The Law of Jante – Our Oldest Survival Instinct

We Norwegians have always been a people accustomed to adapting ourselves to the circumstances in which we live. We tend to conform, seek agreement, trust our authorities, and seemingly accept almost anything. We seldom take to the streets in great numbers, and even when dissatisfaction is widespread, our objections rarely amount to much more than complaints around the dinner table. We clench our fists in our pockets and carry on. In many respects, we have become excessively civilised.

There is also that peculiar reluctance towards those who distinguish themselves from the others, who challenge prevailing opinions or refuse to follow the majority. Such people are quickly reminded of their place. One should not consider oneself better, wiser, or more important than anyone else. We know this mentality throughout Scandinavia as Janteloven, the Law of Jante.

The expression comes from the Danish-Norwegian author Aksel Sandemose, who formulated its ten commandments in his novel A Fugitive Crosses His Tracks, published in 1933. These commandments describe the unwritten rules of a society in which the individual is expected to know his place and refrain from considering himself superior to those around him. Although Sandemose gave the mentality its name, he certainly did not create it. Anyone familiar with the older Scandinavian communities will recognise something that has existed among our people for a very long time.

I believe its origins are to be sought much further back, in the circumstances under which our forebears lived for countless generations, long before Christianity, the modern state, or anything resembling our present society.

Throughout most of our history, our forebears lived in relatively small communities, consisting of extended families, kinship groups and larger tribal networks. Often these communities comprised no more than a few dozen people, with wider circles of perhaps a hundred or more. Everyone knew one another, everyone had his place, and the lives of all were closely connected. There was no government to provide for those who could not provide for themselves, no public welfare, and no protection beyond that which one's own people were able to offer.

Here in the North, this dependence upon one's own was particularly important. Following the retreat of the great ice sheets, our forebears gradually settled a land where the conditions of life were often severe. The summers were short, the winters long, and the distances between settlements considerable. Nature could provide abundantly, but its generosity could never be taken for granted. Food had to be gathered, preserved and distributed, animals tended, children raised and knowledge passed on. A failed harvest, an unsuccessful hunt or a particularly difficult winter might have consequences for an entire family or settlement. Survival required foresight, intelligence, cooperation and, above all, trust among those who depended upon one another.

A man could not simply turn his back upon his people and expect to continue living as before. He needed them, just as they needed him. There were obligations to fulfil, customs to observe and expectations that could not be disregarded without consequence. A person who persistently neglected his duties, caused discord or placed his own interests above those of everyone else could eventually find himself without the goodwill and protection of his own kin. Under the harshest circumstances, exclusion might well mean death.

We have lived under such conditions for most of our existence. The need to belong, to be recognised and accepted by those around us, is therefore something far more deeply rooted than any modern social convention. The fear of being rejected by one's own people has accompanied mankind through innumerable generations. The circumstances of our own ancestral environment have undoubtedly contributed to the customs and attitudes through which this ancient human inclination has found expression.

Our folk soul did not suddenly emerge with the establishment of the modern nation-state. It belongs to a much longer continuity, shaped through the lives and experiences of our forebears, their customs, their understanding of the world, and not least what I consider our blood memory. Much of what we regard as natural in our own behaviour has its roots in a world very different from the one in which we now live.

It is in this light that I regard the Law of Jante as an old cultural remnant. In a small community where the survival of everyone depended upon cooperation, excessive self-assertion and selfish ambition could easily become destructive. There was little room for a man who refused to consider the needs of his own people. One was expected to show restraint, fulfil one's obligations and preserve the trust upon which the community depended. To belong was to accept that one's actions had consequences beyond oneself.

Yet this ancient understanding of community differed considerably from the conformity that we have become accustomed to in modern Norway. Our forebears did not expect all men to be equally capable, equally courageous or equally respected. A man's abilities, wisdom, strength and conduct were of great importance, and personal honour was something to be earned and maintained. One was expected to contribute to the common good, but also to distinguish oneself through worthy deeds. There was no honour in being incapable, cowardly or dependent upon others while demanding the same recognition as those who had proved themselves. This was especially true of kings and chieftains.

