In 1647, soldiers of the New Model Army gathered at Putney Church to debate England's political future. These weren't aristocrats or landed gentry—they were common men, tanners and weavers and farmers, who had learned to stand shoulder-to-shoulder in pike formations. They demanded voting rights. Their commanders were horrified. But something had changed in these men through years of collective training and shared danger.

The connection between military drill and democratic consciousness runs deeper than most history books acknowledge. When societies began training ordinary citizens to fight as coordinated units rather than relying on noble cavalry, they accidentally created something revolutionary: people who understood their collective power.

Ancient Greece discovered this first. The hoplite phalanx—a formation of armored infantry fighting shield-to-shield—required farmers and craftsmen to train together for months. Success depended entirely on coordination. One man's cowardice could break the line and kill everyone. This mutual dependence created something unprecedented: political equality among those who fought.

Athens didn't become democratic by accident. The shift from aristocratic cavalry warfare to citizen infantry happened alongside the growth of democratic institutions. Men who risked their lives together in formation began asking uncomfortable questions. Why should nobles make decisions for us? Why should wealth determine political voice when courage and discipline determine battlefield survival?

The Romans understood this connection so well they feared it. The late Republic struggled precisely because military reforms gave common soldiers loyalty to their commanders rather than the state. Professional armies could be turned against democratic institutions. But citizen militias, bound by shared training and neighborhood ties, consistently pushed for broader political participation.

Takeaway

When ordinary people learn that their collective coordination is essential for survival, they begin to question why that coordination shouldn't extend to governance.

The military revolution of the 16th and 17th centuries transformed European society in ways its architects never intended. Maurice of Nassau, the Dutch military reformer, introduced standardized drill that broke warfare into simple, repeatable motions. Any man could be trained. Noble birth became irrelevant on a musket line.

This was genuinely radical. Medieval warfare celebrated individual prowess—the knight's personal courage, the noble's martial training from childhood. But pike squares and volley fire rewarded discipline over bravery, uniformity over individual skill. A peasant who could follow orders precisely was more valuable than a noble who couldn't.

Merit-based promotion emerged from military necessity. Armies that promoted competent commoners over incompetent aristocrats won battles. The Swedish army under Gustavus Adolphus pioneered systematic advancement based on ability. Officers rose through demonstrated skill. This challenged the entire social order—if common men could command in war, why not in peace?

Takeaway

Standardized military training was perhaps history's first large-scale demonstration that ordinary people, properly organized, could match or exceed the capabilities of privileged elites.

The skills military drill taught transferred directly to political organization. Men who learned to march in formation, respond to commands, and subordinate individual impulse to collective action had acquired something valuable: the ability to act together. This capacity for coordinated collective action is the foundation of democratic politics.

Revolutionary movements drew heavily on military veterans. The American Revolution was organized by men who had served together, who understood logistics and coordination, who could mobilize and discipline volunteers. The same was true of the French Revolution's citizen armies. Training created capacity—not just for violence, but for sustained political action.

There's an irony here that shouldn't be overlooked. Military discipline demands obedience; democracy demands participation. Yet the habits of collective action, the experience of working toward shared goals, the understanding that individual sacrifice serves common good—these transfer from battlefield to ballot box. Soldiers who learned to trust their comrades with their lives often became citizens who trusted collective decision-making with their futures.

Takeaway

Democracy requires citizens capable of coordinated collective action—and for most of human history, military training was the primary institution that taught ordinary people this capability.

The connection between military service and democratic rights wasn't accidental or metaphorical—it was causal. Societies that armed and trained their common citizens consistently faced pressure to extend political participation. Those citizens had learned something dangerous: that their collective action mattered, that coordination could achieve what individual effort could not.

This history carries uncomfortable implications. Modern democracies have largely severed the link between military service and citizenship. Whether that's progress or loss depends on whether we've found other institutions capable of teaching the same lessons about collective power and shared responsibility.