable, the construction of victims as ‘deserving’ and capable of self-help, the use of eye-witness reportage highlighting the plight of innocent mothers and children, and their framing as part of the potential benefactor’s ingroup) still resonate in the twenty-first century (Zagefka/James: 2015, 158–65, 168–77).

Bibliography Newspaper sources Aalborg Stiftstidende Aarhus Stifts-Tidende Aftonbladet Berlingske Politiske og Avertissements-Tidende Bornholms Avis Bornholms Tidende Dagbladet Dagens Nyheter Dags-Telegrafen Dannevirke Fædrelandet Finlands Allmänna Tidning Flyveposten Folkets Avis Fyens Stiftstidende Göteborgs Handels- Och Sjöfartstidning Haderslev Avis Helsingfors Dagblad Helsingfors Morgonblad Helsingfors Tidningar Hufvudstadsbladet Hvad Nytt? Illustreret Tidende Jönköpings Tidning

35 See also Nadir Özbek’s interesting analysis of the interplay between patriotism and philanthropy in the Ottoman Empire during the late nineteenth century (Özbek: 2005).

205

206

Andrew G. Newby

Kjøbenhavns Adressecomptoirs Efterretninger Kjøge Avis Kolding Folkeblad Lady’s Newspaper Le Nord Lolland-Falsters Stiftstidende Lunds Weckoblad Morgonblad Nationaltidende Norrbottens Kuriren Norrländska Korrespondenten People’s Press Post- och Inrikes Tidningar Päivätär Roskilde Avis Standard Stockholms Dagblad Suomalainen Wirallinen Lehti Suomen Julkisia Sanomia Suometar Tampereen Sanomat Thisted Amtsavis Uge-Blad til Menigmand Vestslesvigsk Tidende Viborg Stiftstidende og Adrese-Avis Wiborgs Tidning Åbo Underrättelser

Books and Articles – (1867), Axet: Diktsamling med Bidrag av Runeberg, Cygnaeus, Stenbäck, Topelius m. fl.: Utg. till Förmon för de Nödlidande i Finland, Helsingfors: Finska Litteratursällskapet. – (1867) Concert af Studenter-Sangforeningerne fra Lund og Kjøbenhavn, Novbr. 1867: for de Nødlidende i Norrland, Kjøbenhavn: n.p. Akenson, Donald Harman (2011), Ireland, Sweden and the Great European Migration 1815–1914, Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Barfod, Frederik (1867), En Skærv i Sang til Basaren for Norrlændingerne, København: Drewsen/Sønner/Wibe.

“Brothers of the Nordic Tribe”

Boeck Hector (1936), Tilføjelser til ‘Norske, Svenske og Finske Frivillige Officerer og Læger i den Danske Hær og Flaade i Krigene 1848–50 og 1864’, Personalhistorisk Tidskrift, 237–38. Kristín Bragadóttir (2017), Cultural Aspects of the Pan-Scandinavian Movement: The Persepctive of Historians, in Pertti Haapala/Marja Jalava/Simon Larsson (ed.), Making Nordic Historiography: Connections, Tensions and Methodology, 1850–1970, New York/ Oxford: Berghahn Books, 78–100. [CAF] Charities Aid Foundation, International Comparisons of Charitable Giving, West Malling: CAF Briefing Paper. Carlsson, Carl-Henrik (2013), Immigrants or Transmigrants: Eastern European Jews in Sweden, 1860–1914, in Tobias Brinkmann (ed.), Points of Passage: Jewish Migrants from Eastern Europe in Scandinavia, Germany and Britain, 1880–1914, New York/Oxford: Berghahn Books, 47–62. Collett, John Peter (2011), The Christiania University’s 50 Years Celebration in 1861. National Pride and Scandinavian Solidarity, in Pieter Dhondt (ed.), National, Nordic or European? Nineteenth-Century University Jubilees and Nordic Cooperation, Leiden: Brill, 71–98. Elberling, Emil (1896), Hiort-Lorenzen, Hans Rudolf, in Carl Frederik Bricka (ed.) Dansk Biografisk Lexicon, X. Bind Laale-Løvenørn, Kjøbenhavn: Gyldendalske Bokhandels Forlag, 389–90. Estlander, Bernhard (1926), Finländska Frivillige i Danska Kriget 1864, Historiska och Litteraturhistoriska Studier 2, 79–124. Eriksson, Sven (1954), Frihetsvännen, Skandinavismen och Representationsreformen, Svensk Tidskrift 41, 411–19. Friis, Aage (1934–36), Skandinavismens Kulmination. Ministeriet Halls Planer om en Nordisk Union forud for Udstedelsen af Martskundgørelsen 1863, Historisk Tidskrift (DK) 10:3, 583–642. Glenthøj, Rasmus (2019), Pan-Scandinavism and the Threshold Principle, in Michael BroersAmbrogio A. Caiani (ed.), A History of the European Restorations: Governments, States and Monarchy, London, Bloomsbury: 245–55. Hahn, Bertha (1913), Minder fra Sønderborg og Als: 1850–1870, København: Det Schønbergske Forlag. Harris, Richard l. (1975), William Morris, Eiríkur Magnússon and Iceland: A Survey of Correspondence, Victorian Poetry 13:3/4, 119–130. Harvard, Jonas (2013), ‘Connecting the Nordic Region’: The Electric Telegraph and the European News Market, in Jonas Harvard/Peter Stadius (ed.), Communicating the North: Media Structures and Images in the Making of the Nordic Region, Farnham: Ashgate, 47–73. Harvard, Jonas/Magdalena Hillström (2013), Media Scandinavianism: Media Events and the Historical Legacy of Pan-Scandinavianism, in Jonas Harvard/Peter Stadius (ed.),

207

208

Andrew G. Newby

Communicating the North: Media Structures and Images in the Making of the Nordic Region, Farnham: Ashgate, 75–98. Hemstad, Ruth (2018), Scandinavianism: Mapping the Rise of a New Concept, Contributions to the History of Concepts 13:1, 1–21. Hemstad, Ruth/Jes Fabricius Møller/Dag Thorkildsen (2018), Skandinavismen som Visjon og Påvirkningskraft, in Ruth Hemstad/Jes Fabricius Møller/Dag Thorkildsen (ed.), Skandinavismen: Vision og Virkning, Odense: Syddansk Universitetsforlag, 9–20. Hilson, Mary (2006), Denmark, Norway and Sweden: Pan-Scandinavianism and Nationalism, in Tim Baycroft/Mark Hewitson (ed.), What Is A Nation? Europe 1789–1914, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 192–209. Holm, Bo Kristian/Nina Javette Koefoed (2018), Studying the Impact of Lutheranism on Societal Development: An Introduction, in Bo Kristian Holm/Nina Javette Koefoed (ed.), Lutheran Theology and the Shaping of Society: The Danish Monarchy as Example, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 9–24. Horning, Audrey (2013), Insinuations: Framing a New Understanding of Colonialism, in Magdalena Maum/Jonas M. Nordin (ed.), Scandinavian Colonialism and the Rise of Modernity: Small Time Agents in a Global Arena, New York: Springer, 297–305. Häger, Olle/Carl Torell/Hans Villius (1978), Ett Satans År: Norrland 1867, Stockholm: Sveriges Radio. Häkkinen, Antti/Henrik Forsberg (2015), Finland’s Famine Years of the 1860s: a Nineteenth-Century Perspective, in Declan Curran/Lubomyr Luciuk/Andrew G. Newby (ed.), Famines in European Economic History: The Last Great European Famines Reconsidered, Abingdon: Routledge, 99–123. Häkkinen, Antti/Andrew G. Newby (2019), Nälkäkriisi-Suomi: Kansainvälinen Apu ja Kotimaiset Panostukset, in Juhani Koponen/Sakari Saaritsa (ed.), Nälkämaasta Hyvinvointivaltioksi: Suomi Kehityksen Kiinniottajana, Helsinki: Gaudeamus, 93–110. Jalava, Maria/Bo Stråth (2017), Scandinavia/Norden, in Diana Mishkova/Balázs Trencsényi (ed.), European Regions and Boundaries: A Conceptual History, New York/Oxford: Berghahn Books, 36–56. Jorgenson, Theodore (1935), Norway’s Relation to Scandinavian Unionism, 1815–1871, Northfield: St. Olaf College Press. Koefoed, Nina Javette (2017), Social Responsibilities in the Protestant North: Sweden and Denmark, in Leen van Molle (ed.), Charity and Social Welfare: The Dynamics of Religious Reform in Northern Europe Vol. IV, Leuven: Leuven University Press, 251–280. Koefoed, Nina Javette (2018), The Lutheran Household as Part of Danish Confessional Culture, in Bo Kristian Holm/Nina Javette Koefoed (ed.), Lutheran Theology and the Shaping of Society: The Danish Monarchy as Example, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 321–340. Kurunmäki, Jussi (2000), Representation, Nation and Time: The Political Rhetoric of the 1866 Parliamentary Reform in Sweden, Jyväskylä: University of Jyväskylä.

“Brothers of the Nordic Tribe”

Loftsdóttir, Kristin/Gísli Pálsson (2013), Black on White: Danish Colonialism, Iceland and the Caribbean, in Magdalena Maum/Jonas M. Nordin (ed.), Scandinavian Colonialism and the Rise of Modernity: Small Time Agents in a Global Arena, New York: Springer, 37–52. Ludvigsson, David (2017), Televising the Famine: An Audiovisual Representation of the Famine in Northern Sweden, 1867–68, in Andrew G. Newby (ed.), The Enormous Failure of Nature: Famine and Society in the Nineteenth Century, Helsinki: CollEgium, 103–118. Markkola, Pirjo/Ingela K. Naumann (2014), Lutheranism and the Nordic Welfare States in Comparison, Journal of Church and State, 56:1, 1–12. Mylius, Johan De (1995), Tieck til Norrland: En Bibliofil Fodnote, Anderseniana 1995, 67–71. Myllyntaus, Timo (2009), Summer Frost: A Natural Hazard with Fatal Consequences in Preindustrial Finland, in Christoph Maunch/Christian Pfister (ed.), Natural Disasters, Cultural Responses: Case Studies toward a Global Environmental History, Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 77–102. Møller, Paul (1960), H.R. Carlsen: en Grundtvigsk Aristokrat i Dansk Politik fra Stændertid til Provisoriår, København: Nyt Nordisk Forlag. Nelson, Marie C. (1988), Bitter Bread: The Famine in Norrbotten 1867–1868. Uppsala: Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis. Newby, Andrew G. (2013), One Valhalla of the Free!: Scandinavia, Britain and Northern Identity in the Mid-Nineteenth Century, in Jonas Harvard/Peter Stadius (ed.), Communicating the North: Media Structures and Images in the Making of the Nordic Region, Farnham: Ashgate, 147–69. Newby, Andrew G. (2014), Rather peculiar claims on our sympathies: Britain and Famine in Finland, 1856–68, in Marguérite Corporaal/Christopher Cusack/Lindsay Janssen/Ruud van der Beuken (ed.), Global Legacies of the Great Irish Famine, Bern/Oxford: Peter Lang, 61–80. Newby, Andrew G. (2015), The Society of Friends and Famine Relief in Ireland and Finland, c. 1845–1857, in Patrick Fitzgerald/Christine Kinealy/Gerard Moran (ed.), Irish Hunger and Migration – Myth, Memory and Memorialization, Quinnipiac: Quinnipiac University Press, 107–20. Ó Gráda, Cormac (2009), Famine: A Short History, Princeton/Oxford: Princeton University Press. Özbek, Nadir (2005), Philanthropic Activity, Ottoman Patriotism, and the Hamidian Regime, 1876–1909, International Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 37:1, 59–81. Pitkänen, Kari (1992), The Patterns of Mortality During the Great Finnish Famine in the 1860s, in G. Buttler/G. Heilig/G. Schmitt-Rink ed.), Acta Demographica 1992, Heidelberg: Physica Verlag, 81–102. Possing, Birgitte (2003). Bertha Hahn (1848–1916), Dansk Kvindebiografisk Leksikon (online). https://www.kvinfo.dk/side/597/bio/43/origin/170/ (accessed 3 Jun. 2020).

209

210

Andrew G. Newby

Roddy, Sarah/Julie-Marie Strange/Bertrand Taithe (2019), The Charity Market and Humanitarianism in Britain, 1870–1912, London: Bloomsbury Publishing. Runeberg, Fredrika/Karin Allardt-Ekelund (1946), Min pennas saga (ed. Karin Allardt-Ekelund), Helsingfors: Svenska Litteratursällskapet i Finland. Sinnemäki, Kaius/Robert H. Nelson, Anneli Portman/Jouni Tilli (2019), The Legacy of Lutheranism in a Secular Nordic Society: An Introduction, in Kaius Sinnemäki/Robert H. Nelson/Anneli Portman/Jouni Tilli (ed.), On The Legacy of Lutheranism in Finland: Societal Perspectives, Helsinki: Suomalainen Kirjallisuuden Seura, 9–36. Stenius, Henrik (1997), The Good Life is a Life of Conformity: The Impact of the Lutheran Tradition on Nordic Political Culture, in Øystein Sørensen/Bo Stråth (ed.), The Cultural Construction of Norden, Oslo: Scandinavian University Press, 161–71. Thorkildsen, Dag (2014), West Nordic and East Nordic Religiousness and Secularity: Historical Unity and Diversity, in Rosemarie van den Bremer/José Casanova/Trygve Wyller (ed.), Secular and Sacred? The Scandinavian Case of Religion in Human Rights, Law and Public Space, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 85–101. Thorkildsen, Dag (2017), Lutherdom og Nasjonal Identitet i Norden, Teologisk Tidskrift 6:01, 42–54. Voutilainen, Miikka (2016), Poverty, Inequality and the Finnish 1860s Famine, Jyväskylä: Jyväskylä University Press. Västerbro, Magnus (2018), Svälten: Hungeråren som Formade Sverige, Stockholm: Albert Bonniers Förlag. Waal, Alex De (2005), Famine that Kills: Darfur, Sudan (Revised Edition), Oxford: Oxford University Press. Weber, Kirsten (1972), H.C. Andersens Dagbøger, Bind 7 (1866–1867), København: G.E.C. Gads Forlag. Zagefka, Hanna/Trevor James (2015), The Psychology of Charitable Donations to Disaster Victims and Beyond, Social Issues and Policy Review 9:1, 155–92.

Anders Sevelsted

Lutheran doxa and Reformed action Interconfessional influences on voluntary social work in late nineteenth-century Copenhagen

1.

Confessions and voluntary social work

The concept of confessionalisation was introduced as a way of understanding the founding of territorial churches in the first confessional age of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Europe as connected to processes of modernisation, and to state-building in particular (Reinhard: 1983; Schilling: 1988). The term was originally intended to do away with a too-rigid understanding of a divide between the allegedly progressive Lutheran and Calvinist reformations on the one hand and the ostensibly conservative counter-reformation of the Catholic Church on the other. Instead, it was argued, all three confessions were functional equivalents in that all had a modernising thrust, particularly in their provision of identity to the people of a territory and, not least, techniques for disciplining the social body in those territories. All three developments were to be understood, in other words, as similar types of problem-solving applied to similar problems of economic, political, and cultural processes of modernisation (Schilling: 2008, 26f). While the proponents of the confessionalisation thesis emphasised similarity, recent research within the emerging paradigm of confessional cultures has emphasised difference. Lutheran, Reformed, and Catholic confession-building, rather than simply being understood as similar disciplinary solutions to similar problems related to modernising forces, each developed unique cultures, each with their defining consequences for the way social discipline was upheld (Holm/Koefoed: 2018; Kaufmann: 2016). This perspective thus emphasises confessions as processes facilitated by cultural performance, rather than static or monolithic cultural entities. Importantly for this study, this approach also emphasises the porosity of confessional boundaries: how confessionalisation can take place on different levels through various different types of conflict between territorial entities over authority – as minorities and multiconfessional territories had existed in the Early Modern age. Brilkman, drawing on Stollberg-Rilinger, speaks of confessional ambivalence and situated confessionality (2016a). Even as the cultural perspective paves the way for a more multifaceted approach to the issue of confessionalisation, certain doctrines and practices will still be recognised as specifically Lutheran, Catholic, or Reformed, both from an emic and

212

Anders Sevelsted

an etic perspective. Even though confessions are not monoliths, they are not wholly contingent processes either: The performative act that pastors could marry was and is recognised in the Swedish context as a sign of adherence to Lutheranism, even if this had not been spelt out (Brilkman: 2016b). The question is whether the confessional culture approach risks throwing out the baby – the social history themes of the confessionalisation approach – with the bathwater. One should not lose sight of the role that confessional culture played in reacting to and shaping certain modernising forces. It should not be forgotten that the Lutheran model of the household was as much a cultural artefact as a culturally specific answer to specific disciplinary problems that arose in the course of state-building processes. In this article, I follow in the footsteps of the cultural history approach, while being mindful of the original intention of the social history approach of the confessionalisation theorists. I aim to show that in late nineteenth-century Denmark, voluntary social work emerged among Lutheran revivalists as the result of reinterpretations of the Lutheran tradition and influences from the Reformed revivalist tradition. The study underscores the argument in the cultural history tradition that confessions are not monolithic entities, while it also points to revivalist movements as particularly inventive in terms of interconfessional inspiration. The confessional origins of voluntary social work in nineteenth-century Denmark are a case of history from below, focusing on revivalist voluntary initiatives rather than the role of the state church in social support. Further, this was not a case of confessionalisation, but of processes of interconfessional learning and adaptation, since Reformed theology, community ideals, and forms of discipline were adapted by Lutheran revivalists in their voluntary social engagement. In this respect, this is therefore a case neither of difference nor of similarity; and the case study, rather than showing how similar solutions were applied to similar problems, or how different solutions were applied to similar problems, shows how similar problems were addressed by adapting the same solutions to differing contexts. In other words, the problem of the social question (similar in its occurrence in Denmark to that in England and the United States) was addressed by adapting theology and techniques (the same in Denmark as in England and the US) to a different context – Lutheran Denmark, as opposed to a Reformed England and United States.1

1 The Anglican Church is typically considered a “mix” of Reformed and Catholic traits, but the Danish revivalist drew inspiration from the Reformed type revivals in the UK.

Lutheran doxa and Reformed action

2.

