[Originally released in January 1935]
Ferdinand Fried. Zimmermann: The Weapons Change of the Economy
Behind the struggles of the day, the ebb and flow of battle over weeks or even years, behind the joys and disappointments that alternate — in short: behind the rush of daily events stands the greater historical development, which is carried by the spiritual current of the age. A great, powerful idea continually holds an era together and drives it forward, giving those who fight for it, and even those who fight against it, the courage to keep fighting beyond the fluctuations of chance, the confidence to believe in ultimate victory, even if the struggle should take decades, and finally binds all those possessed by the new idea to the duty to continue fighting for it.
The French social theorist Georges Sorel once described this attitude as follows: "A revolution only achieves profound, lasting, and glorious changes when it is accompanied by a spiritual current whose worldview also corresponds to the actual changes and transformations achieved. This worldview gives the participants in this drama the confidence that is necessary to win; this worldview erects an insurmountable barrier against all attempts at reaction, which will be especially praised by jurists and historians, to restore the broken traditions. This worldview will ultimately serve to justify the revolution later — indeed, the revolution will then appear as a victory of reason in history because of this worldview."
There are few such powerful events in history, and even the French Revolution pales in comparison, as it represents only the final chapter of an even greater revolutionary development of the West, which actually began with the Reformation and found its greatest expression in the Thirty Years' War. The magnitude of the spiritual transformation that took place at that time corresponded to the long duration of the transition, the stubborn, bitter, and bloody struggle for change in its fluctuating ups and downs. And the fact that a similar struggle has been dragging on in Europe for over two decades today suggests the magnitude of the spiritual upheaval that must be taking place. This spiritual upheaval is being led by National Socialism as the herald of a new worldview, which is exactly opposed to the previous worldview that had formed three or four centuries earlier.
Time and again, a new worldview claims totality, time and again, a new spiritual current seeks to permeate all areas of human life and thought. From this also derives the claim of National Socialism to gradually reshape the entire economy in its sense, just as the liberation of the individual, achieved through the Reformation, corresponded to the gradual development of economic freedom, the release from the "bonds" of medieval communal thinking. Thus, every economic form originates from the prevailing worldview, and every new worldview necessarily also brings with it a new, distinct economic form. If one recognizes National Socialism as the herald of a new worldview; if one recognizes that we are in a process of transition of great historical proportions, then this inevitably includes a fundamental transformation of the economy, and opinions are divided on this issue just as much as they are on the worldview itself. For those who fight for the new worldview and thus for the new economy, this gives them the faithful confidence and blind trust necessary for the final victory of the cause and which are capable of overcoming even the most severe fluctuations and seemingly greatest setbacks.
This has become particularly evident in Germany in recent weeks. Never before has there been such a strong impression that not only is a struggle being waged for a new spiritual attitude, but also for a new economic mindset, and that the struggle for the reorganization of the economy is also deciding the struggle for the worldview and all other achievements of this worldview. The fight is not about theories and principles, about agrarian or mercantile economy, about regulated or free economy, about capitalist or socialist economy — these are ultimately all just names, labels, even mere concepts of thought — but rather the fight is about an economy that corresponds to the new person of this time, according to the new worldview, no matter what one chooses to call it. Precisely for this reason, it is wise not to rely solely on intellectual debates, because tongues can often be confused here, but rather on the actual developments, on the real forms and measures.
The Reich Farmers' Assembly in Goslar had sharply clarified and illuminated the situation, particularly through the speeches of Reich Farmers' Leader R. Walther Darré and State Secretary Herbert Backe. The fact from which both started was simply that the ideological transformation of our time by National Socialism has already led to very specific fundamental measures in the field of agriculture, and that it must soon be decided whether the rest of the German economy will also adopt this ideology. The struggle, which has been raging for two decades and may last even longer, thus concentrates on this section: Will the economy manage to evade or adapt to the transformations that result from the great spiritual currents of the time? If it manages to evade, then the rapid advances made in the narrower agricultural field will have to be reversed, from which it will be evident what far-reaching consequences this will have for the entire economic, political, and spiritual development. If it adapts, even if only gradually, cautiously, and with hesitant fluctuations, then the decision in favor of National Socialism has been made.
One must therefore distinguish between skirmishes, battles, and the overall conduct of the war; one can, like Frederick the Great, lose many battles and still win the war; one can, like Germany, win many battles in the World War and still lose the war. Sometimes, however, the combat actions condense into a decision of far-reaching significance, such as Tannenberg on one side, the Marne on the other; and it is crucial to clearly recognize the entire situation of the battle to foresee the outcome of the campaign — even if it may still drag on for many years.
The Role of Technology
In recognizing whether all the conditions are met for one economic form to replace another, it is crucial to soberly and dispassionately consider all the developmental forces that have nothing to do with the narrower dispute over economic views, that is, forces that are in a sense "extra-economic" and therefore certainly beyond suspicion. And it is precisely such a force that strongly suggests that we must be in the midst of a fundamental transformation because the basic conditions of human coexistence have completely changed, in terms of population, technology, and world politics.
It is indeed one of the most curious phenomena in world history that, in the period of the so-called capitalist economic form behind us, population growth and technological inventions mutually influenced and spurred each other on. The question of which was cause and which was effect remains unresolved; both phenomena were interdependent; and both can trace their deepest roots back to the Reformation era, for it was from then on that individualistic thinking began, leading to the development of scientific research, which later developed technology, and to humanism, from which the concept of humanity and later the global economy emerged. These connections have often been pointed out. The development reached its full bloom in the period that begins with the French Revolution and which we describe as capitalist or liberalistic in the narrower sense. Here began a population growth unparalleled in history; here technology developed to a complete upheaval of our conditions of existence; and here, driven by the forces of population growth and technological inventions, the whole world opened up as a unified field for economic exploitation or development.
All these phenomena have now come to a halt. The population of the Western states, which had carried this development, is now standing still for the foreseeable future, and in some cases, it is even beginning to decline. For Germany, it has been calculated that the population will likely continue to rise slightly until the next decade, but then a gradual decline will set in, which will be clearly visible by the end of the 20th century. Even if a complete turnaround were to occur today, it could only affect the future, but even in the best case, it would initially result only in a halt to the expected population decline. While we experienced a tripling of the population in the past century (Germany had about 25 million inhabitants around 1820), in the century ahead, we will at best have to reckon with a stagnation of the population. If the decisive impetus for new technological or spatial developments is already lacking, it is also important to consider that the technical tasks ahead of us will be much more focused on the refinement and utilization of what has already been achieved. Certainly, there are still enormous possibilities here, which will mean enormous work for the entire economy, but the tasks can no longer be compared. It is something entirely different to transition from the stagecoach to the railway in a hundred years and to establish a vast network of railways in a country whose population has tripled in the meantime — and it is something else to gradually equip a stable population over a hundred years with radios, bicycles, or motor vehicles. Here, a fundamental change in the economic task has occurred. One task is an entrepreneurial challenge and adventure, involving steps into previously unknown territory, where both the risks and the rewards were very high. This task could only be solved by entrepreneurial personalities, in an economic form that freed the individual from all constraints and bindings, allowing them to "run wild," so to speak, burdened with all prospects and risks. The other, by contrast, is essentially more of an administrative task. Equipping an existing army with new weapons, new uniforms, or new cookware is a task that has always been best, most punctually, and most cleanly solved by a good Prussian official, and thus does not represent an entrepreneurial achievement in the true sense!
Now, to avoid being misunderstood: of course, the upcoming task of technical equipment and expansion can and should be solved by individual entrepreneurs (in the conventional sense); but the manner in which this will be carried out by the individual entrepreneur is no longer entrepreneurial in the true sense. The initiation of production and production itself is no longer a leap into the unknown, but the task is very clearly defined, the stakes will be lower, but the profit will also be smaller.
If technology still delivers an invention that can be considered somewhat fundamental, it will be driven less by entrepreneurial spirit, with the deployment of significant resources in the hope of the greatest returns, and more by a higher community, likely under the guidance and supervision of the state. We have just recently witnessed a instructive example of this: in the invention of synthetic gasoline and the establishment of the Compulsory Community of German Lignite and the Lignite-Gasoline Corporation by the state. The individual enterprises, naturally suited for this task, no longer had the courage and willingness to tackle the task — neither on their own initiative nor even at the behest of the state — so that the state had to virtually compel them to do so through legislation (hence "Compulsory Community").
The Collapse of the World Economy
At this point, it becomes clear what kind of shift in emphasis is taking place in the economic structure today. This shift is all the more evident because it is accompanied by a similar shift not only in technical terms but also in spatial terms, and as such, the shift in emphasis corresponds to or will correspond to a shift in the entire economic structure. Just as all possibilities for technical inventions have been exhausted and now only need to be expanded, so too have all possibilities for spatial discoveries been exhausted; the world around us has been explored and can no longer be viewed as an object of economic exploitation as it once was.
This exploration of the world began with the Reformation era and reached its full bloom in the age of Liberalism. At that time, simple, unbridled exploitation gave way to the development of increasingly refined economic relationships into a network of world economy, which, however, was built on the principle of maximum economic exploitation of the rest of the world by the Western mother countries, primarily through monetary economy. The two developments already considered supported this: On the one hand, a growing population surplus periodically pushed outward, spreading across the world as emigrants and transplanting their own ideas and attitudes; on the other hand, the tremendous technical inventions also periodically pushed outward and eventually established their own technology and industry there.
From this, a mutual dependency emerged, which carried the seeds of its own dissolution. The immense capacity of new regions to absorb people and machines on one hand, and their equally immense capacity to supply unexploited land resources on the other, led to a situation where European countries became increasingly dependent on exporting people and machines abroad and on importing foreign land resources. The import of foreign foodstuffs became necessary both as a payment or counterbalance for the export of people and machines and simply because, to increase these exports, more and more people were drawn out of their own countries, leading to a shift from agriculture to industry.
This development carried within it the seeds of decay because the people and machines exported abroad over a century eventually had to make these regions self-sufficient. With the cessation of population growth in the old European countries and the end of new technical inventions, the new countries gradually closed themselves off from further immigration and from the further import of technical products, especially machines. The individual regions became closed off, and the world economy began to disintegrate.
This had far-reaching consequences for the old countries as well. The long-established mutual dependency was thus destroyed. There was nothing new to offer abroad, and what already existed was no longer wanted abroad, as those countries had gradually learned to produce it themselves. Consequently, they could no longer absorb as much in terms of land resources as before. However, this development is still largely concealed by the monetary economy and the entanglements it creates and is only starkly evident where this monetary and debt veil has been torn away, particularly in Germany. Since we could no longer export as much as before or import as much from abroad, it meant, on the one hand, that the labor force previously tied up in these foreign exports became increasingly free; on the other hand, as foreign land resources declined, our own land resources regained importance. Thus, an excess of labor in industry stands in contrast to a shortage of labor in agriculture, and the necessary balance, which again means a shift in the economic structure, is in harmony with the overall development of the world economy.
This also has other far-reaching consequences. The current development can be compared to the past liberalistic development, but with reversed implications. Back then, there was a shift in the economic structure from agriculture to industry, though gradually as with every historical change, and with possible preservation of agriculture. Agriculture should have been entirely abandoned, but it was nevertheless protected by the state, firstly out of fundamental considerations, and secondly out of respect for the existing transitional difficulties. Even today, the opposite development cannot happen suddenly. The regression that is taking place today, the shift from industry to agriculture, is a process that will take decades before the natural balance is found. Although the fundamental development and the goal are clear, we are currently in the midst of transitional difficulties. For the same reasons that the state once protected agriculture, it must now still protect the export industry. On the one hand, agriculture is not yet able to fully replace the entire foreign shortfall; on the other hand, it cannot immediately absorb the workers freed from the export industry. Overall, this is a slow, steady, organic development in which we find ourselves, one that must be measured with natural human lifespans.
But the essential outcome remains the necessity of state protection for the export industry — for the higher interests of the community — and with that, we arrive at the same decisive point in this consideration as in the discussion of technological development: the moment the state is brought in, the true entrepreneurial economic form ceases to exist. And this is just as important here as in the exploitation of technical inventions, for the export industrialist and the export merchant represent the most characteristic forms of entrepreneurial spirit and daring in the capitalist era; indeed, they were until the end seen as the stronghold of liberalistic thought. What a decisive transformation this represents for the entire economic structure is illustrated by a recent Swiss commentary, which also shows us that this is not merely a narrower German but a general, fundamental development:
"The export industries of both countries (Belgium and Switzerland), which until now were convinced that state intervention in the economy must ultimately do harm, have imposed the greatest possible restraint on demanding state intervention, but today they must observe with horror that the state’s power over economic life has grown so large and seems to be settling in for the long term, that opposition to it is not only useless but must be seen as harmful. Consequently, despite their own conviction, they have decided, alongside all other economic sectors already under the state’s omnipotent control, to also seek the state's help. This development is deeply regrettable, but it is a necessary consequence of having granted the state such power over the economy... The fact that the state today holds such power over the economy that even the export industry is forced to give up its healthy, free-trade position presents a dire threat, one that must be addressed, even though it is unpopular but all the more necessary."
Nothing can be added to this anguished outcry. It is indicative of the entire situation, in which the development is fundamentally rejected but nonetheless reluctantly accepted, even accelerated or brought about.
The Claim of the Peasantry
The following can thus be noted from the previous examination: today there is a major upheaval or shift in the economy, both spiritually and materially. Spiritually, it is through the weakening of the truly entrepreneurial spirit and the fulfillment of its tasks by the state or other higher forms of community; materially, it is through the shift of focus from foreign to domestic economy, from industry to agriculture. This means, first, a fundamental transformation of the entire economic structure and economic mindset; second, it means that this new economic form is now primarily expressed in agriculture; and finally, it means that agriculture today is becoming just as much the spiritual bearer of the new economic mindset as trade and industry were once the spiritual bearers of the liberal economic mindset. The claim of the peasantry to completeness, as expressed, for example, in Goslar, does not represent an economic claim to power or spiritual arrogance, but rather nothing more than the logical continuation of a general understanding based on an existing, generally recognized fact.
Trade and industry in the past century broke old chains and bonds as part of a development that has already been indicated, and they thus initiated a new economic era, a new economic form that was essentially carried by these two and to which, whether willingly or unwillingly, all other economic sectors had to adapt accordingly. For a nation knows only one economic mindset and one economic form, which corresponds to the prevailing worldview. Thus, at that time, the peasantry also transformed into agriculture and became infused with capitalist and liberalistic elements. Now, suddenly, due to the shift in development, the focus has returned to agriculture, along with the burden of responsibility before the whole, and with it the claim to spiritual leadership in further development.
Agriculture itself has already largely addressed this fact in the past year by transforming itself back into peasantry, by developing a new economic mindset within the peasantry, and by developing a new economic form within the Reich Food Estate. The question now is whether this new economic mindset and economic form can be transferred to the rest of the economy, corresponding to the reverse development in the past century. Today, opinions are still opposed — as far as they are, on both sides, governed by an honest search for the truth and the struggle for the welfare of the people.
On one side is the claim, historically necessary, and particularly clearly expressed in the Goslar speech of the Reich Farmers' Leader:
"By beginning to organize its economic conditions, the German peasantry will sooner or later compel the rest of the economy to align with the same principles in the ranks of the peasantry. Liberal opponents' measures and tricks will change nothing about this fact, because the question is not about which theories are correct, but solely about whether the present state will prevail or not. But if this state intends to prevail, then the non-agricultural sector of our economy will also have to follow our fundamental ideas."
The claim, therefore, does not appear as a demand, but as a conclusion; as an inevitable and inescapable conclusion from the given facts.
On the other side is the opposition, which is historically just as necessary at first, because the development and transition, as previously stated, is by its nature a matter of decades and must be adapted to the natural growth and succession of generations. This opposition is perhaps best expressed at the moment in the journal "Der deutsche Volkswirt," where in a discussion with the author of this article, it was said, among other things:
"He forgets here the decisive, because structural, difference between agriculture on the one hand and most branches of the rest of the economy on the other. We do not mean the fact that agriculture and the farmer are cared for to such a special degree according to non-economic considerations — the National Socialist state rightly refuses to remove the commercial economy from the primacy of its policy. But it is not a question of degree, but of an essential difference in the relationship of agriculture and industry to the market... All these conditions (for agriculture) simply do not apply to most industrial branches. The immense variety of the industrial production process, constantly renewed by the restless progress of technology, makes the unification of all enterprises into a self-governing body comparable to the Reich Food Estate, directed systematically by the state, impossible."
Thus, it becomes clear what a decisive role the restless progress of technology still plays in this argument. And the question is first whether one actually wants to consider the restless progress of technology, which characterized the past century uniquely in world history, as a permanent historical condition, or whether one is rather expecting a refinement or further development of what has already been achieved, as was outlined at the beginning here. But if one recognizes this in accordance with the population and world political developments, then it again comes down to proving that the principles of a steady economic structure, as they are recognized for agriculture, can very well be transferred to the commercial economy; and this proof should be made in two directions: first, from the fact that these principles were once effective in a large historical period for the commercial economy; and second, from the fact that they are already becoming effective again today in the legal measures of our time and in the currents and efforts within the commercial economy of our time.
The Origin of the Guild System
What distinguishes this steady (static) economic form from the freewheeling and dynamic economic form, and the fundamental ideas that govern it, is best understood by looking at the economic conditions of the time when it was already in effect, namely the medieval German economy with its guild constitution. This can also be understood from the emergence of this economic constitution and the interpretation of its terms, which today are often nothing more than mere names to us.
One must focus on the guild or guild constitution by examining the medieval German economy, or better yet, the Nordic economy, in contrast to the medieval Roman or Romanic economic constitution, which was largely inherited from Rome and adopted by France. Just as today the two economic conceptions, rooted in worldview and blood, stand opposed to each other—liberalism and National Socialism, as characterized by the Reich Farmers' Leader in Goslar—so too, in the past century, was the guild idea seen as the true antithesis of the advancing idea of economic freedom. Similarly, in the early Middle Ages, the Romanic economic conception, inherited from the Frankish Empire, stood opposed to the Germanic guild idea. It is significant, on the one hand, that this guild idea did not take root as deeply or propagate as strongly in the part of Germany occupied by the Romans as it did in the free part, especially in Northern Germany, although the strong influences from Scandinavia and England (after the Anglo-Saxon conquest) must also be considered. On the other hand, it is noteworthy that the Carolingians fought not only against the free peasantry of the Saxons and other German tribes but also against the guild system (referred to as "conspirationes"). This was logical, as both were opposed to the Romanic economic constitution, and both, the free peasantry as well as the guild system, were rooted in the ancient Germanic, pre-Christian era, and persisted for a long time in "pagan" customs, aligning with Germanic culture in England, Germany, and Scandinavia.
