Trade, without doubt, is in its nature a pernicious thing; it brings in that wealth which introduces luxury; it gives rise to fraud and avarice, and extinguishes virtue and simplicity of manners; it depraves a people, and makes way for that corruption which never fails to end slavery, foreign or domestic. Lycurgus, in the most perfect model of government that was ever framed, did banish it from his commonwealth.
- Charles Davenant, "Essay Upon The Probable Methods Of Making People Gainers In The Balance Of Trade" 1699
If you’ve been following my series How To Think About Capitalism, then you know that last week we explored the interaction between the Christian intellectual tradition and capitalism.
This week, we will do the same for the tradition of civic republicanism. That is, we will examine how the great thinkers from Classical Greece, Rome, and Renaissance Florence thought about commerce, trade, and profit.
As I have already intimated — these thinkers will not have much to say in the way of “positive affirmations.”
Today, we’ll try to understand why so many of them felt trade, commerce, and money-making were to be treated with suspicion.
What Is Civic Republicanism?
First, let’s get clear on what we mean by “civic republicanism.”
It’s the (mostly) political tradition which began in Greece in the 5th century BC, continued in Rome, was revitalized in the Italian Renaissance, and which finally inspired the American form of government — and subsequently most of the Western world.
“Republic” refers to the fact that these city-states were self-governing polities. It comes from the Latin Res Publica which means “public things.”
Aristotle gave us the idea of a Republic — he believed an ideal government was one in which all citizens took an interest in how they were governed.
By citizen, Aristotle meant landowner. A man whose estate was essentially self-sufficient — that is his land was farmed by slaves, and he did not have to work to live.
These landowners should form the backbone of a good government, which — according to Aristotle — should ideally combine elements of a monarchy, an aristocracy, and a democracy (e.g. a president, a senate, and a house of representatives).
The Big Problem For Civic Republicanism
The big concern for this tradition was how to maintain its society — i.e. how not to be conquered by other nations.
The answer to this problem was explored in great detail by Aristotle and Plato, as well as later thinkers like Machiavelli (which we have already explored here).
The principal answer came in the form of ensuring that society had a “virtuous” population.
But what did it mean to be virtuous? Before the Christian Church co-opted the word to mean things like chaste, generous, humble, or kind, virtue meant something quite different.
Virtue was understood as a personal devotion to the State, in contrast to the Christians who saw virtue as devotion to God.
When John F. Kennedy said, “Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country,” he was unwittingly — or perhaps wittingly — participating in this tradition.
And what were you supposed to do for your country, if you were a citizen? There were two things above all.
First of all, you had to be prepared to fight for it, and second, you had to take a role in governing it.
You had to be prepared to fight for it because these city-states were often at war with other city-states, and defeat meant the end of self-government for your city.
More interesting than the fact that citizens had to fight for their country, was the radical fact that they actually got to govern it.
The Greeks felt that if you were so lucky as to be one of those wealthy landowners, it likely meant you knew how to manage your affairs well — at least to some extent.
Aristotle thought the skills involved in managing your estate would translate nicely into the skills for managing a state — a science he called economics (from the Greek word for estate).
For the civic republican tradition, therefore, the virtuous citizen was a man who did not have to concern himself with day-to-day finances, because his household was making him a living, almost on auto-pilot.
Indeed, that’s what the word economics originally meant — the science of a self-sufficient household.
Since the free citizen was free of daily economic concerns, it was imperative that he develop the virtuous character by devoting himself to the polity.
These “virtuous” citizens formed the ruling class of Aristotle’s republic, and this idea became known as the aristocracy (i.e. the rule of the excellent, or the rule of the virtuous, from the Greek word for virtue — αρετή or areté).
But that meant that virtue was only possible for those who didn’t have to work to make a living — because others were making it for them.
We already see a tension, therefore, between the cultural tradition surrounding “virtue” and the idea of gaining riches through commerce.
Corruption
The great fear within the civic republican tradition was corruption—that people would use their government positions to enrich themselves as individuals rather than looking out for the welfare of the city.
Corruption could lead to the decline of the city. So citizens of the city had to be economically independent, and citizens who used their votes, or their government positions, to enrich themselves were seen as corrupt.
The Greeks felt that an aristocracy, where the ruling class did not have to worry about getting rich, had less of a chance to become corrupt and would be more concerned with managing the state.
The civic republican tradition was also very suspicious of those who actually made their livelihood from trade, as opposed to farming on the land or owning slaves who farmed the land.