Case, method, sources, and theory

The article studies the emergence of religious voluntary social work in Copenhagen revivalist circles in Denmark at the end of the nineteenth century. The revivalist milieu in Copenhagen was one of the most active centres in Denmark for voluntary social work in this period (Olesen: 1964; 1996). Organisationally, this work was centred around the Copenhagen Indre Mission (“inner mission” or “home mission”) association. The term religious voluntary social work covers a plethora of activities targeted at various groups in society. They included the so-called midnight missions targeting prostitutes’ clients, the so-called Magdalen homes providing care for the prostitutes themselves, Sunday schools, Denmark’s first day care centre, and children’s homes. There were initiatives for female factory workers and maids, and for sailors, soldiers, and wandering journeymen. There were programmes for visiting the hospitalised, homes for released female prisoners and for epileptics, shelters, and labour exchanges for the homeless, parish charities, Bible classes for the young, and young men’s associations (Sevelsted: 2018). I use the term voluntary social work in order to distinguish this type of initiative from those of philanthropy, charity, or benevolence. The latter three terms refer to donations in the form of money or time, while voluntary social work is used in this article to refer both to spending time and to the emerging specialisation of care that would increasingly become the responsibility of the state in the twentieth century (Olesen: 1964; Sevelsted: 2020). The term is of course anachronistic in the sense that the actors at the time did not use it, but terms such as ‘missionary work’, ‘parish care’, or ‘deaconry’. Others within this tradition would later adopt the term philanthropy (Jørgensen: 1921; 1939), but that term was at the time widely understood to refer to secular “humanistic” benevolence (Nielsen: 1878). I therefore prefer the term voluntary social work as an overarching concept for these types of activities, even if this term was not used at the time. Voluntary social work did indeed eventually become part of the twentieth century “welfare mix” (Henriksen/Bundesen: 2004; Petersen/Petersen/Kolstrup: 2014; Sevelsted: 2019), but that is a development that lies beyond the scope of this article. The Copenhagen revivalist circles were of course not the first to develop nonstate care and social relief in Denmark. Arguably, social relief was organised from the Reformation up to the nineteenth century through quasi-independent milde stiftelser (“mild foundations”) or privately endowed foundations. Pietism was influential in leading many aristocratic donors to endow hospitals and schools for the poor. Housing in the eighteenth century was organised voluntarily, and the charities of the mid-nineteenth century in Copenhagen were organised on what might be called a secular (even if of course still in some sense Christian) basis as part of the responsibility of being a citizen (Lützen: 1998; Nørgård: 2015). Similarly,

213

214

Anders Sevelsted

the nineteenth century saw an increase in grants and foundations that were not revivalist, just as the kirke-kister (church chests) were removed from the public poor relief in 1856 and thereafter based solely on voluntary contributions (Koefoed: 2017, 261). As described, however, the circles around the Copenhagen Indre Mission were, in their time, especially prolific in developing voluntary social work, and these activities are interesting not as a case of the origin of voluntary social work (it was not), but as a case of learning and adaptation from one confession to another. These activities emerged during what Blaschke (2000) has called the second confessional age of the long nineteenth century, an age in which confessional divides deepened once again. This second age was of course markedly different from the first, the periodisation of which is a matter of scholarly contention, but which began with the movement around Luther in the early sixteenth century and lasted until the confessions had settled, traditionally thought to happen with the end of the Thirty Years War in 1648, but now widely recognised as continuing in many places throughout the eighteenth century (Boettcher: 2004). The year 1849 saw the first quasi-democratic Danish constitution, which introduced freedom of religion, even if the national church was privileged. Similarly, more competencies were given to local congregations to choose their own parish (1855) and elect their own pastors (1868); ultimately, local democratic rule would be institutionalised (1903). The liberalisation meant that the revivals of the nineteenth century were predominantly organised within the framework of the national church. Even if there existed no Kulturkampf comparable to that in Prussia, there was a national romantic revival of national Lutheranism (Grundtvig), as well as a broader Lutheran revival beginning in the late eighteenth century and gaining momentum from the 1840s. These revivals continued into the early twentieth century. The emergence of religious voluntary social work is especially interesting in the context of confessionalisation and welfare because it is a case of interconfessional learning and adaptation. The Danish revivals developed a type of Pietist interpretation of Lutheranism based on a radical understanding of the doctrine of sola fide – salvation through faith alone. This interpretation radically decoupled faith from good works, and there was thus no strong vocabulary for doing social work within this tradition. Still, it was this radical sola fide tradition that fostered a strong engagement in voluntary social work. How was this seeming paradox resolved? As I will show, the answer is to be found in interconfessional learning, as Lutheran revivalists adapted Reformed revivalist theology and techniques in order to legitimise social engagement, expand ideals of community, and develop disciplining techniques for social work. Why the Reformed revivalist tradition developed this type of work earlier than their Lutheran counterparts is not central to the argument here. I will briefly mention a few possible explanations. While the Reformed tradition also rejected good works as a way to salvation, the Reformed revivalists’ early experience with the

Lutheran doxa and Reformed action

problem of suffering related to the emergence of industrial capitalism, the dissolution of guilds and other traditional forms of care and relief, and urbanisation led them to develop theology and practices to underpin good works within a sola fide tradition – theologies and practices that Lutheran revivalists could learn from and adapt. The Reformed tradition has also always been more anti-statist, whether this is by design or accident (Gorski: 2003; Reinhard: 1983). In the study, I show how various different theologies and disciplining techniques in relation to voluntary social work were adapted by revivalists across confessional divides. In order to grasp this process of adaptation, I understand theologies and techniques as cultural schemas that can be appropriated across confessional divides. The analysis compares the three consecutive waves of revivalism that eventually gave rise to the social work of the Copenhagen Indre Mission. First, an urban wave of revivalist Pietism developed the radical separation of good works from faith, while at the same time cultivating a strong awareness of sin. That awareness became the foundation for the second wave of urban social Pietism, associated with the Copenhagen Indre Mission, but only came to full fruition in the third wave, as urban revivalists introduced Reformed cultural schemas that emphasised the public confession of sin. In order to move beyond the similar/different distinction, I find it useful to think in terms of confessional cultural schemas. Cultural schemas provide actors with “meanings, motivations, and recipes for social action” (Sewell: 1996, 842). They “code” experiences into conventions, principles of action, and habits of speech and gesture that can travel or be “transposed” across contexts (Sewell: 1992). Some schemas, however, travel more easily than others (“extensive” schemas), while others knit motives, meaning, and action closely together (“intensive” schemas) and consequently are usually not easily extended to other contexts. Contrast the convention of the handshake with the rules of the blood feud (Young: 2002; 2006). Focusing on the level of confessional cultural schemas allows the researcher to analyse the links between the various elements of the confessions’ internal organisation and to see how confessional schemas are transposed (or not): how forms of discipline may be adapted and given a different theological underpinning, or how similar visions of the Christian community are enforced by different types of disciplinary technique. Kaufmann comes close to such an approach when he shows how the seventeenth-century Wittenberg theologians justified Jesuit missionary work outside Europe (2016, 136–141). A clearer example of intensive schemas extending across confessional contexts are the models for how one should experience religious ‘awakening’ or rebirth. Here, a process of inspiration and transmutation can be identified during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, from the Bußkampf or penitential struggle of the Pietist Francke to the instant conversion of the Moravian Zinzendorf and the Methodist John Wesley.

215

216

Anders Sevelsted

Processes of “osmosis and diffusion” (Schilling: 2008, 9) are of course not lost on the scholars of confessionalisation and confessional culture, but thinking in terms of cultural schemas allows the researcher to focus on moments of creative reinterpretation and adaptation of existing theological doctrines, community ideals, and disciplinary techniques across confessional divides. In the analysis of the emergence of religious voluntary social work in late nineteenth-century Copenhagen, I will show how the Lutheran–Pietist cultural schema of sin allowed for a way of engaging with the social question, and how innovations in various aspects of the religious schemas allowed missionary work to develop into social work. I will show how several reinterpretations were required in order for the radical revivalist interpretation of the doctrine of sola fide to become reconciled with that of good works, and by the same token to allow community ideals and disciplinary techniques from the Reformed tradition to be extended into Lutheran territory. The emergence of revivalist voluntary social work was part of the larger political and ideological battle fought in Denmark and Europe in the late nineteenth century, in which the ‘socialist scare’ as well as the liberalisation of state regulation of public behaviour were important impetuses for Christian mobilisation. Danish revivalists were mostly political conservatives who additionally considered themselves to be battling ‘the Devil’s socialism’. They needed theological justification for their engagement in this battle through social work. My analysis focuses on three waves of confessional reinterpretation in Danish nineteenth-century revivals leading to the emergence of voluntary social work. For purposes of comparison, I will identify three types of confessional cultural schemas in each wave: theological doctrines, ideals of community, and disciplinary techniques. Theological doctrines may be extensive and/or intensive. Once a doctrine has been enshrined in the form of a confession, backed by a state apparatus, and defined in opposition to other confessions, its capacity to extend within the territory is immediately increased, just as it is diminished outside the territory. However, foundational texts are contextually selective, that is, constructed and interpreted in specific contexts with specific audiences in mind (Zaret: 1992; 1995). While a territorial ruler may invoke doctrines in a state-building project, actors at other levels may invoke the same doctrine for other purposes, or other doctrines for the same purpose. In a Protestant context, one may refer to the doctrine of justification or sanctification to invoke particular ideas of community and reciprocity (McGrath: 2005; Toon: 2018). On the other hand, certain doctrines may be so intensive and so ingrained in the social body that they are less readily reinterpreted and transformed, as in the case of the Lutheran sola fide doctrine. Confessional cultural schemas include ideals of community. Community ideals specify responsibilities and rules for entering and exiting the community that is to

Lutheran doxa and Reformed action

be established. Formal or informal rules regulate the acceptance of new members into the community, while other rules cannot be violated without risking expulsion. Once inside the community, one is expected to adhere to both formal and informal obligations towards group members and outsiders. For instance, is alleviating the suffering of non-believers a Christian duty, or is conversion the one necessity of true faith? The Christian community is in principle extensive. As an axial age religion, Christianity is also a transcendental religion, implying the idea of a universal brotherhood of man (Joas: 2014). Any commitment to such an idea of universalism, however, must be specified in the context of concrete action. Here, various doctrines and techniques can be utilised to change the relation between insiders and outsiders or relations within the community. Social discipline is a core concept of the confessionalisation literature. Understanding the disciplinary techniques for remedying social problems beyond the immediate group is key in interpreting the confessional inspirations for voluntary social work. Just as state crafting requires both internal and external discipline (Gorski: 1993), so does the crafting of voluntary social work. Haskell has shown how the nineteenth-century antislavery movement relied on the spread of technological “recipe knowledge” (1985, 357), leading both to increased internal moral scrupulousness and to external widening of the span of the individual’s obligations through the ability conferred by technological innovation to affect distant strangers. Recipe knowledge implies a sense of causal connection to a specific problem. Haskell points out that it is not enough simply to adhere to a particular moral principle or convention; one needs to be able to act on one’s principles for them to have any effect. Once there is a recipe for dealing with some sort of problem, that problem moves from the category of indifference or moral neutrality to that of responsibility. Social discipline can be thought of in terms of such ‘recipes’ for how to achieve certain effects in the social body. My analysis will show how recipes or techniques for social work – the ‘home’, the self-help group, the pledge of sobriety – developed and extended across confessional divides and informed the ‘how to’ of revivalist social work. The analysis draws on the literature on the Danish revivals and revivalist social work, as well as on programmatic texts – lectures and sermons – from leaders in the revivalist groups.

3.

Lutheran confession and Reformed practice in voluntary social work

Does the content of a confessional culture matter, or were the differences between confessional cultures simply forms with similar functions on the road to statebuilding and secularisation? In the case of the voluntary social work of the Copenhagen Indre Mission at the end of the nineteenth century, content clearly mattered.

217

218

Anders Sevelsted

The Danish Reformation of 1536 meant a change in the ‘salvation economy’ whereby the link between poor relief and salvation was cut. The ban on indulgences and the Lutheran state church’s appropriation of church property, including the social functions of convents, had the consequence of shifting the responsibility for poor relief from church to state, even if the national church remained deeply involved in the administration of poor relief, and subjects (the nobility in particular) were still expected to contribute voluntarily to poor relief (Dahlerup: 1981). Theologically, the doctrine of sola fide or justification by faith alone entailed that an individual could attain a state of grace only through inner conviction. Whether the state of grace had been attained could not be interpreted from outer signs such as good fortune in business dealings (the Weberian view of the Reformed tradition), nor could it be secured through good deeds (the Lutheran view of Catholicism). Although Luther had emphasised in his teachings that salvation was solely a matter of faith, good deeds played a part in as much as faith must “bear fruit” (Gorski: 1993, 292), even if Catholic poor relief was condemned or met with suspicion as a kind of justification by deeds.2 Mainly concerned as he was with theological questions, once Luther eventually concerned himself with more worldly matters (Grimm: 1970), he condemned begging as an abuse of brotherly love. This led not only to a strict divide between the ‘deserving’ and the ‘undeserving’ poor, but also to legitimating the institutionalisation of state-provided outdoor poor relief (Kahl: 2005). In Calvinism, the central role of the doctrine of predestination had contributed to an even less tolerant view of the poor.3 God’s unconditional election of every human being prior to birth to be either damned or saved meant that poverty among the able-bodied in areas influenced by Calvinism was interpreted as strictly self-inflicted. The able-bodied poor were considered sinners in need of correction through the institution of the workhouse (in England) or the poorhouse (in the United States), a technique used extensively in the Anglo-Saxon world (Kahl: 2005; Katz: 1996). In seventeenth-century England, the general opinion was that beggars should be whipped rather than housed (Tawney: 1972, 261f). At the same time, it was within the revivalist denominations of the Reformed tradition that ideas of holiness and moral perfectionism were developed during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries: ideas and practices that soon led to the development of new forms of social engagement (Fleisch: 1903; Ohlemacher: 1986; Olesen: 1996; Smith: 1976). It was these ideas that would in turn inform the Copenhagen Indre Mission

2 The matter of “works” was only settled officially between the Catholic Church and the Lutheran World Federation in 1999 with the Joint Declaration on the Doctrine of Justification – a declaration that the Danish national church did not join. 3 Weber describes (briefly) how Calvinism put an end to the Christian’s friendly attitude towards beggars, unemployment was viewed as self-inflicted, and the “caritas” for those unable to work was rationalised and put on display in honour of God (1921, 355).

Lutheran doxa and Reformed action

in Denmark, the organisation that came to be the hub of the voluntary social work undertaken in the capital towards the end of the century. I now turn to analysis of the innovations in confessional cultural schemas that enabled, hindered, and enabled once again the integration of voluntary social action into the Lutheran framework of sola fide. 3.1

Revivalist Pietism: Faith alone

The idea that justification could be achieved through faith alone became radicalised in the beliefs and practices of the Lutheran revivals of the early nineteenth century. The revivals in Denmark originated in protest against the rationalist teachings of the state-appointed pastors. Against teachings that emphasised man and his capabilities, the revivalists emphasised that salvation was achievable only through inner faith. Wholly depraved as he was, man was incapable of changing this state through action. A state of grace could be attained only through inner conviction, not secured through deeds. Since this world was seen as sinful and primarily as preparation for the next, alleviating suffering in this world came to mean less than saving souls for eternity. The revivalists largely viewed themselves as adhering to the old Lutheranism, which meant the Pietist, individualised Lutheranism with which they had grown up. The Danish historian Sidsel Eriksen has shown how this radicalisation of the Lutheran doctrine was in part reinforced by the pastorphilosopher N. F. S. Grundtvig, who in 1825 embraced the revivals as the true church on the ground that here faith was experienced, rather than acquired rationally through Bible studies. Grundtvig’s experiential view led in turn to a distaste for all kinds of work for the improvement of self or others that did not proceed directly from religious awakening (Eriksen: 1988). Established in 1861, the rural Indre Mission grew from the early nineteenthcentury revivals. The Indre Mission had its basis in local societies in rural Denmark, but was centrally controlled by pastors belonging to the national church. Even so, local chapters had a high degree of independence. The Indre Mission established itself as the most conservative of the major branches of the national church. It emphasised a literal reading of the Bible, the impossibility of conversion after death, and abstinence from activities that in the Danish Lutheran tradition were considered adiaphora (middle things, neither praised nor condemned) such as dancing, drinking, and card games (Lindhardt: 1978, 112–115). Biblical literalism was not viewed as antithetical to experientialism. Even though the Indre Mission emerged through a break with the Grundtvigians, they continued the radical experientialism that Grundtvig had spearheaded. Faith was to be felt rather than acquired intellectually; changes in moral behaviour should follow from conversion rather than vice versa.

219

220

Anders Sevelsted

The Indre Mission stressed the Lutheran doctrine of sola fide, often referred to as the one necessity. The Indre Mission thus did not have strong concepts for the role of charity in their theology. When the leaders of the organisation did deal with charity, they emphasised its possible benign effects on faith (Larsen: 2000, 236). Benevolence was a middle thing, neither to be encouraged nor discouraged, something for local communities to take up if they pleased. Similarly, the Indre Mission opposed the temperance movement that emerged in Denmark at the end of the century: in order to combat their vices, people should seek Christ and join the Indre Mission rather than joining a specialised organisation (Eriksen: 1988). The Indre Mission did not develop a strong language for social work. This can at least partly be explained by their adherence to the radicalised sola fide doctrine that made them sceptical of any form of organised charity. The Indre Mission did developed a language for sin and morality, and this influenced the organisation’s ideal of community. The inability of individuals to secure their own salvation meant a search for signs of salvation. Here, the Pietist moral teachings were a means for distinguishing the “children of God” from the “children of the world” (Beck: 1872, 122). Activities such as drinking, playing cards, and dancing became markers for the movement’s followers that revealed whether one was on the path to salvation. This took place, even though the leadership did not officially condemn drinking, playing cards, or dancing (Holt: 1979, 471ff). The Indre Mission in this respect evolved locally into what might be called a subculture, with their own specific way of dressing, greeting, and talking. They also came to practice endogamy (Balle-Petersen: 1986). The community of awakened pious Christians became the ideal form of organizing. The members of these communities could recognise each other through a particular kind of behaviour and language. In terms of discipline, the obligations to those inside and outside the community were very different. Internally, a religious technique of vigilance can be identified: a technique of persistent self-surveillance, watching over one’s behaviour and thoughts. The path to salvation was viewed not as a progression towards moral perfection, but as a constant threat of falling from grace. In a key sermon, the organisation’s strong leader, Vilhelm Beck, used a rural metaphor, likening the corncockle (an attractive flowering weed) in the wheat field to the sins of man. The corncockle was planted by the devil, Beck preached: only its flower was beautiful (as with the ideas of the Enlightenment), and it bore no useful fruit. True Christians should watch every day for the corncockles within their own selves (Beck: 1872). Externally, the Indre Mission stressed the rebirth or ‘awakening’ of the dormant Christian. This type of awakening can be traced back to influences from Pietism and the Moravians (Olesen: 1983). While conversion should be unnecessary, once one was baptised, a deep conversion back to a life of renunciation and belief might be necessary for the Christian who had lost sight of her or his covenant with God (Larsen: 2000, 32–48). The conversion techniques used by the Indre Missionaries

Lutheran doxa and Reformed action

consisted of directly addressing possible converts with the words, “Have you met Jesus?” – as well as distributing tracts and Bibles (Larsen: 2011, 59ff). Social discipline thus in this respect remained largely private for the Indre Mission: external efforts were concentrated on missionary work, that is, on recruiting to the internal discipline of the organisation. The aim of the Indre Mission was always primarily religious. In the Lutheran vocabulary, charity was a fruit of true beliefs; it was something local congregations could carry out, but not a task for the organisation as such. The Indre Mission launched its Copenhagen branch as a formally independent organization in 1865. The situation in the city prompted the Mission to deploy more public forms of missionary work. The city’s social problems were interpreted in the language of sin: Copenhagen was Satan’s Capital in Denmark (Lützen: 1998, 288), a place where loose morality was the order of the day. Consequently, a kind of mission was required that did not focus solely on saving souls, but also on improving citizens’ morals. Specialised missions would target the centres of sin: the prostitution districts (targeted by the midnight missions) and the pubs. Bible in hand, prostitutes, publicans, and their customers were confronted with their sinful ways (Thomsen: 1904). From its establishment in 1861, the Indre Mission developed intensive cultural schemas, emphasising the one necessity (true faith), a vigilant internal discipline, and a clear community ideal based on a strict moral code. While this intensive culture succeeded in establishing itself in the capital, its schemas did not immediately resonate with the urban population and it failed to attract a significant following. The language of sin, however, would provide a basis on which to transform the Indre Mission’s cultural schemas so as to lay the basis for voluntary social engagement. 3.2

