By William Tew
Medieval Iceland is often cited by anarcho-capitalists as an example of working anarchy. Encouraging as such a pronouncement sounds, it is unfortunately undermined by even a cursory reading of actual history. The tendency to view Iceland’s past through a romantic lens plagues libertarian anarchists and scholars.
It’s telling that examples of real-world anarchism are often difficult to pinpoint, and that what cases there are often rely on dubious sources and naive interpretation. Medieval Iceland fits snugly in the long tradition of libertarian historical fudging. As is the problem of most history before the invention of the printing press, Icelandic studies rely on a very select group of documents which contain variable degrees of truth. Most of these documents fall within the genre of the saga, an Icelandic narrative tradition that emphasizes interpersonal drama and problems ordinary Icelanders would empathize with. The sagas maintain a simple, accessible style that is a mix of folk history and legend. Magic, ambiguous morality, and archetypal characters are hallmarks of the style.
While the sagas do often chronicle actual events (some corroborated explicitly by archaeology), it is difficult to extrapolate the political climate of tenth-century Iceland from the sagas. Primarily, this is because most of the sagas were written down 300 years after the events they describe. The thirteenth century was a time of political unrest in Iceland as different factions supported or opposed annexation by Norway. Ultimately, Norway gained Iceland in 1262, after a period of centralization that mirrors the situation purported to have led to Iceland’s founding. Contemporary politics filtered into the sagas and color the history throughout them.
Some chieftains of course opposed Norwegian authority on the island, but that cannot be taken as indicative of a larger, popular opposition. Like most medieval and ancient history, there is precious little that attests to the feelings of the free-farmers, sharecroppers, and slaves of Iceland. To many, Norwegian hegemony would have been no worse than the authority of local chieftains. In fact, he lot of an Icelandic peasant and a Norman serf was likely very similar. Local chieftains probably regarded Norwegian expansion as a more a threat to their own power than to any lofty ideals like independence or Icelandic solidarity.
Neither can it be said that the chieftains functioned in a crude form of social contract, or as representative, voluntary hierarchs. They maintained their positions through force, which was integral to clan society. Yes, there were lawspeakers and Things to administer justice on the island, and the polycentricity of the Icelandic legal system is probably the most interesting and fruitful aspect of medieval Iceland from a libertarian perspective, but it was not without its problems, and is hardly the utopia some theorists would like it to be.
As an essentially clan-based society, law was intended to mediate between clans so that costly feuds could be avoided. Interestingly, the sagas are replete with instances of broken pacts, disregarded or bought rulings, and even full-scale battle at the Althing. If we take the sagas to be informative of Icelandic society, the judgments of the courts obviously often failed to resolve disputes. Because the legal system was built on the clan culture and ability of the clan to vouch for and discipline its members, outsiders were unprotected by the law. Becoming an outcast meant being judged as an outsider, and was one of the harshest rulings meted out by a judge. Because he has no family, the outcast had no legal recourse if he was attacked or his possessions stolen. The individual was not a sacrosanct concept in Iceland, in fact an overtly collectivist mentality informed Icelandic jurisprudence.
So far nothing has been said about the prevalence of slavery, infanticide, rape, superstition, cruelty, or warfare in medieval Iceland. Of course, this was all very normal, and the sagas provide charming examples of heroes raping women who insult them or killing thanes for minor infractions. It wasn’t all bad in Scandinavia though: the law treated women quite well, especially when compared to continental Europe.
Medieval history is a fascinating subject, and there is plenty of material to support libertarian conceptions of justice and society, but for some reason libertarian scholars and writers continue to resort to the same tired, faulty arguments. Whether it’s medieval Iceland, ancient Ireland, or Anglo-Saxon common-law, a combination of shoddy scholarship and dogmatically selective reading produces articles and books that only diminish the strength of the libertarian position. It’s well past time to abandon such weak cases.
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