As Aristotle put it,
“In the city that is most finely governed, the citizens should not live a vulgar or a merchant’s way of life, for this sort of [way of] life is ignoble and contrary to virtue.”
Aristotle’s Argument
Why was Aristotle so suspicious of commerce?
Because he argued the pursuit of money has no “obvious natural end to it.” It has no stopping point, and it tends toward excess.
If you read last week’s article, then you will remember that Thomas Aquinas made this argument in the Middle Ages. He, of course, was building off of Aristotle’s argument.
Here’s Aristotle’’s original reasoning —
If you were a farmer, or owned an estate, then you knew how much money you needed to feed, clothe, and support your family, your servants, and your slaves in the traditional manner, and you would produce enough to try to do that.
In such a situation, money existed as a means to provide for a known, limited, traditional standard of living. But if you were a merchant who supported himself by making money through buying and selling, how would you know when you had enough?
Aristotle thought that the pursuit of wealth lacks any intrinsic limit — and it is thus prone to excess. He thought this tendency to excess applied to everyone, but in particular merchants were especially subject to this problem — a problem that he called pleonexia, or greed.
It is also important to note that the thinkers of the civic republican tradition, just like the Christian Church, felt that the riches of the world were essentially fixed.
The Greeks therefore saw a merchant as a kind of tax-collector — namely, merchants stole money from others.
So the civic republican tradition looked down on those who made a living through trade, but it was also wary of the political effects of commerce, as we will see now.
Merchants Getting in The Way — Back to Machiavelli
If you read my article some time ago on Machiavelli, then it will be obvious to you that Machiavelli is one of the great thinkers of the civic republican tradition.
If you haven’t read my article on Machiavelli, then know that you’ve greatly hurt my feelings and you should go do so now — I thought we were friends!!!
Great, now that we’re all on the same page, you will remember from my article that Machiavelli had a big problem — he had a very wealthy city, and no military to defend it.
It was, as I mentioned, the perennial problem for the civic republican tradition. Civic virtue entailed devoting oneself to the defense of the city.
The problem Machiaveli faced, if you recall, was that Florence was a relatively great commercial city at the time, and that meant most people were fat bankers or breadmakers — not usually the stuff from which great armies are cut.
You’ll remember that Machiavelli used Aristotle’s philosophy that a citizen army is a greater fighting force than a mercenary army — because people fight more fiercely for things they own than for things they don’t.
But Aristotle lived at a time when citizens labored on farms for most of their life — in other words, they did the kind of work that could reasonably translate to war.
In Machiavelli’s day, a baker or shoe maker who made a fortune selling his trinkets could hardly be expected to pick up a spear against a professional fighting force.
And of course, Machaivelli failed miserably to defend Florence from its enemies, which resulted in the end of the city’s independence and liberty.
As we’ve seen, Machiavelli was therefore very suspicious of the political effects of commerce and trade, because it resulted in a weak society that could not defend itself.
Merchants became a kind of nuisance for the virtuous society. They “get in the way” of virtue and strength. For this reason as well, Machiavelli along with his compatriots in the civic tradition, looked at commerce with a scornful eye.
Conclusion
Whereas the Christian tradition viewed commerce as the fountainhead of greed and avarice, the civic republican tradition viewed it as the mother of weakness, corruption, and self-interest.
Both traditions shared a fundamental idea about society — the state is supposed to guide its citizens toward the ultimate good, to the virtuous life.
For the Christians, that ultimate good was found in a society centered around Jesus Christ. For the civic republican tradition, the ultimate good is the communal identity of the state.
So, before the 17th century, the two greatest intellectual traditions in Western Europe looked at proto-capitalist markets in typically suspicious ways, often believing merchants were dishonest parasites.
What changed then? Did Adam Smith simply walk onto the stage unannounced to herald the dawn of a new age of industry and wealth-loving capitalists?
Surely not.
What happened was, in some sense, what always happens — we started killing each other too much.
When war becomes unbearable, it can open the gateway to henceforth unacceptable ideas. The gateway to capitalism was opened in the 17th century by an unlikely ally.
Next week, we will examine how modern day capitalism — so often labeled an anti-state “free market” philosophy — got its start in bed with one of authoritarianism’s foremost champions.
Great stories often have the strangest beginnings.
Until next time, and as always, thanks for reading.
Further Reading
The Mind and The Market: Capitalism in Western Thought by Jerry Muller (Beginner Friendly)
Politics by Aristotle (Intermediate)
The Machiavellian Moment by J.G.A. Pocock (Advanced)
Republics Ancient and Modern: Classical Republicanism and The American Revolution (Book I) by Paul Rahe (Advanced)
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