Social Pietism: Faith active in love

In 1875, a new generation of younger pastors and laymen took control of the board of the Copenhagen Indre Mission. This generation sought inspiration abroad to develop a comprehensive programme of voluntary social work. This programme was laid out in 1876 in a series of lectures by the incoming chairman of the Copenhagen home Mission, Harald Stein. Stein envisioned three “missions” based on “deeds of love” (1882, 18): preserving (protecting children and the youth), saving (outreach to the fallen, i.e., prostitutes, prisoners, and drunkards), and comforting love (helping the poor, the sick, and the helpless). Stein’s lectures are a mixture of indignation at social conditions in the city where Satan had free rein, regret at the inaction of the Christian community to deal with it, and practical directions for doing social work. Resolving the paradox of combining the doctrinal schema of sola fide with that of good works required some theological consideration. How could the obligations of the Christian in society be formulated without falling back on a Catholic kind of

221

222

Anders Sevelsted

justification by deeds? Here the magic formula, so to speak, became the merging of faith and love by way of Luther’s formulation of faith active in love (Forell: 1999, 70–111). Though salvation was still attainable only through faith, that faith was expressed in the idea of neighbourly love, which showed itself through deeds. The Christian was thus moved to act on the basis of his love. In a sense, it was not the Christian individual who was acting, but love acting through the Christian, a love that saves, preserves, and helps. Combining the schemas of faith and of love maintained the purely inner relation to God while at the same time emphasising action, thus pre-empting suspicion of a Catholic sort of justification by deeds. The urban revivalists sought inspiration from a wide range of countries, but theologically, Germany was especially influential. Faith active in love had been the guiding principle for Theodor Fliedner, laying the foundation for the deaconess movement, just as Johann Hinrich Wichern, founder of the German Innere Mission movement, had paved the way for a Christian Socialism that combined Pietism, social conservatism, and voluntary social work (Crowner/Christianson/Tholuck: 2003). The social question was still articulated in the language of sin. The city was perceived as a place where sin flourished, in the dancing establishments, bars, and unsupervised youth (Stein: 1882, 85, 93). The outcome was prostitution, indecency, the breakdown of the family, alcoholism, and so on. The social Pietists’ main innovation had consisted in changing the schemas of community ideals, the nature of the obligations of the congregation. Stein held up the congregations of the Apostolic Age as an example for the active congregation (Stein: 1882, 1–19). It was the congregation who had already found faith who carried the responsibility to act on the suffering of those who lacked it. Women, drunkards, and criminals were seen as weak, fallen, that is, as essentially passive victims of a sinful society. Here, Stein was drawing inspiration from Wichern in Hamburg, who, like Spener before him, had invoked Luther’s concept of universal priesthood (Wichern: 1956, 37). The urban missionaries developed techniques for rehabilitating the fallen by combining the older idea of the institution or Anstalt with more modern pedagogical means based on family principles and the principle of voluntarism. The Magdalen homes for the rehabilitation of prostitutes, for instance, were based on the idea that the women were free to leave at any time, as symbolised by demonstrating that the door to the facility could be unlocked by anyone on the inside. In the same way, the institutions were called ‘homes’ and the superintendent considered him or herself to be ‘father’ or ‘mother’ of the family (Esche: 1920). The ‘home’ was in fact a popular model for organising philanthropy in general at this point in time (Lodberg: 2017). The Copenhagen Indre Mission sought inspiration from the Nordic countries, the Netherlands, and especially from Germany, notably from Johann Hinrich Wichern, who in 1833 had established his Rauhe Haus (rough house) institution for street children. Wichern had developed a theological pedagogy built

Lutheran doxa and Reformed action

on forgiveness, trust, and education leading to freedom. He introduced techniques targeted at the individual, whereby a book was kept for each child, and a collective family principle, whereby older ‘brothers’ were responsible for younger children (Anhorn: 2007; Beyreuther: 1962, 93). The Copenhagen Indre Mission adopted many of Wichern’s very wide range of social initiatives (see above) (Olesen: 1964, 28–31). Discussions of the role of good works in revivalist circles were taking place in the context of the social question, which was felt increasingly acutely as the nineteenth century proceeded. There was a strong establishment consensus that social relief should be based on the principle of helping to self-help, in other words that public relief should have a deterrent and disciplining effect and essentially be reserved for the so-called undeserving poor, while the ‘deserving’ poor ought to be helped through voluntary initiatives (Koefoed: 2017; Lützen: 1998). While liberals argued in Malthusian terms for the principle of free competition in society – including its unfortunate social implications – as natural and inevitable, Conservatives viewed the principle of free competition as merely a kind of egoism and stressed the duty of solidarity and the role of both voluntary associations and the state in securing a harmonious society. Bishop H. L. Martensen (1874) termed this type of conservative approach ‘ethical socialism’. Urban revivalist pastors and laymen were working broadly within this type of conservatism, even if they stressed voluntarism over state intervention. It was widely held that voluntarily organised benevolence was both more proximate than public relief and more distant than individually given alms (Nørgård: 2015; Sevelsted: 2020). At the same time, there was discussion of whether social relief should be organised as secular philanthropy or cast in a more religious framework as deaconry or missionary work. Both Revivalists and mainstream Christians argued that Christian relief based on voluntary principles was capable of maintaining an individualised approach and also, unlike mere secular philanthropy, capable of caring for the whole of man. Unlike socialism, it would also secure a harmonious social body (Hansen: 1888; Saabye: 1886). It was within this context that Lutheran cultural schemas of faith active in love and the external disciplinary techniques adapted especially from the German territories were fused in an intensive culture that propelled congregations to engage in voluntary social efforts. This magic formula, however, did not suffice to pre-empt accusations of justification by deeds. In most Protestant countries, the new revivalist social initiatives were met with suspicion. In Germany, orthodox Lutheran voices were raised in similar criticism against Wichern (Janssen: 1956, 35), and Wichern’s vision of the universal priesthood did not resonate with the Erwerkungsbewegung (revivalist movement) (Janssen and Sieverts: 1962, 143). Conversely, in the Netherlands the translation of German Lutheran thoughts to a Reformed Protestant context also proved difficult for revivalists doing social work (Benrath/ Sallmann/Gäbler: 2000, 72f; Lieburg: 2012, 120;134). In Denmark, the rural Indre

223

224

Anders Sevelsted

Mission criticised the urban Mission for being a mission of deeds, i.e., for prioritizing good works over true faith. The accusations were part of a struggle for control over the Copenhagen Indre Mission, where Beck, the national leader, had lost influence to Stein, the strong leader in Copenhagen. Soon, however, a new generation of urban revivalists would look west rather than south, and extend public schemas of engagement from the Reformed revivalist tradition into Lutheran Denmark. 3.3

Holiness Movement: Sanctification and public discipline

The revivalist approach to voluntary social work was reinvented by a third generation in and around the Copenhagen Indre Mission. They sought inspiration in the Reformed tradition, and specifically in the holiness teachings of Reformed revivalists. In 1898, several members of this generation publicly declared their common purpose in “human souls’ conversion and sanctification” (Holt: 1979, 59ff). The mention of sanctification shows that the holiness teachings were now part of the vocabulary in the milieu around the Copenhagen Indre Mission. The holiness ideas came to Denmark through the international revivalist movement the Evangelical Alliance’s eighth World Conference in Copenhagen in 1884 (Olesen: 1996, 231). They quickly came to influence many of Indre Mission’s followers, first in the capital and then nationwide. The Holiness Movement had restored and now introduced to Denmark the doctrine of sanctification. Traditionally, in the revivalist Lutheranism of the Indre Mission, the doctrine of sanctification (the process of becoming holy in this life) had not been considered important vis-à-vis the doctrine of sola fide. The Moravian community had promoted the doctrine of sanctification and instantaneous and free religious rebirth in opposition to the Pietist perception of the conversion struggle as a laborious process. Freedom from sin could be attained instantaneously through conversion. While man cannot be free from the habitus of sinning, once he has experienced conversion, he is free from the act of sinning. John Wesley, founder of Methodism within the Reformed tradition, developed these thoughts into the idea of Christian perfection (Olesen: 1996, 88). The introduction of sanctification would radically change the revivalist’s interpretation of sin: One no longer had to monitor one’s own behaviour in order to avoid falling. Instead, one could immediately commence a life free of sin, once one had realized that Jesus had already atoned for humankind’s sins. A new community ideal was introduced along with the new doctrines. This ideal was no longer the local community or congregation of true believers, but a global community of reborn Christians who had realized the happy message and would now join forces beyond any confessional divides. The followers of the movement believed that the last days were near. They thought that Jesus would return within

Lutheran doxa and Reformed action

a short period of time, and that God’s kingdom would soon be realized on earth (Ohlemacher: 1986, 173). In Denmark, these ideas mainly gained a footing in Copenhagen. Here, organizations such as the Copenhagen Church Foundation and the YMCA were strongly influenced by the community ideals stemming from the Evangelical Alliance. Such organizations mostly did not break with the national church, but dreamt of and realized alternative ways of organising that would be based less on the established national church and more on the active engagement of the true believers (Bach-Nielsen/Schjørring: 2012, 501–502). The Social Pietist ideal of the loving and merciful congregation’s benevolent approach to alleviating the sins of the city through institutional work was now replaced by the enthusiastic mission of letting the happy message be heard: Jesus had already atoned for our sins, and the realization of this truth would lead to a life free of sins. One was free of sin, but always in danger of sliding back if faith was lost. These ideas were reflected in the disciplinary techniques put into practice in the social work of the movement. The movement introduced new and more public disciplinary techniques both in its religious work and its social work. The public religious techniques lifted the congregation out of the local community and out of the confines of the church building: Mass conversion, camp meetings and public prayers were part of the repertoire in the era of the so-called New Means. These were orchestrated events with clear roles assigned to speaker and audience and a clear deviation from the Pietist vision of conversion and religious awakening as an individual struggle (McLoughlin: 1978, 141ff; Smith: 1976, 63–79). The movement’s beliefs in the power of faith led the more radical elements to believe that faith could not only lead to a life free of sin, but also to curing physical and social illnesses (Olesen: 1996, 221–224; 243–252). However, dealing with social illnesses also required techniques, and here, too, the public spirit of the Holiness Movements showed itself as the abstinence association became the preferred means for alleviating social problems. Alcoholism should be resolved through abstinence organized in associations such as Blue Cross, abstinence would also ail sexual promiscuity through organizations such as White Cross, and the youth should be taught not to indulge in alcohol and sexual activities by the YMCA (Fleisch: 1903, 56–65). A pin or a ribbon would be the public sign that one was member of an abstinence association, thus mirroring the public spirit of the Holiness movement. Salvation was still the end goal, but the distance between salvation in this world and the next had become shorter. In Denmark, Blue Cross, YMCA, and Church Army were founded either fully or in part by individuals influenced by Holiness ideas. These organizations emphasized the direct relation between giver and receiver of help as well as the public associational approach to social work. The paradox of combining radical sola fide and good works had been resolved for the time being by the adoption of revivalist cultural schemas from the Reformed

225

226

Anders Sevelsted

tradition – the doctrine of sanctification, the global community of Christians, and the disciplinary techniques of public confession and displays – into Lutheran Denmark. The Danish revivalists overwhelmingly remained members of the national Lutheran church, but they had adapted the intensive foreign schemas in order to create close linkages between motives and actions in Danish revivalist voluntary social work. In the end, then, what influence did this radical revivalist minority within the national church end up having? In the first decades of the twentieth century, the dust settled over the revivalist fields of struggle and the Indre Mission found its role within the broader community of national church branches. The church itself was already steadily losing direct influence on the administration of and decisions on social relief. The Indre Mission was not the first group to carry out philanthropy in the nineteenth century; plenty of mainstream religious and secular initiatives had already been taken when the Copenhagen Indre Mission started their work. Would some other initiative have picked up the slack if the Indre Mission had not? Counterfactual history is obviously impossible to test, but from the case it is evident that the Indre Mission did reach down to the most deeply ‘fallen’ – prostitutes, the homeless, vagrants – who were otherwise deemed undeserving by mainstream philanthropy as they could not perform the required moral habitus (see Koefoed: 2014). This work led ultimately to the professionalisation of these fields, removing these groups from the moral to a professional gaze; and this budding professionalisation paradoxically opened the door for the state to take over the rehabilitating work on a secular basis. Somewhat provocatively, one might say that at least certain areas of the Lutheran welfare state were born out of Reformed cultural schemas. The revivalist milieu continues to have an impact on the lives of the most marginalised. Few statistics are available, but there is some evidence that Christian groups (whether revivalist or not) are over-represented in the field of voluntary social work today (Boje/Ibsen: 2006, 101ff), just as these groups carry out quite a lot of fundraising (ISOBRO/Deloitte: 2019). Similarly, the Indre Mission, even if their adherents are decreasing in numbers, continue to address the issues of the day, for instance in welcoming refugees (Toubøl: 2017, 63). This work was in fact enabled through a historical interpretive process in which Reformed cultural schemas regarding sin, doctrine, community ideals, and disciplinary techniques were adapted by a movement explicitly committed to the Lutheran confessional foundations of the Danish national church. Modernity continues to create the need for the justification of benevolent action, as well as for ideals of community and disciplinary techniques. Confessional cultural schemas will likely continue to be adapted, in various contexts, to answer these needs.

Lutheran doxa and Reformed action

4.

Conclusion

In the end, it was the adaptation of revivalist cultural schemas from the Reformed tradition that resolved the paradox of combining radical sola fide and good works for the Lutheran volunteers in Copenhagen. The schema below summarises the process of paradox resolution on the three levels of doctrine, community ideals, and disciplinary techniques, from Pietist revivalism to Social Pietism and the Holiness Movement. Table 1 Wave Schemas Doctrine Community ideal Disciplinary technique

Revivalist Pietism (Indre Mission, 1861) Faith alone

Social Pietism (Copenhagen Indre Mission, from 1875) Faith, active in love

Holiness movement (1880s)

Sanctification (perfectionism) Children of God vs. The active congregation Global Christian commuChildren of the World nity free from sin ‘Private’: conversion ‘Private’: ‘Homes’ (educa- Public: Abstinence associand moral vigilance tional institutions) ations

My analysis has attempted to make the case that ongoing research on confessionalisation and confessional culture could benefit from broadening its scope in three ways: by looking beyond the territorial state, by focusing on interconfessional processes of learning, adaptation, and imitation, and by showing similarities and differences between confessions. The analysis set forth here has introduced the first building blocks for a more flexible theoretical and methodological approach that, rather than analysing confession and culture in the singular, looks to confessional cultural schemas in the plural that can extend beyond confessional boundaries and can intensify certain relations and beliefs. The Copenhagen Indre Mission was of course a radical revivalist movement and always a minority within the national church; but the Mission’s internal developments in disciplinary techniques for overcoming sin, in community ideals, and in the doctrinal foundations of the movement fostered a long-lasting engagement in voluntary social work. This study has focused on voluntary welfare, in which the Indre Mission has had and continues to have an impact on the lives of marginalised groups (ISOBRO/Deloitte 2019). Some of the initiatives of the Indre Mission were subsequently crowded out by the welfare state, and some such as homes for prostitutes were taken over, while other institutions became service providers for the developing welfare state (as with Blue Cross homes for alcoholics). The case has shown a specific kind of confessional dynamic on a specific kind of welfare activity. One wonders whether similar types of learning and adaptation have taken place at the national territorial level. Have designs for workhouses or

227

228

Anders Sevelsted

labour-market policies travelled across confessional boundaries? And how has the confessional ideology ingrained in such techniques been adapted to a new context?

Bibliography Anhorn, Roland (2007), “... wir schmieden alle unsere Ketten von inwendig und verschmäen die, so man von aussen anlegt.” – Johann Hinrich Wicherns Sozialpädagogik des Rauhen Hauses und die Macht der Individualisierung, in Roland Anhorn/Frank Bettinger/Johannes Stehr (ed.), Foucaults Machtanalytik und Soziale Arbeit: Eine kritische Einführung und Bestandsaufnahme, Wiesbaden: VS Verlag für Sozialwissenschaften, 321–343. Bach-nielsen/Carsten/Jens Holger Schjørring (2012), Kirkens historie. Bind 2, Copenhagen: Hans Reitzels Forlag. Balle-Petersen, Margaretha (1986), Everyday Rainbows: On Social Movements and Cultural Identity, in Bengt R. Jonsson (ed.), Arv: Scandinavian yearbook of folklore (Band 42), Uppsala/Stockholm: The Royal Gustavus Adolphus Academy, Almqvist & Wiksell. Beck, Vilhelm (1872), Er du Hvede eller er du Klinte?, in Vilhelm Beck (ed.) Nyt og Gammelt. En Postille, Copenhagen: Axel Schiødte, 115–123. Benrath, Gustav Adolf/Martin Sallmann/Ulrich Gäbler (2000), Der Pietismus Im Neunzehnten Und Zwanzigsten Jahrhundert, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Beyreuther, Erich (1962), Geschichte der Diakonie und Inneren Mission in der Neuzeit, Berlin: Wichern-Verlag. Blaschke, Olaf (2000), Das 19. Jahrhundert: Ein Zweites Konfessionelles Zeitalter? Geschichte und Gesellschaft 26, 38–75. Boettcher, Susan R. (2004), Confessionalization: Reformation, Religion, Absolutism, and Modernity, History Compass 2(1), 1–10. Boje, Thomas P./Bjarne Ibsen (2006), Frivillighed og nonprofit i Danmark –omfang, organisation, økonomi og beskæftigelse, Copenhagen: Socialforskningsinstituttet. Brilkman, Kajsa (2016a), Konfessionalisering, konfessionskonflikt och konfessionskultur under tidigmodern tid, Scandia 82(1), 93–106. Brilkman, Kajsa (2016b), När och hur inleddes reformationen i det svenska riket? Ett kulturhistoriskt perspektiv på ett gammalt problem, Scandia 82(2), 43–69. Crowner, David/Gerald Christianson/August Tholuck (2003), The Spirituality of the German Awakening, New York: Paulist Press. Dahlerup, Troels (1981), Den sociale forsorg og reformationen i Danmark, Historie/Jyske Samlinger 11, 194–207. Eriksen, Sidsel (1988), Vækkelse og afholdsbevægelse, Scandia 54(2), 251–95. Esche, Thora (1920), Erindringer fra mit Liv og min Gerning, Copenhagen: Frimodt. Esping-Andersen, Gøsta (1990), The Three Worlds of Welfare Capitalism, Princeton, N.J: Princeton University Press.

