We are living in the last throes of frictional fiat money (don't make a mistake, this will take time even if fiatlandia looks increasingly chaotic and uncontrolled), a system that is inherently unstable. The money supply is essentially determined by the credit creation process and it generates immense boom and bust cycles because the state has sovereignty over the creation of money. In antiquity, a kind of full money system was operated, the state brought precious metals, minted in coins, into circulation primarily through its military disbursements. Let's take a look at the most important source of money creation in ancient Greece, the Laurion silver mine in Attica.

In the rugged hills of southeastern Attica, not far from the shimmering waters of the Aegean Sea that attract millions of tourists every year, lies a place that quietly shaped the fortunes of ancient Greece: the Laurion silver mines. Known in antiquity as Laureion, this network of underground tunnels and surface workings yielded a treasure more precious than gold (at least in the eyes of ancient kings and conquerers): silver. It was easy to coin and it fueled ancient economies, built navies, and altered the course of history. From its discovery in the mists of prehistory to its role in the rise and fall of Athens, Laurion’s story is one of human ingenuity, exploitation, and the enduring power of natural resources.

The origins of mining at Laurion stretch back evrn into the Bronze Age, around 3000 BCE, when early inhabitants of the region began exploiting its rich deposits of lead and silver. These metals, locked within the earth’s crust in the form of galena (lead sulfide), were first extracted on a small scale. Archaeological evidencelike tools, slag heaps, and primitive smelting sites suggests that the Mycenaeans and other early peoples valued Laurion’s output, though their efforts were modest compared to what would come later. It wasn’t until the Archaic period, around the 7th century BCE, that the mines began to reveal their true potential, setting the stage for their starring role in Greek history.

By the 5th century BCE, Laurion had become a cornerstone of Athenian power. The turning point came in 483 BCE, when a rich new vein of silver was discovered. Themistocles, the shrewd Athenian statesman, argued that the silver should fund a massive naval expansion—200 triremes, the sleek warships that dominated ancient seas—rather than be distributed among citizens as a dividend (a kind if ancient stimmy check). His vision prevailed, and the fleet that emerged from Laurion’s riches proved decisive at the Battle of Salamis in 480 BCE, where the Greeks crushed the Persian navy and turned the tide of the Greco-Persian Wars. Without Laurion’s silver, Athens might never have risen to its golden age.

The mines themselves were a marvel of ancient engineering, but they were also a grim testament to human suffering. Stretching across 200 square kilometers, the Laurion region contained thousands of shafts and galleries, some plunging 100 meters into the earth. Miners, many of them slaves from conquered regions, toiled in brutal conditions—cramped, dark tunnels lit only by flickering oil lamps, with air thick with dust and the constant threat of collapse. The Greek historian Xenophon described the workforce as a mix of slaves, leased by wealthy Athenians, and poorer citizens eking out a living. Estimates suggest that at its peak, 10,000 to 20,000 workers labored in Laurion, their sweat and blood transforming ore into the gleaming drachma coins that became a symbol of Athenian wealth.

Economically, Laurion was a juggernaut. The silver extracted there underpinned Athens’ monetary system, with the famous “owl” tetradrachm—stamped with Athena’s owl—circulating as a trusted currency across the Mediterranean. Don't trust, verify wasn't really invented yet... This wealth funded not only warships but also the Parthenon (a large part was simply robbed by Athenian 'partners' though), the cultural flourishing of the Periclean age, and Athens’ imperial ambitions. At its height, Laurion produced up to 20 tons of silver annually, a staggering output for the time.

Yet this prosperity came at a cost. The mines’ reliance on slave labor entrenched social inequalities, while overexploitation gradually depleted the richest veins, foreshadowing challenges to come. The significance of Laurion extended beyond Athens. Its silver flowed into trade networks, linking Greece to the wider ancient world—Persia, Egypt, and the burgeoning city-states of Magna Graecia. The mines also spurred technological advances, from improved smelting techniques to the use of water channels for washing ore. These innovations reflected the Greeks’ ability to adapt and thrive, even as they wrestled with the ethical and environmental toll of their success.

As the Classical period waned, so did Laurion’s dominance. By the 4th century BCE, the most accessible deposits were exhausted, and Athens’ defeat in the Peloponnesian War (404 BCE) weakened its grip on the region. The mines didn’t fall silent, however. During the Hellenistic and Roman eras, they continued to operate on a reduced scale, their silver feeding the coffers of new powers. The Romans, in particular, valued Laurion’s lead for pipes and construction, though silver remained a prized byproduct. By the 1st century CE, however, the mines were a shadow of their former glory, their output dwarfed by newer sources in Spain and elsewhere.

Laurion’s story might have ended there, a footnote in the annals of antiquity, but history had more in store. In the 19th century, as Greece emerged from Ottoman rule, the mines roared back to life. European companies, drawn by advances in metallurgy, reopened the ancient workings to extract zinc, lead, and trace silver overlooked by earlier generations. This industrial revival peaked in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, employing thousands and boosting Greece’s modern economy. Today, the mines are silent, their tunnels a UNESCO-protected heritage site, but their legacy endures in the region’s landscape and the artifacts they left behind.

What makes Laurion so compelling is its dual nature: a source of brilliance and a mirror of humanity’s darker impulses. It powered Athens’ ascent, giving the world democracy, philosophy, and art, yet it rested on the backs of the enslaved and the exploited. Its silver coins, scattered across museums today, are relics of a time when a single resource could shape civilizations. Environmentally, too, Laurion left scars—deforestation, polluted streams, and abandoned slag heaps—that remind us of the price of progress.

In the grand sweep of history, Laurion stands as a symbol of how the earth’s gifts can elevate and ensnare us. Its silver built fleets that saved Greece, temples that inspired awe, and an economy that bridged continents. Yet it also chained countless lives to its depths, a reminder that wealth rarely comes without sacrifice. From the Bronze Age to the modern era, Laurion’s glittering thread weaves through time, connecting us to an ancient past where ambition, innovation, and human cost walked hand in hand. As we marvel at its legacy, we’re left to ponder: what other hidden treasures, and what unseen burdens, lie beneath the surface of our own world? We are waiting for the next Heinrich Schliemann to uncover another chapter of european past.