Max Weber

A Biography

Marianne Weber

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2017
• ISBN:
  9781351506588
• Edition: 2
• Topic: Media & Performing Arts
• Subtopic: Music

A founder of contemporary social science, Max Weber was born in Germany in 1864. At his death 56 years later, he was nationally known for his scholarly and political writings, but it was the international reception of his oeuvre over the last forty years that has made him world-famous. "The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, " "The Economic Ethics of the World Religions" and his magnum opus, "Economy and Society, " with its treatment of the relations of economics, politics, law and religion, belong to the great achievements of 20th-century social science.

The groundwork for the posthumous Weber reception was laid by Weber's widow Marianne, a well-known feminist writer, who followed up her edition of his collected works with one of the greatest biographies in a generation that produced many important accounts of itself. Although unavailable in English until a decade ago, the importance of Marianne Weber's 1926 work had been widely understood. Sociologist Robert A. Nisbet called it "a moving and deeply felt biographical memoir." Historian Gerhard Masur cited the book as "the foundation of all further inquiries into Max Weber's life and influence."

Beginning with Max's ancestry and early years, Marianne Weber guides us through his life as student, young lawyer, scholar and political writer, quoting liberally from his voluminous correspondence. Her account of his nervous breakdown after 1897, which curtailed his academic career but ultimately strengthened his creative energies, provides deep insight into some of the personal tensions that troubled him to the end. In addition to her perceptive personal and intellectual life before the First World War, describing many scholars, social reformers, politicians and literary figures within and beyond the famous Heidelberg circle of the Webers. The new introduction by Guenther Roth situates Marianne Weber's own role in the contemporary setting and discusses the current state of Weber research and of the international Weber reception.

1
ANCESTORS

I

Max Weber’s maternal grandparents were such unusual people and imparted such clearly recognizable elements of their own makeup to their grandchild’s personality that the outlines of their lives belong at the beginning of his story.

The Falienstein family can be traced back to the middle of the seventeenth century in Thuringia. Georg Friedrich Fallenstein’s father and grandfather could already be described as intellectuals.¹ Fallenstein’s grandfather, a native of Witzelrode near Meiningen, was assistant principal of the Gymnasium at Herford, and his father was the sometime director of the pedagogical seminary at Kleve. There is a certain amount of information about the latter, Max Weber’s great-grandfather. He was a highly gifted man with an overabundance of undisciplined energy. He lived in near poverty with a wife who was descended from a Huguenot family and who, like him, was passionate, impetuous, and inclined to be adventurous.

G. F. Fallenstein, bom as their eldest son in 1790, was his parents’ darling and bone of contention. He preserved the painful childhood recollection of fleeing from their squabbles. But the situation deteriorated further. His father, a philologist of repute, began drinking, and suddenly deserted his family. He was never heard from again, and it was never known whether he had emigrated or had drowned on his way overseas. His wife was left in dire poverty with several children.

Like an orphan, her son Friedrich grew up with strangers, but he overcame all hardships. The Duke of Meiningen made it possible for him to study at the university, but the youth did so only in a desultory way. He studied botany, zoology, and medicine. His poetical side made him turn to philology. He translated classical writers, wrote Romantic poetry under the name of Frauenlob, and authored stories and essays.

When he was still a young man, he found his mother and several of his brothers and sisters living in great poverty in a squalid building in Berlin. He himself had nothing and was nothing, and yet he wanted to help. Despite everything he became engaged at the age of nineteen to a beautiful fifteen-year-old girl [Betty] of no means. When her grandfather for financial reasons refused to give them permission to marry, the desperate young man suffered a nervous breakdown that lasted for several months. After his recovery, friends found him a job as a private secretary. At the age of twenty he managed to get permission to marry. His lovely, gentle wife was his good angel; he loved her dearly and remained faithful to her throughout his eventful life. She bore him six children. They constantly struggled to make ends meet, and for years husband and wife had to live apart. At first Fallenstein was able to earn a living only for himself—as a tutor, a county secretary, a writer and poet. His wife and his children lived with friends. But his energy, his sense of duty, and his lofty ambition enabled him to weather even the greatest hardships. In fact, the overcoming of obstacles gave him pleasure. He had an abundance of manly strength, a dynamic spirit, a puritanical outlook, and a crusty frankness, coupled with a passionate, easily inflamed temper, which was, however, controlled by chivalry and a childlike soft-heartedness toward weaker persons, particularly women and children.