Lutheran doxa and Reformed action

Fleisch, Paul (1903), Die moderne Gemeinschaftsbewegung in Deutschland. Ein Versuch, dieselbe nach ihren Ursprüngen dazustellen und zu würdigen, Leipzig: H G Wallmann. Forell, George (1999), Faith Active in Love, Eugene: Wipf & Stock Publishers. Gorski, Philip (1993), The Protestant Ethic Revisited: Disciplinary Revolution and State Formation in Holland and Prussia, American Journal of Sociology 99, 265–316. Gorski, Philip (2003), The Disciplinary Revolution: Calvinism and the Rise of the State in Early Modern Europe, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Granum-Jensen, A. R. (1979), Baggrund og glimt fra Blå Kors’ historie i 100 år, Silkeborg: Blå Kors. Grimm, Harold J. (1970), Luther’s Contributions to Sixteenth-Century Organization of Poor Relief, Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte – Archive for Reformation History, 61, 222–234. Hansen, Julius Friis (1888), De Nødlidende Og Folkekirken: En Opfordring Til Kristne, Copenhagen: Konrad Jørgensens Forlag. Hanssen, Karl/Rudolf Sieverts (1962), Einführung. In Bd. 3, Schriften Zur Gefängnisreform ; Die Denkschrift, Ausgewählte Schriften, Gütersloh: Carl Bertelsmann. Haskell, Thomas L. (1985), Capitalism and the Origins of the Humanitarian Sensibility, Part 1, The American Historical Review 90, 339–361. Henriksen, Lars Skov/Peter Bundesen (2004), The Moving Frontier in Denmark: Voluntary-State Relationships since 1850, Journal of Social Policy 33(4), 605–25. Holm, Bo Kristian/Nina Javette Koefoed (2018), Lutheran Theology and the Shaping of Society: The Danish Monarchy as Example, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Holt, Paul (1940), Nød dem: Kirkelig Forening for Indre Mission i København gennem trekvart Aarhundrede: 1865–1940, Copenhagen: Kirkelig Forening for Indre Mission i København. Holt, Paul (1979), Kirkelig Forening for den Indre Mission i Danmark gennem 100 år: 1861–1961, Copenhagen: Lohse. Isobro/Deloitte (2019), ISOBRO og Deloitte’s analyse af udviklingen i de danske indsamlingsorganisationers indtægter mv. i perioden 2014–2018, Copenhagen: ISOBRO and Deloitte. Janssen, Karl (1956), Einführung. In Ausgewählte Schriften, Bd. 1, Schriften Zur Sozialen Frage, Gütersloh: Carl Bertelsmann, 135–45. Joas, Hans (2014), Was ist die Achsenzeit? Eine wissenschaftliche Debatte als Diskurs über Transzendenz, Basel: Schwabe. Jørgensen, Alfred TH. (1921), Filantropiens Førere Og Former i Det Nittende Aarhundrede, Copenhagen: Gyldendal. Jørgensen, Alfred TH. (1939), Filantropi: Vejledning i Offentlig Forsorg Og Privat Velgørenhed for Begyndere, Copenhagen: Lohse. Kahl, Sigrun (2005), The Religious Roots of Modern Poverty Policy: Catholic, Lutheran, and Reformed Protestant Traditions Compared, European Journal of Sociology 46, 91–126.

229

230

Anders Sevelsted

Katz, Michael b. (1996), In the Shadow of the Poorhouse: a Social History of Welfare in America, 10th anniversary ed., rev.updated, New York: BasicBooks. Kaufmann, Thomas (2016), What is Lutheran Confessional Culture? in Per Ingesman (ed.), Religion as an Agent of Change, Leiden/Boston: BRILL. Kaufmann, Thomas (2018), Lutheran Academic Culture in Early Modernity? Some Remarks, in Bo K. Holm/Nina J. Koefoed (ed.), Lutheran Theology and the Shaping of Society: The Danish Monarchy as Example, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 151–168. Kersbergen, Kees Van/Philip Manow (2009), Religion, Class Coalitions, and Welfare States, Cambridge/ New York: Cambridge University Press. Knudsen, Tim (2000), Den nordiske protestantisme og velfærdsstaten, Aarhus: Aarhus universitetsforlag. Koefoed, Nina Javette (2014), Performing Male Political Citizenship: Local Philanthropy as an Arena for Practicing and Negotiating Citizenship in Late Nineteenth-Century Denmark, in Krista Crowman/Nina J. Koefoed/Åsa Karlsson Sjögren (ed.), Gender in Urban Europe: Sites of Political Activity and Citizenship, 1750–1900, New York/London: Routledge, 162–177. Koefoed, Nina Javette (2017) Social Responsibilities in the Protestant North: Denmark and Sweden, in Leen van Molle (ed.), Charity and Social Welfare, Dynamics of religious reform in Northern Europe, 1780–1920, Leuven: Leuven University Press, 251–80. Koefoed, Nina Javette (2018), The Lutheran Household as Part of Danish Confessional Culture, in Bo K. Holm/Nina J. Koefoed (ed.), Lutheran Theology and the Shaping of Society: The Danish Monarchy as Example, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 321–340. Larsen, Kurt E. (2000), Vilhelm Beck, kirken og den indre Mission: en studie i forholdet mellem vækkelsesbevægelse og folkekirke 1849–1901, Århus: Århus Universitet. Larsen, Kurt E. (2011), En bevægelse i bevægelse: Indre Mission i Danmark 1861–2011, Fredericia: Lohse. Lieburg, F. A. van (2012), Opwekking van de Natie: Het Protestantse Réveil in Nederland, Hilversum: Verloren. Lindhardt, P. G. (1978), Vækkelse og kirkelige retninger, Århus: Aros. Lodberg, Bodil Elisabeth (2017), Hus og hjem: en overset økonomi i protestantismen og det danske velfærdssamfund, Ph.d.-afhandling 2017, Aarhus: Aarhus Universitet. Lützen, Karin (1998), Byen tæmmes: kernefamilie, sociale reformer og velgørenhed i 1800-tallets København, Copenhagen: Hans Reitzel. Martensen, H. (1874), Socialisme og Christendom: et Brudstykke af den specielle Ethik, Copenhagen: Gyldendal. Manow, Philip (2008), Religion und Sozialstaat: die konfessionellen Grundlagen europäischer Wohlfahrtsstaatsregime, Frankfurt am Main; New York: Campus. Mcgrath, Alister E. (2005), Iustitia Dei: A History of the Christian Doctrine of Justification, 3rd ed., Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press. Mcloughlin, William G. (1978), Revivals, Awakenings, and Reform: an Essay on Religion and Social Change in America, 1607–1977, Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Lutheran doxa and Reformed action

Nielsen, Rasmus (1878), Om Menneskekærlighed, Tidsskrift for Filantropi, 1. Bind 1877, 11–21. Nørgård, Inger Lyngdrup (2015) Beskyt de Værdige Fattige! Opfattelser Og Behandling Af Fattige i Velgørenhed, Filantropi Og Fattigvæsen i København 1770–1874, Ph.d.Afhandling, Det Humanistiske Fakultet, Syddansk Universitet. Ohlemacher, Jörg (1986), Das Reich Gottes in Deutschland bauen: ein Beitrag zur Vorgeschichte und Theologie der deutschen Gemeinschaftsbewegung, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Olesen, Elith (1964), Blev Harald Steins program gennemført? Nogle bemærkninger i anledning af København Indre Missions 100 års jubilæum, Copenhagen: Den Danske Diakonissestiftelse, 5–34. Olesen, Elith (1983), Kampen om Midtjylland, Århus: Århus Stift 21, 54–78. Olesen, Elith (1996), De Frigjorte og trællefolket: amerikansk-engelsk indflydelse på dansk kirkeliv omkring år 1900, Frederiksberg: Forl. ANIS. O’Malley, John W. (2002), Trent and All That: Renaming Catholicism in the Early Modern Era, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Petersen, Jørn Henrik/Klaus Pedersen/Søren Kolstrup (2014), Autonomy, Cooperation or Colonization? Christian Philanthropy and State Welfare in Denmark, Journal of Church and State 56(1), 81–104. Reinhard, Wolfgang (1983), Zwang zur Konfessionalizierung? Prolegomena zu einer Theorie des konfessionellen Zeitalters, Zeitschrift für Historische Forschung 10, 257–277. Saabye, Harald George (1886), Foredrag Ved Det Kirkelige Møde i Kjøbenhavn, Den 25de27de Maj 1886, in Johan Clausen (ed.), Beretning Om Det Kirkelige Møde i Kjøbenhavn, Den 25de-27de Maj 1886, København: Universitetsboghandler G. E. C. Gad, 51–61. Schilling, Heinz (1988), Between the Territorial State and Urban Liberty: Lutheranism and Calvinism in the County of Lippe, in R. Po-chia Hsia (ed.), The German people and the Reformation, Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 263–283. Schilling, Heinz (2008), Early modern European Civilization and its Political and Cultural Dynamism, Hanover; London: University Press of New England. Sevelsted, Anders (2018), Protestant Ethics-in-Action: The Emergence of Voluntary Social Work in Copenhagen 1865–1915, European Journal of Sociology/Archives Européennes de Sociologie 59, 121–149. Sevelsted, Anders (2019), Degeneration, Protestantism, and Social Democracy: The Case of Alcoholism and “Illiberal” Policies and Practices in Denmark 1900–43, Social Science History 43, 87–111. Sevelsted, Anders (2020), Voluntarism. Promises of Proximity as Articulated by Changing Moral Elites, Contributions to the History of Concepts 15(2), 80–104. Sewell, William h. (1985), Ideologies and Social Revolutions: Reflections on the French Case, The Journal of Modern History 57, 57–85. Sewell, William h. (1992), A Theory of Structure: Duality, Agency, and Transformation, American Journal of Sociology 98, 1–29.

231

232

Anders Sevelsted

Sewell, William H. (1996), Historical Events as Transformations of Structures: Inventing Revolution at the Bastille, Theory and Society 25, 841–881. Skocpol, Theda (1979), States and Social Revolutions: a Comparative Analysis of France, Russia, and China, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Smith, Timothy l. (1976), Revivalism and Social Reform: American Protestantism on the Eve of the Civil War, New York: Harper & Row. Stein, Harald (1882), Hvad vil den Indre Mission? Otte Foredrag om Tro, virksom i Kjærlighed, holdte i den Indre Missions Lokale i Kjøbenhavn, 3rd, rev. ed., Copenhagen: Indre Missions Boghandel. Tawney, Richard henry (1972), Religion and the Rise of Capitalism: a Historical Study, Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. Thomsen, M. (1904), Gaardmissionær R. B. Clausen, Copenhagen: Bethesda. Toon, Peter (2018), Justification and Sanctification, Eugene: Wipf and Stock Publishers. Toubøl, Jonas (2017), Differential Recruitment to and Outcomes of Solidarity Activism: Ethics, Values and Group Style in the Danish Refugee Solidarity Movement, Copenhagen: University of Copenhagen. Trevor-Roper, H. R. (1999 [1967]), The Crisis of the Seventeenth Century: Religion, the Reformation, and Social Change, Indianapolis: Liberty Fund. Weber, Max (1921), Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft: Grundriss der verstehenden Soziologie, Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck. Wichern, Johann Hinrich (1956), Bd. 1 Bd. 1, Schriften Zur Sozialen Frage. ed. Karl Janssen. Gütersloh: Carl Bertelsmann. Young, Michael p. (2002), Confessional Protest: The Religious Birth of U. S. National Social Movements, American Sociological Review 67, 660–688. Young, Michael p. (2006), Bearing Witness against Sin: the Evangelical Birth of the American Social Movement, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Zaret, David (1992), Calvin, Covenant Theology, and the Weber Thesis, The British Journal of Sociology 43, 369–391. Zaret, David (1995), The Use and Abuse of Textual Data, in Hartmut Lehmann/Guenther Roth (ed.), Weber’s Protestant Ethic: Origins, Evidence, Contexts, Washington, D.C.: Cambridge Univ. Press.

Gorm Harste

Blind path dependencies War and Welfare in the Lutheran States When political scientists and sociologists study western welfare systems, Scandinavia, and in particular Sweden, are often painted as the standard-setting model, if not the paradigm for conceiving solutions to the problems of social exclusion (Esping-Andersen: 1990). The Scandinavian welfare states do indeed attempt not to exclude people, albeit they have not adopted the idea of a basic income, as in Catholic Belgium (van Parijs/Vanderbought: 2017). However, even if such institutional and normative narratives offer much to learn about how to organise welfare and non-exclusion, they also establish a beautified social imaginary. The present analysis attempts to expose the northern interconnections in a somewhat more sober way than what is usually the case, when welfare history is so much praised as a Scandinavian speciality. Sweden was not drained by the destructive world wars, and suffered far less than other countries during the crisis of the 1930s. Neither Denmark nor Norway were combatants in the First World War; Denmark in particular was known as the “creamy front” by German soldiers in the Second World War. All this meant that the Scandinavian states could raise taxes to very high levels, legitimised by incorporated interest groups ranging from farmers to workers, industrialists, and intellectuals. In the aftermath, these inclusive forms of welfare policies have been ascribed to social democracies, to Lutheranism, and sometimes to Danish communitarian Grundtvigianism, all of which have been praised for inclusive forms of welfare policies. Yet during most of the 20th century on the one hand the inclusive welfare policies were of course enabled by a relative surplus of resources compared with Germany, France, the United Kingdom, Belgium and, in particular, Eastern Europe; on the other, the much-praised universalism of Scandinavian welfare policies is not in fact a pure Scandinavian norm. The Belgian model of a basic income or ‘citizen salary’ is probably more universalist, even if Scandinavian populations are unlikely to accept starvation, or theft as a public widespread means to survive. Moreover, and at least as important, universalism and equality of all those subject to law developed in France from the early Enlightenment in the ‘top-down’ policies of the dominating French chancellor Henri-Franςois d’Aguesseau. Indeed, such a normative universalism was Immanuel Kant’s unconditioned form of rationalisation in his moral philosophy (Harste: 2009). And it was of course in Germany that Lutheran ideas of such forms of universalism emerged, albeit in a struggle with Catholic ideas

234

Gorm Harste

of hierarchical normative orders. Welfare reforms like these can be described as attempts to ‘synchronise’ society with the state (Luhmann: 1990). Thus, before we judge the Scandinavian welfare states to be standard-setting and unique as a paradigm for other states, we should take a look at the early welfare policies developed among the German Lutheran states, and whether an Early Modern precursor to a universalist welfare paradigm can be found there, before the twentieth century and its world wars. Behind the recent story of Swedish universalism lies a long path dependency from an Early Modern form of manifold if not total supply of the armed forces. From the mid-sixteenth to the early nineteenth century, this included every family in Swedish society, in a form probably more thoroughly rationalised than in any other European state. Both men and women were included in this system, since both were required to carry the burden of production and reproduction (in every possible sense). Despite their extreme exhaustion, widows received hardly any of the promised protection (Ailes: 2006); although after the uprising of Nils Dacke in Småland in 1542, co-option, developed alongside hybrid forms of support, went some way towards mitigating grievances (Hallenberg: 2013). In Sweden, we see how liturgical quarrels culminated at the end of the sixteenth century in the decision for Lutheran orthodoxy with the Uppsala Decision1 in 1593, and finally with Axel Oxenstierna’s tightening of authority and power in 1617 after the Örebro Stadga (Wetterberg: 2013, 124). Thus, even if somewhat disregarded by Hallenberg in his brilliant concern with bottom-up state formation, these constitutionalisations of Lutheran orthodoxy by legal reforms were coupled with trust, loyalty, and obedience to God’s monarchy. In this process, Lutheran reforms of the parishes were highly supportive of an almost total inclusion of all estates into a military household state in a desperate drive to establish a legitimated drain on every part of society – in Sweden-Finland probably even more comprehensively and for longer than in Denmark-Norway. Yet if “history matters” (Kettunen/Petersen: 2011, 5–9), it is not because still more national specificities and historical complexity should be added, or simple narratives of long path dependencies, or stories about origins (to take Kettunen and Petersen’s frame). It is, as they indicate, also a question of learning processes, imitations, and immigration, not to mention outright convergence processes and mutual copying. To this we have to add the lessons learned from sorrow and disaster, including their costs – and, for those who were lucky enough to escape the grief, the absence of cost.

1 The Uppsala Decision marks a decisive end to two decades of liturgical quarrels between confessions – Catholic, Calvinist, and Lutheran – between the three sons of Gustav Vasa who tended to bend their Lutheran heritage into compromises with Catholic or Calvinist tendencies – or as Erik to stay Lutheran, but in a probably insane way.

Blind path dependencies

These reforms of obedience certainly developed with inspiration from France, the Netherlands, and later from the Prussian states (Runeby: 1962; Gerhardt/Hubatsch: 1950, 113–235; Oestreich: 1982, 109–113, 118–131). If Lutheranism and Calvinism were contested confessions, they nevertheless converged in the influence of the Dutch philosopher Justus Lipsius. His neo-stoicism, based in Leiden, formed higher education in the seventeenth century in the monarchies of Brandenburg, Sweden, and Denmark, taking over where the Lutheran influence direct from Wittenberg was decreasing. More Lutheran was the position of German Samuel Pufendorf, who taught at the universities of Uppsala and Lund: In Lutheranism there is nothing that contradicts foundations for political thought. The princes have the power in churchly matters and the clerical resources are mostly overtaken to be in use for the state; the people are refined to pray obedience and respect for the authorities as God’s representatives on Earth. (Pufendorf: 1667/1994, 133).

From an early stage, the role of pastors in the local administration of taxes, conscription, agriculture, and education served to professionalise the Nordic states, for instance as coordinated in the “consistorium generale” (Nilsson: 1996, 178, 182). Soon those states became comparable with and could even compete with central states in Europe, for example in registration of the population and even, as in Sweden, in forms such as compartmentalising administration (indelingsverket) that were similar to conscription (Ericson: 1999; Gustafsson: 2000). A core problem for comparative studies of welfare today is that differences between welfare solutions probably have their roots in different confessions. They are not reducible to – admittedly important – divergences in financial structures or, roughly speaking, as Michel Foucault has it, to cameral, physiocratic and liberalist institutional path dependencies in Germany, France, and Great Britain (Foucault: 1977/1994). In addition, the confessional divides probably authorised different narratives about strategies in the political economies of the dynastic household states in Europe as they underwent their war-torn transformation into militaryrevolutionised Early Modern states. Catholicism might be seen, with Kaufmann (2000, 294), as opting for corporative inclusion, whereas Lutheranism as described in Niklas Luhmann’s theory of social systems might opt for rights to non-exclusion, and Calvinism for liberalist individualism (Luhmann: 1995). Figure 1 exposes an initial scheme of these interpretative narratives. A narrative of process-tracking systems leads back from the welfare achievements of the twentieth century beyond the eighteenth century, indicating how state formation in the ideal case of the early Prussian welfare state was a reaction to previous breakdowns. Such a trajectory, according to Luhmann’s systems theory, attempts to reveal the complex

235

236

Gorm Harste

social situation in which a system is embedded without reduction either to neither causal determinants nor to teleological prejudices about later achievements.

Figure 1 Narratives of entitlement: from worship and war to welfare

1.

Social responsibility from top-down to bottom-up

Political studies of welfare have inherited a certain blindness from the top-down approach to social responsibility. We see this in the Elias/Bourdieu sociology of the transition from household state to reason of state. By no means are Foucault’s or Bourdieu’s conceptions of power and state linear or instrumental; however, they are biased towards a certain French conceptualisation and mythology of moderate absolutism (Asch/Duchardt: 1986). Elias (1939/1976 Vol 2, 143ff) pointed towards a “king’s mechanism”, which centralised power in a centripetal dynamic from the Carolingian empire to the absolutism of French monarchy. This narrative emerged with Tocqueville’s classic thesis of “an administrative revolution which preceded the political revolution” in France (Tocqueville: 1856/1988, 299–311). Paradoxically, as the confessional wars escalated, a series of convergences emerged between Catholic France and Lutheran Sweden and Denmark (Harste: 2013). With Sweden as “first mover” (as described by Thomas Ertman: 1997) in its conflict with Denmark and later with Russia, Poland, and Prussia – the synchronisation and co-option of all forces, logistics (in the form of resources, soldiers, taxes, wood, iron, and copper) and in particular confessional legitimacy, support and authority became necessary means to create a ‘reason of state’ from the bottom up. This began in 1520 with the Stockholm bloodbath of the Swedish noble elites executed by the Danish King Christian II. In both Sweden-Finland and Denmark-Norway, Christian II’s rough abuse of his relations with his brotherin-law, the Catholic Emperor Charles V, influenced the Reformation – and the separation of the two kingdoms. The secession from the Kalmar Union led to

Blind path dependencies

increasing escalation in expensive geopolitical conflicts over access to the Baltic and the North Sea. Following their implementation of the Reformation as a coup d’état seizing Church and monastic possessions, the monarchs of both kingdoms became immensely richer and better adapted to furnish provisions to armies and to the recently revolutionised navies. To sum up, we cannot explain the transition from warfare to welfare without an interpretation of the confessional divide emerging in a situation of extremely complex warfare. In the present interpretation, the decisive move towards welfare provision can be seen as a development in the cameral household state of Brandenburg-Prussia in East Prussia: namely as a process of coordination between top-down and bottom-up achievements in the form of co-option and synchronisation. It was Prussia that became the path-setting power in Germany, in particular in that northern part of Germany, which felt the Lutheran impact. In 1740, 90 per cent of the Prussian population held a Lutheran confession. Once the predominantly Catholic region of Silesia was added, Prussia definitely had to exercise confessional tolerance (Hubatsch: 1973, 190ff.). A second reason to recapitulate the early welfare experiences of Prussia is that Prussian cameralism was a forerunner of later so-called Keynesian welfare development. Frederick’s enlightened monarchy in particular influenced the Nordic states to a degree that may even be comparable with the impact from Holland in the seventeenth century.

