Spartan liberty?!

To the extent that I had any impression from my schooling of ancient Spartan political philosophy, it was that their society was authoritarian and militaristic — and therefore certainly anti-individual.

Athenian culture, on the other hand, was supposedly very pro-individual.

It was only in my recent reviews of ancient history (as preparation for eventual homeschooling) that I started to encounter contrary claims. Not that anything I’ve read has made contrary claims; rather, some of what I have read has been arguing against published claims to the contrary. There seem to be Western historians who think the Spartans were part of the Western liberal tradition. This idea baffles me. You can’t have a coercive centralized authority promoting liberty in anything but rhetoric. That fact seems so obvious to me, I’m amazed it needs to be stated explicitly.

So I’m disappointed to learn from Dan D’Amico that this Spartan ahistoricism is Frank Miller’s take on the matter in his new movie, 300:

Read “Were the Spartans neocons?” at Austrian Addiction.


A parenthetical thought: I haven’t seen the movie (nor read the comic book) so I’m only guessing here, but maybe Miller is doing the same thing with Spartan rhetoric that Tolkein did with Middle-Earth human rhetoric (presumably reflecting Medieval European rhetoric), which is to conflate a collectivist concept of “liberty” and “freedom” with what classical liberals and libertarians are talking about when we use those same words.

“A free people” means, for individualists, a collection of free individuals. “Our liberty” means the individual liberty of a bunch of us, not some liberty that applies instead at a group level.

If you’ve seen the movie, please let me know: could the Spartans have meant by “liberty” something like, It is my right to be coerced by fellow Spartans rather than by some damn Persian!?

the murderous media blackout of 1918

I’m grateful to the Writer’s Almanac for teaching me this bit of horrific American history:

It was on this day in 1918 that the first cases of what would become the influenza pandemic were reported in the U.S. when 107 soldiers got sick at Fort Riley, Kansas.

It was the worst pandemic in world history. The flu that year killed only 2.5 percent of its victims, but more than a fifth of the world’s entire population caught it, and so it’s estimated that between 50 million and 100 million people died in just a few months.

Historians believe at least 500,000 people died in the United States alone. That’s more than the number of Americans killed in combat in all the wars of the 20th century combined. Usually, the flu would have been most likely to kill babies and the elderly, but the flu of 1918 somehow targeted healthy people in their 20s and 30s. And it was an extremely virulent strain. In the worst cases, victims’ skin would turn dark red, and their feet would turn black.

No one is sure exactly how many people died, because it wasn’t even clear at the time what the disease was. World War I was currently under way, and there were rumors that German soldiers had snuck into Boston Harbor and released some new kind of germ weapon. One of the strangest aspects of the pandemic in this country was that it was barely reported in the media. President Woodrow Wilson had passed laws to censor all kinds of news stories about the war, and newspaper editors were terrified of printing anything that might cause a scandal.

So as the flu epidemic spread across the country. In large cities, people were dying of the flu so rapidly that undertakers ran out of coffins, streetcars had to be used as hearses, and mass graves were dug. The newspapers barely commented on it. In the fall of 1918, doctors tried to get newspapers to warn people in Philadelphia against attending a parade. The newspapers refused. In the week after the parade, almost 5,000 Philadelphians died of the flu.

Why oh why isn’t “Wilsonian” treated as a term of vilification?

the law of intervention

OK, last Bensonian post for the weekend.

I don’t think Bruce Benson is an Austrian, but he published extensively in the Journal of Libertarian Studies when it was being run by Murray Rothbard, so he’s likely to be familiar with the basic Misesian framework.

In particular, Benson sounds like he’s well aware of Mises’s Law of Intervention — that early coercive interventions into voluntary exchange create unanticipated consequences, consequences unwanted by the interventionists themselves, who then have to create ever more interventions in a frantic effort to stave off failure, creating new unanticipated and undesired consequences, etc. Round and ’round she goes.