Already in the first century, Tacitus described how the Germanic peoples regarded their leaders, and how authority in war rested upon personal courage and the ability to set an example. A chieftain who expected his men to follow him into danger had to show himself worthy of their loyalty. Honour was not something granted merely by one's position. It had to be demonstrated, and a leader who failed in this respect had little reason to expect the respect of those around him.

We find the same old understanding reflected in the Norse svínfylking, the wedge-shaped battle formation in which the foremost warriors stood at the point where the fighting would be fiercest. This was where a king or chieftain was expected to show his worth, at the head of his own men, exposed to the same dangers and indeed expected to face them before anyone else. The king had his honour to uphold by surpassing his followers in courage, while his followers, in turn, had their own honour to uphold by matching and, if possible, surpassing their king. There was no dignity in demanding sacrifices from others while keeping oneself safely removed from the consequences.

A king who expected others to risk their lives for him had first to show that he was prepared to risk his own.

This understanding of the free man's dignity appears in several of the old accounts concerning the Northmen and their encounters with foreign rulers. One of the more amusing examples is found in the story of Gange-Rolf, better known as Rollo, and his agreement with the Frankish king Charles the Simple.

As part of the ceremony, Rollo was expected to kiss the king's foot in acknowledgement of his authority. Such a gesture was apparently quite unacceptable to him. He refused to kneel before another man, much less kiss his foot, and eventually one of his warriors was instructed to perform the gesture instead. The warrior, however, was no more inclined to kneel than his chieftain. He simply seized the king's foot and lifted it towards his mouth while remaining upright, causing the king to fall backwards and down from his pedestal, much to the amusement of the Northmen present.

The attitude the story conveys is unmistakable. A man might acknowledge another's position without surrendering his own dignity. The notion that respect should require such a humiliating display of submission was foreign to the understanding of honour expressed in the account.

Another old account tells of Northmen along the Seine who were approached by a Frankish envoy demanding to know the identity of their king and master. Their reply has been remembered in a few simple words, laughing:

“We have no king. We are all kings.”

There is something wonderfully characteristic about this sentiment. These men were not necessarily without leaders, nor incapable of acting together under a common command. They simply did not regard themselves as the possessions of another man. A chieftain was followed because he had proved himself worthy of being followed, and the loyalty of his men rested upon an understanding of mutual obligations. The free man retained his own honour, regardless of the standing of those around him.

When I compare this understanding with the mentality that prevails among us today, I find that much of the old balance has disappeared. We have preserved the inclination towards cooperation, equality and social restraint, while our willingness to stand apart from the others, to challenge prevailing opinions and to insist upon our own judgement seems to have diminished. A man may find himself criticised more severely for questioning what everyone else accepts than for following something he knows to be wrong.

Much the same can be observed in our relationship with authority. Norwegians generally have considerable confidence in public institutions, and we have become accustomed to allowing those who govern to make decisions on our behalf. We follow the regulations, accept the explanations provided and continue with our lives. Even when the dissatisfaction is considerable, there seems to be a reluctance to disturb the established order. We complain among ourselves, sometimes quite bitterly, but more often than not we eventually adapt.

It is difficult not to see something of the old fear of exclusion in this behaviour. We no longer depend upon our immediate kin to survive the winter, yet the discomfort associated with standing alone against the opinions of one's own people remains very real. There is safety in agreement, and for many it is easier to remain part of a mistaken majority than to risk the disapproval that may follow an independent conviction.

I do not believe this should be mistaken for an unlimited willingness to endure whatever circumstances may arise. Our forebears placed great importance upon mutual obligations, honour and the expectation that wrongs should be addressed. Our early history contains its share of settlements and legal proceedings, but also bitter feuds and acts of retaliation when individuals or families believed they had been wronged. Loyalty was not unconditional, and neither was the patience of those who felt that the obligations binding a community together had been violated.