2.

In the “King’s Service”: submission and conscription in Lutheran monarchies

Many explanations are too simplistically functional and top-down, based on the premise of the diffusion of central measures. Yet a well-coordinated organisation is a power that is enabled to create power: it links local peripheries with the centre, and synchronises different social orders as estates that are able to use and create reforms to reorganise itself. In German we might say “Macht”, or in Scandinavian languages, “magt magter magt” (Harste: 2017). Power is less a possession and substance than a form of communication and activity that handles how to do things with words and practices. The raison d’être is to enable a synchronised sum of coordinated creative powers. This is one reason why the United Provinces, and in particular Sweden, the Prussian states, and Great Britain, were able to react into the European power system in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries even though they were so much smaller than France, Russia or the Austrian-based empire. All the powers competed to draw resources from local areas, and to coordinate and synchronise that drainage (Beik: 1985; Behrens: 1985). The Great Northern War (1700–1721) and the War of Spanish Succession (1701–14) created extreme unrest and disrupted the social and civil orders of

237

238

Gorm Harste

society through plague and famine; and all parts of Europe were struck by the harshest climatic cooling of the millennium. Yet Brandenburg was, exceptional in compiling a relative financial surplus and space for reforms because, like Sweden in 1914–1945, it escaped direct involvement in the wars. This, in combination with the local devastation and international competition, gave rise to a number of social reforms at local levels. The important point here is that competition for financial reforms of, for instance, taxes had to find and develop organisational and legal reforms that were authorised by some codified form of confessional loyalty. As a theologically codified form of authoritative social imaginary, organisation could only be developed in a more-or-less absolutist or top-down fashion if it was also delegated to a form that established bottom-up synchronisation. People had to believe in it. Ute Frevert correctly claims in her study of Frederick the Great that “without docility of the dominated, domination does not function. Yet people are only docile when they are enforced or when they are convinced by justice and recognition from the domination” (2012, 21). Acceptance, admiration, loyalty and even love are necessary to create obedient emotions. As in the United Provinces, civilian unrest was too expensive, and too centrifugal for the construction of power – in the Dutch case, Spanish occupation. According to the Lutheran conception of sola scriptura, it was foundational to humans to learn about the scriptures and their devices. Therefore, schools were primordial to welfare. Extremely importantly, Luther wrote in his text “An die Ratsherren aller Städte deutsches Landes, dass sie christliche Schulen aufrichten und halten sollen” (1524, as rendered in Dorwart’s somewhat modernised translation of 1971, 144) that: the welfare of a city does not consist alone in great treasures, firm walls, beautiful homes, and munitions of war (... ) The highest welfare, safety, and power of a city consists in able, learned, wise, upright, cultivated citizens (... ) In all the world even among the heathens, schoolmasters and teachers have been found necessary.

In fact, Luther does not use the word ‘welfare’, but perhaps the concept is there (Luther: 1524, Werke Vol. 15: 34) in a sense following Reinhart Koselleck’s important distinction between word and concept so as to include content (Koselleck: 2006, 62–64). Regardless, from the Reformation onwards, the education of entire populations was not a matter for monasteries, but foundational for public authorities and their much-acclaimed raison d’état. In Denmark-Norway, as in the extremely federal German experiences, we see local and regional administration at work in the use of civil servants. A particular form in the very Lutheran Danish monarchy was that the diocesan regional com-

Blind path dependencies

missars (stiftsamtmænd) supervised the local administration (Pedersen: 1995, 200). Loyalty was established as a particular form of service to God and the king, since the king (not the Pope) himself represented God in earthly life. To be in the service of God and in the king’s service were two analogous, overlapping and mutually interdependent or structurally coupled forms of obedience. To break their laws was in principle to negate the dogmatic metaphysics of God, king, and state. It was considered high treason, punishable by more than death – that is, by the loss of honour and by the denial of a Christian grave. In modern nation-states, the focus increasingly has been on national general conscription, which linked citizens to the army. France, in 1793, had carried out the levée de masse of 750,000 national soldiers. But the Swedish compartmentalising conscription (Indelingsverk) displayed its political and military efficiency more than a hundred years earlier, first in 1634 and then in 1682, (Ericsson: 1999; Lindegren: 1980, 144–179). As in the Prussian states and the Swedish compartmentalising conscription, in Denmark soldiers were conscripted locally due to a division of acres and farms in such a way that still in the early eighteenth century a certain number of farms (in Sweden the so-called rota) offered one soldier fit for the fight.

3.

Danish experiences: an enforced co-option?

Denmark’s remarkable absolutist constitution drew extensively on French absolutist thought – and it was better and more extensively implemented in Denmark than any constitution in France before Napoleon (Stolleis: 1990, 167–197; Ertman: 1997, 305ff). It was Danish elite lawyers, historians and theologians such as Peder Schumacher, Peter Lassen, Rasmus Vinding and Hans Vandahl who were the main authors of the King’s Code (1665) and the Danish Code (1683). They travelled abroad to study and gather information, as the Swedish Axel Oxenstierna and even the Danish Niels Hemmingsen, to mention only two, had travelled to Wittenberg a hundred years before (Stybe: 1975, 98ff.). From Luther down to the execution of Johan Friedrich Struensee in 1772, natural law constituted ideas about how to integrate humans in the form of the household and the dynastic household under the order of God. The threefold order – clerical, economic and political – was intended to realise this all-embracing imaginary reality (Bayer: 2007, 111; Holm/Koefoed: 2018). Through the institution of the Ten Commandments, in Early Modernity the household state was to be authorised and established as the natural and divine common good, in the sense that the first three commandments authorised the implementation of the following seven. A number of additional foreign experts and ideas taught the Danish reformers to copy or imitate adequate transformations of military organisation, including the use of local conscription (Justi: 1759; Sneedorff: 1776; Vogt: 2007). The French general

239

240

Gorm Harste

Camille de Saint-Germain and the Swiss scholar Elie Reverdil began to standardise conscription in the face of resistance from the Danish landlords, including the agrarian reformer Ditlev Reventlow. These transformations did not end with Struensee’s celebrated ‘usurpation’ of the king’s power and acceleration of the reforms. On the contrary, after his execution in 1772, Struensee’s reforms were implemented, leading in 1788 to the final upheaval in the somewhat feudal serfdom of Danish peasants under the landlords. From 1788, the peasants became the direct subjects (‘Unterthanen’) of the king: a change that was due not to agricultural needs, but the military needs of a modern army (Bjerg: 1988; Kaspersen: 2004). The peasants had the right to write petitions or so-called ‘supplikker’, and in Prussia this was upheld when Frederick the Great immediately gave the peasants recourse (the Immediatenrecht) to appeal to the king and authorities over the head of their senior. Nevertheless, the weakness in the Prussian and Danish forms of more-or-less enlightened absolutism was the structural coupling between the reasoning or values of the subordinate part and the bureaucratic form of the relation between superior and inferior. As hidden discipline to think, reason and feel in the medium of the superior’s imaginary is definitely an important powerful mean in organisations. However, in Denmark the adscription law (the stavnsbånd) for a while in the eighteenth century de-modernised the peasantry, so to speak, by subjecting them to landowners in a condition bordering on serfdom. The adscription law bound men between the ages of 14 and 36 to a narrow and passive horizon without political or organisational responsibilities. Local landlords were responsible for materially constituting the duties of peasant males as conscripts (Bjerg: 1988; Andersen: 1997; Kaspersen: 2004). The background for this landmilits was that the usual way of raising an army, through mercenaries, was too expensive. The double use of peasants, both in production for the landowners and as conscripts, created numerous tensions, and was not therefore the best or most professional form for a modern army that required standardised drill, weapons, and munitions. The Danish landmilits and the serfdom were reformed in 1733, but not in standardised or rationalised form. Subject to reforms in 1742, 1764 and 1774, they lasted in rough form from 1733 to 1788. Peasants were conscripted for eight years, and met every Sunday except during the harvest. In addition they were bonded as serfs to the lords, yet only for as long as the landlords had work to be done. This, too, was usual in the eastern parts of the Prussian states. Altogether, the Danish monarchy’s authorising and organisation of the population in the service of the monarchy required the construction of entire social orders.

Blind path dependencies

4.

The early welfare state in East Prussia: the delegation of responsibility

The early East Prussian welfare state reforms are one example of a new form of ‘synchronisation’ of society and state in Northern Europe. These reforms are often forgotten and disregarded as some kind of idealised model. The so-called “Prussian miracle” from 1640 to 1818 was mainly founded in early welfare state experiments within the inherited territory of East Prussia, which had been submitted as a kingdom to the Brandenburg dynasty in 1701 (Safronovas: 2016, 18). Saved from the Northern War and the War of Spanish Succession, Brandenburg had a huge financial surplus. In remote, war-torn East Prussia, this was used for almost Keynesian welfare experiments, well studied in post-war historical research (Terveen: 1954; Mertineit: 1958; Dorwart: 1971). These experiments, documented in classical political science in terms of political loyalty and financial income, were not only a tremendous success, but were copied as a learning process throughout the Prussian states from that time on, and by the same token in Germany after 1990. The reforms preceded the later cameral reorganisation in Brandenburg (a development that was exported to Denmark in the mid-eighteenth century, particularly in the work of Johann von Justi (Justi: 1759, 21–24; Vogt: 2007; Wakefield: 2009, 6)); but the reforms did not simply develop ex nihilo. A double feature characterised the medium within which the form of power could reform. In particular, the form of local Church organisation preceded, by a century or more, how commoners and clerics adopted to organised parishes while staying loyal to the Church and not just the local lord, who often anyway constituted his authority in close affiliation to the obedience felt for the Church. Another feature co-opted in a kind of second legal revolution in the sixteenth century was the law (Berman: 2004). In somewhat similar fashion, in France, the Prussian states, the Danish-Norwegian and the Swedish somewhat republican monarchy, power took place in a state organisation that reorganised itself in a double linkage – from the top down and from the bottom up – with both military and Church orders. Whereas the Calvinist heritage in a Lipsean form of discipline and loyalty founded itself on the civilised manners and ascetic virtues of well-educated citizens, the Lutheran form in addition co-opted the lifestyle of the lower orders, to the extent that they received basic Christian formation, also in the mind of Johannes Lipsius. Certainly, in the Prussian states, most citizens were Lutherans. In Brandenburg, markets, pedlars and retailers were regulated, as were vagabonds (Dorwart: 1971, 16–17, 69–74). The Prussian Kantonsystem created fewer tensions and more modernisation than the Danish form of ‘localisation’ of peasants constituted in 1733; in fact, it was inspired by the Roman legion system, and it monetarised the countryside in a territory with only very few cities and little trade (Behrens: 1985; Rosenberg: 1958). As in Rome, soldiers were paid, receiving their sold (that

241

242

Gorm Harste

is, salary); in the Prussian states, they did their military service in garrisons over a twenty-year period (but excluding the harvest and, in fact, lasting only three months). The Danish war minister Peter Lövenörn spent time in Prussia before the establishment of the Kantonsystem to gather ideas, but by 1740 the Prussian army had grown to a force of 86,000 soldiers, backed by a solid economy, whereas the Danish system disposed of only about 20,000, albeit nominally 80,000 (Bjerg: 1988, 12). At the same time, educational reforms in the Lutheran states in Germany were, according to Andy Green, far ahead of almost all other states, with school compulsory in principle from 1717 (Green: 1990; Dorwart: 1971). In Denmark, the parishes had been responsible for ensuring that local people could read since the Reformation, in particular for ensuring that they could read Luther’s Small Catechism (Løgstrup 2011). Already in 1619, it was parents’ duty to send their children to school. This was due to the Lutheran Catechism, which in the Danish Law from 1683 was the obligatory subject of the education of the household. The children of the poor had thus been in school for free since 1708 (see Koefoed’s contribution in this volume). Yet the Danish landowners seem to have had stronger powers of negotiation than the Prussian Junkers, since they managed to keep the children as a labour force. In Denmark, decades of further implementation of the school reforms of 1739–40 were required before the passing of the education law of 1814 – the year immediately following the Danish bankruptcy that had left the schools without financial support. For all the bad reputation the Prussian states later acquired from the Nazi aftermath the story about the earlier parts of that heritage have been rescued by the cultural turn of the Bielefeld school in historical sociology and the efforts of British historians (Frevert: 2012). Notwithstanding, it is certainly clear that from the mid-seventeenth to the mid-eighteenth century a tremendous transformation took place in the concepts the dynasties used to describe their own cohesion. These new concepts ultimately became the paradigm for ‘enlightened absolutism’ (and, according to Hegel, contained the potential for modern rationalisation (Hegel: 1821/1974; Avineri: 1974, 124–125)). The dynastic household, the prince himself, his body, his will, his sovereignty, power, reason of state, the council and the crown, the domains and many other forms – all underwent organisational, military and financial revolutions. The final stage was the revolution in law and the separation of powers (Behrens: 1985). According to the social legal historian Michael Stolleis (2013, 36ff), these ideas replaced the older solidaristic corporations and communities – and did so early, disrupting already before the mid-nineteenth century, as the growing rural population found that it must immigrate into the cities and away from home. This ‘solution’ completely transformed society and welfare, but a form of the potential for rationalisation was sufficiently well realised to release important learning processes for welfare states. But what lay behind the legendary myth of the Prussian state?

Blind path dependencies

As maintained by Koselleck (2006, 14ff) and Luhmann (1980, 17–63), for power to be fully organised and coordinated, conceptually well-developed language and semantics were required. Cutting across the unit ideas of power and reason of state, a number of other concepts emerged, less descriptive, more normative about motives and imaginaries. Such was “the thought of the common good” (“der Gedanke der gemeinen Boden”, “das Gemeinwohl”, “die Wohlfahrt”). Many of these concepts recapitulated ancient ideas from stoic thinkers such as Seneca, Cicero and Marcus Aurelius. They were typically half theological, half cameral concepts, used within the economy of the princes’ enlarged households as measure, standard and orientation for the general agrarian economy. They expressed the relations between the conglomerate parts of a monarchy, such as the Hohenzollern household state. Older theological figures of ‘representation’, ‘parts’ and ‘wholes’ were now conceived in new forms (Luhmann: 1997, 912–931) – according to Dorwart (1971), in a Lutheran vein. ‘Whole’ and ‘parts’ became new concepts for the connectivities between the parts: rather than extending beyond it, the whole was seen as inherent in the singular part. The whole of the Brandenburg cameral economy was dependent on activities in the individual lands, counties, and their administrative competences – their production, the singular farms, the family virtues, their livestock their drainage conditions, their seed stocks and so on. But the description of the monarchy economy – its cartography, control and surveillance – created new and revitalised concepts about centre and periphery, the capital and local regions, merged conceptually in the ‘provincial capital’. The Prussian Gesamtstaat (entire conglomerate state) was a Wohlfahrtsstaat (perhaps translated from the French “l’État de bien faisance”, as used by the Abbé Saint-Pierre in 1713). Yet there were no causal chains between such concepts: rather, underlying them were cohesive forms of semantics and signification, or what Max Weber conceptualised as Sinnzusammenhänge: that is, self-referential and self-organising forms and systems of communication that enabled establishment and implementation. One place where these important changes were realised was East Prussia. Hitherto, for example with Swedish expansionism in the Baltic or Spanish attempts to hold the Spanish Netherlands, military costs had had to be financed from conquered territories (Lindegren: 1984; Bonney: 1995). Though Holland is sometimes seen as the opposite phenomenon, a rich small country that did not need expansionism, that view merely displaces the explanation, since East Indian corporations, whether based in the Netherlands or England, were simply extending the English enclosures of poor land to include conquered colonies as payments for war debt (Harste: 2016, ch. 6). Learning processes from Holland were important for educated elites sent there, to Leiden University, for instance, from Prussia and Scandinavia (Oestreich: 1982). But the importance and impact of East Prussian cameral welfare politics was, as we will see, because that financial system replaced the extrovert imperial displacement of the rich/poor distinction by an internally self-organising system which

243

244

Gorm Harste

empowered the poor. In the twentieth century, this expansive financial strategy was to become known as Keynesianism; but it was very much what was proposed by the Swedish economist Eli Heckscher (1922). East Prussian cameral welfare policies did indeed develop an early form of Keynesian welfare state (Dorwart: 1971, vi). According to the accounts of 1697–1701 and again of 1711, in East Prussia about 40 per cent of the 600,000 inhabitants died of hunger and plague in the aftermath of the Great Northern War (Terveen: 1954, 18). 11,000 farms had no inhabitants. There were about 55,000 farms, 30,000 of them Lithuanian. So-called northern East Prussia contained four counties (Hauptämtern): Insterburg with 176 villages, Ragnit with 343, Tilsit with 201, and Insterburg the city, with 844 houses and 3,420 persons. Under the main county (Hauptamt) there were sub-counties (Schulzenamtern) and, at the smallest end of the scale, Kammerämtern. There were 330 countryside churches and sixty in the towns. Education was institutionalised and delivered by teachers, pastors and bishops, who, unlike the king, were mainly Lutheran, not Calvinist. According to the sources, however, many if not most people knew little of Christianity and often rushed away when the pastor came to examine them (Terveen: 1954, 14–16). Schools were primitive, with only one room, and the pastors’ functions were, at best, rudimentary. As we will see, schools did not enter into the differentiated function system of the welfare states until the system of “learning of learning” (von Humboldt’s expression) got underway (Humboldt: 1812/1964, 170; Luhmann 2002: 194). According to Otto Hintze (1906/1986), this sort of compromise was typical of the house of Hohenzollern: Lutheran confession for internal peace, Calvinist confession for external expansion.

5.

Calvinist elites, Lutheran populations

One probably underestimated problem was confessional tensions as regarded the Lithuanian peasantry, some parts of which were still embedded in serfdom and illiteracy and were not accustomed to Lutheran Church procedures or educational reforms, while some still followed traditionalist rituals of Catholic origin. Through the entire educational programme that it offered, Lutheranism certainly succeeded in establishing a common general way of handling cooperation in the Baltic Ostseeraum, that is, Sweden, Finland, Estonia and Latvia; in north-east Prussia, this was mainly the Memel region and the small towns which were Lutheran. Though the pastors were often Lutheran and German the peasantry were sometimes resistant to the new and enforced language (Kahle: 1982, 147–153; Davies: 1983), even if they were closer to Lutheran than Calvinist ideas, which was elitist and more Dutch-influenced. In the towns the German language gained importance from the end of the seventeenth century, yet only became widespread with the reforms of the early eighteenth century.

