Transgressing the Law of Jante

Affirmations for those who would defy a law that binds them but does not protect.

Welcome to Jante. You Will Be Judged.

I first heard about Janteloven, or the Law of Jante, at least a decade ago on a forum for techies. Possibly Slashdot, but it doesn't matter.

The Law of Jante, like the word "meritocracy", arose out of an attempt to satirize the narrow-minded provincialism that the law represented and enforced. You might know it by a different name. You may have seen it in action at church, where an insufficiently repentant sinner was shunned by the congregation. Second-wave feminists in the 1960s and 1970s enforced it by trashing. You may have seen it online as "purity politics", "respectability politics", or "cancel culture".

It might not have a name at all. Nevertheless, even toddlers know about it and enforce it without being able to put words to it. But it probably goes something like this:

  1. You're not to think you are anything special.
  2. You're not to think you are as good as we are.
  3. You're not to think you are smarter than we are.
  4. You're not to imagine yourself better than we are.
  5. You're not to think you know more than we do.
  6. You're not to think you are more important than we are.
  7. You're not to think you are good at anything.
  8. You're not to laugh at us.
  9. You're not to think anyone cares about you.
  10. You're not to think you can teach us anything.

There is, of course, an eleventh commandment in addition to the ten above, which are in many places and cultures even more important than the ten commandments Republicans want to display outside every courthouse and in every classroom — ideally without a sculpture of Baphomet beside it. In the novel by Norwegian-Danish author Aksel Sandemose, A Fugitive Crosses His Tracks, this constitutes the penal code of Jante:

  1. Perhaps you don't think we know a few things about you?

This is not a code of social laws exclusive to a society, whether that society be a village, a town, a city, or even a nation. It can also be the law that governs families. It might govern your family.

If these rules seem oppressive, it is because they are meant to be oppressive. They are designed to discourage individuality, to subordinate the individual to the collective for the good of the latter — even when doing so proves ultimately detrimental to the collective. More importantly, it ensures that those who benefit from the status quo can continue to profit from it without interference or challenge.

It is nevertheless often necessary to challenge the powers that be, and that means defying the Law of Jante, or whatever unspoken social code prevents an individual from setting themselves apart from the group or even above it. After all, the group — or those who presume to speak for it — reserve for themselves to right to set individuals apart. How else does one make scapegoats?

Who Runs Afoul of the Law of Jante?

You know well who runs afoul of the law of Jante: anybody who can't or won't pass for "normal".

One need not be part of a legally or socially recognized minority. Every individual is a minority of one.

You need not have done anything wrong; either. You could find yourself scapegoated for no better reason than bad luck.

Weathering a Storm of Disapproval

Unfortunately, there is no repealing these laws. They seem to be a legacy of our evolution, but don't quote me on that because I'm not a scientist. The only way to make these laws irrelevant is to be so wealthy that the world must bargain with you instead of issuing peremptory demands.

The rest of us must settle for finding within ourselves the strength to transgress the law and pay the price. It's hard at first, and doesn't get much easier over time, but the pressure eventually eases. People eventually find somebody else to abuse, a fresh transgressor who might prove less resilient in the face of condemnation.

I have long needed to defy these laws myself, but never gave much thought to putting words to my defiance. Here is an initial attempt at some affirmations against Janteloven. Use them as needed, and alter them to fit your needs.

"You're not to think you are anything special."
I need not be special. I need only be myself.
"You're not to think you are as good as we are."
I need not when I have already proven it, time and time again, and continue to do so by choosing reason and compassion in my dealings with you instead of violence and hatred.
"You're not to think you are smarter than we are."
I will do precisely that for my intellect is mine to wield as I will. You have the power to punish me for doing so, to hurt or even kill me, but such power will never confer upon you the right to command me.
"You're not to imagine yourself better than we are."
My imagination is likewise mine to use as I will, but I need not imagine superiority; your treatment of anybody who dares step out of line lays bare, for all with eyes to see, your inferiority.
"You're not to think you know more than we do."
You might indeed know more than me, but I make fuller use of the knowledge I do possess.
"You're not to think you are more important than we are."
In my experience, it is preferable to be unimportant to the likes of you, since you generally only favor with your regard those whom you would harm or exploit.
"You're not to think you are good at anything."
I need not do so when I know my capabilities, demonstrate them in daily life, and improve upon them through study and practice.
"You're not to laugh at us."
Is that what you fear most? That I might be only the first to laugh at you? Is that what would shatter the illusion of your power and strip you of the last of your stolen legitimacy? Perhaps I should do so, then, but I will refrain.
Such cruelty is beneath me. You cannot help being what you are. You are only human, all too human, and I am no more obligated to hate you for it than I am to forgive you.
"You're not to think anyone cares about you."
I know better than that, thanks to you.
I will not depend on you, but accept instead that I am on my own and care for myself first and foremost.
"You're not to think you can teach us anything."
That was never my purpose. Just as I will neither serve nor obey, I have no desire to rule or instruct. Whether you choose to learn from my example is your own affair and need not concern me.
"Perhaps you don't think we know a few things about you?"
You may indeed know a few things about me, but I know this about you: When you made me the other, you became the other to me. Thus I offer a bargain you dare not refuse lest you justify the low esteem in which I hold you: I will continue to do exactly as I please, and you may continue to pretend that your narrow-minded cruelty had no part in shaping me.
If I stand alone against you, armored in defiance and wearing my independence like a crown, it is because you offered me a stark choice: I could either wither beneath your heartless judgment, or stand trial and cultivate my own strength in adversity. Pride demanded I choose the latter, for my life matters more than your comfort and convenience.
My life is my own. I am not the means to your ends. I am an end in myself.