Last week, I stumbled upon an engaging and thought-provoking blog post employing a series of nautical metaphors to analyze the different approaches people take to drive positive change in the world. It introduces the idea by stating, “Imagine the world as a ship.” It then outlines five distinct methods by which individuals might contribute to improving life aboard this metaphorical vessel.
My initial reaction to this framework was one of appreciation; I found merit in all five strategies (except perhaps anchoring, as it isn’t something I typically engage in). However, as I reflected further, I was reminded of a section from a book by Steven Johnson, Enemy of All Mankind, where he discusses social change through the lens of maritime history rather than as a metaphor. Peter Leeson’s The Invisible Hook delves into similar themes and is an excellent read on the subject. Intriguingly, these historical insights also relate to a discussion I had a few weeks ago with Joseph P. Chacko about emerging governance models in the crypto world.
Enemy of All Mankind recounts the story of Henry Every, a 17th-century pirate who orchestrated one of history’s most infamous heists. In 1695, he and his crew attacked an Indian treasure ship, committing both massive theft and horrific sexual violence. Their actions led to the first global manhunt. However, beyond the crime itself, the book also explores how pirates became working-class icons in England and the American colonies, largely due to their depiction in the emerging tabloid press of the time. Part of the widespread appeal of pirates stemmed from the classic rags-to-riches narrative, a rare glimmer of social mobility in an era of rigid class structures. But another key factor was their adoption of governance and wealth-sharing models that were quite radical for the time.
Despite their reputation as outlaws, pirates often adhered to well-structured agreements that governed their financial and political interactions. Before setting sail, crews would draft “Articles of Agreement” that outlined the rules of engagement, decision-making processes, and methods of wealth distribution. This system was notably different from that of mainstream economic entities such as the East India Company.
One of the most revolutionary aspects of pirate governance was the equitable division of loot. Much like early joint-stock corporations, pirate crews functioned as shareholders in their own enterprises. However, while corporate executives today often earn hundreds of times the salary of an average worker, pirate compensation was far more balanced. In contrast, Royal Navy captains and officers in Every’s era could earn ten times what a common sailor made, while merchant vessel pay scales ranged from five to one. Pirates, however, had a far flatter system.
For instance, on Edward Low’s ship in the 18th century, the agreed-upon pay structure dictated that the captain would receive two shares, the master one and a half, while the doctor, mate, gunner, and boatswain each received one and a quarter. Each member of the crew received a full share. Henry Every and his men kept it even simpler: two shares for Every and one for every crew member.
Yet these agreements extended beyond mere profit-sharing. Four pirate articles from the 18th century have survived, shedding light on both the daily lives and governance structures aboard these vessels. Bartholomew Roberts’ ship articles, composed in the early 1720s, provide a fascinating glimpse into pirate law. While some rules may seem outdated, such as those governing dueling or prohibiting candlelight after 8 p.m., others were strikingly progressive.
Consider the opening line of Roberts’ articles: “Every man shall have an equal vote in the affairs of the moment.” This principle of democracy emerged nearly a century before the American and French Revolutions. Unlike naval or merchant ships, where captains wielded near-absolute authority, pirate captains served at the will of their crews and could be deposed if they lost popular support.
The governance model also included a separation of powers reminiscent of the U.S. Constitution. While captains held supreme authority during battle and set the ship’s general course, the quartermaster handled most daily decisions and financial matters. If the captain was akin to an elected president or CEO, the quartermaster functioned as a blend of judiciary and chief financial officer. He determined punishments, ensured fair loot distribution, and even oversaw an early form of disability insurance, compensating crew members for battle injuries.
This sophisticated governance model—democratic elections, checks on power, equitable pay, and social insurance—meant that pirate ships functioned as floating democracies ahead of their time. While European powers were developing early multinational corporations with rigid hierarchies, pirates were exploring alternative economic systems akin to worker cooperatives.
Modern historians have reevaluated piracy’s role, viewing pirates not just as criminals but also as radical political pioneers. As maritime historian J.S. Bromley noted, pirates weren’t merely escaping oppression; they actively practiced ideals of liberty, equality, and fraternity, concepts that were still mere aspirations for most people of the era.
Much of this innovation stemmed from the ocean’s harsh environment, which forced constant adaptation. The Age of Exploration necessitated not just technological advancements like improved navigation and shipbuilding but also new political structures.
This historical precedent indicates that innovative governance and economic models frequently arise from unexpected locations. Just as extreme maritime conditions fostered pirate democracy, today’s experimental platforms, such as Web3 and DAOs, may be incubating the next revolution in governance. Despite the scams and controversies that plague the crypto space, it remains an arena of active experimentation.
Just as early pirate governance was once considered a fringe phenomenon, many people dismiss these emerging ideas outright. But history teaches us that transformative ideas often take root in unconventional settings. Perhaps the next major governance breakthrough is happening right now in an online game world or an obscure digital community. If the past is any indication, these ideas will initially seem strange or even laughable, until they reshape the world as we know it.
As a maritime analyst, I find it both fascinating and instructive to study these historical models. They remind us that governance, whether aboard a pirate ship or within a multinational corporation, is ultimately about balancing power, ensuring fairness, and adapting to the realities of an ever-changing world. Perhaps the next wave of governance innovation will come not from legislatures or boardrooms, but from places that seem, at first glance, as improbable as the decks of 17th-century pirate vessels.