The Legislation of Lycurgus and Solon [Excerpt abridged with headings added]
by Friedrich Schiller
Jena University
August, 1789
Translated by George Gregory from "Friedrich Schiller, Poet of Freedom, Vol II"
Schiller Institute
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To properly appreciate the Lycurgian plan, we must look back to the political situation in Sparta of that time, and come to know the condition in which he found Lacadaemon [Sparta] when he came forth with his new design. Two kings, both furnished with the same authority, stood at the head of the state; each jealous of the other, each busy to secure himself a following, thus to set limits to the authority of his counterpart on the throne. This jealousy had been passed from the first two kings, Prokles and Eurysthes, and their mutual lineages, down to Lycurgus, so that Sparta was incessantly troubled by factions over this long span of time. By bestowing greater freedoms, each king attempted to corrupt the people to incline to him, and these concessions led the people to become insolent and, ultimately, to insurrection. The state wavered to and fro, between monarchy and democracy, and swung in rapid succession from one extreme to the other. No line was drawn between the rights of the people and the authority of the kings, and wealth flowed into the hands of a few families. The rich citizens tyrannized the poor, and the desperation of the latter expressed itself in revolt.
Torn asunder by internal discord, the weak state had inevitably fallen prey to hostile neighbors, or fallen completely apart into a number of smaller tyrannies. And that is the condition in which Lycurgus found Sparta: No clear distinction between the authority of the kings and the people, unequal distribution of earthly goods among the citizens, lack of public spirit and concord, and complete political destitution, were the maladies confronting the legislator, of which, therefore, he had to take account in his legislation.
As the day arrived, when Lycurgus wanted to announce his laws, he had thirty of the most prominent citizens, whom he had previously won over to his plan, appear armed in the marketplace, thus to instill fear in anyone who might resist. King Charilaus, terrified by these measures, fled into the Temple of Minerva, because he believed it all directed against him. But he was dissuaded of this fear, and in the end became so persuaded, that he actively supported Lycurgus's plan himself.
The first decrees concerned the government. To prevent the republic from ever again being tossed to and fro between royal tyranny and anarchic democracy, Lycurgus established a third power, as a counterweight, between the two; he founded a Senate. The senators, 28 in number, or 30 together with the two kings, were to side with the people, should the kings abuse their authority, and if, on the other hand, the power of the people became too great, the Senate would protect the kings against the people. An excellent arrangement, whereby Sparta was forever spared the violent domestic turmoil, which had previously so shaken it. It was thus made impossible for either party to tread the other under foot: Against the people and the Senate, the kings could do nothing, and it was impossible for the people to gain the upper hand if the Senate made common cause with the kings.
Abuse of Power
But there was a third case, which Lycurgus left unconsidered—that of the Senate itself abusing its power. The Senate, as intermediary, could as easily join with the kings, as with the people, without danger to the public order. But without danger to the public order, the kings could not join with the people against the Senate. The Senate, therefore, soon began to exploit this advantageous situation, and made excessive use of its authority, in which it was the more successful, since the small number of senators made it easy for them to reach agreement among themselves. Lycurgus's successors filled this gap, therefore, and introduced the Ephors, who were to rein in the power of the Senate.
More dangerous and bold was the second change Lycurgus instituted: To do away forever with the distinction between rich and poor, he distributed the entire land of the country in equal parts among the citizens. All Laconia was divided into 30,000 fields, the area around the city of Sparta itself into 9,000 fields, each sufficiently large, that a family could easily sustain itself. Now Sparta was beautiful to behold, and Lycurgus himself delighted in the sight of it, as he travelled through the country. "All Laconia," he proclaimed, "is a farm brotherly divided among its brothers."
Lycurgus would gladly have distributed the other earthly goods, as he had the farmland, but there were insuperable obstacles to this plan. He thus attempted to reach this goal by other means, and what he could not change by decree, he took into his own hands.