The old, pre-Christian customs and practices of the guild system survived, partially cloaked in Christianity, well into the 16th century, especially in ceremonial drinking feasts, certain festivals and processions, the consecration of candles, the admission of new members, and the form of mutual assistance. These are the two genuinely Germanic roots of the guild system: first, the inclination of free men to form associations (like the peasants in agricultural communities), and second, the effort of like-minded individuals to help each other. From this emerged the brotherhoods in pre-Christian times, which later developed into guilds, craft guilds, and associations. The actual origin of the brotherhood was not economic, but supra-economic in nature. It was originally a kinship group and a cult community, to which economic tasks were almost naturally added. This is a similar interpretation to that of the "peasant," bearing in mind that the members of these brotherhoods were initially partly made up of peasants and peasant sons.
It was only with the transformation of economic conditions in the early Middle Ages, which will not be discussed here, that the brotherhoods or guilds gained increasing economic significance. This is connected with the growing separation of economic activities, especially the separation of the peasantry from trade and craft. The guild then became the means to preserve the thinking inherited from the peasant world, the peasant economic mindset, even in the circle of trade, crafts, and industry that had become detached from the peasantry. The guild retained its designation more for pure trade and merchant activities; from this, it follows that it particularly developed among seafaring trading peoples, such as in Northwest Germany and especially in England; and from this, the Hanseatic League eventually developed as its own form and constitution for overseas trade. The guild increasingly developed into the craft guild in trade and industry. The term "guild" (or also "office") remained for the craft guild in Northern Germany; later, the association was added to the guild. The word "guild" is said to have the same root as "geldan," "gelten" (to pay) or also "yield," "gildi," "gelt" (or compensation, sacrifice), and is therefore of ancient Germanic origin and related to the aforementioned origin from the kinship group or cult community. From the "guild," both the "guild" as the order of domestic economy and the "Hanseatic League" as the order of foreign trade developed. The interpretation of both words leads back to a similar root and origin. "Guild" is said to have originated from the old German "Angezunft," which means something like order; "guild" therefore means order, and it is also explained as the "proper thing." "Innung," which is also used for guild, means "association" in its old form; "Innung" therefore means unification. Finally, the word "Hanse" is also of ancient Germanic origin and means something like a group, association, or fellowship; in essence, "Hanse" means union. Thus, we already have the fundamental ideas of the old German economic constitution before us.
The Structure of the Guilds
The guilds, therefore, represent an order of domestic economy. The supra-economic origin of the guild system has shifted to an economic basis, without losing its supra-economic significance throughout the entire existence of the guild system. The defining characteristic of the guilds, as they gradually developed, is economic. They emerged after the previously mentioned economic transformation in the Middle Ages, gradually in the 11th and 12th centuries. The oldest guild charters that we know are:
- Weavers in Mainz - 1099
- Shoemakers in Trier - 1104
- Fishermen in Worms - 1106
- Shoemakers in Würzburg - 1128
- Bed Linen Weavers in Cologne - 1149
- Lathe Makers in Braunschweig - 1156
- Shoemakers in Magdeburg - 1158
- Turners in Cologne - 1178
- Garment Tailors in Magdeburg - 1183
Of course, they first had to establish themselves politically and economically before they could fully take effect. The 13th century was filled with the struggle for recognition against the princely and episcopal powers; the 14th century was filled with constitutional struggles within the cities themselves, seeking recognition against the council and the ruling families. Then, the true great economic and technical flourishing period began, with a diversified structure of trades, with a blossoming of craftsmanship, and with the creation of great masterpieces of art that we still admire today.
The economic principles of the guild system were primarily the constant regulation of markets and, within this framework, the setting of prices. For this purpose, there was regulation of the purchase of raw materials, regulation of prices, and regulations concerning the quality of products. One can also discern the idea of security and protection here, namely the protection of the consumer through strict supervision of prices and their fairness, and the quality of products; and then the protection of the producer, who was granted a right to work, and accordingly an obligation of the community to ensure adequate and reasonable income for its members. From this idea of protection and security arose the guild compulsion, by which everyone had to submit to the prevailing order, and through which a guarantee of a stable and secure market for the producer could also be ensured. This included the exclusion of free competition, a certain regulation of production, such as in the sense that the individual conducted a customer-oriented production.
In addition to these economic tasks, which are now evidently interconnected, the guild also fulfilled social tasks, which in turn were logically connected with the economic purposes. This was especially true in the regulation, or rather the ordering, of admission to the guilds—their exclusivity became more pronounced only later, during the decline of the guilds. It is also noteworthy that the first condition for admission was legitimate birth; bastards and foundlings were excluded. The apprentice to be admitted had to prove his legitimate birth with his birth certificate, which might today be compared to the proof of Aryan descent. This brought him into a structured system of apprenticeship and journeyman, in which the journeyman's wandering years had special significance. During this time, he learned his trade, and not just that, but became familiar with it throughout the entire realm. He became a citizen, and he had the opportunity to learn about the latest research results in his field. Some cities in the empire emerged as strongholds of the artisan class. In the masterpiece, the idea of achievement was increasingly developed, forming the basis for genuine competition and contributing to the flourishing of craftsmanship.
The social tasks of the guild were not limited to education. The guild, continuing the Germanic guild idea, also provided a framework for the social and moral bonds of people, through common festivals, shared customs and practices, and mutual support and assistance. This cohesion was further strengthened by the military obligations of the guilds to the higher community, the city. The guilds had to provide armed men from among their ranks (for example, the Cologne "Gaffel"), who were responsible for guarding the city, and who had to man the towers and gates according to a set plan.
These brief indications aim to show how the old German guild system encompassed the whole person; how it did not distinguish between private and public life, as characterized by liberalism, but instead made the same claim to wholeness of the person, a claim that National Socialism has adopted today, though with the assurance of living space for the person, which liberalism could not provide. The guild idea thus awakens the sense of community in the individual, and indeed it essentially consists of the sense of community, leading to those splendid achievements of the German Middle Ages, which can only be understood through this sense of community, such as the magnificent constructions of cathedrals and town halls and other enduring achievements. It led at that time to the worldwide reputation of the quality of German products, as expressed in the foreign judgment: "The Germans know how to manufacture household goods and tools so precisely, so neatly, so conveniently, that other peoples can only admire them, not imitate them."
The connection between Hamburg and Lübeck thus represents, in a way, the core tension of the Hanseatic League. The impressive fact that the last Kontors of the Hanseatic League were only dissolved in the past century of Liberalism — the Stahlhof in London in 1853 and the House of the Easterlings in Antwerp in 1863 — shows how far this extraordinary entity, based solely on human disposition, or worldview, extended not only in space but also into the most distant times. (Incidentally, "Stahlhof" does not derive from steel but from "stahlen" or the inspection of cloths. "Osterlinge" refers to those coming from the East, as they were also called in London; the pound "Sterling" derives from this.)
The Hanseatic League is thus essentially a union and an order of the merchant class; its composition from merchant guilds is a prerequisite and precursor to the Hanseatic League as a union abroad and in foreign trade. In the Hanseatic League, the locally defined and limited merchant guild gains a significance and content that goes beyond the local; hence, the membership of this or that city is not essential for the Hanseatic League, but what is essential for the Hanseatic League is solely the order of foreign trade. It is from the misinterpretation of the Hanseatic League that the most common view has arisen that the Hanseatic League was a political alliance in which individual merchants were left with complete freedom in their personal business dealings. Rather, the opposite is true. Max Weber says about this: "The documents of the Hanseatic area initially give the impression that there was no permanent business at all, but rather that trade was dissolved into many occasional partnerships and an unmanageable number of confused individual transactions. In reality, these individual transactions were the business of permanent enterprises and were only accounted for individually because double-entry bookkeeping from Italy had not yet been introduced. The forms for this are the 'Sendeve' and the 'Wedderleginge.' In the former, the traveler is given commission goods with a share in the profit; the latter is intended to involve him in the business by crediting him with capital from the transactions he concludes."
This shows how strongly even the trading business itself was conducted as a community enterprise. The prerequisite for this was a trade policy consistently and strictly pursued by the Hanseatic League and the establishment and maintenance of very specific principles for the members of the Hanseatic League, comparable to the corresponding principles in the guilds.
Naturally, only Hanseatic citizens had the right to participate in the trading privileges of the Hanseatic League, which the Hanseatic League itself had negotiated and secured. In foreign countries, trade was conducted directly, and again according to the principle of barter. Hanseatic citizens were prohibited from engaging in money, banking, and credit transactions (these were carried out by the Florentines), and they were only allowed to conduct pure commodity trade. However, it eventually became unavoidable that local merchants or merchant guilds in foreign countries (especially in England) had to be recognized as intermediaries. In any case, shipping and commission transactions in foreign countries were prohibited for Hanseatic citizens. The settlements and warehouses of the Hanseatic League were naturally licensed, so that the Hanseatic League could continuously supervise its own members and thus also monitor the trade in goods as a whole. All business transactions were therefore strictly regulated and ordered. Weights and measures were precisely prescribed; credit transactions with foreigners were not allowed; and beyond that, even marriages with non-Hanseatic citizens were forbidden — just as the communal life in the foreign settlements and Kontors was strictly regulated. The entire trade was firmly organized, also through the development of certain fixed types of goods, particularly in wax, salt, metals, and cloth as the main trade goods.
Just as the guild internally organized not only the economy through a firm order within the community but also the whole person, so too did the Hanseatic League externally organize not only the economy through a firm order within the community but also the whole person, integrating them socially into this firm order. This order, as a whole, represents a solid, self-contained worldview that, for almost half a millennium, guaranteed the German people a relatively prosperous, or at least economically balanced, era.
The Decline of the Old Order
This form was shattered by the new ideas and spiritual currents that arose with the Reformation and opposed it. The reasons for the decline of the guild system and the Hanseatic League are not only external, in the advent of a new worldview and everything associated with it, but also internal, in the rigidity and over-complication of their forms. Both factors naturally worked together, and in a completely new era, people were much more inclined to view a form that had previously been taken for granted as outdated and obsolete.
What destroyed or gradually dissolved the old forms at that time also laid the foundation for the new development, which we again find ourselves at the end of today. Humanity was feeling its way into an entirely new world. Inventions and discoveries created a new worldview; with Copernicus, a new way of looking at the world began, a new worldview; Luther proclaimed the freedom of the Christian man. The inventions established a new technical era and thus broke the guilds, the traditional forms of domestic economy; the discoveries opened up new territories, new raw materials, and new markets, and thus broke the Hanseatic League, the traditional forms of foreign economy. Alongside these developments came corresponding political changes: the strengthening of the territorial princes weakened the guild system and initially led to the transfer of guild principles from the city to the larger sphere of the territorial state; this development later led to mercantilism. The simultaneous strengthening of new large nation-states weakened the Hanseatic League; it was gradually replaced by Holland and Sweden, and later finally by English naval supremacy, which established free trade and the modern system of the world economy. All these developments began as early as the 16th century, accompanied by the internal rigidity of the old economic forms; they eventually led to the great explosion of the Thirty Years' War, which finally destroyed all the old forms.
The new era, which later culminated in Liberalism and the free economy, naturally saw in the guild constitution its opposite; especially since it had developed in the struggle against the old guild constitution, at a time when its forms had become rigid and outdated. This effect lingers even today. For in the similar process of transition taking place today, in which the worldview that was attacking back then is now in defense, in retreat, the old guild constitution is still held up to us as a deterrent example, a terrible testimony to the darkest Middle Ages, simply by pointing to the exaggerated and rigid economic form that existed in the 16th century and which was then truly felt to be ripe for replacement—just as today's liberal economic form is in its exaggeration and rigidity. There is never any recognition that the German Middle Ages, from the 12th to the 16th century, had a solid, appropriate economic form that brought about the best possible balance among people. These centuries have indeed proven that in a steady economic development, that is, in steady population development and steady (not "restless") progress or expansion of technology, a so-called regulated economic form can also be beneficial, even very beneficial, for industrial economy and trade.
Let's briefly recall the basic ideas of this medieval German economic constitution. The starting point and origin was everywhere the idea of community, which runs like a red thread through the entire development until it was shattered by the Reformation's focus on the individual. The community always comes first, community takes precedence over self-interest. Everyone has their place, not only in the economy but also in the higher community, in the city, as a citizen and as a soldier. The community gives him security as a citizen; the guild community gives him security of his economic foundation. In return, the individual must fit into a firm order, into an order of the estate, which encompasses the whole person, and into an order of the market, which sets fair and reasonable prices for products and regulates the sale of these products. Within this framework, the individual is given every opportunity to develop through his own performance, through the quality of the goods.
Today, we recognize in these basic ideas the basic ideas of National Socialism. They are currently realized in the agricultural sector of the economy, and the question remains whether these principles, which once applied to the industrial economy, can again be transferred to trade and industry today under changed technical or modern conditions. It must always be remembered that history does not simply repeat itself, but that it is always about applying eternal basic ideas to each altered, further developed situation. The development of history often returns to the same point, to the same basic idea, but always on a higher level, so that the cycle becomes a spiral and, despite the recurrence of the eternally the same, represents an "evolution."
The restructuring of agriculture has proven that such a transfer of old German basic ideas to modern, altered conditions is fundamentally possible, for significant changes have also occurred in agriculture in the past century. Whether trade and industry can and will follow remains to be seen; this question will not be decided here in thought or conclusion, but rather the currents that have emerged in trade and industry, and above all the legislative work of the National Socialist state in recent times, will be briefly considered in this context.
The Transition to the New Order
The key ideas of the old German economic constitution were recognized as security and order. These principles have already been realized in the new agricultural economic system through the Reich Hereditary Farm Law and the Reich Food Estate Law. It is highly significant that these two principles are now also being recognized as fundamental for the rest of the economy by authoritative figures. While explaining the new economic legislation, the acting Reich Minister of Economics, Dr. Schacht, said on the radio:
"All German compatriots have the task of cooperating within their own circles to ensure that order and security become elements of our economic life."
Although the course has been clearly set by National Socialist leadership, and it aligns with the deeper historical meaning, there is still ongoing debate, often involving experienced economic professionals on one side and political or economic "ideologues" on the other, who are ideologues by tradition. It is repeatedly observed that German men active in the economy, as long as they are somewhat open-minded, are not only willing to embrace the new principles but are actively striving for a reorganization in this sense. For example, the president of the Aachen Chamber of Commerce, manufacturer Leopold Peill, said a few weeks ago:
"The liberal economic doctrine did not emerge about a hundred years ago from state-political considerations but from the inability of statesmen of all nations to master the new problems posed by the rapidly flourishing industry driven by the steam engine. The governments did not even bother to think seriously about shaping the economic future, so they let things run their course: 'Laissez faire, laissez aller,' which in German means, let the economy do whatever it wants, became the slogan. We have all seen with horror where this complete failure of the leaders of humanity has led. It was only the National Socialist economic doctrine that brought order to this chaos. The National Socialist process of socialization has already advanced far in agriculture... If the restructuring of agriculture into the socialist form was difficult, the restructuring of the rest of the economy, due to its great diversity, is infinitely more difficult... A prominent leader in the economy recently said to me: 'It is strange that today all industries are coming to us and want the state to set the prices.' I replied: 'That is quite natural because the economic leaders have meanwhile become socialists. They have realized that liberalism has destroyed them or at least brought them to the brink of destruction, just as Marxism did to the workers. All these people are gladly giving up the possibility of high earnings in favor of a secure income.'"
However, such and similar statements from the practical economy have repeatedly caused concerned head-shaking among ideologically entrenched newspapers, such as the "Frankfurter" and "Kölner."
Nevertheless, the development is proceeding according to its prescribed course. This was clearly expressed in the latest economic legislation. For example, the corporate structure of the economy has made a significant step forward through the new implementation regulation, approaching even the Reich Food Estate, and is certainly dominated by the idea of community. Initially, a unified, streamlined structure has replaced many fragmented associations, chambers, and similar institutions, providing a solid foundation for further corporate development.
Simultaneously, this is accompanied by internal connections or reorganizations in economic, social, and legal aspects; externally, a corporately structured, state-regulated management of imports is emerging, as highlighted by a Swiss observer:
"The planned economy of German imports is expressed in the fact that the supply of the German economy with imported goods is no longer automatically regulated by price mechanisms but administratively by government measures."
From this, there are, of course, feedback effects on the domestic economy, as seen, for example, in the fiber material regulation and the restriction of metal usage. Although all of this was born out of necessity, it nonetheless gives rise to new forms. The domestic economy will meanwhile have to solve the cartel issue, which will only be briefly mentioned in this context. It is becoming clear that even in the modern economy, with its diversity, corporate associations, with economic content, are quite possible, and in some cases even necessary, especially concerning import management. The trend is everywhere towards replacing the (automatic) price with (administrative) order in balancing the market.
Far-reaching consequences for the future economic structure will come from the new social laws, particularly the Law for the Regulation of Labor Deployment and the Order on the Distribution of Labor Forces, both of which aim to gradually shift the workforce towards the countryside, thereby contributing to a restructuring of the economic framework. This will increasingly enable the "binding" of labor on both sides, securing stable employment positions.
This principle of security is also emerging among entrepreneurs themselves, in efforts to establish "hereditary estates of the German economy" and in the preliminary work for a "Reich Hereditary Farm Law for the industrial middle class." Indeed, another principle embedded in the Reich Hereditary Farm Law is reflected elsewhere in a law regarding bond stocks, which requires enterprises to invest dividends exceeding 6 or 8 percent in Reich bonds. This highlights the higher obligation to the community. This is not an infringement on property itself, but it binds and obligates property; just as the hereditary farm can be considered a fiefdom of the community. From this foundation, the new state is increasingly moving towards full control of the money and capital markets — this is the purpose of the new banking law. The state refrains from "nationalizing" banks and individual enterprises; rather, it takes control of the functions of these enterprises, particularly the credit system, and directs them. This is essential, given that the state was previously controlled by the money and credit economy.
