By Joey Lewis
CONTENT WARNING FOR MENTIONS OF PRISON AND SLAVERY.
Long ago, Prometheus stole fire from the gods and gave it to mortals, and that changed the world forever. Now, let’s put aside the morality of Prometheus’ actions, and step into Zeus’ sandals for a moment. If you’re Zeus, you’re very unhappy. Your so-called ally just disrespected your authority, stole your stuff, and gave it to someone else. He was already quick to betray the Titans, your old enemy. Will he betray you as well? Topple everything that you and your family fought so hard to achieve? You decide Prometheus cannot be trusted; he’s a dangerous liability.
So you bind him with indestructible chains, lashed to a stone on a mountaintop indefinitely. At this point, you’ve already won—Prometheus won’t be stealing anything for as long as he’s chained up there. You can simply walk away, move on. To live in the world that traitor created, and accept it.
Instead, you send an eagle to eat his liver every day for all of eternity. You give him a fate of endless suffering. Why?
Perhaps you wanted to send a message, and because titans can’t be killed, this is your next best option. But maybe it’s more personal…
Humans have been writing of revenge for as long as we’ve been telling stories. This is because revenge does happen, but also because it’s comforting. Humans have an inherent sense of justice, no matter how misguided, we often act upon it. Create systems of arbitration. Build prisons. Hold executions.
And then we go further—weave justice into the very fabric of the universe, or at least the universe as we see it. Heaven and Hell, Elysium and Tartarus, Svarga and Naraka. Or my personal favorite, Anubis, who would weigh your heart against a feather. If it was heavy with sin, he’d feed it to Ammit. No matter the religion, death is no escape from justice.
The systems and mythologies of justice are, in my view, products of fear. Specifically, the greatest fear is to be at the mercy of someone or something else. That great harm can come to you, and not only would you be powerless to stop it, but the perpetrators could live happily ever after. That no consequences would ring out across their lives, as if your suffering was a meaningless chapter in their story. To be robbed of your agency, even in death.
The gallows aren’t just a deterrent, but an equalizer. Come and see the execution, today at noon! We shall gather in the town square, and jeer at the man whose every step is undercut with the clack of shackles, whose red and tear-stricken face is framed by the noose. And when the lever is pulled, we shall rejoice in the flailing of feet, in the purpling of face, and every killer and rapist and heretic shall be assured that their fate will be the same.
Of course, due to developments in social scientific understanding, views on crime are far less unilateral. Social instability, addiction, lack of opportunities—crime is looking increasingly to be an issue of policymaking rather than individual moral failings. I don’t want to shift all the blame away from individuals, but the range of decisions a person is willing or able to do is greatly influenced by their circumstances. And let’s not forget that the justice system is one of those circumstances; the fear of punishment is a deterrent. No matter how humane it is, nobody wants to go to prison.
Yet I’ve seen people argue otherwise. Some people believe that some would kill a family of five for a lifetime of room and board at a Norwegian prison, which is a statement of either the terminally insane or the terminally online. Regardless, these types of arguments are the justifications of those who defend America’s current prison system and the death penalty; That the greatest defense against crime is not to empower, but to instill fear.
I can’t help but think that there might be another motivation slinking just beneath the surface. To celebrate the violence of prison gangs, the retribution of damnation, all “because they deserved it” is nothing but an emotional indulgence. Occasionally I’ll see a news article about some murderer released or paroled, and people will comment something along the lines of “I can’t believe he only got twenty years.” Instead of asking “Has he paid for what he’s done,” why don’t they ask “Will he kill again?”
Justice is a social technology, and this is its ultimate, material purpose: To prevent violence. Not just physical violence, but psychological violence, such as harassment, or financial violence, such as burglary. The US prison system, with its abysmal recidivism rates, is not optimized for this. Prisoners should have adequate shelter and nutrition, should be protected from inter-inmate violence, and should receive education, counseling, and psychiatric help as needed. If someone is set to eventually be released from prison, then they should be released as a better person, one who will not want or need to commit any violence for the rest of their life.
Instead, prisons are intended to be punishment. And to some, punishment of the wicked is righteous in itself. These people find the conditions of a Norwegian prison appalling. “Why should they get anything? They had their chance, now they must pay.” And the owners of private prisons nod along in agreement as they profit from the labor of convicts and grow fat on livers. “It’s fine if they work for pennies on the dollar. It’s what they deserve.”
Deserve. That’s an interesting word. Who among us can say what someone deserves as a consequence of wrongdoing? It might seem simple, and sometimes, it is. Mishandle a gun, and you lose your gun. Commit a DUI, and you get a license suspension. What’s the commonality here? Prevention. Yes, there are punishments—fines and short prison sentences to deter. But the main goal should be preventing the perpetrator from making the same mistake by teaching them an important lesson, revoking privileges, or both.
But is being sent to prison not the ultimate revokement of privilege? The privilege of freedom, of adequate food and security of your person? The privilege of social company? Of freedom from slavery? Yes, and it’s all a gross violation of rights. It’s not uncommon for people to be wrongfully convicted, but that’s not my concern here. A murderer is just as harmless in a Norwegian prison cell as they are in an American one (assuming the prison guards are doing their job properly). Why go the extra mile? Why send an eagle when they’re already chained?
Especially because sometimes, the guilty don’t stay guilty and the innocent don’t stay innocent. Stealing fire from the gods can be illegal one day, then universally praised the next. There was a time when you could get ten years for possessing marijuana. These days, it’s legal in 24 states. Or it used to be legal to kill, as long as the victim was your slave. Marital rape only became illegal in 1993, and homosexuality was legalized in 2003.
How can anyone decide on an adequate punishment for a crime if we can’t consistently define or quantify evil? How can we weigh the hearts of mortals if we are mortals?
Yet people still clamor to play the role of Anubis. I see this in conservative-minded people, but also the more progressive. There is a feeling as of late, something that doesn’t have to be said, because you can feel it. In the weather. In your paycheck. In the eyes of the youth. We are all living through a great injustice, and no matter your exact political affiliation, most blame the rich and powerful as the cause. Not wrongly so.
And these contemporary revolutionaries call for the guillotine. Can they not foresee? Is it too dark there, in the shadow of Robespierre? Liberation does not mean vengeance, it means taking power away from those who use it to hurt others. It means getting everyone to rethink how we as a society distribute power, about how we make decisions. It means collective action and mass public pressure, civil disobedience, and new systems to iterate on the old. It might also mean bloodshed, but pray it does not. Violent revolution is only for those who are backed into a corner. If a civil war comes, then I suggest you get a head start and begin mourning the dead. It won’t be the glorious revolution you may imagine.
I’d like to end this by telling another myth—a contemporary one. I need not name an example, for it is so common that you likely already know it. It tells of a hero who suffered a great injustice and went on a quest for revenge. In doing so, they caused great harm to others and themselves. Blood is shed, and the injustice is not undone. It can never be undone. The hero realized that their quest wasn’t driven by a desire to save others from the same injustice, but to hurt others, because the hero was in pain. And so, in the end, the hero chose to better the world—to liberate, not avenge.