He began by outlawing all gold and silver coins, introducing iron ones in their stead. He likewise assigned a very low value to the large and heavy pieces of iron, so that a large space were needed to store even a small sum of money, and many horses to carry it away. Lo and behold, to ensure that no one might be tempted to place any great value on this money, and to hoard it, on account of the iron in it, he had the glowing-hot iron, which was used for the coins, quenched and tempered in vinegar, which made it unfit for any other use.
Who would now steal, or allow himself to be corrupted, or even consider hording wealth, for the meager gains could neither be kept secret nor employed?
Not enough, that Lycurgus thereby deprived his fellow citizens of the means of luxury—he removed the very objects of the same from their sight, the which might have excited their desire for luxury. Sparta's iron coins were of no use to a foreign merchant, and the Spartans had no others to give him. Artists who worked for luxury, now disappeared from Laconia; no foreign ships appeared any longer in its ports; no adventurer sought his fortune there; no merchants came to prey upon vanities and lusts, for they could carry nothing but iron coins away with them, and in all other countries these were despised. Luxury ceased to exist, for there was no one to sustain it.
In other fields, too, Lycurgus set to work against luxury. He decreed, that all citizens eat together in a public place, and that they all eat the same prescribed meals. It was not allowed to indulge in delicacies at home, nor to eat luxurious foods prepared by one's own cooks. Everyone was required to contribute a certain sum of money, once each month, for the food at the common meals, and he received his meals from the state in return. Fifteen persons usually ate together at one table, and each guest had to be accepted by his companions to be permitted to eat at the common meal. No one was permitted to remain absent without a valid excuse; this part of the decree was upheld so strictly, that Aegis himself, one of the later kings, upon returning from a war gloriously waged, was denied permission by the Ephors, when he asked to eat with his wife alone at home. Among the Spartan meals, the black soup became famous—a meal in praise of which it is said, that the Spartans had to be courageous, for dying was hardly a worse fate than eating their black soup. They spiced their meals with merriment and humor, and Lycurgus himself was so great a friend of social humor, that he placed an altar to the god of laughter in his house.
Lycurgus gained much for his purpose by introducing these social meals. All luxurious delicacies at the dinner table ceased, because there was no use for them at a public meal. Gluttony was halted completely; healthy and strong bodies were the result of this moderation and order; and healthy fathers were fit to produce strong progeny for the state. The social meals accustomed the citizens to live with each other, and to look upon themselves as members of the same state institution, not to speak of the fact, that such equality in the manner of life necessarily exerted influence upon the same emotions. ...
Fashioning Citizens
Lycurgus understood quite well, that it was not enough to fashion laws for his fellow citizens, he would also need to fashion citizens for these laws. It was in the souls of his Spartans, that he would have to anchor his constitution for eternity; in these he would have to kill the susceptibility to foreign influences.
The most important part of his legislation, therefore, was the provisions made for education, and with these he closed the circle, within which the Spartan state was intended to revolve. Education was an important work of the state, and the state a lasting work of this education.
His concern for children reached as far as their very reproduction. The bodies of virgins were hardened by exercise, to enable them to bear strong and healthy children. They even went naked, in order to withstand all inclement weather conditions. The groom had to kidnap his wife, and was allowed to visit her only at night, and only if he had kidnapped her. That meant, that for the first years of marriage, the two remained strangers to one another, and their love remained new and vital. ...
As soon as the child was born, it belonged to the state. It was examined by the eldest; if it were strong and well formed, it was given over to a nurse; if it were weak and malformed, it was thrown into an abyss at the Taygetus mountain.
Spartan nurses were famous throughout Greece for the hard education they gave the children, and were even called into foreign countries. As soon as a boy had reached his seventh year, he was taken from his nurse, and educated, fed, and cared for in common with other children of his age. He was trained to endure all hardships, and to achieve mastery of his limbs through physical training. Once they had reached the age of young men, the oldest among them had hopes of finding friends among the adults, who were bound to them through love. The elders were present at their games, observed their blossoming genius, and encouraged their thirst for glory by praise or criticism. If they wanted to eat themselves full, the children had to steal food, and hard punishment and shame awaited whoever was caught. Lycurgus chose this means to accustom them, from an early age, to deceits and intrigues, qualities he believed as important for the warlike purpose to which he trained them, as bodily strength and courage. ...