Blind path dependencies

What happened with the reforms and with the peasants? Why, and how, did the Prussian states accomplish their reforms? One obvious and easy answer is to point to the extreme professionalisation that took place in Brandenburg, in particular after Frederick the Great’s accession. As with the Swedish elites of around 1600, once the elites took an interest in developing the administration, they became educated. The Brandenburg administrative estates developed as an organised body of households (von Justi: 1759, 457; Koselleck: 1975, 67–70). Under the protection of the Calvinist house of Hohenzollern, the central elites had everything to gain and nothing to lose (Johnson: 1975; Oestreich: 1982, 118ff). A famous dictum of the Kantian reformist lawyer Frederick von Schrötter was that “Prussia was a territory equipped with an army and a state” (Rosenberg: 1958; Behrens: 1985, 38). In short, the civil servants cooperated and synchronised. Yet often overlooked is how local and often Lutheran groups participated with and trusted in the central or regional administration (Kahle: 1982). An additional question here is whether it helped officials to be equipped with a Catholic, Lutheran, or Calvinist confession. Indeed, the still more complex conglomerate federation of the Prussian states headed towards confessional tolerance, first in 1740 with Frederick the Great’s rise to power, again after 1748 with the co-option of Catholic Silesia, and ultimately after the Stein-Hardenberg secular reforms of bureaucratic rationalities and virtues. Philip Gorski argued in The Disciplinary Revolution (2003) that King Frederick William was a Calvinist and can therefore be seen as representing the Weberian explanation of ascetic hard work (Weber 1904/2014). But for Frederick, the military spirit (or reason of state) was certainly not an unintended consequence, as the capitalist spirit might have been for the Calvinist confession. If we scrutinise the local administration, another form of bottom-up entrusted loyalty and obedience emerges. Lutheranism was probably more important in most of the Prussian states than Gorski concedes. Of peculiar importance is what Reinhold Dorwart in his book of that name called the early Prussian welfare state (1971), which found its first form in the greatly accelerated re-establishment of East Prussia. Long before a Bismarckian welfare state, this early form accelerated in the age of the ‘soldier king’ Frederick William from 1713 to 1740, then continued under Frederick the Great from 1740 to 1786. Frederick’s coronation as king in Prussia in 1701 elevated Brandenburg to a monarchy in East Prussia, albeit outside the framework of the German empire even if it was bequeathed by the Brandenburg Great Elector, one of the seven electors along with Bavaria, Wurttemberg and Hanover and three archbishops who could elect the emperor (Hubatsch: 1983). Then in 1711 the young Calvinist crown prince Frederick William was tasked with appointing a commission “Zur Herstellung des zerfallenen und in grosse Unordnung geratenen Kamer-und Domänenwesen”, to be led by the Calvinist Count Christoph von Dohna (Terveen: 1954, 19; Wagner: 1777,

245

246

Gorm Harste

195). In this connection, it was probably the administration of the west European political economy that inspired von Dohna, as it later did the more professional Frederick the Great. His father’s harsh educational practices eventually turned Frederick, the philosopher-king, atheist – a point on which I take issue with Philip Gorski’s narrow focus on Frederick William and von Dohna as the two significant Calvinist figures of this period (Gorski: 2003; Riches: 2013, 209ff). In the Lutheran conception, the household, whether local or central, was more inclusive towards social confessions than the more individualist Calvinist imaginary (Schoeps: 1969, 372). As mentioned in Martin Schwarz Laustsen’s review (1971) of Hubatsch’s monumental Geschichte der Ostpreussischen Kirche (1968), the evangelical reforms of the sixteenth century and especially the Osiander quarrel initially took place from the top down, unlike the local experiences described here a hundred years later. If any difference is traceable between Lutheran and Calvinist impact, it is that the Lutheran conception was based on local social organisation, whereas the Calvinist one ultimately transcended earthly matters, was more trans-territorial, and in fact was more dependent on learning processes among the elites (Hintze: 1906/1986; Oestreich: 1982, 118ff. ).

6.

The paradigm of cameral welfare

The crown prince’s commission of 1711 brought together a range of reform ideas about, for example, education and activities for civil servants, to be managed by von Osten. Among the proposals was freedom from taxes; hitherto East Prussia had been extremely overloaded with taxes, a system that broke down in the horrible years 1700–1711. Most famous among the proposals was the idea of the ‘repopulation’ of the entire region, which was to be the touchstone of the next twenty-five years of ‘re-establishment’. In fact, many outsiders thought this plan futile and too costly. In terms of the logic of the still-ruling mercantilist thought, it would not pay off, because input would be greater than output. Here we should remember that mercantilism saw wealth as a zero-sum game in which the centre had more if the periphery had less, and vice versa. This idea was about to change (Bonney: 1995). Already in Frederick William’s first year as king, in 1713, he drew up a new and highly intensified plan that synchronised all welfare activities into a single cameral political economy according to criteria of organisational inclusion (Luhmann: 1981a). He was keen to select the most active and competent civil servants: those, like Johann Christoph von Waldburg, who became the central connection between the king and local problems of implementation, who had the best knowledge and were motivated. Von Waldburg represented a new economic Kameralverwaltung which “has to mitigate problems and assist if farmers are overburdened with more than their activities can deal with” (Dorwart: 1953, 74).

Blind path dependencies

The cameral perspective in these reform connectivities was still unclear; the specific details were yet to be hammered out. Obligatory school education from 1717, better administrative staffs, and motivated will were not sufficient to mitigate conflicts with the local courts (the Regierungen). In 1718, a special commission was appointed to develop a range of propositions that would revise and control even the smallest details. The king instructed von Waldburg to import 8,000 farmers with families, and in so doing to create an entire new “domain and cameral administration” (Friedrich Wilhelm: 1722/1997). Ultimately, about 25,000 residents from the Salzburg area accepted this resettlement. The idea was that the king’s domains, which in general made up about half the entire Prussian territories, were to go ahead with a new administrative apparatus and to establish a new functional and self-organising system. A number of elements were to connect. This process of transformation was not just a matter of causal relations: interpretative schemes were used in their entire connectivities (Weber’s “Sinnzusammenhänge”). Education was not to be understood independently of the parish surveillance and the local bureaucracy that supplied and organised its finance as well as its pupils. A social imaginary of obedience committed inhabitants to send their children to schools according to contract. Rather than being simple schemes of cause and effect, these connectivities interconnected the interpretation of meaning in a complex, albeit local society. For example, farmers were taught to plant three shift crops and to use soil drainage techniques already practised in Brandenburg. The point was less to control the integration of these elements in governmentalised form than to increase their interconnected differentiation – or, as Dorwart and Behrens would have it, their departmentalisation. Later, in his critique (Frédéric: 1771/1788) of Paul-Henri d’Holbach’s mechanical systems theory (1770), Frederick the Great wrote that such social systems must be observed pragmatically as interpretative schemes; in his Système sociale (1773), d’Holbach had failed to revise his systems theory sufficiently to conceptualise functionally differentiated sub-systems. This transformation was intended to connect nature with culture, a theme that later emerged strongly in Kant’s Critique of Judgement (1790/1974, §§ 61–83). Both in the commission in Berlin and in Königsberg, the plans developed fast. In particular, the matrix organisation implemented in the Prussian states created a complete and soon to be celebrated new structure. This, though often described as the first Prussian bureaucratic administration, was certainly inspired by the absolutist rotation system of civil servants developed in France by Jean-Baptiste Colbert 1664–1683 for Louis XIV and moderated at the level of sub-delegates in following decades (Mousnier: 1974; 1980; Smedley-Weill: 1995; Colbert I-VIII: 1861; Harste: 2013). It was impossible to create a form united in a central perspective even following the known absolutist experience of Denmark-Norway-Holstein. Indeed, the conglomerate administrative tasks spanned very distant territories. The result was the matrix organisation, with four provinces and four functionally

247

248

Gorm Harste

different administrations, as seen in Frederick William’s Administrative Reform of 1722. Integrative measures took the form of financial revision rather than command (Hubatsch: 1980). In East Prussia this initially created tensions – some of them paradoxical, like that between the western commissar von Görne’s proposal to gather the farms in enclosed villages against western traditions, and the eastern commissar von Waldburg’s idea that farms should be established well apart, against eastern traditions. Von Waldburg, a disciplined Calvinist, died suddenly in 1722; but the Lutheran field marshal Leopold von Dessau (“the old Dessau”) who replaced him gained a reputation as an even more competent organiser (one reason for which was that the population in East Prussia was mainly Lutheran). Successful administration required that the practice of participation and obedience from the bottom up should spread; yet the idea of decentralised implementation created huge tensions. Civil servants and administrators in the nobility alike preferred almost any degradation to leaving Königsberg or Berlin and living a life in remote villages or small towns in East Prussia. This probably general problem with decentralisation in conglomerate state administrations is clear to see in the somewhat untranslatable letter of 3 November 1722 from the dyslexic Frederick William to the general directorate under Wusterhausen The financial directorate we see at place: that it should go to Prussia and therefore I command to propose cameral councillors and secretaries who should be sent there. Good hosts should in eight days then come about for the superior court and [otherwise] I will force them to go there to dance according to my pipe or the devil will take me to hang or to roast them as the Zar too and treat the wise rebels as did the duke of Holstein so that the mentioned canailles would go there to Tilsit with their powdered wigs towards Friedrichsburg in their closed coaches and those gentlemen would wonder that I would be so hard and that this is not my manner nor my fault and I cannot help but warn and say that it have to come to execution and I would not be master if I command an officer to follow and he fails and the dammed shitguy would have something in advance and does not obey to let me put shame and punishments to deal therewith which the general finance directorate has to be aware of... (Terveen: 1954, 49–50)

The soldier king Frederick William – who never went to war – disciplined even his closest delegates, including his extremely cultivated crown prince Frederick II (the Great), with submission, threatening penalties. The administration was to behave as the instrument of the king. According to Terveen, the harassment of resistant delegates later gave way to a religiously Pietistic semantic. Certainly, Frederick the Great’s stoic visions of the admired benevolent ruler as the Marcus Aurelius narrative did win him reputation. Regional politics could be considered a functional equivalent to personnel policy. The point was often to manage remote tasks well

Blind path dependencies

done in peripheral positions as tests for promotion, a tool that was frequently used for recruitment and to give incentives for career mobility. Nevertheless, Frederick William was both stubborn and extremely industrious in the management of his staff, notably in his yearly inspection tours of East Prussia, which had nothing in common with traditional hereditary ceremonial but were instituted as a counter-equivalent to the ‘fêtes de dieu’ or, in Sweden, the Eriksgata of the king. People were indeed subjected to stress. Locally responsible people worked like ants – but with modesty, like Lutheran Pietists, not Calvinists. The king would not accept that agricultural obstacles, the cold winters and great seasonal shifts, were greater than in Magdeburg; accordingly, the efficiency of middle Germany was brought to bear in East Prussia to create what he called ‘deutsche Wirtschaft’ and that meant economically to create household hospitality as a ‘Wirt’ (host). Famously, Frederick William pressed farmers from Magdeburg in their hundreds to settle in East Prussia to create learning processes among the tens of thousands invited to settle there from Salzburg. This experiment founded the series of draining projects that soon spread to Brandenburg, to be followed in short order by road building (Terveen: 1954). Much to Frederick William’s surprise, but certainly not that of his antiMachiavellian son Frederick the Great, a professional military and domain reform called for cultural and civilised development: that is, art, education, schools, colleges, research, and universities rooted in the population as civilised culture. In 1734, it was clear that the local churches of East Prussia could not pay for the construction of local schools and teachers; the congregations were simply too poor. A Principia Regulativa therefore reorganised and standardised expenses and tasks for the development of schools in every possible detail, including compulsory school attendance from the fifth to the twelfth year. But the priests still had to find competent schoolteachers. Two hundred and eighty schools were to be constructed in 1735 for the sum of 40,000 thalers (500 bricks cost two thalers, the same as the mason’s salary and the carpenter’s too). By 1737, the king’s semantics had transformed from menaces to transcendent hopes and promises: “From highest royal grace we have decided salaries for a clever schoolmaster to offer a capital of fifty thousand Reichstalern in order from now and into eternity to build a well-ordered regime of God” (cited in Terveen: 1954, 112). The solution to the problem of finding teachers was to create teacher-training colleges to train them. Who was to teach the college teachers? This was organised by the further development of the Protestant (Lutheran) university of Königsberg, created in 1544 in the (first) Lutheran constitution among German federal duchies and counties. On his accession in 1740, Frederick the Great was quick (in 1742) to grant freedom of research at Königsberg University. In that same year, the young Kant matriculated. It is hardly surprising that Kant emerged where he did, from a city not in fact so remote, but rather central in the reform fever that struck modern enlightened Europe.

249

250

Gorm Harste

7.

Conclusion: From control to responsibility and accountability

One semantic form is what Bourdieu calls symbolic and physical violence (Bourdieu: 1994). This was certainly inherent in Frederick William’s disciplined Calvinism, which intrinsically but also through its use of controlled military exercise was connected to the still more Pietistic form of Lutheranism taught by Philipp Spener and disseminated by the Francke schools (Gawthrop: 1989; 1993; Gorski: 2003; Dorwart: 1971, 176ff). Certainly, a heavy plague in 1683–84 and again in 1709 reinforced Pietistic forms of Lutheranism and Calvinism, for example in the form of intolerance at the leading Prussian university of Halle towards Wolf and Thomasius’ philosophies of reason, and those conflicts did not soften until the accession of the atheist Frederick the Great (Stolleis: 2012, 298ff; Schoeps: 1969). Eventually the twin strands of Calvinist and Lutheran Protestantism fused in the years 1818–1822, as religious virtues were eventually replaced by education, and strict obedience submitted to the reformed state bureaucracy (Hegel: 1821/1974, § 270; Koselleck: 1975, 402–5). Paradoxically, Lutheran obedience led to one more transformation of the social virtues of coordination and cooperation: religious tolerance. Famously, Kant in his article “Answering the question: what is Enlightenment?” analyses Frederick the Great’s great injunction to his civil servants: “Think whatever you may wish, but obey” (Kant: 1783/1977, 55). Frederick’s injunction created the space for greater tolerance than is observable in the Danish absolutist legacy, in which Danish civil servants were taught to anticipate a priori and think how first the king, then the minister, then the head of department would have thought as they remained loyal to their political ideas. Religious tolerance was important to Frederick the Great’s accelerated programme of modernisation, rationalisation, and secularisation for the Prussian states, and it was to be a cornerstone of Kant’s philosophy of religion (Frédéric le Grand: T. 11, 1788; 1770/1788; 1771/1788; 1777/1788). In pragmatic terms, the strategy of tolerance amounted to an invitation to the pluralist, postconfessional accommodation of specialists, many of whom were refugees. In that sense, modernisation was a question of functional differentiation, as in the separation of powers. Obedience as duty was a duty to duty – the willingness to develop a well-willing motivation, to reflect upon it, and to learn about it as a form of accountability (zurechnungsfähigheit) (Kant: 1798. 326–335). The Prussian federal cooperation developed a peculiar form of ‘subsidiarity’ in which the delegation of power was preponderant. The centre would only assist if the local administration was unable to act, or not supplied with adequate codes (Koselleck: 1975, 38–45). Albeit Max Weber’s famous bureaucratic model developed in this same period (1922/1980, 551–579) and had already found its ideal form in Hegel’s Elements of the philosophy of right (1821/1972, §§ 287–297), another – postbureaucratic – form of delegated organisation was also developing. Responsibility

Blind path dependencies

was to be delegated accountability. The main idea was to conceive responsibility as Frederick the Great saw it in his reflected opposition to and distancing from his Pietistic and Calvinist father (Frevert: 2012). After the Prussian defeat at Jena and Auerstedt in 1806, this lesson was to reform the Prussian military leadership. Later, the delegation of responsibility was known as ‘Auftragstaktik’ and ‘innere Führung’. The elder Marshal Helmut von Moltke, a former Danish officer, promoted the delegation tactic in his writings, memoranda, and everyday practice as leader: Diverse are the situations under which an officer has to act on the basis of his own view of the situation. It would be wrong if he had to wait for orders at times when no orders can be given. His actions are most productive when he acts within the framework of his senior commander’s intent. (cited from Widder: 2002, 4)

As for the ‘innere Führung’, the tactic was to get used to the image of a man, according to which the soldier is a free person to be trusted (Frevert: 2013, 29–33; Luhmann: 1968). Of course, this created an outright opposition to blind obedience and totalitarian power. His individual dignity is respected just as well as his basic rights are guaranteed for all citizens, and thus also for the soldiers. Only the responsible citizen will act out of his own free will and the responsibility he feels toward the community. He recognizes that the values of the community have to be defended even at the risk of his own life. (Widder: 2002, 5)

This is in complete contrast to the idea later expressed by German conservatives from Marshal Erich Ludendorff to Hitler in their totalitarian opposition to the Wehrmacht (Heuser: 2002). Nevertheless, the origin of this idea of delegation was founded in times of peace, in the organisation of the early welfare state in Brandenburg’s administration of East Prussia. The civil servants and those responsible for the activities themselves had to reason about what to do, with whom, in which processes, with what means, and so on. They had to use their critical judgement. Organisation here certainly was about delegation and bottom-up co-option. Testament to this was the spectacular Brandenburg co-option of East Prussia. Well-raised Lutheran citizens had to be entrusted with accountable credibility. Of course, in reality matters were more complex. Perhaps in a surprise to many, the regional welfare policy in East Prussia paid off, and became a tremendous financial success (Terveen: 1954). The planners, however, were not shocked, nor were those who had thought about the policies of the Roman legions. Today, we may see in the policy an early form of the Keynesian policy of expansive state investments, creating spillover and multiplier effects. After

251

252

Gorm Harste

1736, the province of East Prussia produced a financial surplus, and the welfare policies were continued in West Prussia, then Posen and further away in Silesia, then later in Mecklenburg. In our own time, we have seen the same policy since 1990 in the implementation of West Germany’s political economy in the former East Germany. These policies combine in what Kant, himself an East Prussian, called a “self-organising system” (Kant: 1790/1974, § 65; Harste 2009). Historical analyses of administrative reforms in Denmark have demonstrated a series of imitations of Prussia, and of Hanover and Holstein too (Westrup/Jørgensen: 1982). The most spectacular example is the reforms of Struensee. Yet the Lutheran inspiration had a long haul. In Sweden, the cameral politics originally invented in East Prussia was famously studied well before Keynes by economists Eli Heckscher and his student Bertil Ohlin. While the world was at war in the early twentieth century, the Heckscher-Ohlin reforms in political economy created the backbone of the Swedish welfare state. This indicates the importance of studying reforms and innovations historically and comparatively in order to track learning processes. We should also be careful not to isolate narratives around nation-states, whether in overly positive or negative myths. Herbert Butterfield warned of the dangers of the Whig interpretation of history in 1931. Scandinavia too has been afflicted with interpretations; and too often they take their departure in ignorance of other learning processes that may well mirror processes in Scandinavia.

