The Troubling Libertarian Fascination with the Icelandic Commonwealth

2022-05-13

I ran a Twitter Poll asking my followers what topic I should write about, and “Libertarians and Iceland” won, so here you have it! I’ll probably write about the second-place topic “How to Start a (Saint’s) Cult” sometime in the near future. If you want to possibly have influence on the direction of this blog in the future, or just know what I’m getting up to, I recommend following me on Twitter and Mastodon.

Now that that’s out of the way, let’s talk about:

A pixel-art portrait of Murray Rothbard wearing a fake viking helmet and his face painted in the colors of the Icelandic flag.

Murray Rothbard, libertarian and anarcho-capitalist theoretician. Original image from the Ludwig von Mises Institute, CC BY 3.0. Edits by me.

Iceland's Libertarian Allure

From about 930 to 1262 Iceland was independent from royal rule, with legislation and legal disputes handled through deliberative assemblies. This period and form of government is usually referred to as the “Icelandic Commonwealth” or the “Icelandic Free State”, both attempts to translate the Icelandic þjóðveldi. It is important to not take either English translation as too indicative of the state of affairs in medieval Iceland – Iceland was not quite a republic nor a democracy, but rather is in my view best described as a sort of federal oligarchy. The most important assembly in the Icelandic Commonwealth was the annual Alþing, which brought together chieftains — goðar in Old Norse — and their supporters from all quarters of Iceland. At the Alþing the Law Council — lǫgrétta — consisting of all the goðar of Iceland (each with two advisors), the two bishops of Iceland, and the Lawspeaker — lǫgsǫgumaðr — promulgated new laws, interpreted the existing laws, and deliberated exemptions for the existing laws. When voting was necessary, only the goðar had the right to vote, with the other members of the Law Council acting as advisors. The Icelandic Commonwealth also had a system of courts from the local to the national level. In the Icelandic judicial system 31 of 36 judges nominated by the goðar leading the relevant court had to vote in favour of a sentence for it to go into effect, while at the highest Fifth Court — Fimtardómr — a simple majority was enough. However, Icelandic disputes were seldom settled for good through the judicial system, with most known disputes being settled through arbitration. Regardless, it was up to the injured party to obtain redress, by force if necessary. This meant that justice relied on the private capacity for violence, and forced the poorer members of society to turn to wealthier and better connected farmers and goðar in order to both press out their claims in court as well as provide support in demanding compensation.

The libertarian fascination with the Icelandic Commonwealth and the Alþing derives mainly from the absence of a centralized state with a monopoly on violence, the justice system, and legislation. The Icelandic Commonwealth had exactly one public official — the Lawspeaker, whose job was to recite the laws of Iceland. The goðar were in principle equals and private citizens, though in practise the Icelandic system developed into an oligarchy run by and for the benefit of a handful powerful families. The goðar derived their power from being recognized as goðar by supporters from their quarter. Their goðorð — their chieftaincies — were not defined by control of a specific parcel of land, but rather from free farmers allying themselves with individual goði, exchanging support and protection for recognition of status. Free farmers were in theory free to choose which goði they were allied with, and so power was to an extent fluid and relied on consent. These are the main elements which draw libertarians and anarcho-capitalists to the Icelandic Commonwealth — a society with non-existent government and (in theory) a lack of aristocracy, where voluntary association was the cornerstone of political power. Anarcho-capitalists are further excited by the fact that the goðorð could be bought and sold like any other commodity as well as being passed on through inheritance. This idea of political power and leadership as a commodity appeals to anarcho-capitalist sensibilities of exchange as key to a stateless society, and the conception that market forces would thus make the running of society more efficient and “fairer”. The Icelandic judicial system also interests libertarians and anarcho-capitalists, who see the absence of judges as permanent civil servants as a positive, allowing for more individual control over judicial proceedings. For decades libertarians have promoted the idea of the “Icelandic Free State” as a model for organizing stateless societies in our own time. Notably, none of these libertarians are actually historians – but rather, a mix of lawyers and economists. This is our first warning that the libertarians might not know what they’re talking about.

What the Libertarians Get Wrong

Libertarians and anarcho-capitalists are fascinated with the Icelandic Commonwealth because they believe it to be an example of a functioning stateless society. As they are often hard-pressed to show historical precedent for their preferred mode of government (i.e. lack thereof) turning out well for its citizens, the Icelandic Commonwealth is one of their only potential examples, though not a very good one.

Libertarians mistakenly project their values onto medieval Icelanders. They tend to subscribe to the tradition that Iceland was settled as a result of Norwegians fleeing the tyranny of Harald Fairhair in the ninth–tenth centuries, even going so far as to claim that the settlers of Iceland held similar attitudes towards central government as “the founding fathers of the United States”. If libertarians actually studied Viking Age history (not to mention 18th century political philosophy) they wouldn’t be making such claims. The historicity of Harald Fairhair is disputed, with the earliest literary sources naming him as king of Norway originating form the 12th century. The tyranny of Harald Fairhair was a popular Icelandic founding myth, but it wasn’t the only founding myth in circulation in medieval Iceland, and not all genealogies of early Icelandic settlers make reference to Harald Fairhair. It is likely that the myth of Harald Fairhair’s tyranny reflects the political context of the 12th century more than the 10th. However, perpetuating the tradition of refugees from a tyrannical monarch is key to libertarian arguments portraying the Icelandic Commonwealth as “libertarian”, so they are likely to keep pushing it, no matter what conclusions the historians reach.