It was forbidden to young Spartans to adorn themselves, except when they went into battle or some other great danger. Then they were allowed to do up their hair, adorn their clothes, and carry decorations on their weapons. Hair, said Lycurgus, made beautiful people more beautiful, and ugly people fearsome. It was certainly a fine trick of the legislator to connect something humorous and festive with matters of danger, to take from the people the sense of fear. He went yet further. In war, he relaxed the strict discipline somewhat, the lifestyle became freer, and offenses were less severely punished. Thus it was, that war alone was a form of recreation to the Spartans, and they took joy in war as if in a festive occasion. As the enemy approached, the Spartan king ordered the Catorian chant sung, soldiers formed in closed ranks, accompanied by flutes, and marched joyfully and fearlessly into danger to the sound of the music.
Lycurgus's plan also entailed, that attachment to property was supplanted by attachment to the fatherland, and that emotions, undiverted by any private concerns, only lived for the state. Thus, he thought it good and necessary, to also spare his fellow citizens the business of normal life, and to let these affairs be attended to by foreigners, so that not even concerns of work, nor the joy of domestic matters, would divert their attentions from the affairs of the fatherland. The farmland and the homes were, therefore, cared for by slaves, who were respected in Sparta as much as cattle. They were called helots, because the first of the Spartans' slaves had been inhabitants of the island of Helos in Laconia, whom the Spartans had subdued in war, and made their prisoners. It was from these helots, that all later Spartan slaves, whom the Spartans exploited in their wars, took their names.
The use the Spartans made of these unfortunates was an abomination. They were looked upon as tools, of which one might make use to accomplish one's own political aims, and humanity in them was derided in outrageous ways. To provide Spartan youth deterrent examples of intemperance in drinking, the helots were forced to become drunk, and they were displayed in this condition publicly. They were ordered to sing obscene songs, and to dance ludicrous dances; they were forbidden to dance the dances of the free-born. They were used to even more inhuman ends. The state was intent upon putting the courage of its youth to severe tests, thus preparing them for war through these bloody games. Thus, at certain times, the Senate sent a number of these youth into the country; they were permitted to take nothing but a knife and some food with them on their travels. They were required to remain hidden in the daytime; but, at night, they took to the streets, and beat to death any helots who fell into their hands. This procedure was called the cryptia, or ambush, but whether Lycurgus was its originator still lies in doubt. At least, it was consistent with his principles. ...
Since they were relieved of all their work by the helots, Spartans spent their lives in indolence; the youth trained in war games and skills, and the adults were the audience and judges of these exercises. It was shameful for an older Spartan man to stay away from the place where the youth were trained. And thus, each Spartan lived with the state, and all deeds became public deeds. The youth matured under the eyes of the nation, and blossomed into old age. Sparta was constantly in the mind's eye of each Spartan, and Sparta had him, too, constantly in its view. He was witness to everything, and everyone was witness to his life. The lust for glory became an incessant spur, ceaselessly feeding the national spirit; the idea of fatherland and national interests became intertwined with the innermost life of all of its citizens. ...
Lycurcus's State
If we cast a fleeting glace at Lycurgus's legislation, we are indeed beset with a pleasant amazement. Among all similar institutions of antiquity, his legislation is incontestably the most accomplished, excepting Mosaic legislation, which it resembles in many features, and particularly in the principles upon which it is founded. Lycurgus's legislation is really complete in itself, everything is encompassed by it, every single thing is bound to every other, and everything is bound together by each single feature. Lycurgus could not have chosen better instruments to accomplish the purpose he had in mind, to create a state, isolated from all others, self-sufficient, and capable of sustaining itself through its internal metabolism and its own vital power. No legislator had ever given a state this unity, this national interest, this community spirit, which Lycurgus gave his state. And how did Lycurgus achieve this? By knowing how to direct the activity of his citizens in the state, and depriving them of all other paths, which might have distracted them from that end.