Even such a complex issue as that of joint-stock companies is beginning to be addressed by the state, which is already attempting to resolve it. The fundamental trend is undoubtedly towards a stronger emphasis on the entrepreneurial personality, which can, in turn, be integrated into free, self-responsible communities — in contrast to the anonymous corporate forms of liberalism, which claimed freedom and free movement for themselves. Although previous theoretical investigations have not yet led to a solution to the issue (as reported by the Committee on Corporate Law of the Academy for German Law), a practical attempt at a solution is found in the formation of the Brown Coal-Benzin AG: here, where it is technically impossible to reestablish the true entrepreneurial personality, a completely new, distinctive corporate form under extensive, constant state supervision has been established, which may still develop and could serve as a model.
These few indications should suffice to demonstrate how, even today, beginnings of a new structure are appearing everywhere within the economy itself, which will lead to a new economic form. They show how it is indeed possible to transfer the basic principles of National Socialist agricultural policy to the rest of the economy; they show how this process is already underway in some areas. This is hardly surprising, as this restructuring is deeply rooted in the German essence and thus corresponds to the National Socialist worldview in its entirety.
Thilo von Trotha: Engelbrekt Engelbrektson
The Struggle of Worldviews
We lack sufficient reliable historical sources on both William Tell and Joan of Arc, yet both live on in the memory of their people more vividly than many great figures who stand before us in the clear light of historical research. The reason for this does not lie in the fact that these figures became myths due to the lack of sources and the legends that subsequently arose around them; rather, they became myths because they embodied the best in their people, because it seemed as though the soul of the nation had taken form in them.
What is said here of Tell and Joan also applies to the national hero of Sweden, Engelbrekt Engelbrektson.
The sources about Engelbrekt, as he was originally known since he descended from Germans, are sparse. Legends have entwined themselves richly around his figure. But what exists in popular tradition and in the sources about him suffices to make him—not the powerful founder of the Swedish kingdom, Gustav Vasa—the hero of his people. If we examine the tradition a bit more closely, the image of one of the most powerful tragic figures of the Germanic Middle Ages emerges before us in that twilight between history and legend; we see one of the most stirring dramas of Nordic history unfold against a tremendous backdrop.
The goal for which the best blood of the Scandinavian peoples had flowed in vain for centuries—Greater Scandinavia, i.e., the unification of Denmark, Norway, and Sweden—fell into the lap of a woman like a ripe fruit: Margaret of Denmark became the heir and ruler of all three kingdoms through marriage. But the hands into which fate had placed this gift were also ready to preserve, protect, and defend it. With incomparable strength and skill, Margaret knew how to maintain the Kalmar Union, in which the kingdoms were united in 1397—a feat that places this great woman on par with Elizabeth of England.
After a period of decline, Denmark had risen again under Valdemar Atterdag, Margaret's father and a great enemy of the Hanseatic League, and Margaret's policy of great power was in many ways merely the continuation of the work begun by the first Valdemars and resumed by her father. The accusation made against the great queen from the perspective of the present day—that she wanted to create a Greater Denmark, not a Greater Scandinavia—is based mainly on the fact that she worked to ensure that Sweden (Norway already belonged to Denmark) was governed exclusively by Danes. To label this tactic as politically completely misguided is perhaps not entirely appropriate—after all, Margaret was descended from a Danish royal house, one of the most significant families ever to rule in Germanic Europe, and this approach had certain political and administrative advantages. As long as a hand as generous and skillful as Margaret's held the reins, it did not cause too much harm. But when a less strong and less clever personality followed the queen, this method of administration had to evolve into a system of oppression that was bound to arouse resistance, particularly among Sweden's long-free and independent class of farmers, and Margaret's nephew and successor, Eric of Pomerania, was an extremely restless character. A noble appearance and certain intellectual abilities were combined with disloyalty and a vacillating and aimless cunning. Neither as a personality nor in talent was he up to the enormous task of maintaining or even strengthening the Kalmar Union.
While in contemporary Germany, the empire, clergy, nobility, and bourgeoisie vied for power, in Sweden at that time, the bourgeoisie and the ruler did not play as significant a role. Instead, the Swedish free peasantry, perhaps with the exception of the Lower Saxon peasantry, was the freest and strongest in Europe at the time. The struggle between the peasants and the nobility, often allied with the church, had filled the entire Middle Ages. The great kings and governors had mostly fought on the side of the peasants against the nobility, both out of state necessity and for self-preservation. A factor that Margaret perhaps considered but Eric certainly did not was precisely this Swedish peasantry.
Much like Gessler in "William Tell," the cruel bailiff Jösse Eriksson, who was exploiting the peasants of Dalarna, triggered the rebellion against the rule of the Danish bailiffs. The Swedish Council of the Realm, which was supposed to represent Sweden's interests within the Union, pursued a self-serving family policy and thus could not pose a threat to King Eric and his bailiffs. The complaints of the peasants of Dalarna mattered little to the Council of the Realm.
Suddenly, the figure of Engelbrekt emerges. According to tradition, he is a miner of German origin. He takes up the cause of the peasants and is ready to represent them. The peasants send him to the king, where he demands that Jösse Eriksson be put in his place. The king refuses. Engelbrekt returns, only to go to the court a second time to complain against Jösse Eriksson once more. For the second time, King Erik turns a deaf ear to him.
Now, like Cromwell and other figures in Germanic history, Engelbrekt is almost unwillingly transformed into a revolutionary and a champion of the peasantry as well as of Sweden's national cause.
The peasants of Dalarna elect him as their leader, and the peasant uprising begins in 1434 with the burning of the fortress at Borganäs. After this initial success, the mysterious forces of history come into play: the peasant uprising spreads rapidly, not only in Dalarna but also in other central Swedish regions, and eventually, peasants across all of Sweden rise up. One fortress after another falls; the bailiffs flee or are killed. As the uprising spreads, the strength of its leader seems to grow as well. When the peasant army reaches Östergötland, Engelbrekt, a man from the people, steps forward as the leader and commander before the Council of the Realm, which has gathered in Vadstena. While the council—comprising clergy and nobility—was pleased with the idea of liberation from Danish rule, they viewed the united force of the Swedish peasants with distrust and even fear, seeing it as a power that could threaten their own position.
Engelbrekt demanded the deposition of King Erik, arguing that the kingdom must be governed by natives, not by foreigners. The council protested. Engelbrekt then grabbed the Bishop of Linköping by the collar and threatened to hand him and two of his fellow bishops over to the judgment of the people waiting outside. The council then relented, and Erik was formally declared deposed.
Engelbrekt continued his campaign. Four months later, all of Sweden was free. Engelbrekt's campaign was reportedly conducted with exemplary order and with little bloodshed.
In earlier centuries, the peasantry had been almost directly involved in government. However, through the so-called Herrentage (Days of the Nobles), which King Magnus Ladulås introduced at the end of the 13th century, the advisory and decision-making power in the national assembly had passed solely to the upper estates. After his victory, Engelbrekt secured the participation of the peasant class in the Riksdag (parliament) in 1435. At the Riksdag, the peasantry demanded that Engelbrekt be appointed as the commander of the realm, and they pushed this demand through. However, Engelbrekt became too powerful for the Council of the Realm. They began to secretly negotiate with King Erik again and eventually agreed that the king could resume his rule if he promised to administer the country through locals. The king gave this promise and then broke it, and the old conditions returned. Engelbrekt was needed for a second time. In 1436, Erik was expelled, but alongside Engelbrekt, the council appointed a young nobleman, Karl Knutsson Bonde, as the second commander of the realm.
As Engelbrekt, whose health had likely suffered from his military campaigns, was once again traveling to attend a meeting of the Council of the Realm in Stockholm, he was treacherously murdered by a member of the noble family Natt och Dag. This man had previously been at odds with Engelbrekt but had since reconciled with him. Despite the peasants' efforts to storm the murderer's castle, they were unsuccessful. The heinous nature of the crime is further underscored by the fact that the second commander of the realm, Karl Knutsson Bonde, assured the murderer of his safety and granted him a letter of protection, although some Swedish historians might dispute any connection between Bonde and the murderer.
One source reports that the murderer, Natt och Dag, was driven by a guilty conscience and ended his days as a pirate. Not long after Engelbrekt's death, King Erik lost his other two kingdoms as well, was deposed, and also ended his life as a pirate.
A Lübeck chronicler wrote about Engelbrekt:
"He did not start the feud out of arrogance or a desire for power, but out of deep sympathy for the suffering people. He put the common good before his own advantage when he called the brave Swedes to war against those who scorned the law."
The man who had, by chance, unleashed the storm also met his fate: The oppressor of peasants, Jösse Eriksson, who had sought refuge in a monastery as a monk, was dragged from his cell and killed by enraged peasants not long after Engelbrekt's death. Karl Knutsson Bonde, too, found no joy in his existence. Although he eventually attained the royal crown, he wore himself out in a series of endless civil wars and died bitterly in 1470.
Decades later, Gustav Vasa would inherit Engelbrekt's legacy, once again liberating Sweden through a peasant uprising that began in Dalarna, unifying the country and turning it into the strongest great power in the North.
Who, then, was this Engelbrekt? What drove this miner to lead the peasants? Were his ancestors, who had emigrated from Germany, themselves displaced peasants? What Florian Geyer, Götz, Kohlhaas, and many others attempted in vain, this man achieved: In Sweden, the peasants did not become serfs, as was common in Germany and also in Denmark, but continued to play a decisive role in shaping the state's destiny for all future. He fought and fell for the ancient, never-forgotten, and hardly limited rights of the Swedish Odalsbonde (freeholding farmer). He is also one of the countless noble sacrifices that the Germanic peasantry made in those centuries at the end of the Middle Ages for their freedom and the right to their land.
Although Engelbrekt emerged after Margaret's death, it is tempting to view the entire drama of Engelbrekt as a struggle between the ideas of Margaret and Engelbrekt. On the one hand, there was the idea of a Greater North, pursued with the universalistic means once employed by the German emperors, which later passed on to each individual ruler and had a devastating effect on a Nordic people. On the other hand, there was the idea of free peasantry, the involvement of peasants in the governance of the state, leading to a sharp nationalism that had to destroy the idea of Greater Scandinavia and rightly demanded its liquidation.
At the same time that Shaw tried in vain to strip Joan of Arc of her mythical greatness, materialistic historiography also took aim at the figure of Engelbrekt. Economic goals, they claimed, drove him to his actions; he supposedly had no knowledge of any national or free peasant idea.
But the people judge differently. The Swedish people, in particular, have already proven, through their irreplaceable love for Karl XII despite all hostility, that they are better able to appreciate true greatness than some overly analytical historians. And we, who know the struggles of the Germanic peasant for freedom and honor, of which Engelbrekt is a particularly shining example, know that the people are right and those materialistic critics are wrong. Even the scant sources that illuminate Engelbrekt's tremendous drama are irrefutable evidence that this national hero of Sweden was one of those great figures whose existence so closely borders on myth that they almost seem to be seated at the tables of the gods during their lifetime.
Paul Borgedal:
The Farmstead and the Farming Family as Components of Social Structure
I have been asked to address this issue particularly with respect to Norwegian conditions, which may be of some interest, as Norway is a country where agriculture operates under harsher natural conditions than in most other countries. Yet, agriculture has long been regarded as the primary source of livelihood and remains so today. Other sources of income may hold greater economic significance and be more widely known abroad. I can mention our shipping industry, our fisheries, our forestry, and in recent years, our electrochemical industry has also attracted attention.
However, all these activities are centered around agriculture as the fundamental and stable source of livelihood. Other sources of income may bring prosperity and abundance for a short period and draw workers to them, but they can just as quickly bring unemployment and hardship to their workers. In such times, it is good to have the ever-reliable agriculture as a support. Both abundance and hardship are well known to us from the fishing industry and, to some extent, from seafaring. In ancient times, they were also known from Viking expeditions, which were an important and lucrative source of income in their day. Only those who owned a farm and land felt secure against real poverty and need. The ownership of a farm and land thus conferred a certain social prestige on the owner and his family, and this prestige was strongly protected by ancient laws. These laws are what gave Norwegian farmers the freer and better position they maintained throughout the Middle Ages and into modern times, in contrast to the farmers of more southern countries.
I will briefly discuss these legal regulations below, and then very briefly mention certain advantages of an equitable land distribution and the strong development of family-run farms, where the labor of the family plays a prominent role.
The legal institutions that have played such a significant role for our farming class from ancient times to the present are Åsetesrett (the right of primogeniture) and Odelsrett (the right of first refusal or redemption).
It is not possible to delve into the origins of these legal institutions here; I will only point out that Åsetesrett refers to the right of the eldest son to inherit the ancestral farm. The younger son follows in the line of succession after the elder son. If the deceased has no son, the Åsetesrett passes to the eldest daughter. The Åsetesrett applies to all agricultural properties, even those without Odel rights. If the property is sufficiently large, the deceased may divide the farm among the heirs, but the Åsetesrett holder is entitled to at least half of the property. To prevent excessive indebtedness, it was determined in 1863 that the deceased could set the price of the property, and if this was not done before their death, the Åsetesrett holder could demand that the farm be transferred to them at a reduced price, e.g., 20 to 30% below the market value as determined by a special appraisal committee. This provision proved effective during the agricultural crisis of the 1880s and 1890s. Land prices did not drop during those years in Norway, a fact that can only be explained by the fact that farms were taken over at low prices.
As is well known, Switzerland has introduced a similar provision. The heir is to receive the farm at its productive value.
Odelsrett originally referred to the right of first refusal that family members had when a farm was offered for sale. The old laws contained extensive provisions for the sale of Odel farms outside the family. Every Odels entitled individual had the right to buy it first, and only if no Odels entitled individual came forward could it be sold to outsiders. Later, Odelsrett became a right of repurchase, which could be exercised if the property was sold outside the family. Originally, Odelsrett could only be acquired if the farm had been in the family for five generations. Only the sixth generation received Odelsrett.
Consequently, there were relatively few Odelsbauern or "Haulder," as they were called. They formed the highest social class and were the only ones eligible for certain positions, such as serving on juries. They were considered better witnesses and had the right to better burial plots.
The king selected his chiefs from among the most powerful Haulder. They were called Hirdmen (followers), Herser (district chiefs), and Jarls (earls).
Farmers who had purchased their farms (Kauplendingsbauern), even if they were from equally good families, stood on a significantly lower social level than the Haulder.
The status of these different farming classes was quantified in the oldest laws by the Mannesbuße (man-price), which was the compensation paid for a murder.
The Mannesbuße for an Odelsbauer was 96 cows (one Mannesbuße), for a Kauplendingsbauer it was 48 cows, and for a freed slave, it was 24 cows. On the other hand, two Mannesbußen (192 cows) had to be paid for the murder of a Herse, four Mannesbußen for a Jarl, and eight (768 cows) for a king.
In a certain sense, these Odelsbauern can be considered nobility, but they did not receive their power from the king; they acquired it through the ownership of a farm. It should also be remembered that they were working farmers who personally managed and often participated in the work. Even the kings at that time were not much more than powerful farmers, and we often hear that they participated in fieldwork.
As the power of the monarchy and the church grew, a higher administrative authority emerged. During the union with Denmark, many nobles attempted to break the independent status of Norwegian farmers, as had been done in southern countries. Many farmers became tenants. It is estimated that about two-thirds of Norway's land became leasehold at that time. However, even the tenants in Norway remained relatively free and independent. Serfdom and hereditary subjection were not introduced, and a significant reason why they maintained their status was the self-confidence and independence they had acquired over the preceding centuries. In ancient times, specific rules were established in the law regarding the duties of tenant farmers, and the farmers ensured these were not violated. If things became too oppressive, they would drive out or even kill the overseers, and they did not hesitate to take their complaints to the king in Copenhagen, where they found a sympathetic ear. The king wished to maintain good relations with the farmers in Norway. When a group of nobles requested at a royal feast in Oslo in 1548 that the Odelsrett be abolished so that it would be easier for them to acquire land, the crown prince responded that Norwegian law should be upheld and respected. Several officials and nobles were severely punished for violating this law.
Originally, it took between one hundred and two hundred years before the Odelsrett for a property could be acquired. In the 12th and 13th centuries, the statute of limitations was reduced to four generations or sixty years. If such a farm left the family without being offered for sale to the Odelsrett-entitled individual as required by law, the property could be repurchased at a set price, and the family retained this right for as long as it took to acquire Odelsrett, originally up to the sixth generation. The condition, however, was that one had to publicly declare their right at the local Thing (assembly) every twentieth, later every tenth year, and simultaneously declare that they did not have the means to redeem the farm.
After the civil wars (which ended in the 13th century), the statute of limitations was gradually shortened, and the whole right lost its significance. Especially towards the end of the 18th century, there were strong attacks on it. At that time, as today, there were difficulties in accommodating the surplus population. The economists of the time saw significant population growth as a prerequisite for economic progress and wanted to eliminate anything that stood in the way. Among the obstacles, they included *Odels* and *Åsetes* rights, as these rights hindered the division of farms and made it difficult for the wealthy to purchase land.
On the other hand, it was argued that Odelsrett was an irreplaceable treasure for Norway because it posed an insurmountable obstacle to the accumulation of land in the hands of the nobility and the wealthy, as had happened in Denmark. It protected Norwegian farmers from being reduced to a similarly unfortunate and undignified position as the Danish serfs. A well-known economist of the time wrote:
"This right (Odelsrett) has been customary in Norway since time immemorial, and the Norwegian farmer loves it and sees it as an advantage he has over other nations. ... As an Odelsbauer (freeholder), he sees himself as a rather important man and takes pride in passing on his farm to his son in such a way that he will be as happy and significant as he himself is. Such a mindset among common people should not be rejected or suppressed but rather awakened, promoted, and strengthened."
In 1771, however, it was determined that Odelsrett could be acquired after ten years and would be lost if the farm had not been in the family's possession for fifteen years. A new regulation in 1811 further stipulated that it would be lost if the farm had not been in the family's possession for five years. To acquire Odelsrett, one also needed an explicit declaration from the seller according to the new law, and state properties sold to private individuals could not be endowed with Odelsrett. This marked a complete reversal from the Saga Age's understanding, when all land granted by the king was automatically endowed with Odelsrett.