Libertarians also fixate on the Icelandic model of governance in theory as preserved in the legal compendium Grágás, hand-waving our understanding of the realities of Icelandic society near the end of the Icelandic Commonwealth in the 13th century, in a period of violent civil war known as the Age of the Sturlungs. Libertarian writers tend to emphasize the structure of the 48 goðorð of Iceland as a system which was supposed to keep any one goði or group of goðar from getting too powerful, ignoring the fact that the number of goðar in Iceland did not line up with the blueprint set out in Grágás: where in 1150 there were ~26 goðar in Iceland, already 22 fewer than in theory, in 1220 that number had been whittled down to 7 or 8. The Icelandic laws had not changed to react to the concentration of power, and why should they, as it benefited the goðar who controlled the Law Council to keep power in their own hands. Through a mix of alliances, bribery and coercion, prominent goðar were able to capture the Icelandic institutions, either buying up, inheriting or allying their way into controlling multiple goðorð, demolishing the theoretical influence free farmers had in choosing who represented them at the Alþing. When faced with this fact, libertarians tend to argue that this concentration of power was due to one of two things: the introduction of taxation in the form of the tithe, which went to goðar who maintained churches and could pocket a portion of the tithe, or that the Icelandic Commonwealth wasn’t privatized enough, as the number of goðorð was fixed in law and could only be increased by the decision of the goðar themselves and therefore becoming a goði involved a significant barrier to entry. Neither argument is convincing. The prevailing scholarly consensus is that given the high cost of maintenance for churches, the profits a goði could take home was negligible and therefore not enough to destabilize the balance of power between goðar. The surplus wealth of the most powerful goðar is understood to have come from the unpaid or undercompensated labour of the household and coerced dependents, as well as leased farmland. As for the Icelandic Commonwealth not being privatized enough, removing the institutional limits on the number of goðar would not have stopped a small number of wealthy and unscrupulous landowners from dominating Icelandic society, leading to the development of goðorð into the personal fiefdoms of a few powerful families. This is also shown in the historical record, as for much of Icelandic history there were fewer goðar than the legally defined amount. I believe anyone apart from a libertarian would suggest that the Icelandic Commonwealth’s problems derived from their institutions being too weak, not too strong.

A pixel-art meme depicting an anarcho-capitalist politics-ball wearing sunglasses and giving the thumbs up on a white background. The text above the image reads 'When your stateless society' and the text continues below the image 'devolves into warlordism'.

Libertarians and anarcho-capitalists also like to promote the idea that the Icelandic Commonwealth was a better place to live than the rest of medieval Europe. On the face of it, they are not necessarily wrong. At least in the early centuries of the Icelandic Commonwealth, average Icelanders paid fewer taxes and tithes, as well as owed fewer obligations in labour, produce or money than their continental European counterparts. Iceland was also comparatively more peaceful than continental Europe, free from the threat of external invasions or civil wars until the breakdown of the Commonwealth. It is not hard to argue that prior to the concentration of power in the hands of just a handful goðar, medieval Iceland was a freer, more peaceful and potentially wealthier place for regular people than the warlike and extractive aristocratic kingdoms of continental Europe. However, where libertarians and anarcho-capitalists in my view are mistaken is arguing that as the Icelandic absence of governing institutions was preferable to Europe’s governing institutions, governing institutions in general are bad. This requires quite a leap to conclusions, as it is far easier to argue that for most people life under medieval European monarchy was awful, and while medieval Iceland was a better place to live, most people would still prefer a society with good governance to a society with no governance. Medieval Iceland was still a ruthless society where rigid ideas of honour resulted in long-lasting and bloody feuds. While medieval Iceland may have been more peaceful than continental Europe, David Friedman has estimated the average number of people killed annually in the first half of the 13th century at roughly equivalent to the rate of murder and non-negligent manslaughter in the USA in 1979. To an American libertarian this might seem perfectly reasonable, but to a European like myself it sounds entirely undesirable. Iceland was a society in which slavery was accepted and women were marginalized, and even free farmers had next to no influence on the laws they lived by. The system worked best for a small group of wealthy men and poorly for everyone else. Unfortunately, the libertarians and anarcho-capitalists who hype up the Icelandic Commonwealth as a model for society don’t see this as a bad thing.

I’m Afraid of Libertarians

What worries me about libertarians and anarcho-capitalists who want to model society on the Icelandic Commonwealth is their disregard for the wellbeing of other people and the principle that all people in society should have a say in how things are run. The Icelandic Commonwealth was an oligarchy, and many libertarians and anarcho-capitalists endorse that. To them, an oligarchy undisturbed by government intervention, where citizens are unburdened by the need to maintain common institutions is desirable. Many libertarians such as venture-capitalist, billionaire and political activist Peter Thiel reject democracy outright, perceiving it as something that stands in the way of “freedom”. Reasonable people don’t perceive a society with slaveholding, unequal rights for men and women, and a concentration of wealth and land in the possession of a few individuals as freer than our own modern societies.

Libertarians do — and that worries me.

Libertarians on the Icelandic Commonwealth:

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