Everything which captivates the human soul and enflames passions, everything except political interests, he banned by law. Wealth and desires, science and art, had no access to the emotions of the Spartans. Comparisons of fortunes, which enkindle in most people the desire for gain, fell to the side, displaced by the equality of common poverty; the desire for property dropped away with the opportunity for displaying and employing it. By virtue of the lack of knowledge in science and art, which clouded all minds in Sparta in the same way, he spared Sparta the intervention, which an enlightened mind had made in the constitution; just this impoverishment of knowledge, combined with raw national pride, characteristic of every Spartan, always stood in the way of the Spartan's intercourse with other Greek people. They were stamped as Spartans from the cradle, and the more they came up against other nations, the more they had to hold firm to their own. The fatherland was the first theater presented to the view of a Spartan boy, from the moment when he began to think. He awoke in the womb of the state, and all that surrounded him was nation, state, and fatherland. This was the first impression in his mind, and his entire life was a perpetual renewal of this impression.
At home, the Spartan found nothing which might fascinate him; the legislator had deprived his eyes of all enticements. Only in the womb of the state did he find employment, amusement, honor, reward; all his desires and passions were directed to this central point. The state took possession of all the energy, the powers of each of its individual citizens, and it was upon the spirit of community that the community spirit of each individual enkindled itself. Thus, it is no wonder, that Spartan national virtue ultimately attained a degree of strength, which must seem inconceivable to us. And thus it was, that there could be no doubts among the citizens concerning this republic, when the choice was posed between self-preservation and saving the fatherland.
And so we may understand, how the Spartan king Leonidas, with his 300 heroes, could merit the inscription on his tombstone, the most beautiful of its kind, and the most sublime monument to political virtue. "Tell, you travellers, when you are come to Sparta, that we obeyed its laws, and here are fallen."
Thus, one must concede, that nothing could be more purposeful, nothing more thought-out, than this state constitution, and that it represents an accomplished work of art of its own kind, and, followed through in its full rigor, one which necessarily rested upon itself alone. But were I to end my description here, I had committed a very serious mistake. This most remarkable constitution is contemptible to the highest degree, and nothing more sad could befall humanity, than that all states be founded on this model. It will not be difficult to convince ourselves of this assertion.
In respect of the purpose set for it, Lycurgus's legislation is a masterpiece, of statecraft and human-craft. He wanted a powerful state, founded upon itself, and indestructible; political strength and longevity were the aims for which he strove, and he achieved these aims, to the extent possible under the conditions he confronted. But if one compares the aims Lycurgus set himself with the aims of mankind, then profound disapproval must take the place of the admiration, which our first fleeting glance enticed from us. Everything may be sacrificed for the best of the state, but not that, which serves the state itself only as an instrument. The state itself is never the purpose, it is important only as the condition under which the purpose of mankind may be fulfilled, and this purpose of mankind is none other than the development of all the powers of people, i.e., progress. If the constitution of a state hinders the progress of the mind, it is contemptible and harmful, however well thought-out it may otherwise be, and however accomplished a work of its kind. Its longevity then serves the more to reproach it than to celebrate its glory—it is then merely a prolonged evil; the longer it exists, the more harmful it is.
In general, we can establish a rule for judging political institutions, that they are only good and laudable, to the extent, that they bring all forces inherent in persons to flourish, to the extent, that they promote the progress of culture, or at least not hinder it. This rule applies to religious laws as well as to political ones: both are contemptible if they constrain a power of the human mind, if they impose upon the mind any sort of stagnation. A law, for example, by which a nation were forced to persist in a certain scheme of belief, which at a particular time appeared to it most fitting, such a law were an assault against mankind, and laudable intents of whatever kind were then incapable of justifying it. It were immediately directed against the highest Good, against the highest purpose of society.
Armed with this standard, we shall not long be in a quandary about how we shall judge Lycurgus's state. One single virtue, displacing all others, was exercised in Sparta: love of fatherland.