After discussing the peculiar creation of “rules of evidence” — rules to keep a jury ignorant of certain types of prejudicial evidence — Benson quotes John H. Langbein, describing this judicial innovation as “one whose origins have yet to be explained.[97]“

Benson replies:

The explanation lies in forces set in motion hundreds of years earlier and is reflected in the transformation from a system of privately enforced customary tort law to publicly produced criminal law. Each change initiated by government created problems that required additional change. When law is deliberately designed, whether well-intended or not, there will always be manifestations that the designers did not anticipate. When some of those manifestations prove to be undesirable, new rules are designed, which will also have unanticipated consequences. (p. 66)


[97] John H. Langbein, “Shaping the Eighteenth-Century Criinal Trial: A View from the Ryder Sources,” University of Chicago Law Review 50 (Winter 1983): 76.

gang crime

Why was crime increasing? Well, the evergreen answer is that it is in the king’s interest to criminalize whatever will increase court revenues. But there’s a particular historical answer for the era in question:

International military involvement served as a major impetus for the development of public prosecution and police during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries (as well as prisons and other public institutions of criminal justice.) The economy — and particularly the London economy, because it was strongly influenced by government demand for war materials (or lack of demand, as employment often declined immediately after a war)[84] — could not quickly absorb the large influx of veterans following a war. Furthermore, according to many observers, the soldiers were “unaccustomed to ordinary labor and were unwilling to take it up again when they came home.”[85] Instead

the conclusions of wars in the eighteenth century brought “a great harvest of crime,” as was said in 1819. … The peace brought back to England large numbers of disreputable men who had spent several years being further brutalized by service in the armed forces, without any provision being made for the reentry into the work force. The same complaint was voiced after every war.[86]

The failure of the existing crime control apparatus was in part a function of the kinds of crime the returning veterans generally committed. They had had considerable on-the-job training in organized violence. [...] Large-scale gang crime was a new phenomenon, and it was this type of crime that proved to be the most difficult for the criminal justice system to handle. (p. 64)


[84] J.M. Beattie, Crime and the Courts in England, 1660–1800 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1986), p. 228.

[85] Ibid., p. 229.

[86] Ibid., p. 226.

juries: the lesser evil

More on the evolution of the jury:

By the mid-sixteenth century, familiarity with the crime was no longer required to be a jury member. Langbein suggested that “this transformation of the active medieval juries into passive courtroom triers is among the greatest mysteries of English legal history, still no better understood than [a century ago].”[99] But it is really no great mystery when we realize that the recognition of duty to perform law enforcement functions was originally built on restitution and reciprocity. Widespread criminalization under the Norman kings ultimately undermined even the king’s jury system. (pp. 66f)

In other words, the active medieval jury referred to on page 58 came out of the culture of tort (wrong against a person) rather than crime (wrong against “society,” the king, the state). In the more individualist tort context, it didn’t make sense to bring in strangers. In the more “societal” crime context, it did.

Furthermore,

In 1730 London, it was common to empanel two twelve-man juries to try all the roughly 150 felony cases in a session of Old Bailey (royal assizes typically empaneled a single jury that heard all cases). The juries’ sittings were staggered so that one could hear evidence on a series of cases while the other was out deliberating on other cases. Many cases lasted only a few minutes, with evidence presented, and little dispute. Most jurors were experienced, having served before, so judicial instruction of the jury was perfunctory. (p. 67)

In other words, transaction costs! The nature of juries changed as a result of increasing transaction costs, changed in such a way as would lower those costs. As “crime” was rising (see next post), and criminal courts were ever busier, it was faster and cheaper to reuse the same jury on multiple cases, basically eliminating the possibility that jury members would already be familiar with the facts of any particular case.

Finally:

Another factor leading to plea bargaining was the insistence on trial by jury rather than by judge. Recall that juries initially were resisted as they were used to expand the power of the kings, but distrust of judges also was substantial. In the context of the criminal law as it developed to assist the kings, mistrust for one of the king’s institutions, juries, was clearly not as great as mistrust for another, royal judges. Juries became widely viewed as the only potential safeguard against the further manipulation of law enforcement for the political and financial benefit of the kings. (p. 70)


[99] Langbein, “The Origins of Public Prosecution at Common Law,” p. 314. See also Thomas A. Green, Verdict According to Conscience: Perspectives on the English Criminal Trial Jury, 1200–1800 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1985), p. 105.

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