His patriotism, kindled by his personal acquaintance with Friesen, Luden, and Jahn,² stood every test. In 1813 he anticipated the Prussian king’s call to arms. Without much reflection he joined Lützow’s volunteer corps and, poor as he was, had two fellow volunteers outfitted at his expense. He divided his remaining funds between his wife and the regimental treasury, confident that the state would take care of his family. But without the help of friends, his wife and two small children would have been in terrible straits. As it was, she lost one child because of malnutrition; for this Fallenstein held Napoleon personally responsible and felt burning hatred for him as long as he lived. Life in the camp and on the battlefield inspired Fallenstein’s muse. He struck up a rapturous friendship with Theodor Körner,³ and together they wrote battle songs and libertarian poems that were sung and recited by their comrades in arms. His mind was filled with the Teutonic and libertarian ideals of the time. He collected old German literary documents, gave his sons old German names, hated everything wälsch,⁴ and in his social relationships affected an “unvarnished crustiness” [hanebüchene Knorrigkeit].

After his return he suffered greatly because of the political fruitlessness of the war. He was personally affronted at the ingratitude of the Prussian government which, despite the king’s promises, offered the returning soldiers no adequate employment. Therefore, when the war broke out again in 1815, he joined the army for the second time and went to Pans. There he was given a well-paid job with the military police. For the first time he was able to relax and enjoy life. But he was so used to privation that he now became intoxicated with the joy of making lavish gifts. To his beloved wife, who was doing without necessities at home, he sent silver plate, silk dresses, and morocco slippers, as well as what he himself called “junk and frippery”: a silver rattle for the youngest boy. This was typical of the contradictions of his personality. A woman friend wrote about him: “There are certainly many who knew him only to be proud and severe, but anyone who was close to his heart was surrounded by a veritable profusion of love. And I noticed in him the full wealth of a beautiful human soul when he had the meagerest means at his disposal.” All his life Fallenstein displayed a magnificent generosity and helpfulness toward needy people; yet he was also constantly governed by the uneasy frugality that he had had to practice in times of need. For example, when he became the owner of a beautiful house, he did not allow a cake to be baked in it, even for guests.

In 1816 he went to Düsseldorf as a government secretary and became an employee of exemplary conscientiousness and prudence, an indefatigable and self-sacrificing man who was always ready to exert his uncommon energy in the public interest far beyond the call of duty. Consequently a tremendous work load was soon placed upon his shoulders; with the title and the salary of a secretary, he performed the functions of a councillor. His superiors fully appreciated and praised his extraordinary talents, his unflagging energy, and his extensive knowledge. “He had the ambition and the dynamism of those thoroughbred horses which use their strength without moderation until they break down” (Gervinus).⁵

Despite all this, he was deliberately and disgracefully slighted by the ministry in Berlin; he was not promoted and received such pitiful remuneration that, as his family grew, he found it necessary to work as a writer in addition to his regular employment. Why was this? One reason was his democratic and libertarian disposition. He saw “the spirit of the times moving through all peoples and civilizations at an unrestrainable pace, like a joyful child of God and of freedom, like the God that walked ahead of Moses.” Because of this, he was enthusiastic about equality for all citizens and, together with Jahn and his circle, inveighed against reactionaries. But he was also troublesome in other ways. He criticized an action of the government with a vehement article, written in the martial style of the wars of liberation, in which he protested against the presentation of an estate to a French nobleman. He even appealed to the king, and was brought to court. Although he was acquitted, he was threatened with a disciplinary transfer, and only the unanimous protest of his superiors prevented this. Afterward he lived in Berlin under a cloud. Following several deliberate official snubs, he bitterly planned to escape this “servitude” by emigrating. When he was able to breathe freely for a change, he felt his existence to be a “miserable life of drudgery” and sighed, “May God relieve me of this feeling if He cannot give me another life to live.” Finally, in 1832, after fourteen years in the employment of the state, he took an examination and was given a suitable position as a government counselor at Koblenz.