Because of these provisions, Odelsrett had largely lost its original significance.
The Constitution of 1814 stipulates that the Odels- og Åsetesrett (Odels and Åsetes rights) must never be abolished. This reflects the spirit of national resurgence. In 1857, the statute of limitations (Hevdstid) was extended back to twenty years, while the Odelsrett would be lost if the farm had been out of the family's possession for three years. As a temporary measure due to the crisis, this period was extended from three to five years in 1934.
The current significance of the Odels- og Åsetesrett is not the same as it originally was. Its value lies partly in the educational impact it has. It instills a certain self-esteem in the growing generation on the Odels farm, which is of great value whether they stay on the farm or move away. This applies to both small and large properties. I recall from my childhood the pride I felt that the farm was an Odels farm, even though it was small. Living on a farm, even if it is small, therefore means something more than merely engaging in economic activity. However, of greater economic value for the farming community is the fact that the person who takes over the farm can acquire it at a relatively low price. This provides greater economic security, not just for the owner but also for the entire family, which has a safe refuge there if other sources of income should dry up. We will return to this point later. It may be worth mentioning in this context that in Norway, it has long been customary to provide the previous owner and sometimes the children who remain at home with the necessary provisions for their livelihood for life. This is called Altenteiler (retirement rights). This can be a significant burden and constitute a considerable capital value. However, the debt on such farms remains small. The justification for this system has been debated, but it is certain that in areas where Åsetesrett and Altenteiler rights are most frequently used, debts are lowest, and farmers are well-off. These are means of preventing over-indebtedness. Whether they are the best means, I cannot say.
Thirdly, the family can reclaim the farm if it has left the family's possession for any reason, within three (now five) years.
When reclaiming a farm through Odelsrett, it must be acquired at the assessed value, and the money must be placed on the table by the last year. However, it may happen that the debts on the farm exceed the assessed value set by specific assessors. Previously, the Odels claimant had to take on all the debts on the farm. Under the law passed in 1934, the Odels claimant is to be exempted from taking on debt obligations if they exceed the assessed value. One should also not be required to place the cash on the table if other forms of secure payment can be provided. Thus, efforts are being made to strengthen these legal institutions once again.
The Odels- og Åsetesrett rights include precise rules for the order of inheritance. Sons take precedence over daughters, the eldest sons and their descendants take precedence over younger sons and their descendants. If the husband dies, the widow remains in undivided co-ownership with the children on the farm.
In my opinion, a weakness of the Åsetesrett is that the eldest son is automatically entitled to inherit the farm. When the eldest son knows he will inherit the ancestral farm, he may not always have the necessary motivation to educate himself. I could imagine it might be beneficial if the testator or the appraisal committee not only determined the transfer amount for the property but also decided who the property should be transferred to.
An institution that has significantly contributed to strengthening the economic position of farmers is the mortgage bank established by the state in 1857, which was designed to provide low-interest mortgages up to 50% of the property's value. And in the early 20th century, a bank for smallholders was established, which provided loans up to 90% of the farm's value for the purchase of smaller farms against community guarantees. Initially, this bank also provided loans to pay off previous mortgage debts on purchased farms.
As a result, most farms have become owner-occupied, and undoubtedly, the idea of ownership has been a powerful driving force in the development of agriculture in our country, where agricultural conditions are meager in many respects. The feeling and joy of owning something yourself is a far greater driving force for the development of our agriculture than the economic return. And I hope it will remain so because it enriches life more than measuring results only in economic terms.
As already mentioned, the Odels law contributed to preventing both the accumulation of extensive land holdings in individual hands and excessive division. Nevertheless, the land in Norway is significantly fragmented. Of the 208,000 farms, 145,000 are considered primary or sole sources of income. Of these, 36,000 farms have less than 2 hectares of cultivated land and natural meadows. On the other hand, only 20,000 have more than 10 hectares, and only 324 farms have more than 50 hectares.
The reason for this strong fragmentation is partly due to natural conditions, which offer little opportunity for large-scale operations, and partly because there are good conditions for secondary employment at sea and on land. Only 93,000 farms have no secondary occupation of any kind, not counting forestry.
Therefore, it may be of interest to hear our views on land distribution. The general opinion seems to be that we have too many small farms where the owner cannot get by without a steady income from outside. In good times, employment can be found both in forestry and in industrial enterprises, but in times of decline, such as after the war, these ventures are reduced, and the owners of the too-small farms find themselves in a particularly difficult situation. Often, they lack the means to make satisfactory use of their small plots of land. As a result, it has become a common view that, when dividing land, care should be taken to ensure that the farms are large enough to occupy the farmer and his minor children. One of the most important social tasks in our country is to help the owners of too-small farms expand their operations, which is done by either providing them with more land or by granting them economic subsidies for land reclamation up to an amount of 600 kroner per hectare if they do not have enough cultivated land. The area of land newly cultivated each year by these small farms with state subsidies corresponds to 1% annually of the previously cultivated land in the country. The state funds allocated for this purpose are well-spent. On the other hand, the state funds used to provide small farmers with particularly cheap loans are wasted because they usually have to pay a correspondingly high price for the farms, so the actual interest expenses are not reduced.
I do not see the absence of large estates as a drawback; quite the opposite. The primary tasks that large estates once had, such as conducting experiments and advancing progress, have now been taken over by experimental stations and farmers' organizations with their officials. In these organizations, farmers have the same role and perform just as well as larger landowners. Of course, small farmers have fewer resources for education, and as a result, large public subsidies are necessary for the education of farmers' sons and daughters, and this is indeed provided. But when this is done, neither agriculture nor the state will suffer from having ordinary farmers represent agriculture externally. Farmers who work daily in the fields and with livestock will be conservative on the one hand, but on the other hand, they will be open to development and progress, not only in their work but also in social and political matters. They will not tolerate compulsion or supremacy. That is why the nobility was abolished here in 1814, and that is why Norwegian farmers fought loyally together to break the dominance that the civil service and the urban bourgeoisie had at the beginning of the last century. They were also the most fervent advocates for gaining national freedom both internally and externally.
In line with our development, I find that an agricultural structure where the family alone, or together with two or three wage laborers, can manage the work is ideal. This setup fosters equality and a sense of community. Everyone interacts on equal footing, no one envies the other, and if necessary, they help each other overcome unforeseen difficulties. This is how it is in the district where I grew up. People live modestly, have a sufficient income, have time to make themselves comfortable, and to pursue their political, literary, and religious interests. After the war, there were no supported unemployed people, even though many who had left other occupations had returned home, finding the space they had once found too confined, but now grateful that they were born on a farm.
In another region of the country, the farms are relatively large and staffed with day laborers. Until after the war, the farmers there lived in great prosperity and led a grand and extensive social life. They rarely participated personally in the work but were skilled in management. The agriculture was technically and economically advanced, and I do not know if the workers lived much worse than the small independent farmers in my home area. However, there was an almost insurmountable divide between the larger farmers on the one hand and the small farmers and workers on the other. The masters and the workers often ate separately and had no social interaction. The result is a significant political divide. The larger farmers in this area are generally very conservative, while the workers and small farmers have turned to the opposite extreme and have ended up in the communist-influenced labor party. Since the workers and small farmers are in the majority, they now govern, not always in harmony with the interests of the conservative farmers, a situation that is not desirable for the general prosperity of the district.
A more even distribution of land into ordinary farms provides a more balanced political and social outlook and will undoubtedly be beneficial for the entire state.
Large estates have their place in times when agricultural knowledge is relatively rare. Under such conditions, the large estate system achieves the best utilization of the production economic insight that exists. But as more and more people gradually learn this "art" either through practice or an organized democratic educational system, and as drive and initiative are instilled in soul and mind, a division of the land into smaller operational units will become necessary if agriculture is to develop into a happy and harmonious state. However, the division of the land should not proceed faster than the availability of competent workers to take over the new farms. No one benefits from having a worker who has only learned to follow others' orders take over a farm to run it on his own. They will hardly be more satisfied, and the land will be poorly utilized. We have also seen such farmers, especially on newly established farms, and this has certainly been the case in other countries where a significant land division took place after the war. One must also be careful not to make the farms too small, or else a peasant proletariat will emerge that is worse off than the other classes.
A working class of farmers, securely established on their farms and feeling that they have free control over a piece of their country's land, will always form the backbone of the societal structure. The more such people there are, the stronger this backbone will be. It will protect against major political and social shifts. This is why Finland established one hundred thousand new farms immediately after gaining its independence. At the same time, the farming class will act as a stable buffer against economic fluctuations in society. The workforce on farms is very flexible; it can contract during times of high demand for labor in other sectors and expand when unemployment occurs. There will always be a surplus of labor in the countryside that needs to find work elsewhere, but if the land is divided into large, capitalistically run estates and very small dependent worker farms, agriculture will have little ability to reabsorb returning unemployed workers. In such times, the large estates will themselves benefit from reducing their workforce. On the worker farms, it is always difficult enough to create room and work for their own family members. In contrast, the family farms will always have both space and work opportunities available. An excellent illustration of this is given by the Americans Mead and Ostrilenk in their book "Voluntary Allotment." A farmer of Norwegian descent had a medium-sized farm and five children. The children received a good education, and four of them left the farm. One found work in the auto industry, one became a university teacher, and one daughter became a stenographer in a business, while another daughter married a merchant. During the crisis, the auto worker was laid off and returned home with his wife and two children, the university teacher was dismissed because the university could no longer be maintained, and he returned home with his family, the business life contracted, and both daughters returned home, one with her husband and child, so that in total four families and seventeen people were on the farm, all of whom had to be fed. Space was limited, but everyone found work and everything else necessary to support the family, "so that this family is at least comfortable, and they have always had only comfort. Each day brings certain tasks. There is no looking at shortcomings—no hiding in a hole in the ground, no sleeping in police stations, no tiresome wandering in the streets searching uselessly for work, no standing for hours in long lines, no humiliating questioning by social workers, no shortage, no fear, and despair that afflicts so many unemployed urban residents. The whole family is busy, and the youth's morale has, as far as can be observed, not suffered."
But precisely because medium-sized family farms mean so much for the entire national life, their position must be secured so that the farming family remains securely on their farm, regardless of changing economic conditions. And one of the greatest tasks we face is finding ways to prevent some generations from living grandly off increased value in good times while other generations suffer hardship or perhaps are driven off their farms in times of decline because they happen to come of age and start a family during such times.
The Aasetesrecht aims to provide some assistance. When properly implemented, the person taking over the farm will acquire it at a 20 to 30% lower price than if it were bought on the open market. The Odelsrecht also provides security in that, if one is forced to sell, there is the option to reclaim the farm. However, these laws do not provide sufficient protection. This is best demonstrated by a debt survey conducted a few years ago, which showed that about a quarter of the farms in Norway are indebted by more than 75% of their value, as assessed by the tax authorities. A large number of properties have been sold at forced auctions. It should be noted, however, that there is a growing understanding that the former owner must have the opportunity to repurchase the property. Of the forced sales by the mortgage and smallholder banks, only one in five farms has been sold to outsiders. In 80% of the cases, the farm was repurchased. The Storting (Norwegian Parliament) has now established a debt mediation institution, equipped with significant funds, as a lending bank with 100 million kroner has been set up. This debt mediation institution is also supposed to try to implement voluntary debt settlements by granting creditors relatively large sums for repayment if they reduce the debt accordingly. This should help us overcome the most significant difficulties this time, but the goal must be to avoid such an accumulation of debt that arises solely from shifts in the value of money. Whoever, without harming the necessary credit supply or making it more difficult than it already is, can find a way to help the industrious poor acquire a farm will be doing a great service to agriculture.
Werner Stief: The Round Churches on Bornholm
Norse-Germanic Farmer Fortresses from the Early Middle Ages
Bornholm—the small Danish island in the Baltic Sea, so close to the German coast and yet so little known! People travel to Helgoland, Sylt, Rügen—why not to Bornholm?
An incredibly diverse landscape surprises the visitor: in the interior, there are charming, fertile green hills; in the south, the white, pure sandy beach of Dueodde; in the north, the rugged granite cliffs crowned by the mighty ruins of Hammerhus, which, with its location, reminds one of the castle in Thule, and with its name, of Thor's good times. Just the sight of this landscape alone—a piece of western Norwegian skerries, a piece of Brittany—richly rewards the short crossing to Bornholm.
But it's not just the landscape that endears Bornholm to those who visit; it's also the many cultural monuments from ancient and older times that are found in abundance on this relatively small, secluded island. There are megalithic tombs, standing stones, and petroglyphs from prehistoric times, runestones from the early Christian era, refuge fortresses, ring walls, and many other culturally and artistically valuable and interesting artifacts to be found in great numbers on Bornholm. Among them, the unique round churches draw the most interest.
There are four of them on the island: Nyker, Olsker, Nylarsker, and Østerlarsker. While these Bornholm churches differ from each other in certain individual features, they all follow a typical plan found in all four churches in their basic structure.
They were built around the years 1150 to 1200 and served the farmers as houses of worship, but also as armories, refuges, and defensive sites against the raids of Wendish pirates. The round churches are thus, in terms of both function and construction, a fusion of cult buildings and fortifications. They probably never had to withstand real sieges, as there is no historical record of such. The tactics of the Baltic Sea pirates were more about landing their ships on the island's coast, plundering the nearby farms, fields, and livestock on the pastures, and then quickly sailing away once their "work" was done.
The location of the round churches can be explained by the nature of the enemy. They are all built on a hill within a distance of no more than 3–5 kilometers from the coast, with the exception of Nyker, which lies in a valley. Despite this, from this church, too, one could see the sea, notice the arrival of pirates in time, and secure lives and possessions.
Today, the round churches look somewhat different from how they did in those uncertain times. On the usually three-story, tower-like round structure (only the Nyker church has two stories), there was once a platform with a battlemented parapet and a surrounding walkway behind it, with a smaller observation tower rising in the center. The walkway was covered. Thus, the church roof only began to slope gently from the platform toward the central turret, leaning against it in such a way that the uppermost part of the turret protruded above the roof, somewhat like the "lantern" (tambour) of a Renaissance dome. Today, a more or less steep and pointed, conical shingled roof without a "lantern" forms the upper closure of the round churches, covering the former walkway and the now bricked-up battlements. Even from a great distance, one can easily distinguish the individual churches by the sight of these peculiar roofs and locate their position in the landscape. The Olsker church rises tall and slender, while the Nyker and Nylars churches appear low and compressed.
The thick round defensive tower forms the nave of the church on its ground floor. It is built of massive, 1.5 to 2 meters thick boulders and rubble stone walls, which are now whitewashed. In the wall, one can clearly distinguish the old, arrow-slit-like small light openings and the larger windows that were later added.
In the middle of the church stands a thick, round stone pillar. This supports the inner edge of the ring-shaped barrel vault that spans the space of the surrounding nave, while the peripheral edge of this vault is supported on the inner edge of the thick outer wall. The central pillar in the Nyker church is 3 meters thick, while in the Østerlars church it reaches 13 meters in diameter. However, this excessively thick pillar is not solid in its lower part. Inside it (as a curiosity), there is a vaulted hollow space connected to the surrounding nave by six round-arched openings. This peculiar six-footed pillar with six entrances is colloquially known as the "oven." The transition of the central pillar into the ring vault, or better: the central part of the ring vault itself, is often decorated with colorful, naively rendered frescoes or a carved stone round-arched frieze, which forms the only old ornamentation of the clumsy, defensive round church architecture.
To the east, a small oval chancel is attached to the circular "nave," ending in a semicircular apse. The chancel and apse, in contrast to the tower structure, are only one story high and are connected to the nave by a round-arched opening as an annex to the central structure. Externally, the chancel, covered with a barrel vault, and the apse of the Nylars church, covered with a half-round dome, are clad with heavy lead plates.
The only staircase leading to the upper floors starts from the chancel. The entrance to it is not at ground level but slightly elevated, requiring one to climb a small ladder or steps before accessing the actual staircase. The staircase is narrow and steep, winding upwards through the thick wall of the round structure. The steps are rough, uneven, and unusually high; the staircase is not lit by special windows, making it feel more like climbing a rock chimney than ascending a staircase.
The space on the first floor resembles the nave on the ground floor, except here the undecorated central pillar is even more bulky, and the ring-shaped barrel vault is set very low. A tall person might well bump their head. This space served as a refuge for women and children during times of danger, while the men occupied the upper platform (today's second floor), the battlement walkway, and the lookout tower.
From the first floor of the Nyker church, one can look down through an opening in the wall onto the vaults of the chancel and apse. These are constructed from flat, edge-set stone slabs. Above them rises the rafter construction for the gable-shaped lead-plated roof.
The platform on the second floor now lies beneath the ridge bell of the large conical roof. Standing underneath, one might feel as though they are in an enormous Native American tipi. A thick, long beam, known as the "king," stands vertically on the still-preserved lowest part of the former lookout turret. From this central beam, smaller beams and struts branch out, supporting the roof's rafter framework. The entire wooden structure resembles a giant tree with very clumsy limbs and branches without leaves. The arrangement of the beams seems quite irregular and arbitrary, yet it has been performing its function effectively for several hundred years.
Originally, a round church had two entrances: a south portal for men and a north portal for women. Later, when the churches lost their significance as farmer's fortresses, the south portal was built over with a porch, known as the "weapons house," and the women's door was either blocked or bricked up. In the weapons house, men would lay down their weapons before entering the main church. Today, most weapons houses have been turned into small museums, where old gravestones and runestones are displayed. The women's door at Østerlars church is still well-preserved. Its round-arched tympanum shows a Germanic sun wheel carved in what is called Bornholm cement stone, the material from which all the few stone-cut pieces of the round churches are made. The women's portal of Olsker church is half bricked up at the bottom and now forms a church window with its upper half.
Over the centuries, it became necessary to add special buttresses at various points to counter the immense pressure of the ring vaults, despite the thick, solidly grounded walls that supported them. These supporting architectural elements were unsystematically added to the outside of the round structure, each varying in height and thickness. Olsker church has two tall buttresses, Nyker church has two low ones, Østerlars church has seven different ones, and Nylars church has none. One buttress of Olsker church was later hollowed out in its lower part and is now used as a tool shed, closed off with a wooden door.