A society may appear peaceful and orderly for a very long time, while resentment gradually accumulates beneath the surface. When the trust upon which that order depends is lost, the willingness to conform may diminish with remarkable speed. Nor is there any guarantee that the resulting reaction will be as restrained as the silence that preceded it. History provides enough examples of people who have endured much before finally turning against the circumstances they had previously accepted. The severity of such reactions is not predetermined, but it would be foolish to assume that a quiet people are necessarily a contented people.

There is another aspect of this old inclination which I believe deserves consideration, particularly when looking at the increasingly fragmented character of modern society. We see people seeking belonging within smaller and more clearly defined communities, sometimes separated from the wider society by their own customs, beliefs and loyalties. Certain religious, ideological and sectarian movements are examples of this, although the communities themselves differ greatly in their nature and purpose.

For most of our history, a person's identity was inseparable from his ancestry, his family, his homeland and the customs he had inherited. He did not have to spend his life searching for an identity of his own invention. He knew where he belonged, who his people were, and what was expected of him. The extended family and the local community gave structure and meaning to life, while also placing obligations upon the individual.

Much of this has been dissolved in modern society. Families are smaller and more dispersed, people move far from their ancestral homes, and the old ties between generations have weakened. We are told that we have gained an extraordinary degree of individual freedom, yet much of what once gave that freedom a natural place within a greater continuity has disappeared. A person may live among thousands of others without feeling that he truly belongs to any of them.

It is hardly surprising that people seek to recreate what they have lost. They find communities offering common values, a shared understanding of the world, and the reassurance of being among their own. There is nothing inherently wrong with this, and such communities may be of considerable value. But where belonging becomes dependent upon unquestioning loyalty, the old fear of exclusion once again takes hold. Those who agree are welcomed, those who question are regarded with suspicion, and those who eventually depart may discover that they have lost far more than their membership in a particular group.

The need which once bound our forebears together has not disappeared with the dissolution of the old tribal societies. It continues to influence the communities we create, the authorities we accept, and the opinions we are prepared to defend or conceal.

Our modern existence is but a fleeting moment when measured against the long history of our people. We have surrounded ourselves with institutions, conveniences and assurances of individual liberty, yet we remain deeply concerned with recognition, belonging and our standing among those around us. These instincts were not created by the modern world, and they will not vanish simply because the conditions under which they developed are no longer present in the same form.

I believe they form an important part of our Norwegian folk soul. Our ways of thinking and behaving have been shaped by generations who lived with a very different understanding of what it meant to be an individual, a member of a family, or part of a people. The mutual dependence of the old kinship communities left its mark upon our customs and upon the expectations we continue to place upon one another.

The ability to cooperate and to place the welfare of one's people above selfish interests was among the qualities that enabled our forebears to endure. There is much in that inheritance worth preserving. Yet the old understanding also demanded personal ability, responsibility and courage. It recognised that a man should not abandon his own judgement merely because others expected him to do so, and that no leader was entitled to demand loyalty without proving himself worthy of it.

The conditions under which we live have changed beyond anything our distant forebears could have imagined. We no longer face the same immediate dangers of hunger, winter and exclusion, yet we still find ourselves reluctant to depart from the accepted opinions of our own society. The old habits remain, even where the original necessity has faded.

This is how I understand the Law of Jante. It is a cultural echo of a time when survival depended upon knowing one's place within the community, and when the consequences of standing outside it could be severe. But it represents only one side of our inheritance. The other is the dignity of the free individual, the expectation that honour must be earned, and the understanding that those who lead must be prepared to prove themselves before those who follow.

Our forebears knew the necessity of standing together. They also knew that a man must be able to stand upright among his own people, without surrendering his dignity or his judgement.

It was never necessary to abandon one in order to preserve the other. And perhaps that is where the Law of Jante ought to end: not with the demand that no man should rise above the others, but with the understanding that whoever does so must have earned his place.