Before moving to Koblenz he suffered a terrible blow, the loss of the beloved wife who had always made him happy. He was left with a houseful of underage children. The vehement yet kindly man stood before a chasm, and on his children, some of whom he sent away, the troubled father may have had an even more oppressive effect than before. It had always been hard for them not to be crushed by him. The old Lützow corpsman was a stern moralist and believed unconditionally in the maxim “Du kannst, denn du sollst.”⁶ Anger frequently made the veins on his forehead stand out. Toward his sons in particular he was a strict, demanding father. The little girls, like all weaker persons, usually found him gentle, yet he also tried to toughen them, using educational methods that today seem barbaric. To cure a headache, for example, he would hold their heads under the cold stream from the water pump early in the morning; in winter he made them walk around without warm underclothes; in the blazing summer sun he did not let them wear a hat. He was especially strict at the table; the children were given large helpings of the less popular dishes, and woe to them if they did not clean their plates! The punishment for lying was a sound thrashing, and this was administered even to the small girls. Yet they loved their father more than they feared him.

The sons, however, escaped his rule as soon as they could; three went overseas, and another ran away. Their father never saw them again. A letter written by Fallenstein when one of his sons was confirmed shows the extreme ethical demands he thought he could bring to bear on his children’s development, and the heroic severity with which he judged their inadequacies. As he saw it, adolescents could choose one of two paths: either “onward and upward,” or perdition.

June 9, 1835

Dear Otto,

The few lines you added to your aunt’s letter gave me the unexpected but welcome news that you are to be confirmed, and by now have been confirmed. May God grant, my son, that you have a proper appreciation of the importance of this chapter in your life, and that the resolutions and decisions that you have made for your own good here and in the hereafter, as well as the assurances and promises that you have made at the altar, will endure and be fulfilled. All your life you should have God and the honor of a righteous German in mind. Be and remain true, faithful, and confident of your good conscience and of Christ, and you will relate to the world confidently and securely. Despite some bad habits that you have unfortunately displayed, you have given your father pleasure as a loyal, truthful, diligent, and good-natured fellow. Retain these qualities and increasingly give up bad habits, especially incivility, impetuousness, self-righteousness, and the like. Be more industrious, my son, in the tasks leading to your goal in life, and above all bear in mind that one is, and achieves, little or nothing if one is not outstanding or does not do outstanding work. In all things try to emulate the best, the highest, and the finest, for mediocrity is bad in everything, not worthy of honor or of life. In particular remain truthful and morally pure; then you will be worthy of us and cling to God and not consider, do, or tolerate anything dishonorable. Guard your tongue, but always act as though the doors and windows were open; whatever you have to be ashamed of before men is at the same time a sin before God. Preserve your faith; be helpful and obliging to everyone and, above all, be grateful. Forget yourself, but never forget those who have befriended you and yours and have helped you. Preserve your innocence, and do not judge others irreverently. Do no injustice, but do not wittingly suffer any to be done to you. Bear in mind three things at all times: fear God, honor women, love your neighbor. And remember as a fourth point that I would rather see you dead than have anyone call you a scoundrel and a coward. Fear no one but God, but hate evil, lies, and impurity. Honor women in thought and deed, for your mother’s sake and to guard against sin. Love your neighbor, and remember that no one exists merely for his own sake. Each person is there for his fellowman, and no love or loyalty surpasses the kind that makes a man give up his life for his brothers. You belong completely to your duty; never forget that. No earthly gain is worth anything as compared to the honor of being loyal, true, and valiant. Let these words be your life’s companion, my dear son Otto, and may they remind you of your father, your late mother, and your newly acquired mother, all of whom will think of you with love if you remain worthy of them. You know what sorrow other people have caused me; see to it that nothing like that ever comes to me from you. You are a Fallenstein, and I have entrusted you with an honest name. Keep it free of any blemish. Let people esteem it because of you as well, and God grant that they may never curse or revile it. For this you should work, live—or die! . . .