Thus, the exterior of the four churches is quite distinctive. With their numerous vertically and diagonally rising surfaces and shadow-casting edges, surrounded by the greenery of the churchyards, they offer picturesque views.
The fortified character of the round churches was further enhanced in the past by an outer ring wall with towers. Here and there, remnants of these walls still exist. The solid ground floor of one such wall tower now serves as the bell tower for three of the churches, with an upper story built in half-timbered or wooden construction.
Among the noteworthy details are the two runestones in the weapons house of Nylars church, the large runestone from 1060 at Østerlars church, and an ancient baptismal font in Olsker church. These and many other details, along with observing the small and larger differences in the construction of each church, make studying the round churches of Bornholm incredibly interesting.
As a curiosity, it is worth noting that in 1670, four brothers from the same family simultaneously held the pastoral positions at the four round churches.
Here is a detailed description of each of the images mentioned:
1. Nylars Church from the South: The central round building, covered with a conical shingled roof, is flanked by the chancel and apse to the east and the weapons house to the south. Both the chancel and apse are covered with a lead-plated roof. In the foreground to the left, the bell tower is visible. The tower’s younger timber-framed upper structure has been built upon the base of an old tower from the former ring wall.
2. Østerlars Church from the South: The weapons house is on the left, and the chancel is on the right. The central structure has two massive buttresses. The small wall openings under the edge of the round building once allowed rainwater to drain from the open-air battlement walkway.
3. Olsker Church from the South: The weapons house is in the foreground, with the lead-plated roof of the chancel visible to the right. Of the two large buttresses, the one on the left is used as a shed in its lower part. The other buttress has two embedded gravestones. Atop the gable of the weapons house is a sun wheel transformed into a Christian cross.
4. Olsker Church from the North: To the left of the slender central structure are the chancel and apse, with a buttress visible to the right. The round-arched women’s portal is half bricked up and now serves as a window.
5. Ny Church from the East: The chancel and apse are in the foreground. The central round building is supported by two low buttresses.
6. Ny Church from the West: The central structure has only two floors. The weapons house is visible to the right.
7. Ny Church, Interior: A view from the chancel towards the thick central pillar. The "capital" (the central part of the ring-shaped barrel vault) is decorated with colorful lime paintings. The gallery and furnishings are modern.
8. Ny Church, Interior: Another view of the interior, similar to image 7.
9. Østerlars Church: The northern women’s portal with a sun wheel depicted in the tympanum.
10. Østerlars Church in the Landscape: In the foreground is the bell tower with an old stone base and a newer wooden upper structure.
11. The Slender Olsker Church in the Landscape: A view highlighting the slender form of the church.
12. Østerlars Church, Interior: A view of one of the openings in the hollow central pillar, referred to as "the Oven." The frescoes depict the Last Judgment. (Photo by Alfred Bähr, Leipzig.)
13. Østerlars Church: A runestone from 1060 made of red granite. The inscription around the cross translates to: "Tykel erected the stone for brother Torgunneson. May his soul rest in peace." In the background, two of the church’s buttresses are visible. (Photo by Alfred Bähr, Leipzig.)
Wilhelm Hinrichs: the significance of the thatched roof ("Rethdach") in German rural architecture
Whoever has wandered through the German homeland and admired the beautiful farmhouses will have recognized that the ancient bond between blood and soil is most strongly expressed in the landscape where the reed roof (Rethdach) has been preserved to this day.
This splendid unity between building and farmer is due to the material; there is no other material that achieves this effect so perfectly as reed.
The reason for this is that reed is a pure natural product from the land itself, used without any transformation process. Almost all other natural products require multiple mechanical modifications before they become useful to humans. But when a machine is involved, the natural state is either violated or eliminated.
However, this wild reed remains unchanged; it only changes its location. With unparalleled tenacity, it retains its natural characteristics and thus becomes a symbol of indigenous preservation.
Growing on unproductive soil, in shallow waters, without sowing or care, the reed returns year after year in the same abundance when harvested in winter. Though useless to agriculture, it is transformed by the hands of the farmer and the thatcher into a protective roof, thus becoming a dominant element of the landscape. How simply it shifts from something secondary to something primary, from a natural to a cultural product!
Therefore, it can be rightly said of the thatched roof that it has grown out of the landscape like a natural formation. As such, it continues its quiet life, participating in the cycle of the seasons and, as it ages, acquiring a green moss patina that happily extends the colors of the meadows and pastures. Not only in color, but also in line, the thatched roof blends harmoniously with the soft contours of bushes and trees, with the curves of hills and embankments. Whether by the lakes of Holstein, in the expanses of the heath, on the fields of the marshes and the mounds of the Halligen, in the dune chains of the islands, or in the dark valleys of the Black Forest, it always presents a perfect picture that wonderfully expresses the true German farming tradition in its simple and beautiful form. It belongs to the people it shelters, to their legends and customs, to their hearts and minds.
As little effort as it takes to use the reed growth for thatching, the benefits that the thatched roof brings to agricultural operations are great. As a poor conductor of heat, it keeps cool in summer and warm in winter. It remains tight against rain and snow while being more breathable than any other type of roofing with its necessary ventilation shafts. The thatched roof "breathes" over its entire surface, creating a constant airflow that keeps people, livestock, and crops healthy, while the hard roof "sweats" and, with its moisture, easily spoils woodwork and stored goods.
Due to its lightness, the thatched roof does not require a heavy, costly roof truss. It is surprising to see how simply the roof framework is constructed in old farmhouses.
Additionally, the soft roof is not easily damaged by hard impacts, which would cause slate or tiles to shatter. Even storm damage can be quickly and easily repaired.
Moreover, it has strong soundproofing properties. When hailstorms or rain showers beat down, they do not disturb the peaceful calm of the house.
Wind and weather take 40 to 60 years before renewal is necessary. Therefore, when the old farmer renews his thatched roof, it will last for the next generation.
Proven over centuries in agricultural use, a visible expression of ancient, land-rooted farming culture, and of great landscape beauty, it also has an economic value by making use of the annual reed growth, for which there is otherwise no use.
All these advantages are offset by only one disadvantage: its flammability.
Unfortunately, all attempts to mitigate this through impregnation have failed, as the treatment is soon washed out by rain.
It is therefore essential to reduce the fire risk as much as possible and to mitigate the damage in case of fire.
Fire hazards arise externally from lightning strikes and flying sparks, and internally from fireplaces, chimneys, and high-voltage electrical wiring.
Whether the thatched roof is more prone to lightning strikes than the hard roof is a debated question that has not been definitively resolved. In any case, a lightning protection system is essential and must be subjected to periodic professional inspections, which should immediately address any deficiencies. Most fires in thatched roofs, however, undoubtedly originate from flying sparks spreading from house to house. Windbreak trees have often proven effective against flying sparks. Furthermore, the possession of hand-held fire extinguishing devices should be considered an essential duty. Once the fire has taken hold, there is little the fire department can do to save the building.
Significant sources of danger are also fireplaces, chimneys, and high-voltage electrical wiring. These must be frequently cleaned or maintained and regularly inspected by supervisory authorities.
To minimize fire damage, which is often total, as much as humanly possible, the following structural measures are advisable:
1. Doors and gates must be large enough so that people and animals do not block the way and can flee in the shortest possible time.
2. At the exits, massive gable structures should be installed whenever possible to catch falling flame clusters. Alternatively, iron catching grids similar to snow guards may suffice.
3. Where customary and in line with local craftsmanship, all floor ceilings should be equipped with insulation layers and clay coatings, so that the fire is either halted or at least slowed from spreading from one floor to the next.
But what good is all technical wisdom against the incredible carelessness of people? Priceless, irreplaceable thatched farmhouses have been destroyed and will continue to be reduced to ashes by thoughtless handling of fire and light unless there is systematic education and training of the population, especially in schools, the new youth organizations, and among the brown battalions that march through the German homeland and take shelter in the farmers' courtyards. It has been shown that the frequency of fires varies significantly across different rural districts; this is not solely due to objective risk factors but is also deeply rooted in human behavior. If all these technical precautions for fire prevention or limitation are taken and people themselves show respect and exercise caution, then there is no longer any significant danger to people, livestock, and crops under a thatched roof.
Between 1874 and 1919, no fewer than 19,726 thatched buildings in Schleswig-Holstein were affected by fires, typically resulting in their complete destruction. The regional fire insurance fund there experienced losses of approximately 11 million Reichsmarks in thatch insurance between 1874 and 1914. From 1924 to 1927, in Hamburg, fire losses caused by flying embers and lightning strikes resulted in damage rates of 2.84% of the insured sum for hard roofs and a staggering 69.1% for thatched roofs.
Tables and statistics provide the basis for fire insurance profitability calculations, inevitably leading to insurance premiums for thatched roofs being 30 to 70 times higher than those for hard roofs.
The percentage decreases if, based on the principle of mutual support, the latter subsidize the former; it increases if, based on the risk principle, each risk group and region must bear its own inherent fire risk.
How is the financially struggling farmer supposed to pay the high insurance premiums? How can he afford a new thatched roof when the old one is worn out by wind and weather or destroyed by fire? Although he knows that the thatched roof is better suited to his operation than any other roof and more fitting for his ancestral farm, in most cases, he will not refuse the assistance of the fire insurance funds, which favor a new hard roof while denying a new thatched one.
All his inherent resistance to innovation is thus overcome. As a result, within perhaps just a decade, almost all thatched roofs will have disappeared from the German landscape. And under a landscape of artificial slate, tar paper, and stamped metal, a valuable cultural heritage will be buried, with only a few exhibits remaining to inform future generations.
"One cannot hold the regional fire insurance funds, but rather the legislation that has evidently failed in its effects, responsible for the current state of affairs." (Landesbrandkasse Kiel.)
However, these laws have not accounted for the concept of time as a value-creating factor. Time has since changed and brought about an unprecedented resurgence of the German people. It has recognized the peasantry as the nucleus of the future, visibly expressed in the Hereditary Farm Law.
Where thatched roofs still exist in Germany, how often have they been stripped of their pure form and defaced!
To prevent fire hazards, some regions legally require that old chimneys, which run along the ridge, be replaced with new ones that rise vertically and surpass the ridge, making them very tall and robust. Additionally, chimneys often need to be encased in hard roofing material. The subsequent installation of a fire wall between the residential and agricultural parts of the building, which cuts through and extends above the large roof surface, is equally unsightly and disrespectful. It is a cut that brutally severs the close internal connection. When one adds the tall lightning rods and the haphazard routing and anchoring of high-voltage lines, the once magnificent thatched roof bears the stigma of a materialistic and technical era, beyond which nothing worse can be imagined.
We protect vast natural areas, safeguard trees, stones, shrubs, and all creatures that crawl or fly. We collect folk songs and fairy tales from our ancestors and revive the festive village scene with traditional costumes. Can we simultaneously destroy the farmhouse in its original form, cover a hereditary farm with a tin roof, and understand it? Or grant demolition premiums for thatched roofs in this new era, which draws its strongest pulse for the rebirth of German character from blood and soil?
With the thatched roof, an ancient craft—the thatcher's trade—also dies out. It is one of those rare primitive professions that lead to works of art when the thatcher understands his craft in the old tradition. On a roof ladder, with a mallet, a roof needle, and a binding wire, he arranges bundle upon bundle of thatch into a cover that lays like a thick carpet from the eaves to the ridge over valleys and bulges and lasts for over half a century if human intervention does not deface or destroy it, and if the clouds of fire pass it by gently.
We have become a poor people. Let us be careful not to lose the riches of our homeland as well!
One might argue that we are becoming economically poorer due to the many fires caused by thatched roofs. However, this material loss, which is very questionable, is outweighed by a cultural value that is much higher; the former can somehow be replaced, the latter never!
Therefore, in the eleventh hour, a way must be found to help the farmer preserve his thatched roofs without imposing an unbearable loss on fire insurance companies.
If no better way is found, let the entire nation help him and bear the additional insurance costs. Let it bear them like a small toll for the strength and joy that the beautiful homeland provides.
And let the farmer be granted a tax relief that approximately corresponds to his additional burden for the thatched roof. If further support for a new thatched roof is needed, a "Day of the Homeland" could be celebrated throughout the nation, raising an honorarium for the preservation and purity of the homeland in general and for the rescue of the thatched roof in particular, so that it may remain what it has been in the past:
The most beautiful roof of the homeland! The best roof of the farmer!
Otto Weber⸗Krohſe:
The National Economy of Frederick William the First, the Socialist on the Royal Throne
The greatest internal king of Prussia, as the old Oberpräsident von Schön rightly called him, built his state structure from the comprehensive totality of practical thinking that was both simple and universal. The pillars of this state were the civil service and the army. It was only after these two foundations were instilled with an iron principle of honor and duty, with the utmost rigor, that the king of social dictatorship could build an encompassing state upon them, where a strong and multifaceted domestic economy, an extensive colonization program, and finally a new political and material law united the idea of the young people with the concept of the national state into a synthesis.
One of his very first acts of governance, this sober and bureaucratic king, in whose veins, by the way, flowed more Welf and Orange blood than Hohenzollern, who occasionally referred to himself as Lower German, and whose education was significantly shaped in Holland and Hanover, was the clear rejection of his grandfather’s old colonization plans. Then for a while, there was little talk of fundamental and programmatic guidelines in the sense of the social leader state, but much more of drastic personal and organizational measures. He started everything with himself: This king, so magnificent in his simplicity, who, when he asked his people to eat bread made from groats to keep the price of bread low, decreed, 'I will start with it on my table,' also began his administrative reforms with himself. The 'slash through the budget' immediately reduced the annual amount of the royal household from 275,000 to 55,000 talers. For Berlin, which then, in 1713, had only 24,000 inhabitants, this initially meant a heavy blow, about the unfavorable consequences of which Minister von Grumbkow had expressed enough concern. And yet, with these early beginnings of his reign, the king had already foresightedly seen the ultimate goal, which could only be achieved through comprehensive, never stop-gap or patchwork measures: he knew that he could only triple the population of his capital if, instead of the crumbs that had previously, albeit generously, fallen from the royal lord's table, he provided a new organic source of income that was integrated into the overall economy. He steered consistently towards these ultimate goals here as everywhere and accepted the complaints of his subjects, which accompanied him almost all his life. When he reduced his court budget to one-fifth, skilled workers emigrated. This was regrettable, but more important was to invest the saved 220,000 talers in building the army, as the soldiers ultimately fed the population better. So, he replaced the lost earning opportunities with new large garrisons. Again, there was great outcry from the cities, which had been shaken out of their old customs, an outcry that, over the decades, would turn into a no less vigorous plea for new garrisons. Thus, the beginning of this unique reign is already shown, with the slash through the budget and the rejection of colonial policy, as a consistent striving towards the ultimate goals, which was not in the least hindered by the comments of various interested parties.
The first and foremost principle of this administration was not the number of laws it enacted, but the punctuality and precision with which these laws were enforced. Herr von Katsch had, so to speak, become the general inspector for the newly invented Prussian punctuality and cleanliness. Any official who arrived an hour late to work was fined at least a full month's salary as punishment. In case of a repeated offense, he was dismissed with dishonor. The slightest misappropriation was met with draconian severity. The judgment against the Königsberg War and Domain Councillor von Schlubhuth, which the King, although the offenses were not very significant in themselves, escalated to the death penalty and personally attended its execution, was meant to be a warning example—and it was. He was no less strict against the slightest attempt at insubordination. When someone tried to argue with him, insisting that a budget could not be met, despite his own insistence that all salaries in his state be paid on the day they were due, the next day came the decree: "The gentlemen say it is not possible, but they should risk their heads on it, and we hereby order seriously that it be made possible without any reasoning." In another case, when three senior officials refused to carry out a transfer to Gumbinnen, he was only with difficulty persuaded to send them to a fortress instead of putting them in chains. It is no wonder that this administration, which Friedrich Wilhelm also constantly inspected personally, soon came into order and became so obedient and flexible that it was capable of handling the most difficult tasks.
Although it was occasionally possible under him—who was always eager to secure funds for his state, though never for personal gain—to acquire high titles in exchange for large payments (which he referred to as "catching a hare"), it would have been impossible for someone whom he was not fully convinced of their suitability to ascend to any responsible office under his rule. Under his father, the district administrators had considered themselves more as representatives of the estates than of the state. Friedrich Wilhelm, in his relentless struggle against the privileges of the estates, which was particularly fierce in the territories of Altmark and Magdeburg and almost led to the imposition of the imperial ban, significantly reduced the value of the position of district administrator. This change later enabled his son to redefine the role of the district administrator. In East Prussia, he was supported by the two aforementioned Dohnas, one of whom, unfortunately, passed away soon after, and by Count Truchseß von Waldburg, his loyal "Trux," whom he made the first chief president of East Prussia, but who was also taken from him far too early. With the help of these men, he managed to bring about a clear distinction between true nobility and the self-serving attitudes of the estates in the devastated land that had been so terribly ravaged by the Swedish-Polish War and had not been rebuilt by either his grandfather or his father. When he had rebuked the estates of Magdeburg with the words: "What estates, I no longer recognize any condominium!" he now addressed the Prussians with the splendid decree of April 25, 1715, directed at the General Commission on Hufen in Königsberg, stating:
"The Hufen Commission shall proceed, I come to my purpose and stabilize sovereignty and set the crown firm like a bronze rock and let the gentlemen Junkers feel the wind from the Landtag!"
Although the king spoke rather poor German, having been raised in French, one must admit that this language was German enough to drive out the remnants of their former Polish liberty from the minds of the East Prussian estates. However, this did not make him any more popular, and his popularity did not grow when he returned from his first journey to East Prussia with three wagonloads full of forcibly recruited sons of nobility to be placed in the cadet corps in Potsdam. But here, for the first time, the Prussian people slowly began to realize the significance of a king who always started with himself, who always dealt with the great before punishing the small, although this is not to say that the small had nothing to suffer under him. His passion for soldiers ensured that they did.
When he introduced the canton system in 1733, the burdens of quartering soldiers were harsh and oppressive for the common man. Equally oppressive at times was the manner in which these rough soldiers imposed themselves on civilians, although the king himself was merciless in dealing with such abuses. Nevertheless, alongside the purely military achievements that made Prussia a viable ally—without which it would certainly not have overcome so many foreign policy setbacks and difficulties—stood the enormous economic benefit of the large army, which provided the common man with earning opportunities that were unimaginable at the time.
