By the 7th century BCE, the Greek city-state of Athens was being torn apart by civil unrest. The lower classes accused the wealthy of abusing their wealth, position and influence. The elites accused the poor of degeneracy and criminality. Both sides demanded that the Athenian government address the situation.
In desperation, the Athenian council appointed one man to address the problem, granting him virtually unlimited powers to do so. His name was Draco, and for 2,600 years humanity has remembered him with a shudder.
The contemporaneous record is thin. Much of what we know about Draco comes from commentators writing centuries later. Did he really impose the death penalty for offenses as trivial as idleness, or is that a first-century CE urban legend? There's no good way to know. But, by its continued existence, the word "draconian" reveals a fundamental truth about human nature: we hate and mistrust that which we find disproportionate or excessively burdensome.
There's little reason to believe that Draco was cruel or sadistic. Seemingly, he truly believed that inordinately harsh punishments were the most effective way to restore law and order to Athens. By the standards of contemporary academia, which regards trustworthiness as a function of competence, reliability, and honesty, Draco should have been trusted by all: he did exactly what he said he would do. But, viscerally, we know that's not what happened. Trust cannot coexist with disproportionality.
Why does this matter? Because trust is the connective tissue of human civilization. From friendships and families to bank loans and municipal services, systems only work to the extent that the participants have confidence in them.
The dominant academic models suggest that the key criteria for trustworthiness are ability, benevolence, and integrity - ABI for short (Mayer, Davis & Schoorman) - or honesty, competence, and reliability (Onora O’Neill).
There are two main problems with these models. One is that “benevolence” may be desirable in interpersonal relationships, but not in institutional ones. You might hope that your spouse wants to help you and do nice things for you, but would probably prefer that your banker did not. Or, perhaps more to the point, you would definitely prefer that your local police officer and magistrate not feel benevolently toward the person who made a false allegation against you. Benevolence implies partiality and affection - qualities that are incompatible with systems that are intended to be impartial and dispassionate.
The other problem is that - as Draco’s linguistic legacy proves - it’s possible for a person or an institution to be honest, competent, reliable, and even well-intentioned, but also be unsustainably demanding, critical, and punitive.
For a recent example, consider Ferguson, Missouri. In 2015 the Department of Justice found that Ferguson’s municipal court system intentionally “generated revenue” by imposing harsh (i.e., “draconian”) penalties on its lower-income residents. In just one example, a woman received two tickets totaling $151 for one parking violation. Because she was unable to pay it in full, that one infraction spawned a cascade of fees and penalties, ultimately resulting in the woman being arrested twice, serving six days in jail, paying $550, and still owing the city $541 at the time the DOJ report was written.
In that case, and many others, even if the fines, penalties, and warrants had been implemented competently, reliably, and honestly, the punishments were so disproportionate to the offenses that Ferguson was torn apart by widespread rage and a complete loss of confidence in the community’s leadership.
Disproportionality doesn’t just undermine confidence in institutions, it can be fatal to personal relationships as well. Drs. John and Julie Gottman have compiled decades of research showing that criticism and contempt are two of the “four horsemen” that reliably predict the failure of a marriage. Notably, these behaviors can be displayed by partners who are, by conventional standards, perfectly trustworthy. He picks up the kids, takes out the trash, and pays the bills, but he habitually points out his wife’s every flaw and shortcoming; she has a job and manages the household impeccably, but she often shames him by recounting all the mistakes he has made over the years. Even in the absence of infidelity, financial misconduct, or abuse, those partners will find it difficult to trust each other.
At every level of human relations, from household to international, mutually-agreeable proportionality is essential. If, as in Athens under Draco, idleness is considered a capital offense, it is unlikely that the citizens will trust the government. If, as in Ferguson, the courts enforce ruinous judgments on people who can least afford them, there will be no trust in the justice system. If, as with the Gottmans’ horsemen, your partner’s responses or expectations feel unreasonable, the relationship will be difficult to maintain.
In short, it’s widely acknowledged that to feel trust we need to believe that the other party can and will do what they say; but we also need to feel that their responses will be reasonable. Capability is important, but so is proportionality. At the institutional level, the punishment should fit the crime; at the personal level, the expectations should be sustainable for the relationship. If your auto insurance company raises your premiums by $2,000 because you got a minor traffic ticket, that policy - reliably and competently executed though it may be - is going to erode your trust in the insurance company. If your partner responds to a misplaced utensil as though the house had been set ablaze, that behavior - even though it may be rooted in a desire to keep the home neat and tidy - is corrosive to a sense of trust.
Scholars are not wrong to focus on the three traditional criteria of trustworthiness, but their rubric is incomplete. From Draco to the Gottmans, the fourth criterion - proportionality - becomes obvious once it’s pointed out.
We all want to be perceived as trustworthy, and we want to associate with others whom we can trust. When trust is eroding or absent, even though nobody is lying, failing, or negligent, it’s time to consider burdens and consequences. Is the penalty excessive? Are small mistakes treated as though they were big ones? If so, you’ve discovered why Draco’s name - synonymous with disproportionality - has not been remembered kindly by history.
This essay introduced a fourth element of trust that mainstream scholarship has overlooked, but there’s more to say about the other three. An overview of the complete model is coming up next.