And now to your future and your destiny. I am not unaware that you have little inclination for your studies and no dedication to them. Your lukewarm attitude and lack of diligence are in every way unjust, particularly so far as I am concerned, and I was very sorry that your latest school report was a bad one too. I deserved better of you and did not expect this, especially after our last conversation. I do not wish to force you to devote yourself to a task against your will and inclination, but I do demand that you now decide, and in an honorable manner, what position you want to fill in life with seriousness and a sense of duty. I have taken care of you to the best of my ability. From your early boyhood it has been your wish to go to sea, and as far as I know this has remained your fondest hope. Very well; if you are serious about it, if after mature deliberation this is still your resolute, manly, and firm desire, then I shall have an opportunity, through the good offices of your mother’s brothers who live here, to place you on a Liverpool boat under very favorable conditions. Consider carefully what you do, and above all remember that the step you take is a decisive one, that you cannot go back and that here as everywhere the only motto for an honest fellow is “onward and upward!” If you make your decision, you will leave immediately for Genoa to board the ship; it is called Rabb (?) and you will live on it for five years or go down with it. I shall write you more about it later; I also hope to see you first and commend you to God’s mercy and to your fortune with the blessing of a fatherly kiss and a handshake. But do not talk about this to anyone, and when I come, tell me truthfully what is innermost in your own heart. Farewell, my son! Your mother will now add a few lines. Farewell, and in all you do think of your devoted father.

It was fortunate for the children, including those who had already left their father’s house, that after four years as a widower their difficult father met a gentle girl who so strikingly reminded him of his late wife that she won his heart at first sight. This girl was Emilie Souchay, the daughter of a refined, wealthy, patrician Frankfurt family. Her father, Karl Cornelius Souchay, the founder of a commercial firm in Frankfurt, Manchester, and London, was descended from a Huguenot family, Souchay de la Doboissière, which had owned an estate near Orleans and had renounced its aristocratic privileges when the family fled to Germany. Some of the refugees settled in Hanau as goldsmiths; others went to Frankfurt. K. C. Souchay’s grandfather was a goldsmith in Hanau, his father a minister at the French Reformed Church in Frankfurt.

K. C. Souchay (Max Weber’s great-grandfather) was a cheerful, amiable, and cultured man. By his own efforts and by his marriage he acquired considerable wealth which he spent generously. He regarded himself only as the administrator of his property, an attitude he imparted to his children. He lived in a beautiful, elegantly furnished house at the Fahrtor; its wide, sunny front looked over the Main River and the Sachsenhausen hills beyond. This kindly, cheerful man liked to live happily and let others live in the same way. He smilingly said about himself: “I have always lived like a rich man, and I have managed to do so with God’s help. The skinflints around me have always thought I was rich, even when that was not yet true.” To enhance this good life he married a girl of entirely German descent and from a good family. Helene Schunck, the daughter of Major Schunck from Schlüchtern, bore him seven children. She created a harmonious atmosphere around herself and was so lovely that the painter Stieler⁷ said she was the most beautiful woman in Germany and offered to capture her charm in a portrait that is still owned by the family. It may therefore be assumed that the grace and noble beauty of Max Weber’s mother, qualities she passed on to several of her children, were more a German than a French heritage.

Emilie Souchay, Weber’s grandmother, however, was not so endowed. She was remarkably small and very plain; she was intelligent and profound, but had a delicate constitution and was shy and withdrawn. Her strength lay in her deeply religious nature, angelic goodness, and devotion to everything great and beautiful. In her memoirs, which she wrote for the benefit of her family, she said this about herself:

The greatest—indeed, I am inclined to say, the only—sufferings of my childhood and early youth grew out of my constitution. Not that I can remember ever having been sickly, but an indescribable timidity lay in my bones and often gripped my heart. . . . In many an anxious hour the longing for inner freedom became my fervent prayer. When I opened my Bible one day, these words caught my eye: “My grace is sufficient for you.” [2 Cor. 12:9] I have reflected a great deal about the deep meaning of these words and have found in them the most beautiful interpretation of the parable of the talents. [Luke 19:11-27]

As an old lady she summed up the experiences of a person whose modest energies were always threatened by feelings of inadequacy in these words:

We should like so much to go through life in our own way and we do not understand that our own nature has set us a goal that we cannot lose from sight with impunity. To contemplate the limits of our nature with courage, to guard against false ambition, but to do whole-heartedly what we are charged with doing and to trust humbly in God’s help—this, to my mind, is the task whose fulfillment will bring God’s blessings upon us.

When Fallenstein met Emilie Souchay, she was already thirty years old and had never thought of marrying. She seemed by nature destined far more for the quiet, gentle, contemplative life of a nun than for life at the side of an energetic man who never stopped striving. All she knew about marriage was that it was a spiritual communion and an affectionate friendshi...