Sparta's War Culture, Helots, and Resistance to Change

Introduction

Sparta was historically reluctant to accept other cultures, military tactics, and forms of government that might otherwise have helped it. There have been several studies on Sparta, and many writers concern themselves more with Spartan institutions than with a chronological historical narrative (Andrewes, 1954). Sparta's unique social structure and military organization have also aroused the interest of scholars who choose to interpret its history through a particular ideological or philosophical lens.

The more prominent features of Spartan society to emerge from these studies are its war culture, the institution of slavery, a rigid and harsh way of life, and a deep resistance to change. The following discussion examines each of these aspects in turn before considering why Sparta was so reluctant to accept outside cultures.

Sparta and War

The Spartans lived to fight, and they fought to live. The state structure relieved citizens of the burdens and cares of everyday life; in exchange, they devoted themselves to the ruthless pursuit of a military excellence that defined the state and thereby themselves. The most notorious product of this arrangement was the institution of the helots (Saunders, 2004).

To prevent backsliding, "Lycurgus banned all free men from the pursuit of wealth, and prescribed that their sole concern should be with the things that make cities free" (Figueira, 2004, p. 345). Spartans literally had no outside interests or pursuits. They existed for Sparta, and the system was structured so that this was never forgotten. Those who lived up to these aspirations were treated as heroes. Those who shirked their duties — especially those unfortunate enough to display some sign of cowardice — died a horrible social death. So terrible was this fate that Xenophon finds it unsurprising "that death is preferred there to a life of such dishonor and disgrace" (Figueira, 2004, p. 330).

Seen through this mirror, Sparta became a reflection of humanity at its worst. Ehrenberg's Sparta is the one we now most commonly imagine: a society of "warlike conquerors, masters and oppressors." A people who practiced a crude, primitive form of eugenics in deciding which newborn children would live and which would die. A nation that designed a system of education "which forbade the slightest appearance of individuality and personality," so that it could inculcate into every male and female citizen the idea that their "ultimate duty . . . was to be prepared to die for Sparta." Here was no genuine heroism, but only that "dictated by obedience, tradition and — fear." Shunning trade and all productive labor as beneath them, they disdained even minimal contact with outsiders, cultivating "the strongest possible isolation of life and mind." Nothing mattered to them save the state.

Spartan Marriage

Spartan marriage existed solely for procreation (Rahe, 1994). This was not made easy for young couples. They were forbidden to be seen together, as it was utterly shameful for a man to be seen coming or going to his bride's quarters. Instead, he would come and go surreptitiously. The same stealth that helped him steal his meals as a boy now helped him steal into his own home to sleep with his bride. This practice reinforced the martial discipline required of every Spartan; it also made both partners more eager for intimacy, the belief being that a child conceived under such circumstances would be stronger than one conceived through what Xenophon calls the "unlimited sex" of newlyweds. Thanks to this practice, it was not uncommon for a man to already have several children before he saw his wife in daylight for the first time (Figueira, 2004).

Since the production of children was paramount, Lycurgus eliminated the traditional taboos on adultery and positively encouraged wife-swapping. If an impotent older Spartan with a young wife could not impregnate her, he could take aside a younger man he thought well of and lend her to him "so as to fill her with noble sperm." Conversely, if a man admired another's wife and saw that she had produced "lovely children," he could ask "her husband's permission to sleep with her — thereby planting in fruitful soil" and producing more fine future Spartans (Levi, 1971).

Conclusion

The Spartan system was designed never to alter. It would neither wax nor wane, nor ever change its fundamental character. No one could enter, and no one could leave. Its purpose, above all else, was to perpetuate itself — and this it did, but at the price of its enduring viability. It might have been preserved by opening up and recruiting new members to replace the old, but then it would no longer have been the same system. It would have changed.

Sparta's demise is a classic case of means being not only contradictory but antithetical to ends. The rigid, inflexible nature of the Lycurgan system meant that it could not be preserved from without by incorporating new members, nor from within by altering its terms enough to prevent suffocation. It became a living relic — a nightmare for itself and its neighbors, and especially for the vast subject populations used as the glue holding it together. The Lycurgan constitution was very successful in meeting its primary goal — its own preservation — but only at the price of those who would keep it alive. Consequently, it wound up a form without any substance, a mirage without any Spartans.

All of this was a consequence of Sparta's fear of everything, but especially of the future. At some basic level, the desire to perpetuate one's society and way of life must be animated by the belief that it will be inherited — and should be inherited — and that there are heirs to receive it. Yet children are never their fathers, and what one generation bequeaths is never the same as what the next receives. This reality terrified the Spartans, who did everything in their power to make their children just like themselves. Even that was not enough. Children are different, and one day they shall inherit the Earth. One day they would inherit the Sparta of their fathers, and this would be their greatest blessing; one day they would inherit the Sparta of their fathers, and this would be their greatest curse. We arrive at the essential paradox of Sparta: that it descended exactly as it had been conceived and instituted was its greatest triumph; that it descended at all, its greatest betrayal. The system designed to prevent change from ever occurring could only survive if it did. So the Spartans came to fear their own future — which is to say they came to fear their own children. This fear seeped into everything, until one day Sparta's fear of the future left her without one.

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