Iceland is, without overstatement, a unique civics experiment. Tens of thousands of Norse (with some Celtic slaves or thralls) occupy an empty island that's far enough away from civilization to escape from tyrannical rulers, and just hospitable enough to provide very basic sustenance. There is no need for defense against external threats at least for the first few centuries. Christianity, which was poised to take over the mainland, is not politically potent yet this far out in the ocean. People have enough land to not step on each other's toes, and even though agriculture is minimal and hardscrabble, they can raise livestock and the seafood is reasonably plentiful. Construction materials are almost non-existent. The human conflicts are internal and get violent very quickly given they were all independent-minded. How does a group of people on an island create a form of self-governance if it is not to perish within a generation?
This book details how the original Icelanders tackled this existential problem, and the author does a great job keeping it interesting, given this is not about the usual raiding and pillaging, or about the dynasties that the Vikings uprooted or founded in the four or so centuries when they shook nearly every corner of Europe. It is about the unglamorous consensus work by hard-nosed farmers hammering out a working system so they could live in relative peace in a none too bountiful natural environment. This could so easily be eye-wateringly boring, but the book succeeds in making the case that Iceland is a valuable object lesson in how people can learn to survive as a social unit without being clouded by distractions that they couldn't afford.
The farmers' answer, now called the Icelandic Free State, was not to develop a rigid power hierarchy or a religious system that curtailed independence in return for stability. The original Icelanders were certainly not an inherently peaceful folk (they were Vikings after all), so feuds were rampant, yet there seems to have been a tacit social compromise to limit the damage from such inevitable violence in order to maintain some notion of the common good. As funny as it sounds, the solution appears to have been to channel the rapacious instincts of some of the population into becoming really cut-throat lawyers! A respect for law -- even if wasn't always just -- does seem to have preserved the peace. How is this different from religion, say, which has its own commonly followed and enforced guidelines, with its sets of winners and losers? Well, the lawyering was surprisingly pragmatic, based on arguments, posturing, settlement, compensation, and not least: third parties concerned that things didn't get out of hand.
The Icelandic Free State did not -- could not -- last. The outside world inevitably barged in, as globalization was already by then our planet's destiny. Iceland's economy could not be totally self-sufficient despite the hardiness of its population, and so it accepted Christianization and submission to the Norwegian crown. Even these decisions were taken with a dispassionate legalistic soberness, choosing the lesser evil of subjugation when faced with existential threat. There was no war. They just signed legal documents on advice from counsel.
Icelandic literacy and sagas were just in time to document this human experiment for posterity. It may seem like a tragedy that it collapsed with nary a whimper within three centuries of its founding, and that too to the very forces that the pioneers were fleeing from. From one perspective, the cruel mainland reeled these brave individualists back in, relentlessly, breaking their spirit. From the modern view, however, maybe the influence the other way did eventually win out. Governance by law, rather than perfect monarchs or unquestionable religion, is, by a significant margin, the governance of choice in our era. Even kleptocracies and theocracies pay it the flattery of pretending to it. The Icelandic sagas, written just after the end of the Free State, with their mundane realism that so contrasts with the braggart epics of other cultures, may have been more influential than their authors could have conceived.