Bibliography Abbé Saint-Pierre (1713/1981), Projet pour rendre la paix perpétuelle en Europe I-III, Paris: Garnier Frères. Ailes, Mary E. (2006), Wars, Widows, and State Formation in 17th-Century Sweden, Scandinavian Journal of History 31:1, 17–34. Andersen, Claus Eskil (1997), Militærtjenesten som Trussel? En undersøgelse af fritagelser fra udskrivning til den danske hær 1750–1800, Fortid og Nutid (Marts), 3–24. Asch, Ronald/Heinz Duchhart (ed.) (1996), Der Absolutismus – ein Mythos?, Köln: Böhlau. Avineri, Shlomo (1974), Hegel’s theory of the modern state, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bayer, Oswald (2007), Martin Luthers Theologie, Tübingen: Mohr. Berman, Harold (2004), Law and Revolution Vol. 2, Cambridge Mass.: Harvard University Press. Behrens, Catherine B.A. (1985), Society, Government and Enlightenment, London: Thames and Hudson. Beik, William (1985), Absolutism and Society in Seventeenth-century France, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Blind path dependencies

Bjerg, Hans Christian (1988), Stavnsbånd og værnepligt. Omkring værnepligtsreformen, Tåstrup: Værnepligtsstyrelsen. Bonney, Richard (ed.) (1995), Economic Systems and State Finance, Oxford: Clarendon. Bourdieu, Pierre (1994), Dans l’esprit d’état, in Pierre Bourdieu. Raisons pratiques, Paris: Seuil. Butterfield, Herbert (1931), The Whig Interpretation of History, London: Norton. Colbert, Jean-Baptiste (1861), Lettres, instruction et mémoires de Colbert T. I–VIII, (éd. Pierre Clément), Paris: Imprimerie impériale. D’holbach, Paul-Henri (1770/1999), Essai sur les Préjuges; Système de la Nature, in Oeuvres Philosophiques T.2, Paris: Alive. D’holbach, Paul-Henri (1773/1994), Système social, Paris: Fayard. Dorwart, Reinhold August (1953), The Administrative Reforms of Frederick William I of Prussia, Cambridge Mass.: Harvard University Press. Dorwart, Reinhold August (1971), The Prussian Welfare State before 1740, Cambridge Mass.: Harvard University Press. Elias, Norbert (1939/1976), Über den Prozeß der Zivilisation Band 1–2, Frankfurt: Suhrkamp. Englund, Peter (1988), Poltava. Beretningen om en armés undergang, København: Lindhardt og Ringhof. Ertman, Thomas (1997), Birth of the Leviathan, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ericson, Lars (1999), Svenska Knektar, Lund: Historiska Media. Esping-Andersen, Gøsta (1990), The Three Worlds of Welfare Capitalism, Cambridge: Polity Press. Foucault, Michel (1977/1994), La naissance de la medicine sociale, Dits et Écrits Tome III, 207–228, Paris : Gallimard. Frédéric Le Grand (1770/1788), Sur l’éducation, Oeuvres Posthumes, T. 12, Berlin. Frédéric Le Grand (1771/1788), Examen critique du système de la nature, Œuvres Posthumes, T. 11, Berlin. Frédéric Le Grand (1777/1788), Essai sur les formes de gouvernement et sur les dévoirs des souverains, in Oeuvres Posthumes, T. 11, Berlin. Frédéric Le Grand (1788), Oeuvres posthume de Frédéric le Grand T. 1–16, Berlin. Frevert, Ute (2012), Gefühlspolitik. Friedrich II als Herr über die Herzen, Göttingen: Wallstein. Frevert, Ute (2013), Vertrauensfragen, München: Beck. Friderich Wilhelm I (1722/1997), Instruktion und Reglement König Friedrich Wilhelms I für das „Generaldirectorium“, in Helmuth Neuhaus (ed.), Deutsche Geschichte in Quellen und Darstellung Band 5, Stuttgart: Reclam: 376–397. Gawthrop, Richard (1989), Lutheran Pietism and the Weber Thesis, German Studies Review 12:2, 237–247. Gawthrop, Richard (1993), Pietism and The Making of Eighteenth Century Prussia, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

253

254

Gorm Harste

Gerhart, Martin/ Walter Hubatsch (1950), Deutschland und Skandinavien im Wandel der Jahrhunderte, Bonn: Röhrscheid. Gorski, Philip (2003), The Disciplinary Revolution, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Green, Andy (1990). Education and State Formation – The Rise of Education Systems in England, France and the USA, London: MacMillan. Gustafsson, Harald (2000), Præsten som velfærdsforvalter i tidligt moderne tid, in Tim Knudsen (ed.), Den nordiske protestantisme og velfærdsstaten, Aarhus: Aarhus Universitetsforlag, 87–97. Hallenberg, Mats (2013), The local adaptation of centralizing politics: sixteenth-century Sweden, in Robert Egnell and Peter Haldén (ed.), New Agendas in Statebuilding, London: Routledge. Harste, Gorm (2009), Kant’s Theory of European Integration, Jahrbuch für Recht und Ethik, Band 17: 53–84. Harste, Gorm (2013), The improbable European state, in Robert Egnell, Peter Haldén (ed.), New Agendas in Statebuilding, London: Routledge, 95–121. Harste, Gorm (2017), Autopoietic Power, Cybernetics and Human Knowing 24:2, 41–67. Heckscher, Eli (1922), Merkantilismen som samfundsopfattelse, Historisk Tidsskrift 9/5, 1–22. Hegel, G.F.W. (1821/1974), Grundlinien der Philosophie des Rechts, Frankfurt: Ullstein. Heuser, Beatrice (2002), Reading Clausewitz, London: Random House. Hintze, Otto (1906/1986), Der Absolutismus im Kirchenregiment und die Entstehung einer preussischen Landeskirche (Territorialismus), in Ernst Hinrichs (ed.), Absolutismus, Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 361–376. Holm, Bo Kristian/Nina Javette Koefoed (ed.) (2018), Lutheran Theology and the Shaping of Society: The Danish Monarchy as Example, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Hubatsch, Walter (1983) Grundlinien preußischer Geschichte. Königtum und Staatsgestaltung 1701–1871, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Humbold, Wilhelm von (1812/1964) Königsberger Schulplan, In Schriften zur Politik und zum Bildungswesen, Werke in fünf Bänden, Band IV, Berlin, Deutscher Verlag der Wissenschaften. Johnson, Hubert (1975), Frederick the Great and his Officials, New Haven: Yale University Press. Justi, Johann von (1759), Staatswirthschaft, oder systematische Abhandlung aller Oekonomischen und Cameral-Wissenschaften, die zur Regierung eines Landes erfodert werden, Berlin. Kahle, Wilhelm (1982), Lutherische Begegnung im Ostseeraum, Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus. Kant, Immanuel (1783/1977), Beantwortung der Frage: Was ist Aufklärung? Werkausgabe Band XI, Frankfurt: Suhrkamp. Kant, Immanuel (1790/1974). Kritik der Urteilskraft, Werkausgabe Band X, Frankfurt: Suhrkamp.

Blind path dependencies

Kant, Immanuel (1798/1977), Die Metaphysik der Sitten, Werkausgabe Band VIII, Frankfurt: Suhrkamp. Kaspersen, Lars Bo (2004), How Denmark Became Democratic: The Impact of Warfare and Military Reforms, Acta Sociologica 47 (1), 71–89. Kaufmann, Franz.Xaver (2000), Towards a theory of the welfare state, European Review 8/3, 291–312. Kettunen, Pauli/Klaus Petersen (ed.) (2011), Beyond Welfare State Models. Transnational Historical Perspectives on Social Policy, Cheltenham: Edgar Publishing. Koselleck, Reinhart (1975), Preussen Zwischen Reform und Revolution, Stuttgart: Klett Cotta. Koselleck, Reinhart (2006), Begriffgeschichten, Frankfurt: Suhkamp. Lindegren, Jan (1980), Utskrivning och utsugning, 1620–1640, Upsala: Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis. Luhman, Niklas (1990), Gleichzeitigkeit und Synchronisation, Soziologische Aufklärung Band 5, Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag. Luhman, Niklas (1995), Inklusion und Exklusion, Soziologische Aufklärung Band 6, Frankfurt: Suhrkamp. Luther, Martin (1523), Von weltlicher Obrigkeit und wieweit man ihr Gehorsam schuldig sei, Luther Werke 11, Weimar: Böhlau, 245–281. Luther, Martin (1524), An die Ratsherren aller Städte deutsches Landes, dass sie christliche Schulenaufrichten und halten sollen, Luther Werke, Band 15, Weimar: Böhlau (1899), 27–53. Løgstrup, Birgit (2011). Skoler og undervisning før 1814, www.danmarkshistorien.dk. Mousnier, Roland (1974, 1980), Les institutions de la France sous la monarchie absolue, T. 1–2, Paris: PUF. Mertinet, Walter (1958), Die Friderianische Verwaltung in Ostpreussen, Heidelberg: Quelle & Meyer. Nilsson, Sven A. (1996), Gustav II Adolf och Axel Oxenstierna. En studie i maktdeling och dess alternativ, Scandia Vol. 62/2, 169–193. Oestrich, Gerhard (1982), Neostoicism and the early modern state, Cambrdige: Cambridge University Press. Parijs, Phillipe van/ Yannick Vanderbought (2017). Basic Income, Cambridge Mass: Harvard University Press. Pedersen, Karl Peder (1998), Enevældens amtmænd, København: Jurist-og Økonomforbundets Forlag. Pufendorf, Samuel (1667/1994), Die Verfassung des deutschen Reiches, Stuttgart: Reclam. Riches, Daniel (2013), Protestant Cosmopolitanism. Brandenburg-Swedish Relations in the Seventeenth Century, Leiden: Brill. Rosenberg, Hans (1958), Bureaucracy, Aristocracy and Autocracy. The Prussian Experience 1660–1815, Cambridge Mass: Harvard University Press. Runeby, Nils (1962), Monarchia Mixta, Stockholm: Norstedt.

255

256

Gorm Harste

Safronovas, Vasilijus (2016) The Creation of National Spaces in a Pluricultural Region: The Case of Prussian Lithuania, Boston: Academic Studies Press. Schoeps, Hans-Joachim (1969), Review, Walter Hubatsch, Geschichte der evangelischen Kirches Ostpreussen 1–3, Zeitschrift für Religions- und Geistesgeschichte, Vol. 21: 371–375. Schwarz Lausten, Martin (1971), Review, Walther Hubatsch, Geschichte der evangelischen Kirche Ostpreußens, 3 Vol., Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht (1968); In Historisk Tidsskrift 12. Række, V Bind, Hæfte 1: 236–237. Smedley-Weill, Anette (1995), Les intendants de Louis XIV, Paris: Fayard. Sneedorff, Jens (1776). Om den borgerlige regiering, Samtlige Skrifter, Copenhagen Gyldendals Forlag. Stolleis, Michael (1990), Staat und Staatsräson in der frühen Neuzeit, Frankfurt: Suhrkamp. Stolleis, Michael (2012), Geschichte des öffentlichen Rechts in Deutschland, 1600–1800, Munich: Beck. Stolleis, Michael (2013), Origins of the German Welfare State: Social Policy in Germany to 1945, Berlin: Springer. Stybe, Svend Erik (1975), Fra folkevækkelse til enevælde af Guds nåde, Copenhagen: Berlingske. Terveen, Fritz (1954), Gesamtstaat und Retablissment. Der Wiederaufbau des nördlichen Ostpreuβen 1714–1740, Göttingen: Musterschmidt. Tocqueville, Alexis (1856/1988), L’ancien régime et la révolution, Paris: Flammarion. Vogt, Helle (2007), Den juridiske undervisning på det andet ridderlige akademi i Sorø, Tidsskrift for Rettsvitenskap 120:4, 579–613. Wagner, Daniel (1777), Die Geschichte von Ostpreussen, Leipzig: Weidmann. Wakefield, Andre (2009), The Disordered Police State. German Cameralism as Science and Practice, Chicago: Chicago University Press. Weber, Max (1904/2014), Gesammelte Aufsätze zur Religionssoziologie Band 1, Hamburg: Severus. Weber, Max (1922/1980), Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft, Tübingen: Mohr. Wetterberg, Gunnar (2013), Axel Oxenstierna – Makten och Klokskapen, Stockholm: Atlantis. Widder, Werner (2002), Auftragstaktik and Innere Führung, Military Review (September October), 3–9.

Index

A Aabenraa 202 Aarhus 41, 113, 173, 175 (fn. 40), 190, 192 – Aarhus Stiftstidende 201 Admiralty Church, Karlskrona 74, 75 (fig. 19) Aftonblade 193, 197 Albrecht, Cardinal 58 Alms / Alms panels 12, 14, 32, 47–49, 58, 59, 64–77, 105, 110–12, 117–9, 121–4, 131, 156–64, 166 (fnn. 35, 36), 167, 170, 173, 174, 176, 183, 223 Arrowsmith, William 9 Andersen, Hans Christian 19 Arffman, Kaarlo 10 (fn. 8), 130 Augsburg Interim 27, 52, 86 (fn. 7), 153, 158–60, 162 Augsburg Confession (1530) (Confessio Augustana) 29 Austria-Prussia 170, 186 Austria 237 B Barfod, Frederik 194 Beck, Vilhelm 220, 224 Beggars, begging 9, 15, 33, 49–51, 58, 65, 104–6, 108–21, 123, 131, 132 (fn. 4), 133 (fnn. 6, 7), 134 (fn. 8), 155, 166, 167, 199, 218 Belgium 233 Benevolence see philanthropy Beruf, Berufslehre 14, 83, 85–9, 98 Billican, Theobald 65 Billing, Einar 89 Bissen, Herman Willhelm 200, 202 Blaschke, Olaf 214

Blue Cross (Danish) 225, 227 Borgström, Henrik 201 Bornholm 193 Brauneiser, H. Heinrich 198 Braunschweig 21 Brilkman, Kajsa 211 Broadsheet 60 Brunswick Church Order (1530) 57 Bugenhagen, Johannes 10 (fn. 8), 13, 14, 21–42, 51, 57, 76, 156 (fn. 13), 162 (fn. 27) Butterfield, Herbert 252 C Calvin / -ism 51, 83, 210, 218, 234 (fn. 1), 235, 241, 244–6, 248–51 Cammin, Bishop of 41 Caritas 57, 60–3, 66–8, 218 (fn. 3) Carlsen, Hans Rasmussen 191 Castoriadis, Cornelius 47 Catholicism, Roman Catholicism 10, 22, 23, 25, 27, 29, 32, 35, 38, 58, 66, 83 (fn. 1), 84, 105 (fn. 5), 109, 139, 153, 159, 211, 212 (fn. 1), 218, 221, 222, 233, 234 (fn. 1), 235–7, 244, 245 Charity / Fundraising 10, 14, 32, 37, 76, 105, 157–159, 162, 166 171–4, 176, 183, 184, 185 (fn. 3), 186, 188, 189, 191–7, 200–5, 213, 220, 221, 226 Charles V (Emperor) 237 Children’s house 114–7, 120, 124 Christian II (Denmark) 22, 23, 36, 104 (fn. 2), 236 Christian III (Denmark) 13–15, 21–42, 103, 109, 110, 153 Christian IV (Denmark) 33, 113–5

258

Index

Christian relief 15, 103–24, 223 Christianshavn (Copenhagen) 115, 119 (fn. 21), 120 Church Ordinance 1537 / 39 (Denmark) 28, 29–33, 35, 110, 119, 155, 157, 176 Church Ordinance 1571 (Sweden) 133, 135–9 Church property 22, 23, 32, 38, 109, 218 Cicero, Marcus Tullius 96–8, 243 Colbert, Jean-Baptiste 247 Common chest 30, 32, 37, 50, 51, 57, 58, 65, 107, 110, 111, 117, 118, 122, 132 (fn. 4) Communion 27, 57, 136, 138, 141, 143 Community 17, 37, 48, 50, 51, 54, 57, 58, 63, 71, 76, 89, 99, 107, 108, 117, 123, 124, 131, 165, 177, 212, 214–7, 220–2, 224–7, 251 Confessio Augustana see Augsburg Confession Confession / confessional 9 (fn. 9), 10–13, 15–18, 26, 29, 35, 36, 47–50, 52, 103, 114 (fn. 6), 136, 153–5, 211, 212, 214–19, 224, 226–8, 235–8, 244–6, 250 Confessionalisation 211, 212, 214, 215, 217, 227 Congregation 31, 57, 65, 108, 135, 214, 221–5, 227, 249 Coninck, P. de 201, 203 Constitution of 1849 (Denmark) (Danmarks Riges Grundlov) 16, 153, 154, 168–72, 177, 214 Copenhagen 16, 21, 23, 24, 27–30, 33, 41, 109–11, 114–22, 153, 155–7, 158 (fn. 18), 160, 161 (fn. 26), 162–7, 171, 185, 188, 190, 191, 193–4, 197–202, 211–228 Copenhagen Church Foundation 225 Copenhagen Indre Mission 226, 227 Copenhagen Ordinance (1536) 109, 110 Copenhagen, University of 28, 29

Cranach, Lucas (the Elder) 14, 48 (fn. 2), 52–6, 58–67, 75, 76 Cranach, Lucas (the Younger) 55 Crimean War 197 D d’Aguesseau, Henri-Franςois 233 d’ Holbach, Paul-Henri 247 Dacke, Nils 234 Danish Code (1683) (Danske Lov) 112, 116, 119, 239 de Saint-Germain, Camille 240 Deaconry s. a. church social work / diakonia 51, 130, 213, 222, 223 Denmark 11 (fn. 10), 12, 13, 15–17, 21–42, 103–124, 153–178, 183–205, 212–228, 233–6, 239–42, 247, 252 Denmark-Norway (Kingdom of) 23, 29–33, 36, 135, 235–6, 239, 247 Discipline 9, 15, 31, 103, 104, 113 (fn. 15), 114, 117, 119, 124, 137, 140, 212, 215, 217, 220, 221, 224, 241 Dorothea (wife of Christian III, Queen of Denmark) 22, 27 Dybbøl, Battle (1864) 198 Dorwart, Reinhold 238, 241–5, 247 E Elizabeth I (England) 42 Elmshorn 73 England 104 (fn. 2), 135, 138 (fn. 12), 212, 218, 243 Enlightenment 12, 16, 103, 119 (fn. 20), 123, 155, 162, 220, 233, 250 Erasmus of Rotterdam 28, 50 Eriksen, Sidsel 219 Estonia 244 Eteenpäin 144 Evangelical Alliance 224

Index

F Fædrelandet 183 (fn. 2), 188, 191, 192, 196, 200, 204 Famine 16, 183–205, 238 Feodorovna, Maria (Princess Dagmar) 200, 201 (fn. 27) Finland 15, 16, 74, 129–146, 183–90, 197–205, 234, 236, 244 Flensborg / Flensburg 22, 195–6, 198 (fn. 22) Flensburger Disputation 21 Flettner (Flötner), Peter 60, 61 (fig. 6) Fliedner, Theodor 222 Folketing (Danish Parliament) 188, 191 Folkets Avis 192, 194, 199 Forsberg, Henrik 188 Foucault, Michel 235, 236 France 233, 235–7, 239, 241, 247 Francke, August Hermann 215, 250 Frederick the Great (Prussia) 237, 238, 240, 245–51 Frederick William, King 246, 248–50 Frederik I (Denmark) 22, 23, 35 Frederik II (Denmark) 32, 41, 42, 111, 113 Frederik III (Denmark) 153 Frederik IV (Denmark) 117, 120 Frevert, Ute 238 Frey, Christiane 87 Fritsche, Harald 188, 190 (fnn. 9, 10), 191 Fundraising see Charity G Germany / Brandenburg / Prussia 17, 22, 23, 26 (fn. 2), 31, 33, 35 (fn. 8), 153, 169, 170, 186, 195, 196, 198, 214, 222, 223, 233, 235–8, 241–252 Glöskär (Åland Islands) 138, 142 Gnesio-Lutherans 27 Gorski, Philip 245, 246 Gothenburg 190 Great Britain 235, 237

Great Northern War (1700–21) 244 Green, Andy 242 Grøn, Edda 194 Gruntvig, N.F.S. 214, 219, 233