His father's army had not been poor. It had added new glory to the martial reputation of the Electorate's army in Turkey, Spain, the Near East, and along the Rhine, but it had been a small, individualistic mercenary force of 30,000 men. Friedrich Wilhelm transformed this into a disciplined, uniquely organized army of nearly 85,000 men, a feat unprecedented in Europe at the time. Furthermore, he managed to make this army profitable for his young state, which was stretched to its limits in every direction. Only with this mighty self-sustaining entity can the development of Friedrich Wilhelm's national economy be fully understood. We are not only referring to the strict methods — stricter and harsher even than those applied in his civil administration, to which he famously declared: "70,000 soldiers obey me, and 11,000 inkblots should not obey?" — that were used to forge a unified ethos within this army. We are referring, above all, to the economic significance of this army, which at that time also represented a massive employment program. Droysen points out that the costs of this army, even as early as 1722, amounted to almost 3.3 million thalers, which was nearly 60% of the state's total revenue and almost 80% of its net income. Only after the canton system reduced desertions and brought individual units into closer contact with their garrisons—marking the first step toward universal conscription—did the king consciously promote the integration of his soldiers into the economic organization of his people. He had them build houses—there were, as contemporary chroniclers report, sergeants who owned several houses—he encouraged them to marry, so that, as von Oppeln-Bronikowski notes, soon one could expect 500 children for a regiment of 1,000 men (in keeping with the king's great principle: "People I regard as the greatest wealth"), and he instructed that the garrisons should cover their supply needs from the yields of the surrounding area. He forbade his officers, under penalty of dismissal, from obtaining oats or provisions from abroad. He directed his weaving mills to supply uniforms for the army, which had been re-outfitted every year since 1725; indeed, he even managed to secure the uniform supply contract for a large part of the Russian army for his closed trading state. He attached industrial enterprises for military supplies to his garrisons everywhere. He ensured that his troops purchased from local farmers and tradespeople at fixed and fair prices. Thus, the garrisons became centers for the development of his national economy, where the links between farmer, soldier, and craftsman became increasingly clear.
Every import of foreign raw materials was almost entirely prohibited in consideration of this army production. Above all, however, he ensured that the supply of bread grains to the army was secure even in the harshest times of crisis. Here he established the remarkable institution of granaries, which were also intended to guarantee stable and secure prices for the agricultural population. Through these granaries, he was able to lower prices in expensive years by selling his reserves and raise prices in cheap years by making large purchases. Although his 21 major army grain magazines primarily served as military storage chambers, and it was only under Frederick the Great that the complete control of the grain market by the state was perfected to virtuosity, even Friedrich Wilhelm's magazines were already firm bulwarks of the national economy. They were the point where the interweaving of the interests of military and agricultural subjects became most evident. This is where the bridge lies between his military expansion and his great agricultural achievements. As early as 1722, he had banned the import of foreign, particularly Polish, grain. Soon thereafter, in connection with his plans for the self-sufficiency of his army, he undertook for the first time something akin to a general setting of domestic grain prices. In connection with this, he also established the regulations for peasant protection, according to which no farmer could be driven from his farm at the whim of the estate lord. Here again, a chain is completed, as Friedrich Wilhelm always acted from large, closed contexts.
It is characteristic of this king that both his first and 27 years later his last cabinet orders dealt with the care of his peasant subjects. His first official act was the issuance of the house law, which once and for all established the inalienability of the domains; his last concerned the opening of the magazines in consideration of the famine dangers of the poor harvest year 1740, for the benefit of the needy population. His domains, alongside his battalions, were almost the favorite area of his extraordinarily versatile energy. They were the backbone of his state agriculture, and how well he understood their promotion and development is best illustrated by a fact that cannot be mentioned often enough, namely the dry and sober statistics of his state budget, which by the end of his reign could cover 50% of all expenditures from the revenues of the domains.
Friedrich Wilhelm's royal domain was situated amidst a larger number of peasant and settler farms. The administrator of the domain often had the task of also overseeing these surrounding peasant farms, advising them, and ensuring that they integrated their agricultural practices into the larger state framework. In addition, the domains were supposed to have an inspiring and exemplary effect on the neighboring larger estates. From the sum of the experiences of his domain administrators, the king made decisions that seemed necessary to him for the regulation of the peasant market and for the ongoing balance of the interests of the urban and rural populations. In the spring of 1714, he had, though only in Berlin, his granary (the others had not yet been established at that time) opened to prevent the urban population, which was already suffering greatly from the reduction of the court's budget, from also having to endure a rise in bread prices. He repeated this measure in 1720, as that was also a poor year. However, this was followed by an extraordinarily significant decree, which was based on reports from his domain administrators that it was necessary to oppose any attempt to turn the king's grain policy into a speculation policy even more strongly than before. Friedrich Wilhelm decreed that the sale of royal grain should only "be restricted to the needy and poor," and middlemen were fundamentally excluded. The royal magazine administration increasingly replaced the middleman, and at the same time, the royal domain administrators, in their capacity as agricultural trustees, increasingly took on a role that already hinted at the initial ideas of today's cooperative system.
No wonder that these domain administrators were chosen from the best human material available to the king. Later on, during the height of his great historical East Prussian colonization project, he repeatedly transferred domain administrators from the Mark Brandenburg and, above all, from Magdeburg to the East, despite the strongest resistance from those affected. We say "domain administrators," and yet these administrators, formally speaking, were domain leaseholders who, for understandable reasons, were always given only short-term contracts. However, the term "domain administrator" is correct because these men were officials of the king, who managed agriculture not as a private endeavor but as a purely state function. The domain in former Prussia represented something like a bridge between the old feudal law and the modern, agrarian-socialist ideas of today, with which we are now addressing the great liberal agricultural crisis in the Third Reich.
Organically, as everything in this new state structure was shaped, these new key positions in agriculture had to exert their influence on the two other positions of the land estate: the knighthood and the peasantry. Friedrich Wilhelm had no intention of dissolving the knightly estate as such. He even allowed it to retain a number of privileges because he wanted his nobility to be free from economic worries and thus unhindered in their service as officials, and above all as officers (although he did not think of reserving certain professional groups exclusively for nobles in either case). However, he intervened in noble and knightly privileges wherever peasant interests were at stake. The privileges of the knighthood soon turned into obligations across the board. It did not occur to him to support a large estate simply because it was a knightly estate; only in matters of taxation did he treat knightly estates, whose owning families served him elsewhere, preferentially. Otherwise, he held the view, just as we do today, that a large estate that cannot support itself has no claim to state support beyond general interests. Having already had the courage to dismantle the semi-state self-governing bodies of the regional knighthood, he now also found the courage to provide protection for the hereditary tenant farmers within the framework of the knightly estates.
Henceforth, no noble landlord was allowed to evict his farmers from their homes and farms without royal approval. He was not even allowed to relocate them from one farmstead to another within his estate without government permission. Conversely, the farmer was, of course, also bound to remain attached to his plot of land. Friedrich Wilhelm rightly believed that a landlord who dispossesses farmers could no longer be considered a true noble or squire but rather a robber baron or rebel (in the 20th century, when Friedrich Wilhelm was forgotten, unfortunately, there were once again many such robber barons), and conversely, he believed that a free-roaming farmer would become an adventurer and vagabond. Under this reorganization, in which the peasant farms often stood poorly off but were debt-free, if a knightly estate was sold, the "hereditary leasehold possession" of the peasants, which naturally could not be mortgaged, was transferred with the same rights and obligations to the new owner.
The domains, within the framework of Friedrich Wilhelm's organic and rooted policy, served as counterweights to the noble estates, which, according to the king, could only find their economic purpose when integrated into the unions of domains and peasantries. The creation of hereditary leases at that time was no less bold and revolutionary than today's inheritance farm law. Even during the reign of the king's father, the clever Lothar von Wulffen had proposed the establishment of magazines on a cooperative basis and the introduction of hereditary leases. Now, finally, the time was ripe for these comprehensive reforms. The extent to which this closed internal economy also benefited agriculture itself was evident not only in the aforementioned years of general inflation but also in 1730, when the king, in response to the increasingly precarious situation of the farmers in his western provinces, ordered the large-scale purchase of grain at very high prices for his magazines. Domain leaseholders could always count on purchases by the magazines, while purchases of grain from knightly estates were fundamentally rejected.
Whenever domain leaseholders reported any hoarding or profiteering, Friedrich Wilhelm ruthlessly intervened with one of his sharp cabinet orders, which, as is well known, were not only read but also followed across the board. As early as the mid-1720s, he had ordered that no estate could retain more grain from one harvest to the next than was necessary for its own use and sowing, and these amounts were continuously monitored by inspectors. This is how he managed to survive all the bad years. Shortly before his death, during the famine of 1740, he set maximum and minimum prices for all agricultural grain types for the first time. He also prohibited the distillation of spirits from domestic grain and set quotas for grain quantities. As early as 1736, he had issued bans on the export of grain for all the eastern provinces of his monarchy. The immediate storm of indignation from all his stakeholders, who were naturally mainly found in agricultural circles themselves, he calmly endured, only to issue similar orders again in 1740.
Another parallel to today can be found in the protective tariff legislation of this remarkable king. Already in the founding act for the General Directorate, as part of his Schönebeck drafts, the king had determined that protective tariffs for foreign grain should be set so high that their import would be practically impossible. Tariff policy sharply distinguished between domestic and foreign grain. Foreign grain was essentially only allowed to be imported through Königsberg, whose importance as a transshipment point for the entire near East Friedrich Wilhelm was also the first to recognize. Those who acted against the king's customs regulations were punished with imprisonment, or in more severe cases, with corporal and capital punishments, which this harsh king never spared, especially when they were directed against the social ideas central to his reign. Of course, as Oppeln rightly points out, what was correct sometimes became rigid. Thus, tariff policy, however justified and necessary it was, became a rigid formalism as soon as, in the bad years of 1736 and 1740, domestic grain production was insufficient to meet even domestic demand. In 1736, the king did concede certain import allowances, and in 1740, Frederick the Great, whose successes largely lay in making the old, sound principles of his father slightly more flexible, temporarily opened the borders in one of his first acts of government to alleviate the crisis.
It should be noted in passing that the king never fell into the mistake of pursuing a specialized agricultural policy focused solely on itself. Almost all of his agricultural measures were accompanied by corresponding industrial decisions. His organic tripartite division between the military, agriculture, and industry, which continuously complemented each other, became evident once again. In Berlin alone, under him, nearly 350 master wool weavers were working within the framework of small and medium-sized enterprises, with a number of journeymen fluctuating between 2,000 and 3,000 (not counting the apprentices employed). Additionally, he established the great cloth manufactory there. In Potsdam, Berlin, and Magdeburg, he set up numerous industrial enterprises to support his military economy and to sell his agricultural products. One of his best phrases — almost all of his short, meaningful, and commonly used slogans are reflected in the pointed expressions of his son — states that "a country without manufactories is a body without real life." Thus, this king, who solidified his state on the foundation of the military and therefore prepared the people's army from the mercenary army, which was supported by the peasantry and the indigenous nobility and nourished by agriculture, which he simultaneously gave a mighty boost, also recognized the close connection between the farmer, soldier, and industry and creatively envisioned it from the landscape perspective. Nothing demonstrates this more clearly than his advice to "our dear successor, our son Frederick," that he should "promote manufactories, especially in our backward East Prussia."
For the greatest achievement of his political life, not only in a general political sense but also particularly in terms of national economy, remains what he accomplished for the colonization of "backward East Prussia." He was one of the greatest native builders in history. Despite all the difficulties of its marshy terrain, he turned Potsdam into a cohesive residence, stylistically and practically outstanding.
He almost tripled the size of Berlin. At his death, it was a respectable city of 90,000 inhabitants, compared to the 6,000 it had counted a hundred years earlier when the Great Elector had taken office. But all this pales historically in comparison to the marvel of his East Prussian colonization, which remains a model of service to this day. To fully comprehend this achievement, which no one has better described than the old, wise, and discerning Droysen — even Morgenstern, along with the contemporary chroniclers of the "Berliner Geschriebenen Zeitungen," falls far short of this understanding — one must clearly understand the conditions the king encountered when he set the plan into motion. And one must admit that the plan itself was a boldness that could only be surpassed by the boldness of its execution.
The history of the Great Elector typically only records that he was reluctantly drawn into the Swedish-Polish War between Charles X and John Casimir, that in 1655 he won his brilliant victory at Warsaw, the following year secured sovereignty over Prussia and Ermland in the Treaty of Labiau, soon after formed an alliance with the Poles in Bromberg (where the far-sighted man harbored the idea of a Polish-Prussian personal union), then suddenly turned against Sweden and launched his brilliant winter campaign with the ride across the ice through East Prussia, and finally, in 1660, in the Peace of Oliva, which, with French assistance, put Sweden back in the saddle, had sovereignty over East Prussia guaranteed again. But who today remembers that this terrible campaign, in which Prussians and Swedes, Poles and Russians, Austrians and Danes soon fought against and soon alongside each other, and in which the Versailles court eventually also intervened, was largely fought on East Prussian soil? This war not only repeated and expanded all the horrors of the Thirty Years' War, which had not touched East Prussia closely, on the old land of the Teutonic Order — it was also the reason why Friedrich Wilhelm I was so committed to peaceful, colonization-oriented development and why he kept out of the high diplomacy's affairs as much as possible. For behind all his peaceful and administrative construction work stood the specter of this war. At that time, the Cossacks allied with the Poles had leveled 14 cities and over 250 villages, killing and deporting more than 60,000 people, and another 220,000 fell victim to the plague. The "Polish liberty" of the estates, which even the Great Elector could not control in his final years, had utterly drained the poor land. All the horrors that Grimmelshausen's Simplicissimus and Hermann Löns' Werwolf so vividly describe for the Reich, haunted this land. And the Northern War of Charles XII gave the beautiful land the final blow. Friedrich Wilhelm, however, simply stated: "By day as well as by night, I think of how I can make this beautiful land flourish," and he knew that this could only be achieved through the systematic settlement of new people. "People I consider the greatest wealth." Here, the great word was put into action.
This would not have been possible if the king had not surrounded himself with a circle of pragmatic individuals who shared his focus on the East, such as Leopold of Anhalt-Dessau, his son, Truchseß von Waldburg, the two Dohnas, and others. It might also not have been possible if the fanatical Archbishop Firmian of Salzburg had not, in the early years of the Prussian king's reign, expelled over 20,000 Salzburgers from their homes, whom Friedrich Wilhelm then officially invited to settle in East Prussia. He successfully resettled over 18,000 of them in East Prussia, along with various Dutch, Low German, and Swiss colonists, and finally, even some Bohemian settlers. The historical precedent might have been the large-scale settlement of Huguenots by his grandfather, who, after the Edict of Nantes, had also settled over 20,000 French Protestants around Berlin. And yet, the methods Friedrich Wilhelm employed this time were new and, in the truest sense of the word, revolutionary. The Prussian population, especially in its rural areas, seemed particularly suited to the cohesive integration of the most diverse racial elements. Just as it had absorbed almost 50,000 Huguenot, Dutch, Palatine, and Swiss immigrants in the half-century before Friedrich Wilhelm I, so it was now expected to healthily assimilate this unified colonization migration.
As early as 1715, "Trux" (Truchseß von Waldburg) became President of East Prussia, his homeland, after his military and diplomatic services had taken him across half the world. In 1721, in Oletzko, today's Treuburg, under his leadership, the historic conference took place, which formally proposed to the king the resettlement of the land and outlined as prerequisites for this colonization the agrarian reform, the reorganization of the domain economy, the restriction of the estates' autonomy in administrative matters, the greater protection of the peasantry, and specifically the introduction of the "General Hufen Act." The king fulfilled this rigorous national economic plan point by point. The energy with which he proceeded is evident, among other things, in his decree from the "Rock of Bronze," issued in connection with these "planning efforts."
The domains now became the crystallization points for the new settlement of the land. Alongside the king, Leopold of Anhalt established several model domains on East Prussian soil. With the most understanding support from the responsible Berlin "Resettlement Minister," Herr von Görne, the work began, which found its foundation in the agrarian legislation just discussed. Around the large East Prussian model domains, a ring of peasant villages was settled and improved, which, as we have already said, were under strong influence from the officials on the large domains. Incidentally, when von Oppeln in his biography of Friedrich Wilhelm, apparently for reasons more rooted in the present than in the time of Friedrich Wilhelm, suggests that the king consciously linked his settlement with national political considerations, this is not correct and is only very conditionally true in a few exceptional cases. Although the Duke of Anhalt insisted that predominantly ethnic German, particularly central German, farmers be placed on his hereditary leaseholds, and although Friedrich Wilhelm, for purely economic reasons, entrusted the administration of his model farms to trained German farmers who were, of course, economically superior to the Lithuanian and Slavic farmers of that time, he nevertheless understood how to factor in the modesty of the Lithuanian, Masurian, and occasionally even Polish smallholders and elements just as well as the Teutonic Order had done five centuries before him, when it also enfeoffed Slavic settlements with German law, knowing that German law would inevitably be the more state-forming force. Only on the Lithuanian border, when entire villages once left their settlement lands, was a ban on the settlement of Samogitians issued. Thus, the far-sightedness of the colonizing king is also evident here, who understood German and especially Low German racial strength as an attractive, not a static force. And it may be noted in passing that the claim of certain neighboring peoples, who still speak of the Prussian monarchy as having one-sidedly Germanized, is already refuted by the history of Friedrich Wilhelm, the colonizer. Friedrich Wilhelm's colonization and its far-reaching political implications have been clearly and vividly presented in Friedrich Schinkel's writings, and Moeller van den Bruck's strongly influenced phrase applies: "The Prussian arose from the German, just as it later merged back into the German."
The domain administrators were required to keep meticulous records. Among other things, Friedrich Wilhelm can be considered the founder of agricultural bookkeeping, a modest-sounding but certainly not insignificant title. The king's regulations extended to all areas of practical agriculture, of which he undoubtedly had a greater understanding than later figures like Joseph II of Habsburg, who dramatically held a plow for a portrait but did not cultivate his state nearly as deeply. Here, however, things were thoroughly cultivated, not only figuratively and politically but also in all the harsh realities of the situation. In Prussian Lithuania, there had previously been little knowledge of proper plowing techniques, no thoughts of draining fields, following specific cultivation plans, or integrating livestock, horse breeding, and sheep farming for poor soils into a coherent operation to make the overall economy resilient to crises. Friedrich Wilhelm implemented all of this in East Prussia. His officials, domain administrators, and inspectors often had to resort to force, as the Lithuanian smallholders secretly preferred the old ways to the new order. One of the king's last decrees specifically addressed this problem.