It was to this artificial impulse, that the most natural and the most beautiful emotions of mankind were sacrificed.
Political merit was sought at the expense of all moral emotions, and the capacity to attain this political merit was the only capability inculcated. In Sparta there was no marital love, no mother's love, no child's love, no friendship—there were nothing but citizens, and nothing but the virtue of citizens. Spartan mothers were admired, who, in annoyance, shunned their sons returning from battle, mothers who then hurried into the temple to thank the gods for those fallen in battle. One would hardly wish such unnatural strength of mind upon mankind. A tender mother is a far more beautiful phenomenon in the moral world than an heroic, hermaphroditic creature, which spurns natural emotions to fulfill an artificial duty. ...
Universal human emotions were smothered in Sparta in a way yet more outrageous, and the soul of all duties, respect for the species, was irrevocably lost. A law made it a duty of the Spartans to treat their slaves inhumanly, and in these unfortunate victims of butchery, humanity was cursed and abused. The Spartan Book of Laws itself preached the dangerous principle, that people be considered as means, not as ends—the foundations of natural law and morality were thereby torn asunder, by law. Morality was utterly sacrificed to obtain something, which can only be valuable as a means to this morality.
Progress Ended
Can anything be more contradictory, and can any contradiction have more grievous consequences than this? Not enough, that Lycurgus founded his state on the ruin of morality; in an entirely different way, too, he worked against the highest purpose of humanity, in that, through his well thought-out system of state, he held the minds of the Spartans fast at the level where he had found them, and hemmed in all progress for eternity.
All industry was banned, all science neglected, all trade with foreign peoples forbidden, everything foreign was excluded. All channels were thereby closed, through which his nation might have obtained more enlightened ideas, for the Spartan state was intended to revolve solely around itself, in perpetual uniformity, in a sad egoism.
The business of all its citizens together, was to maintain what they possessed, and to remain as they were, not to obtain anything new, not to rise to a higher level. Unrelenting laws were to stand watch, that no innovation take grip upon the clockwork of the state, that the very progress of time change nothing in the form of the laws. To make this condition perpetual, it was necessary to hold the mind of the people at the level where they stood when the state was founded.
But we have seen, that progress of mind should be the purpose of the state.
Lycurgus's state could persist under but one condition, that the mind of the people stagnate, and he was thus only able to sustain his state by trespassing against the highest and only purpose of the state. Thus, what is cited in praise of Lycurgus, that Sparta would only flourish as long as it followed the letter of its laws, is the worst one might say about it. For the very reason, that it was not permitted to relinquish the old form of state which Lycurgus had given it, without exposing itself to its own destruction, that it had to remain what it was, that it had to stand where one single man had cast it, for that reason Sparta was an unhappy state—and its legislator could not have given it a sadder gift, than this renowned eternal longevity of a constitution, which so stood in the way of its true greatness and happiness.
If we take this together, the false glitter disappears, whereby a single outstanding feature of the Spartan state blinds an inexperienced eye: We see nothing more than a callow, imperfect attempt, the first exercise of the world at a young age, which still lacked experience and brighter insights to recognize the true relationship of things. As defective as this first attempt turned out, it will, and must, remain something noteworthy for a philosophical investigator of the history of man. It was ever a giant step of the human mind, to treat of a subject as a work of art, which up to now had been left to fortuitous consideration and passion. The first attempt in the most difficult of all arts was necessarily imperfect, but we treasure it still, because it was an attempt in the most important of all arts. Sculptors began to carve the pillars of Hermes before they rose up to the perfected form of an Antinuous, a Vatican Apollo; law-givers will exercise their attempts for yet a long time, until the happy balance of social forces ultimately comes forth to meet them of their own.
Stone suffers the work of the chisel patiently, and the strings struck by the musician answer him without resisting his finger.
It is only the legislator who works upon a material which is active and resistant of its own accord—human freedom. He can accomplish the ideal only imperfectly, however pure he may have designed it in his mind, but here the attempt alone is worthy of all praise, if it is undertaken in disinterested benevolence, and purposively accomplished.