142, 238,

H Haderslev 22, 192 (fn. 11), 196, 202 Haderslev Avis 202 Haderslev Ordinance 22 Haffner, Wolfgang von 91 Hahn, Bertha 195, 196 Häkkinen, Antti 188 Harnisch, Matthew 95 Haskell, Thomas L. 217 Hausjärvi, Finland 140 Heckscher, Eli 244, 252 Heegaard, Anker 191 Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich 242, 250 Helsingør 199 Helsinki (Helsingfors) 141, 143, 188, 198, 200 (fn. 26) Hemmingsen, Niels 240 Henry, King of Saxony 59 Hesshusen, Tilemann 24, 34 (fn. 6) Hiort-Lorentzen, Hans-Rudolf 202 Holck, Johan 171, 172 Holiness movement 224–7 Holm, Bo 52 Holsterland 33, 38 Horsens 190 Hospitals 15, 22, 29, 37, 41, 42, 108–13, 119, 123 124, 130, 132–9, 141–3, 154, 156, 176, 213 I Iceland 185, 190 Idleness 14, 63, 86, 93, 94, 96, 104, 105, 109, 112, 115–20, 123, 124, 163, 169, 170 Ikaalinen 202 Image 14, 47–77, 92, 93, 105, 146, 251

259

260

Index

Imaginary / Social Imaginary 14, 47–9, 51, 60, 63, 86, 233, 238–40, 246, 247 Indoor poor 15, 129–146 Indoor relief 15, 129, 133, 134 Indre Mission 219–21, 223, 224, 226, 227 J Johanngeorgenstadt 195 Jonas, Justus 34 Justification 14, 17, 32, 47–77, 105, 216, 218, 219, 222, 223, 226 K Kalmar Union 237 Kant, Immanuel 233, 247, 249, 250–2 Kauhava 202 Kiel 22 Kiihtelysvaara 143, 144 King’s Code (Denmark) (1665) (Kongeloven) 112, 153, 158, 176, 239 Kolb, Robert 86 (fn. 7), 88 Kongeå, River 195 Königsberg Löbenicht Church 73 Königsberg University 249 Krohg, Georg 194 Koselleck, Reinhart 238, 243 Kymmene (Kymi) 143, 144 L Landsting (Danish Parliament) 172, 188 Lappee 140, 144 Large Catechism 107, 158, 159, 161 Lassen, Peter 239 Latvia 244 Lausten, Martin Schwarz 21 Lazarus 59, 72, 73 Lehmann, Signe 194 Leiden University 235, 243 Liikanen, Herman 198 Lilleheddinge 193 Linck, Wenzeslaus 63 Lipsius, Justus 235, 241

Lonringhoven, Freytag von 200 Lottrup Rasmussen, Leonora 173 Lövenörn, Peter 242 Luhmann, Niklas 235 Luleå 195 Lund, Sweden 194 Lund University 194, 235 Luther, Martin 14, 23, 28–30, 34, 50–7, 59, 61 (fn. 16), 62, 67, 68, 76, 83, 85–90, 92, 95, 98, 105 (fn. 4), 106–8, 121, 131, 158, 159, 161, 165, 167, 176, 177, 214, 218, 222, 238, 239, 242 – “Lutheran household” 16, 17, 107, 113, 114, 118, 124, 133, 161, 162, 164–8, 175–7, 183, 192, 204, 212, 234–7, 239, 242, 243, 245, 246, 249 Lutheran City Church, Bad Überkingen 70, 71 (fig. 14) M Malesic, Jonathan 85 Malm, C.M. 198, 203 Malmö 194 Marcus Aurelius 243, 248 Markkola, Pirjo 11 (fn. 10), 130 Martensen, H.L. (Bishop) 223 Maurice (Elector of Saxony) 91 Melanchthon, Philipp 14, 24, 26 (fn. 26), 28, 29, 34, 52, 83–99 Mercy 14, 34, 39, 48, 49, 53, 57, 59, 65, 66 (fn. 21), 67, 68, 70, 71, 73, 76, 88 Metaphor / core metaphor 14, 16, 48, 52–62, 65–68, 75–77, 183, 220 Möller, Anton (the Elder) 66, 67 (fig. 10) Moravianism 215, 220, 224 Mouhijärvi 202 N Napoleonic Wars 131 Nelson, Marie Clark 187

Index

Netherlands (United Provinces) 222, 223, 235, 237, 238, 243 Newcastle-Upon-Tyne 197 Nicholas of Lyra 95 Nord Schleswigs Tidende 196 Nordic Countries 10–13, 15, 17, 137 (fn. 11), 154, 161, 183, 185 (fn. 6), 190 (fn. 9), 198, 201, 222, 235, 237 Nordiske Samfund 190, 192 Nördlingen City Church 64 (fig. 8), 65 Norrbotten 187 Norrland 185–97, 199, 200, 202–5 Norway 12, 27, 29, 41, 186, 197, 204, 233 Nuremberg Order (1522) 50 O Odense 21 (fn. 1), 30, 33 Ohlin, Beril 252 Örebro Stadga (1617) 234 Outdoor relief 133, 175 (fn. 40), 218 Oxenstierna, Axel 234, 239 P Palladius, Peder 24, 32, 38 Pastors and Ministers 13, 21–22, 24–6, 29–32, 34, 36–40, 42, 88, 110–12, 116, 117 (fn. 17), 118, 119, 121, 122, 130, 132, 135–9, 140 (fn. 14), 141–3, 153, 156, 158, 161 (fn. 26), 163, 165, 167, 171, 192 (fn. 11), 198 (fn. 22), 212, 214, 219, 221, 223, 235, 244 Pauper Statues 74 Peasants’ Revolt (1523–5) 83 Pellikan, Konrad 94 Petrus Paulinus 28 Philanthropy (benevolence) 12, 16, 105, 166, 167, 169–74, 177, 183–205, 213, 220, 222, 223, 225, 226 Pielisjärvi 202 Pietism 213, 215, 219–22, 227 Pitkänen, Kari 188

Ploug, Carl 185 (fn. 3), 188, 190–4, 196, 200, 204 Plum, Peter 200 Poor box 160, 165, 166, 169–71, 174 Poor laws 16, 131 (fn. 2), 135, 137, 155–68, 173–78 – Poor Law 1708 (Denmark) 117–24, 155–67, 173, 174, 176–8, 242 – Poor Law 1799 / 1802–3 (Denmark) 162–8, 173, 174, 177 – Poor Law 1891 (Denmark) 162, 174–7 Poor Relief Acts 1852, 1879 (Finland) 132, 134–6 Poorhouse 13, 15, 108, 112, 124, 130–8, 140–5, 173, 175, 218 Poor / Poverty 9–17, 21–42, 47–51, 56–9, 63, 65–74, 76, 103–24, 129–46, 153–78, 204, 214, 218, 223 Posadas, Jeremy 85 Prayer 15, 23, 25, 30, 49, 88, 92, 93, 95 (fn. 27), 98, 129–30, 135–45, 225 Predella 54 Private property 50, 145 (fn. 19), 158, 159, 166, 168, 170 Protestant, Protestantism 9, 10, 11 (fn. 9), 14, 15, 21 (fn. 1), 22–4, 30, 31, 35, 36, 38, 83–86, 91, 94, 98, 130, 134, 145, 216, 223, 249, 250 Public works 134 Pufendorf, Samuel 235 Puggard, Signe 194 R Reformation 9, 10, 12–15, 21–24, 27, 29–33, 36–38, 41, 42, 47–53, 57–60, 63, 65, 75, 76, 83, 87, 103–7, 118, 122, 123, 131, 136, 153, 156, 157 (fn. 13), 174, 176, 212, 213, 218, 237, 238, 242 Religious literature 129, 137, 139–45

261

262

Index

Religious practice 129, 130, 135–40, 142, 143, 145–6 Religious Reform 24, 25, 31, 36, 42 Religious teaching 121–23 Rendsburg 33–4 Retirement home 15, 135, 137, 140–4 Reventlow, Ditlev 240 Reverdil, Elie 240 Ribe 33, 34, 41 Ringsjö, Sweden 188, 190, 191 Roman Catholicism 10, 11 (fn. 9), 22, 23, 25, 27, 29, 32, 35, 38, 58, 66, 83 (fn. 1), 84, 105 (fn 5), 109, 139, 154, 159, 211, 212 (fn. 1), 218, 221, 222, 233, 234 (fn. 234), 235–7, 244, 245 Rosenberg, Carl 190 Runeberg, Johan Ludvig 200, 202 Runeberg, Walter Magnus 200 Ruovesi 201, 202 Russia, Russian Empire 129, 131, 186–188, 197, 199, 200, 203 (fn. 34), 236, 237 S Sacralisation 48, 50, 106 Saint John, Lutheran Church Schleusingen 69, 70 (fig. 13) Saint Mary’s Church, Brandshagen 65, 66 (fig. 9) Saint Mary’s Church, Gdansk 66, 67 (fig. 10), 68 Saint Mary’s Church, Rostock 69, 73 Saint-Pierre, Abbé 243 Saint Veits-Church, Barnstorf 74, 75 (fig. 17) Saints 53, 58, 95 Salvation 14, 25, 33, 48, 49, 53, 84, 87, 105, 108, 159, 214, 218–20, 222, 225 Salvation Army (Danish) 225 Sandholm, Åke 130

Scandinavia 17, 22, 42, 154, 171 (fn. 39), 185, 186, 188, 193, 195, 197–9, 204, 234, 237, 243, 252 Scandinavism (Scandinavianism) 185 (fn. 6), 188, 190, 193, 197, 198, 204 Schäufelin, Hans 52, 64 (fig. 8), 65 Schierbeck, Christian 199 Schmalkaldic League 30 Schmalkaldic War 26, 36, 91 School 13, 14, 22, 23, 25, 27 (fn. 4), 28–33, 36–41, 51, 57, 91 (fn. 19), 95, 110, 115, 116, 120–3, 145, 160, 161, 163–5, 167, 168, 177, 193, 213, 238, 242, 244, 247, 249, 250 Schumacher, Peder 239 Second Confessional Age 214 Second Slesvig War (1864) 170, 183 (fn. 1), 186, 190, 194–6, 198–204 Secularisation 16, 48, 50, 140, 145, 217, 250 Seneca, Lucius Annaeus 243 Setzer, John 90–1 Sin / sinner 14, 36, 54–6, 59, 65, 69, 76, 83 (fn. 2), 106, 218, 220, 224, 225 Slesvig (Southern Jutland) Schleswig Holstein / North Schleswig 22, 28, 29, 33–5, 41, 169, 183, 192, 194–6, 198–200, 202 Småland, Sweden 184, 185 (fn. 5), 234 Small Catechism 29, 242 Social Reform 22, 104, 107–9, 132 (fn. 4), 238. Social Responsibility 9–17, 21, 47–77, 153–78, 196, 197, 236, 237 Sohlman, August 193, 194 Solidarity 14, 60, 76, 201, 223 Sønderborg 195, 196 Sørensen, Ida 194 Spalatin, Georg 90 Spener, Philipp 222, 250 Speyer, Treaty of (1544) 36, 41

Index

St. Jan 184, 185 St. Thomas 184, 185 Staff hospital 15, 135, 142 Stein, Harald 221, 222, 224 Stockholm 190, 195, 236 Stollberg-Rilinger, Barbara 211 Stolleis, Michael 242 Struensee, Johan Friedrich 239, 240, 252 Suhr, O.B. 201 Suwałki 184, 185 Sweden 16, 17, 74, 130, 131–3, 135, 183, 185–98, 200, 204, 233–9, 244, 249, 252 T Takanen, Johannes 200 Taylor, Charles 47, 48 (fn. 1) Ten Commandments (Commandment) 63, 96, 98, 106, 107, 158–62, 164, 167, 176, 177, 239 Termansen, Nils Iokum 188, 191 Thomsen, Vilhelm 198, 201, 202 Thirty Years War 214 Thoreau, Henry David 85 Thorvaldsen, Bertel 200 Trap, Jens Peter 201 Treaty of Prague (1866) 183 Tugt workhouse 113–5, 119, 120, 123, 124 Turku 133 (fn. 7), 142, 143, 198, 199, 201, 203 U Uge-Blad til Menigmand 190 (fn. 10), 192, 199 United Kingdom (Great Britain 1707–1801) 233 United States of America 212, 218 Uppsala Decision (1593) 234 Uppsala University 235 Urjala (Urdiala) 143 V Vaasa

199, 201

Vandahl, Hans 239 Västerbotten 187 Västerbro, Magnus 187 Viborg Cathedral 183, 184, 189 Vinding, Rasmus 239 Visby 20 Visibility / Invisibility 14, 47, 51, 52, 69, 76 Vives, Juan Luis 50 Vocatio 14, 85–99 Voluntary social work 16, 17, 211–228 von Dessau, Leopold 248 von Dohna, Christoph 245, 246 von Görne, Friedrich 248 von Justi, Johann 241 von Kaysersberg, Johann Geiler 50 von Moltke, Helmut 251 von Waldburg, Johann Christoph 246–8 Vyborg (Viipuri) 142 W Wachtmeister, Count Carl 194 War of Spanish Succession (1701–14) 238, 241 Watt, Caroline 194 Weber, Max 218, 243, 245, 247, 250 Weeks, Kathi 84, 85 Welfare State / Welfare Models 9, 10 (fn. 6), 11–3, 16, 17, 25, 31, 32, 34, 42, 50, 103 (fn. 1), 107, 110, 114, 116, 121, 131, 153–78, 213, 214, 226–8, 233–52 Wengert, Timothy 90 Wesley, John 215, 224 Wichern, Johann Hinrich 222, 223 Wingren Gustav 89, 98 Winther, Christian 200 Wittenberg Beutelordnung (1521) 108 Wittenberg 13, 14, 21, 22, 24, 26, 28–30, 34, 36, 39, 40, 54, 63, 91, 215, 235, 239 Wittenberg, University of 40, 86, 90, 95, 96 Wolff, Carl Gustav 199

263

264

Index

Work, work ethic, sedulity 12–7, 32, 49, 51, 63–6, 83–99, 105–24, 131, 134, 135, 139, 144, 161–5, 167–70, 174–8, 186, 191, 204, 218, 245, 249 Workhouse 13, 113–5, 119–21, 123, 124, 134, 164, 218, 228 Worship 27 (fn. 4), 28, 29 (fn. 5), 34, 37, 42, 57, 58, 62, 110, 114 (fn. 16), 129, 142, 145, 146, 236

Wurttemberg Chest Order Y Ylikannus 201 YMCA (Danish)

64, 65

225

Z Zinzendorf, Nicolaus Ludwig von

215

Notes on Contributors

Johanna Annola is an Academy of Finland Research Fellow, based at the Academy of Finland Centre of Excellence in the History of Experiences, Tampere University, Finland. Her current project investigates three Finnish women’s prisons in the long nineteenth century. Her project concentrates on prison as a lived institution, the changing notions of discipline, and other gendered aspects of prison life. Annola has previously undertaken research on poorhouses, Magdalene asylums, and grassroots level experiences of social mobility in nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Northern Europe.  Esther Chung-Kim is Chair and Associate Professor of Religious Studies at Claremont McKenna College in Claremont, California. Her research focuses on religious and social reform in early modern Europe. She has published books on Inventing Authority: Use of the Church Fathers in Reformation Debates over the Eucharist (2011), Reformation Commentary on Scripture: Acts (2014) and Economics of Faith: Reforming Poor Relief in Early Modern Europe (2021). She specializes in the history of biblical interpretations and poor relief during the European Reformation. David Fink is Associate Professor of Religion at Furman University in Greenville, SC (USA). He earned PhD in Religion (2010) at Duke University, where he wrote a dissertation on the confessionalization of biblical exegesis in the early years of the Reformation. Since that time, he has been working on an edited volume of commentary on Reformation-era interpretation of the Hebrew wisdom literature, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and Song of Songs for the Reformation Commentary on Scripture series, as well as conducting research for a future monograph on wealth, poverty, and the Bible in the sixteenth century. Gorm Harste is Dr.scient.pol. and employed at Department of Political Science and Government, Aarhus University. Since 2014 attached to the research program LUMEN (Lutheran Mentalities in Nordic Countries). Harste is specialist in political theories in European state-building and wrote the theory of war as a self-referential system described in numerous books and articles. His most recent publication is The Habermas – Luhmann Debate, published 2021 at Columbia University Press. He is conference director at InterUniversity Centre, Dubrovnik.

266

Notes on Contributors

Nina Javette Koefoed is Associate Professor of History at Aarhus University. Her expertise is within the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Century. Her research focuses on the household in the early modern institutional landscape, social responsibility of the authority and state, citizenship, and the impact of religion on societal development. She is PI of the research project Lutheranism and Societal Development in Denmark, member of the interdisciplinary research center, LUMEN, Center for the Study of Lutheran Theology and Confessional Societies. She is currently writing a monograph titled Lutheran Legacy in Danish Society. Household, Authority and Social Responsibility. Riikka Miettinen is a postdoctoral researcher specialized in the history of early modern Sweden and Finland, at the Academy of Finland Centre of Excellence in the History of Experiences, Tampere University, Finland. Her current project focuses on the interconnections between religion, welfare and the experiences of those considered mentally deviant in early modern (ca. 1550–1800) Sweden and Finland. In particular, she is interested in the early modern ‘welfare systems’ and the role of religion in the everyday lives of the insane. She has previously published on the history of suicides and death, the rural landless and disability history. Her recent publications include a monograph based on her PhD thesis, Suicide, Law, and Community in Early Modern Sweden (Palgrave Macmillan, 2019). Christian Neddens is Professor of Systematic Theology at Lutherische Theologische Hochschule (Oberursel, Germany). He is author of Politische Theologie und Theologie des Kreuzes (2010) and co-author of Schabbat Schalom Alexander. Christlich-jüdische Begegnung an der Grundschule (2018). He is co-editor of Spektakel der Transzendenz. Kunst und Religion in der Gegenwart (2017), Simul-Existenz. Spuren reformatorischer Anthropologie (2019), Anstoß des Kreuzes. Kreuzestheologische Aufbrüche im 20. und 21. Jahrhundert (2021) and Fides, Confessio & Pietas. Studien zur Wirkungsgeschichte der Reformation (2021). Neddens is editor of the journal Lutherische Theologie und Kirche and co-editor of the series Lutherische Theologie im Gespräch, Glauben und Bekennen and Oberurseler Hefte Ergänzungsbände. Andrew G. Newby is Senior Lecturer in Transnational and Comparative History at the University of Jyväskylä. His expertise lies in various aspects of the history and society of Europe during the “Long Nineteenth Century”. He holds two concurrent Docentships: (i) in European Area and Cultural Studies (University of Helsinki, 2008); (ii) in Transnational and Comparative History (Tampere University, 2021). He has previously worked at the University of Edinburgh (lecturer), University of Aberdeen (senior lecturer), and has had three spells at Institutes of Advanced Study (Helsinki, 2010–12; Aarhus, 2017–18; Tampere, 2018–20). From 2012 to 2017 he

Notes on Contributors

was the Principal Investigator of the Academy of Finland project, “‘The Terrible Visitation’: Famine in Finland and Ireland, c. 1845–1868”. Maria Nørby Pedersen is a Ph.D. student at the Department of History and Classical Studies, Aarhus University, Denmark. Her project is to examine the formation of Danish social legislation from the Reformation until the early 18th century from a religious perspective. She has also worked more broadly with early modern Danish history and witchcraft prosecutions. She is affiliated with the Center for the study of Lutheran Theology and Confessional Societies at Aarhus University. Anders Sevelsted is an Assistant Professor at Copenhagen Business School, Department of Management, Politics, and Philosophy. He also holds a post-doctoral position at Lund University. His research interests concern the intersection of religious and social movements, voluntarism, welfare state, and elites. Anders is the PI of the Moral Elites project, researcher with LONGLINKS, tracing the historical Danish elites, and part of the Civil Society Elites? project at Lund University. Recent publications include “Voluntarism” In Contributions to the History of Concepts, 15(2) 2020 and “Degeneration, Protestantism, and Social Democracy” In Social Science History 43(1) 2019.

267