Challenges were abundant in this land, into which, just 200 years ago, in the fall of 1734, the first large transports of the approximately 20,000 Salzburgers arrived. Initially, they were surely not enthusiastic about this contradictory land, where, on one hand, there was so much disorganized and untrained small-scale farming, and on the other, a few so-called noble lords had consolidated the wilderness left by the Polish and Northern wars into large estates, some still dating back to the time of the Teutonic Order. Added to this were the difficulties of the climate, the slow but eventually rigorous administrative reforms imposed in this region, and various other resistances from the people and the land itself. The great mercantilist economist and his team doubled their efforts to achieve their goal. He, who otherwise turned every taler over three times before spending it, spared no expense here, knowing that all capital a state wisely invests in colonization will bring more benefit to the state than any short-term gain.
While in France, the Ancien Régime of Louis XV was suffocating under the influence of mistresses, and while the "French disease" spread through the small German principalities of the West and South, here a plan was not only conceived but also executed, allocating one million talers annually for six years for the "Resettlement" of Lithuania. This included the costs of seeds, travel expenses, road construction, and the provision of livestock and equipment. Herr von Goerne drafted a formal "constitution" for these colonists, which, in addition to their obligations, granted them a long list of privileges, including exemption from military service for several years. New garrisons were also established in this region, with officers strictly instructed to maintain the best possible relations with the new settlers and protect them in every way.
Moreover, road construction was systematically organized in connection with the development of new districts. Funds also began to flow into East Prussia from the sale of Salzburg estates and properties belonging to the new immigrants, which the king had to fight hard to secure. Additionally, the king was increasingly recognized as the foremost Protestant leader in Europe, leading to donations for the victims of Firmian and his Catholics from Protestant states, especially in England. All these revenues, including the "Salzburg Proceeds," amounted to over two and a half million gulden. Considering the six million talers in cash that the king himself provided, and the tangible assets invested in this project, one gains an understanding of the enormous scale of the undertaking, especially given the monetary value at the time. The entire Prussian state budget at that time was between seven and eight million talers annually.
These resources were not wasted. Despite the project facing significant fluctuations—like all major historical endeavors—and despite periods when the king feared "not succeeding and being ridiculed for all the wasted money before God and man," history has ultimately vindicated him brilliantly. By the end of this project, which lasted twenty years overall and only six years in its peak phase following the arrival of the Salzburgers, East Prussia had become a province healthy in all its functions. A robust economy on the domains was connected with burgeoning industries, port facilities in Königsberg, the model stud farm in Trakehnen, and, above all, 10 newly built towns, nearly 350 newly colonized villages, 1,500 new schools, a large number of churches with Salzburg confessional preachers, and numerous mills, domains, etc., including 50 new large state domains.
When Friedrich Wilhelm came to power, the East Prussian estates had reduced more than two-thirds of the remaining peasants to agricultural laborers in a miserable state of dependency. By the time his work ended after a quarter of a century, the shameless East Prussian peasant servitude, which had prevented peasants from marrying without their lord's permission, had come to an end. East Prussia, awakened for the first time by the 1719 decree freeing all peasants on the domains, had only 900 noble villages compared to about 3,300 state-owned ones. Moreover, all settlers in this land were free peasants, and it must be considered that the king settled over 50,000 such settlers—by 1725, ten years before the arrival of the first Salzburgers, there were almost 8,000. Only by considering this can the full magnitude of the work be appreciated. This new, completely transformed East Prussia fed its large and orderly garrisons independently. It was already on the verge of transitioning from a subsidized region to a surplus-producing land. When the king died, he could claim that his domains covered half of his state's expenses and that every fourth, or at most every fifth, family in his land was a settler family. In East Prussia, however, almost every second family was a settler family, especially when including settlers from the time of the king's father and grandfather.
Despite the numerous complaints from individuals affected in their private interests, these ultimately fell silent in the face of the magnitude of his accomplishments. The estates, which might have initially considered suing him for the loss of their privileges, particularly for the abduction of their valuable sons into the cadet corps, finally recognized the new honor bestowed upon them. Alexander and Christoph Dohna and the late Truchsess zu Waldburg became esteemed leaders; only a few years earlier, they had been called renegade servants of the prince. The great number of noble and bourgeois names that East Prussia has since contributed to the greatness of the Prussian myth on battlefields and in politics finds its origin in the ten years of colonization and rejuvenation of this land by its unique king. The entire socialist economic model of the King of Prussia was first shaped here, starting from East Prussia. It was created from the courage to persevere, the vision to look ahead, and the willingness to forego populism. Just a few years earlier, East Prussia had been a notorious wasteland, but now it was on the brink of becoming the best outpost of the burgeoning revolutionary spirit of the young Prussian East. Whoever does not understand from this history that every constructive achievement in the state must rise above the difficulties of daily life, that it must begin with the simple yet powerful equation of peasant, soldier, craftsman, and God, that it must be enforced against all the resistance of traditional reaction and a supposedly divinely favored individual existence, that it must be Protestant in its courage to confess itself ("it all starts with me, I take everything on alone," as Friedrich Wilhelm put it), and that it must be folkish in its relation to the old German concept of feudalism and the idea of inherited land—whoever does not see all this understands nothing of the German and Prussian landscape and can never be a National Socialist.
The prematurely aged and ailing Friedrich Wilhelm toured East Prussia from one end to the other in the summer of 1739 with his crown prince Friedrich, who was just beginning to understand his father. Everywhere he saw—perhaps the greatest reward of his hard and joyless life—the "new land" in full bloom and could tangibly grasp his own successes. Friedrich wrote, albeit in French, to Voltaire:
"500 uninhabited villages once presented a sad spectacle in the plague-ravaged Lithuania. But my royal father spared no expense. He made the land arable, he populated it, he boosted trade, and now there is abundance in this province, which is counted among the best in Germany. All of it is the work of a single king. He not only ordered it but was also the main figure in its execution. He designed the plans and carried them out himself. He spared neither effort nor worry, nor immense costs, nor promises or rewards, to secure the happiness and existence of half a million of his fellow men. In this noble work, through which the king populated, made fertile, and prospered a wilderness, I find something heroic!"
Friedrich's letter ultimately had other effects. As we have already seen, the Frederician national economy in all its fundamental laws was built on the foundation of his father's state-building efforts. When the great, heavy king, who had earned more merit for East Prussia and the Prussian state than anyone before him, painfully passed away after his last decrees addressed the poor plowing of Lithuanian peasants and the opening of the granaries, his son continued his father's work in what could be called a more modern way. The fixed prices were maintained, as was the now significantly expanded granary system, which now served not only the purpose of increasing the army but also the constant regulation of the domestic market, and was almost weekly directed in one way or another by royal cabinet orders. The protection of the peasant and soldier was similarly further developed, and it can certainly be said that Friedrich could never have endured the Seven Years' War if he had neglected even a single one of these fundamental principles of his father's state socialism!
After the Great War, Friedrich made his father's legacy clear. When one of his officials was asked whether the harvest had been good or bad, he replied: "The harvest was blessed, but whether times will be cheap or expensive depends on Your Majesty!" And the Majesty himself, who worked so extensively with fixed prices, protectionism, the domestic market, and peasant security, but managed the entire apparatus somewhat more flexibly than his father, explained himself:
"I do not seek to profit but only to alleviate the poverty and hardships of the common man in my lands with a tolerable grain price."
And when he was pointed to certain gaps in a regulation, he said:
"It is preferable that ten unjustly enriched people resell the grain they received than that two families perish miserably!"
Since 1763, Polish surplus crops had to pass through the Prussian magazines, making it possible for the state to provide cheap bread to the new industrial and middle-class populations. The state bank unified the currency, just as agricultural policy learned to control the entire domestic market. Thus, one function intertwined with another, one wheel engaged the next. The machinery of the great Prussian state socialism, created by Friedrich Wilhelm I and expanded and refined by Frederick the Great, remains a valuable heritage today, one that National Socialism under Adolf Hitler was able to utilize—and indeed, all the essential principles of this old regional and socialist order have been reactivated today.
It was the example of Friedrich Wilhelm that led his son to deploy the massive economic war structure of Prussian socialism for the development of newly acquired provinces. The son of the king who "reestablished" East Prussia and reclaimed the Havelian lowlands now regulated the Oder and the Vistula delta, colonized the Netze and Warta districts, and created half a million acres of new fertile farmland. "Here, I have conquered a province in peace." The peaceful conquest of provinces is ultimately the true purpose of a cohesive national economy, which, however, does not need to be rigid or separated from the outside by iron walls.
In essence, the foundations upon which great statesmen build are always the same. They are the forces of nature, which again find their place in high politics; the people, who speak responsibly to themselves and from themselves through their highest government leaders; and the sober, cold passion of responsible political leadership that reckons with vast spaces and time intervals, yet also with the sum of all daily resistances, discontent, and stubbornness. Today, Friedrich Wilhelm I speaks through Adolf Hitler. He speaks to a people that has turned back to the land, seeking strength in unity. Prussia merges into Germany, into the Germany of hereditary farms and soldiers who serve for peace, into the Germany of labor service and earthy brown, into the Germany of marching in step and the youth awakening under fresh winds, where politics and religion, reason and will once again form a good unity. The old Hindenburg, who died with the words, "Is the harvest already brought in?" metaphorically outlined the new yet ancient German image of the state, which fulfills its political creations in the rhythm of sowing and harvest, just as it did under Friedrich Wilhelm I. The church bells of this king, which rang with the sound of loyalty and honesty on that Potsdam day when our Führer invoked the myth of the two great kings onto our battle standards, surely did not ring in vain. And the Low German Bückeberg is not in vain placed in the heart of the Reich, which at the same time seeks to wrest the old Saxon residence of Goslar from the past. But the path leads from the Saxons and the Ascanians to Potsdam, from where Friedrich Wilhelm went to East Prussia. We, however, are expanding the old roads and adding many new ones, not for the sake of distance and adventure, but in the service of the plows that will furrow the old and new paths and peacefully conquer our native landscapes.
Karl Scheda: Ruhland on Goethe and Economic Theory
On January 4, 1935, it had already been 21 years since Gustav Ruhland permanently closed his eyes in Bad Tölz. In his case, a statement by Schopenhauer proved true: "The brilliant pages of the sciences are almost always also the tragic ones. In all fields, they show us how merit usually had to wait until the fools had finished their folly, the feast was over, and everyone had gone to bed. Then it rose like a ghost from the depths of night to finally take its long-withheld place of honor, albeit as a shadow."
It is a recurring experience that works that surpass their time are not always recognized in their great significance by all contemporaries. Only from a certain distance can one see the entire work and recognize its ingenious structure.
In Ruhland's extensive writings, there are still many "wisdoms" that are important for the present and future.
But in the perspective of the German cultural human being, two worldviews still confront each other in struggle today. These are the "individualistic" or subjectivistic perspective, which in all considerations starts from the individual human being, and the "people-organic" perspective, which starts from the "man in the large," as Hegel said, from the entire community of the people. The organic perspective has been advocated by the best minds of all times and peoples since Aristotle and Plato—a man is not a man! The individualistic perspective arose as a reaction against the one-sided absolutism with the Enlightenment philosophers of the 17th and 18th centuries and has since the 19th century gained dominance in all sciences. This dominance forms the greatest impediment to our ongoing development because that entire philosophy is erroneous already due to its starting point. The "free, self-sovereign individual" exists nowhere! Every thorough investigation leads us back to the vast human community, which Hegel, as mentioned, referred to as the "man in the large."
In 1911, Professor Ludwig Pohle published an interesting book on the "Crisis in German Economic Theory," presenting many new pieces of evidence. Ruhland essentially agreed wholeheartedly with this work but emphasized that besides the crisis in economic theory, there was also a crisis in the entire political sphere, and that almost all political parties were in a critical situation as well. All these disastrous crises are causally interconnected. Ruhland, therefore, emphasized that the correct solution to the entire complex of these difficult questions can only succeed if one understands and continually keeps in mind this connection. To more easily emerge from all the confusion, Ruhland now recommends paying attention to Goethe as an economic teacher. Goethe is not only the greatest German poet and one of the greatest minds of world literature, but he was also a tremendous innovator in the most diverse scientific fields, not least because he was one of the greatest masters of the German language. It is astonishing that among the vast number of diligent Goethe scholars, no one has yet attempted to fathom Goethe from the economic point of view. Should someone like him, who so energetically strove in his long, experience-rich life to grasp the whole human being, have passed indifferently by the so important economic aspect of our lives, even though he had to constantly deal with economic and social issues as the minister in Weimar? In fact, Goethe is particularly fruitful, especially in the methodological aspect, which, independent of the respective contemporary conditions, concerns the eternal essence of the actual sciences. And with this, we reach the core of the questions whose inadequate consideration in economic theory has brought about the disastrous crises.
On June 12, 1801, Goethe wrote to Schiller:
"People joke and worry about the riddles of life, few concern themselves with the words of resolution."
Professor Pohle demonstrated that our representatives of science, as adherents of the political method, partake quite extensively in these jokes about the riddles of life, and by presenting their rather superficial elaborations as results of "pure" science, they only exacerbate and obscure our political day-to-day disputes. If these scholars instead, as Professor Pohle apparently strives to do, made an honest effort to pursue the "resolving words" in the Goethean sense, this dispute would lose its passionate intensity, the controversies would become much clearer, and much would be gained for our entire political life.
In his conversations with Goethe, Eckermann reports for October 20, 1830, how Goethe had Eckermann inform him about the Saint-Simonians. Eckermann said:
"It seems that everyone should work for the happiness of the whole as an indispensable condition of his own happiness."
Goethe responded:
"I would think that everyone must start with himself and first make his own happiness, from which the happiness of the whole will inevitably result in the end."
Goethe further explained this using his own person.
"In my profession as a writer, I never asked, what does the great mass want, and how can I benefit the whole, but I have always only strived to make myself more insightful and better, to increase the content of my own personality, and then always only expressed what I recognized as good and true. This, I do not deny, has indeed benefited a large circle."
And Goethe would like to generalize this working method. At a superficial glance, one might get the impression that Goethe was advocating for individualism. This misunderstanding is refuted by the fact that Goethe, in his Wilhelm Meister, consistently supports the view:
"Make an organ of yourself and wait to see what place humanity in general will think fit to assign to you in the general life!"
Even Schiller, Goethe’s intimate friend and like-minded companion, expressed this view with the words:
“Always strive for the whole, and if you cannot become a whole yourself, then as a serving member, attach yourself to a whole!”
This is something entirely different from our modern individualism, which dares to demand rights of various kinds under the slogan: "Live out your life!"
Goethe found socialist doctrine entirely impractical and unworkable, for "it contradicts all nature, all experience, and all the course of things over millennia." This is a brief, concise, and yet comprehensive judgment. However, our national economic textbooks treat the various socialist theories with special affection and care, which must have contributed to the crisis in our science. (It should be mentioned here that Ruhland, among others, emphasized in his "Economic Fundamentals": "The opposite of the individualism of free trade doctrine is not 'socialism,' but rather, an organic conception of the economy." It may not rhyme, but it will nevertheless be more accurate.)
Goethe summarizes his view on legislation with the words:
"The laws must strive to reduce the mass of evil but not presume to produce the mass of happiness, as is mistakenly pursued by socialist theories."
This reduction of the mass of actual evil, in Goethe's view, can only succeed in an organically national sense if science does not, as it has done so far, delve into the details of the various conditions of evil in the most extensive monographs possible, to obtain valuable material for special laws that are then adopted and more or less incompletely implemented through a series of compromises in the party struggle. It is worth remembering how often Prince Bismarck poured out his wrath over the "legislative monstrosities" that were created in the union of the Manchesterian (free-trade and individualistic) bureaucracy with like-minded parties.
But the entire working method inherent in Goethe is expressed by Schiller in his letter to Goethe on August 23, 1794, as follows: "You take the whole of nature together to gain light on the individual. In the entirety of its manifestations, you seek the explanatory principle for the individual. From the simple organization, you rise step by step to the more complex, until you finally build the most complex of all, man, genetically from the materials of the entire law of nature. By recreating him, as it were, in the likeness of nature, you seek to penetrate his hidden technique. A great and truly heroic idea, which sufficiently shows how much your spirit holds the rich entirety of its representations together in a beautiful unity." If the various efforts to treat economics as a natural science were pursued in this Goethean sense, they would also far better meet our daily needs.
How do our modern economic scholars relate to the organic view of economics? Professor Ludwig Pohle rightly points out that almost all the disputes in economic theory can be traced to the conflict between individualism and nationalism. The Evangelical Social Congress has repeatedly dealt with the conflict between individualism and nationalism without finding a solution. Genuine science must strive for a synthesis of these opposites in the higher, organic perspective. This has been felt and expressed by many prominent politicians, even within socialist circles, but no one has yet been able to clearly and correctly formulate the essence of the organic perspective. If we turn to science and open Schmoller's article on methodology in Professor Conrad's "Handbook of State Sciences" in Halle, we find the following key passage on page 429:
"Whether one wants to call the economy an organism, after the model of the human body, appears as a subordinate question, as soon as one is clear that it is a matter of an analogy, a picture, that can illustrate many things but cannot replace the explanation from the matter itself!"
And as the President shows here, the entire Association for Social Policy at its last meeting in Vienna was poorly informed about the fundamental question of the organic perspective.
Goethe provides wonderfully clear and profound insights into this question. First, in the conversations with Eckermann in 1830, he points out that our European languages, if we only use conventional expressions, utterly fail us in defining the organic perspective, and that we must be especially cautious with common terms like "materials" or "compositions" and the like when it comes to talking and writing about individual parts that are permeated as an organic whole by a common soul. The richest insights, however, are found in the essay on "The Metamorphosis of Plants," on which Goethe worked his entire life—first much misunderstood and not understood by his contemporaries, but today brilliantly vindicated. The recently published work by Professor Hansen in Giessen on the metamorphosis of plants offers enthusiastic praise for this Goethean work. The renowned plant physiologist Professor von Göbel, head of the Botanical Institute in Munich, also calls Goethe a great inspirer, who, at a time when botany had become too lost in detail, had brilliantly redirected the focus to the whole. The organic perspective was first applied here by Goethe to the plant world, but regarding his working method, Ruhland does not hesitate to claim the following sentences for our economic theory:
"The living can indeed be dissected into elements, but it cannot be reassembled and brought to life from these. This applies not only to many things, let alone to organic bodies."
The essence of the organic perspective, therefore, does not lie—contrary to Schmoller's belief—in the "analogy to the human body," but rather in the fundamental understanding that in economic theory, we are dealing with a union of relatively independent parts into a common life, as Ruhland, among others, already explained in his "Economic Fundamentals" in 1908.
In economics, however, we have before us a life that extends far beyond the usual concept of "economic life," and we apply to it another expression of Goethe's: "Every living thing is not a single entity, but a plurality; even insofar as it appears to us as an individual, it remains a collection of living, relatively independent beings, which, according to the idea, are equal, but in appearance can be equal or similar, unequal or dissimilar. These beings are partly originally connected, partly they find and unite with each other. They separate and find each other again, thus creating an infinite production in all ways and in all directions." At the beginning of this treatise, Goethe placed a quote from Job: "Behold, he passes by me, and I do not see him; he moves on, but I do not perceive him," and he further elaborates:
"When we observe all organic forms, we find that nothing static, nothing resting, nothing concluded occurs; instead, everything is in constant motion." And further: "The more imperfect a creature is, the more its parts resemble each other or the whole. The more perfect a creature becomes, the more dissimilar the parts become to each other. In the former case, the whole is more or less similar to the parts; in the latter, the whole is dissimilar to the parts. The more similar the parts, the less they are subordinated to each other. The subordination of parts indicates a more perfect creature."
In his report on the first draft of the Metamorphosis, Goethe tells us how he returned from his Italian journey with rich inspirations and, not understood by anyone, fell into a painful state, from which his spirit awakened and sought to compensate by developing these faculties. He believed he had observed from nature how it proceeded lawfully to produce living structures as if they were all artificial. At Johann Gottlieb von Herder's suggestion, Goethe occupied himself with the customs of peoples and learned how the interplay of necessity and arbitrariness, of impulse and will, of motion and resistance, generates a third entity that is neither art nor nature, but both at once—necessary and accidental, intentional and blind. As he himself expresses it, Goethe thus stood before human society.
The memory of the fate of his manuscript (1817) made him note:
"The day will always be divided into parties that know themselves as little as their antipodes. Each acts passionately according to his ability and succeeds as far as success is possible. Almost everyone believes himself to be an original in some way. But there is nothing new under the sun; one could well find already indicated in the traditions what we ourselves notice and think or even produce. We are only originals because we know nothing."
In a concluding remark from 1820, written as a friendly greeting in a joyful mood from the exchange and harmony with a group of close and distant scholars:
"One should presuppose and admit something unknowable, but then not set any limits for the researcher himself."
We should replace Theodor Mommsen's rather outdated formula of "science without presuppositions" with Goethe's wonderfully concise and clear formulation and strive, in Goethe's sense, to understand all the problems in economic life as expressions of the same economic body's life and comprehend them in their infinite interrelations. An organic approach and working method in Goethe's sense would help our economic theory overcome the current severe crisis and transform it into genuine science. Finally, Ruhland states that Goethe's works contain many more ideas relevant to the present topic, whether in the Metamorphosis of Plants, Wilhelm Meister, Faust, the Elective Affinities, or the Italian Journey. Ruhland thus sees his remarks as merely an initial suggestion for making Goethe's legacy useful in this important field as well.
Aöelhaid von Livonius: Pomeranian Odal Farmers. The Estate and Lineage of the Freyschütz Vanselow in Doersenthin.
The fact that it is precisely in Hinterpommern (Farther Pomerania) that there are almost more genuine "Odal farmers" than in other regions of the German fatherland was revealed to astonished fellow citizens on the Day of Starkow in May 1934. The very fact that there exists a whole Odal village, whose territory has been in the hands of the same family lineage for well over 400 years, and likely much longer, as is the case with Starkow and its 28 hereditary farmers, is something that is scarcely repeated anywhere else in the German Reich.
The German farmers who have lived in this corner of Hinterpommern for centuries upon centuries are a breed of iron-hard people, and a typical comment that one large farmer made after the speech by Reich Farmers' Leader R. Walther Darré in Starkow was: "That may be true elsewhere. But here, we haven't allowed ourselves to be laid low! Here, the farmer has driven out the large landowners!" And he immediately listed a whole series of estates and villages where this had been the case: Barzwitz, Karwitz, Neukugelwitz, Rötzenhagen, Neujärshagen, Alt- and Neu-Paalow, Sachshöhe, etc.
"We've been settling on our own for a long time, because the other sons of an old Pomeranian farmer should also become farmers on their own land; just without aid, it didn't happen so quickly. No, no one has ever found it easy to hitch us to their wagon!"
People with this attitude, with this inherent Nordic lordship, are the right kind of stock to hold on to old hereditary estates and to create new ones. They are the timber from which Odal farmers must be carved.
While in Starkow, the history of the village, the lineage, and not that of individual family branches, is the most interesting aspect, in other cases, the fate of a single estate is far more important to the idea of the Odal than the village history itself. Of course, it also depends on the significance of the individual family, on any records that may still exist, and on any family traditions that might have been passed down, whether one can only soberly state the number of years of connection to the land or whether more general and culturally historical information can be said about their estate.
Among the unusually interesting cases in the latter respect is the estate of the Freyschütz Vanselow in Doersenthin in the Rügenwalder Amt. For not only has it been in the possession of the Freyschütz Vanselow for over four hundred years, but it also likely belongs to one of the oldest verifiable farm locations in Pomerania that remains in the hands of farmers.
The oldest record about the family of the Freyschütz is found on an old family tree painted on parchment, covering the period from 1496 to around 1630, which is now on loan from the Freyschütz and displayed at the Rügenwalde Castle (Museum). At the foot of this very carefully executed family tree, the Vanselow family legend is also recorded, which was also documented in a legal document from 1817 by the then Freyschütz Ernst Christoph Vanselow—apparently based on papers that were still available at the time. According to this, the first ancestor, Titeke (Dietrich), was a native Fleming and a "saddle servant" for Pomerania's greatest duke, Bogislaf X.
In this context, it must be mentioned that the Pomeranian dukes, particularly between 1200 and 1300, liked to bring Flemings to Pomerania as settler-farmers. Given the pronounced sense of kinship among the Low Germans, which still today, in the 20th century, fully recognizes blood relations extending back two hundred years, it is easy to imagine that even during this period, Flemish blood slowly trickled into the east, following their blood relatives who had already settled there. Originally, this Titeke was said to have been called "van Seelandt," an easily understandable nickname, similar to how such names are still easily applied today. Gradually, this name wore down linguistically to "von Selow," and finally to Vanselow. Titeke's position seemed to correspond roughly to that of a stable master and required him to accompany the duke on all his rides. He is said to have accompanied the duke on his crusade to the Holy Land—the family coat of arms from 1608 shows a horizontally lying crescent moon, with two stars above and one below—and to have saved him twice from drowning during duck hunts back home. Kantzow recounts in his Chronicle of Pomerania how Bogislaf, after returning from Jerusalem, generously rewarded his loyal companions with honors and estates, just as the duke always harshly punished wrongdoing and richly rewarded faithful service. Titeke Vanselow was granted the Freyschütz farm in Göritz by him. Unfortunately, an old votive painting depicting Titeke Vanselow with his six sons and their six wives, which was located in an old village church, was burned a few years ago.
On this family tree, the oldest son and future Freyschütz of Doersenthin is named Hans. However, it appears that he was actually named Hans Jacob, as indicated by the most interesting document, a copy of which the current Freyschütz possesses. This document is the purchase contract of the farm from the year 1525. This purchase contract was issued by the highest judicial authority at the time, the Buckow Monastery, and the abbot Hinrich, the prior Albrecht, the subprior Johannes, and the entire convent vouched for it. "To all and any, of whatever rank, status, condition, or dignity, be they spiritual or worldly, who may come across this letter, see it, read it, or hear it," they acknowledge that they, in complete harmony and with well-considered intent, "quit and free forever" the Schulzenhof Doersenthin to the "honest man Jacob Vanselow and his heirs and all his descendants," with all rights and appurtenances, in meadow, water, and field; this farm was lawfully and rightfully purchased by Jacob Vanselow for five hundred marks of brand-new currency from the brothers Hans and Hinrich Pramschüfer. Whether Jacob Vanselow was perhaps already related by blood to his predecessors through his wife or mother is unfortunately not evident. However, all previous owners who have ever held this farm are named. The Pramschüfer brothers purchased it from Hinrich Milke, who inherited it from his late father Hans Milke. Hans Milke had acquired it from Claus Goerband, who in turn had purchased it from the heirs of Peter Schmeder. And finally, this Peter Schmeder had bought it from the monastery during a time of evident financial distress for eighty marks. It is explicitly stated that this was an absolute distress sale by the monastery, just to get money in hand. Thus, six different previous owners are mentioned here; the Pramschüfers purchased the farm in 1499, the other dates are unknown. However, one could estimate at least thirty years for each, leading to the conclusion that the farm as such has existed at least since 1350 and was sold by the monastery.
The friendship of the duke with his old companion Titeke also seemed to extend to Titeke's son. In a wonderful old beech grove that belongs to the Freyschütz farm, there was a wooden hunting lodge of Bogislaf's, where he stayed when he visited the game-rich area. Even the wooden bathtub of the prince was preserved through the centuries; however, it no longer exists today.
Titeke, the father, had an annual obligation to deliver a ham, a bödling (a type of dried meat), an eighth of a part of butter, and half a barrel of beer. For his son Hans Jacob, this obligation was converted into the payment of a mark and the — for Frey- and Lehnschultzen usual — maintenance of a good service horse. This is first mentioned in the purchase deed of 1525 and is reaffirmed in every subsequent feudal deed. Above all, he was strictly required never to sell this farm, even "if it is convenient for him or should circumstances arise," especially not to sell it to a knight or anyone of knightly status. It is repeatedly emphasized that the farm is "for him, his heirs, and his descendants," but for no one else.
This condition has been faithfully observed by the descendants; the young Vanselow heir today represents the fifteenth generation on the farm.
It is well known that the Freyschultzen never became serfs or unfree, not even through the Peasants' Ordinance of 1618. The Freyschultz of Doersenthin often held the "Bauerngericht" (Peasants' Court), "Hofeding" (Estate Court). Since the establishment of the office of Amtsvorsteher (district head), they have always held this position. It is particularly interesting that it was an old family custom that the respective heir had to "learn something" before taking over the farm and the position of Schulze or now Amtsvorsteher, such as attending a teacher's seminar for a few semesters, working for some time at the rent office, or something similar.
Due to their position, the mentioned education, and the intellectual disposition of the family through the centuries, the Vanselows had acquired an unusual amount of valuable and culturally significant documents, charters, feudal deeds, Hofeding records, etc. These were carefully packed, sorted, and bundled and kept locked in a storage room, partly in a wonderful, carved, and inlaid secretary, a gift from the last Duke of Griffins to the Freyschultz, and partly in the venerable, also inlaid bathtub of Duke Bogislaf X. But in 1919, lightning struck, and the largest part of the farm was consumed by flames, including the well-secured storage room. The heavy oak tub with the documents was beyond saving, but the secretary, though badly damaged, was rescued. Until the reconstruction, the salvaged items were stored with relatives; the secretary itself was brought to an old cousin. When everything was finally restored to the point that all the stored items could be returned to the farm, the Freyschultz himself fetched the precious heirloom. One can imagine his not-so-pleasant surprise when the old cousin gleefully handed over the secretary and said that she had done him a favor by cleaning it thoroughly; she had, in particular, burned all the old paper junk that had stuffed the thing! (This incident brings to mind the Pomeranian Regierungspräsident who, in the 1880s, was supposed to deliver all the old records to the state archive, and whose records inventory later noted for many of the oldest records: "Due to great age, useless and unnecessary, therefore burned!")
A few pieces of this treasure trove of documents, which happened to be elsewhere at the time, remain with the owner. Unfortunately, this does not include the purchase deed of the aforementioned Pramschüfer brothers from 1499, which contained a detailed inventory of every dead and living item on the farm. The exact original size cannot be determined, as the purchase deed of 1525 mentions the farm with three (land) hides, but also many other parcels of land, meadows, "holtunge" (woodland), etc., making it difficult to form a clear idea. It was about 400 acres, which the farm still had until the separation in 1836. The Freyschultz's land was a contiguous piece, and when the surveyors, etc., of the Separation Commission appeared, the Freyschultz unambiguously told them that he had no intention of dealing with them; his ancestors had purchased his farm and land plan as a contiguous unit over three hundred years ago, so the separation did not concern him in the slightest, and as far as he was concerned, they could go to the devil. The commission was not impressed by this reception and retaliated by stripping the Freyschultz of his contiguous 400 acres of first-class soil, leaving him with only 335 acres in two parcels, and of inferior soil at that, against which all protests were in vain. The commissions apparently proceeded somewhat arbitrarily; for example, the farmer who hosted them received 32 acres more land than the other six farmers in the area.
Although the livestock inventory of 1500 can no longer be determined, the inventory and the amount of seed from 1648 are known. The farm consisted, as it does today, of six buildings. The livestock included: "15 horses, 1 mare, 12 cows, 4 calves, 10 sheep, 14 pigs, 9 geese, 20 chickens; 20 bushels of rye, 10 bushels of wheat were sown." It should be noted that in 1638, after the imperial troops under Colonel Kynski departed, and the subsequent Swedish occupation, not a single piece of livestock remained alive in the entire Doersenthin, so this relatively large livestock inventory represents an extraordinary economic achievement by the Freyschultz. The current livestock inventory may also be mentioned for comparison: 7 plow horses, 5 fattening bulls, 15 dairy cows, 6 steers, 6 breeding calves, 2 breeding sows, 30 young pigs and piglets, 23 fattening pigs, 80 chickens, 80 chicks, 19 ducks. The cultivated area is approximately: Winter rye 43 acres, winter wheat 20 acres, oats 25 acres, barley 7 acres, peas and mixed crops 10 acres, turnips and beets 10 acres, potatoes 9 acres. The remaining land is meadow, pasture, and woodland. While horses were particularly bred in the past, now cattle and pigs are raised. That the Vanselows also know something about agriculture and try to bring the farm to the highest possible yield can be seen by comparing the harvest considered quite good in 1900 and the harvest of 1933:
Result of the Ruhland Essay Contest
More than a year ago, the Reichsbauernführer (Reich Farmers' Leader) organized an essay contest for the best summary of the fundamental ideas of Gustav Ruhland's system of political economy. This contest was intended to serve as a means to bring Ruhland's ideas closer to a wider circle of our fellow countrymen.
Conditions of the Competition:
1. Prizes:
- 1st Prize: 1000 RM
- 2nd Prize: 500 RM
- 3rd to 10th Prize: Each receives a bound copy of R. Walther Darré's work: Das Bauerntum als Lebensquell der nordischen Rasse.
2. The essay must not exceed 60 typewritten pages and should avoid foreign words as much as possible. If two submissions are equally good, the one with fewer foreign words will be preferred.
3. The essays awarded the 1st and 2nd prizes become the property of the publisher Zeitgeschichte G.m.b.H., Berlin W 35, Lützowstraße 66. The essay that wins the 1st prize will be published by the publisher.
4. The allocation of prizes is decided by a committee appointed by the Reich Minister for Food and Agriculture, R. Walther Darré. The decisions of this committee are final and not subject to legal appeal.
5. Submissions must be sent in typewritten form by November 30, 1933 (postmark date) to the Reich Minister for Food and Agriculture, Attn: Dr. Fuchs, Berlin W 8, Wilhelmstraße 72. The submissions must be labeled with the inscription "Ruhland Essay Competition."
6. The author's name should not appear on the manuscript but must be enclosed in a sealed envelope, with a codeword on the outside that should also be clearly visible on the first page of the essay.
7. Submitted essays will not be returned.
8. The names of the winners will be published in the monthly magazine Deutsche Agrarpolitik. Signed: R. Walther Darré.
Result of the Competition:
The call for this essay competition was met with great enthusiasm. Over a hundred submissions were received. Selecting the ten best essays, and particularly the first and second, was very challenging. After a thorough review, the committee appointed by the Reichsbauernführer arrived at the following results:
1. 1st Prize: RM 1000 - Awarded to the essay titled "Ver sacrum."
Winner: District Court Councilor Dr. Lange, Hannover, Bessemer Straße 2.
2. 2nd Prize: RM 500- Awarded to the essay titled "Volksorganisch denken."
Winner: Karl Albert Schöllenbach, Ammendorf-Halle, Friedrichstraße 53.
Recipients of the 3rd to 10th Prizes: Each received a bound copy of R. Walther Darré's Das Bauerntum als Lebensquell der nordischen Rasse:
- Dr. J. Barleben, Berlin-Charlottenburg, Am Lützow 14, III. Codeword: "Getreide."
- Dr. Wilhelm Busch, Agricultural College Bonn-Poppelsdorf, Bonn, Richard-Wagner-Straße 22. Codeword: "Natürliches Wertverhältnis."
- [Recipient's name not fully clear], Fahren near Neukloster i. Mdl. Codeword: "Die Tat."
- Ludwig Mayer, Dipl.-Kaufmann, Halle/S., Viktoriastraße 13. Codeword: "Bewusstsein und Ansterblichkeit."
- Dr. Erich Schmidt, Eichwalde, Teltow District, Kronprinzenstraße 36. Codeword: "Wirtschaftserkenntnis 1908 = Wirtschaftsgestaltung 1933/34."
- Dr. Fritz Schönpflug, Berlin N 24, Monbijouplatz 10, I (with Dr. Mendel). Codeword: "Stunde der Tat."
- Dr. Franz Sternal, Dipl.-Volkswirt, Halle/S., Alter Markt 25, II. Codeword: "Edelweiß."
- Dr. W. Weisbrod, Dipl.-Landwirt, Ammendorf near Halle, Adolf-Hitler-Straße 1. Codeword: "SS."