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History of Literature

Thomas More
"UTOPIA"

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Sir Thomas More
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Thomas More
born Feb. 7, 1477, London, Eng.
died July 6, 1535, London; canonized May 19, 1935; feast day
June 22
also called Saint Thomas More humanist and statesman,
chancellor of England (1529–32), who was beheaded for
refusing to accept King Henry VIII as head of the Church of
England. He is recognized as a saint by the Roman Catholic
church.
Early life and career.
Thomas—the eldest son of John More, a lawyer who was later
knighted and made a judge of the King's Bench—was educated
at one of London's best schools, St. Anthony's in
Threadneedle Street, and in the household of John Morton,
archbishop of Canterbury and chancellor of England. The
future cardinal, a shrewd judge of character, predicted that
the bright and winsome page would prove a “marvellous man.”
His interest sent the boy to the University of Oxford, where
More seems to have spent two years, mastering Latinand
undergoing a thorough drilling in formal logic.
About 1494 his father brought More back to London to study
the common law. In February 1496 he was admitted to
Lincoln's Inn, one of the four legal societies preparing for
admission to the bar. In 1501 More became an “utter
barrister,” a full member of the profession. Thanks to his
boundless curiosity and a prodigious capacity for work, he
managed, along with the law, to keep up his literary
pursuits. He read avidly from Holy Scripture, the Church
Fathers, and the classics and tried his hand at all literary
genres.
Although bowing to his father's decision that he should
become a lawyer, More was prepared to be disowned rather
than disobey God's will. To test his vocation to the
priesthood, he resided for about four years in the
Carthusian monastery adjoining Lincoln's Inn and shared as
much of the monks' way of life as was practicable. Although
attracted especially to the Franciscan order, More decided
that he would best serve God and his fellowmen as a lay
Christian. More, however, never discarded the habits of
early rising, prolonged prayer, fasting, and wearing the
hair shirt. God remained the centre of his life.
In late 1504 or early 1505, More married Joan Colt, the
eldest daughter of an Essex gentleman farmer. She was a
competent hostess for non-English visitors, such as the
Dutch Humanist Desiderius Erasmus, who was given permanent
rooms in the Old Barge on the Thames side in Bucklersbury in
the City of London, More's home for the firsttwo decades of
his married life. Erasmus wrote his Praise of Folly while
staying there.
The important negotiations More conducted in 1509 on behalf
of a number of London companies with the representative of
the Antwerp merchants confirmed his competence in trade
matters and his gifts as an interpreter and spokesman. From
September 1510 to July 1518, when he resigned to be fully in
the king's service, More was one of the two under sheriffs
of London, “the pack-horses of the City government.” He
endeared himself to the Londoners—as an impartial judge, a
disinterested consultant, and “the general patron of the
poor.”
More's domestic idyll came to a brutal end in the summer of
1511 with the death, perhaps in childbirth, of his wife. He
wasleft a widower with four children, and within weeks of
his first wife's death, he married Alice Middleton, the
widow of a London mercer. She was several years his senior
and had a daughter of her own; she did not bear More any
children.
More's History of King Richard III, written in Latin and in
English between about 1513 and 1518, is the first
masterpiece of English historiography. Though never
finished, it influenced succeeding historians. William
Shakespeare is indebted to More for his portrait of the
tyrant.
The “Utopia.” In May 1515 More was appointed to a delegation
to revise an Anglo-Flemish commercial treaty. The conference
was held at Brugge, with long intervals that More used to
visit other Belgian cities. He began in the Low Countries
and completed after his return to London his Utopia, which
was published at Louvain in December 1516. The book was an
immediate success with the audience for which More wrote it:
the Humanists and an elite group of public officials.
Utopia is a Greek name of More's coining, from ou-topos (“no
place”); a pun on eu-topos (“good place”) is suggested in a
prefatory poem. More's Utopia describes a pagan and
communist city-state in which the institutions and policies
are entirely governed by reason. The order and dignity of
such a state provided a notable contrast with the
unreasonable polity of Christian Europe, divided by
self-interest and greed for power and riches, which More
described in book i, written in England in 1516. The
description of Utopia is put in the mouth of a mysterious
traveler, Raphael Hythloday, in support of his argument that
communism is the only cure against egoism in private and
public life. Through dialogue More speaks in favour of the
mitigation of evil rather than its cure, human nature being
fallible. Among the topics discussed by More in Utopia were
penology, state-controlled education, religious pluralism,
divorce, euthanasia, and women's rights. The resulting
demonstration of his learning, invention, and wit
established his reputation as one of the foremost Humanists.
Soon translated into most European languages, Utopia became
the ancestor of a new literary genre, the Utopian romance.
Career as king's servant
On May 1, 1517, a mob of London apprentices attacked foreign
merchants in the city. More's role in quenching this
Evil-Mayday riot inspired a scene, attributed to
Shakespeare, in Sir Thomas More, a composite Elizabethan
play. More's success in the thorny negotiations with the
French at Calais and Boulogne (September to December 1517)
over suits born of the recent war made it harder for him to
dodge royal service. That year he became a member of the
king's council and from October was known as master of
requests. He resigned his City office in 1518. While
yielding to pressure, he embraced the chance of furthering
peace and reform. The lord chancellor, Thomas Wolsey, now
looked ready to implement some of the political ideas of the
Christian Humanists.
Between 1515 and 1520 More campaigned spiritedly for
Erasmus' religious and cultural program—Greek studies as the
key to a theology renewed by a return to the Bible and the
Church Fathers—in poems commending Erasmus' New Testament.
More's Latin poems were published in 1518 under one cover
between his Utopia and Erasmus' Epigrammata; they are
extremely varied in metre and matter, their main topics
being government, women, and death.
Erasmus offered his London friend as a model for the
intelligentsia of Europe in letters to the German Humanist
Ulrich von Hutten (1519); the Paris scholar Germain de Brie
(1520), with whom More had just engaged in a polemic; and
Guillaume Budé, whom More had met in June 1520 at the Field
of Cloth of Gold, the meeting ground, near Calais, between
Henry VIII and Francis I. According to Erasmus, simplicity
was More's mark in food and dress. He shrank from nothing
that imparted an innocent pleasure, even of a bodily kind.
He had a speaker's voice and a memory that served him well
for extempore rejoinders. “Born for friendship,” he could
extract delight from the dullest people or things. His
family affections were warm yet unobtrusive. He gave freely
and gladly, expecting no thanks. Amid his intense
professional activity, he found hours for prayer and for
supervising his domestic school. Most of his charges
weregirls, to whom he provided the most refined classical
and Christian education.
In 1520 and 1521 More took part in talks, at Calais and
Brugge, with the emperor Charles V and with the Hansa
merchants. In 1521 he was made undertreasurer and knighted.
His daughter Margaret married William Roper, a lawyer. For
Henry VIII's Defense of the Seven Sacraments, More acted as
“a sorter out and placer of the principal matters.” When
Martin Luther hit back, More vindicated the king in a
learned, though scurrilous, Responsio ad Lutherum (1523). In
addition to his routine duties at the Exchequer, More served
throughout these years as “Henry's intellectual courtier,”
secretary, and confidant. He welcomed foreign envoys,
delivered official speeches, drafted treaties, read the
dispatches exchanged between the king and Wolsey, and
answered in the king's name. Often he rode posthaste between
the cardinal's headquarters at Westminster and Henry's
various hunting residences. In April1523 More was elected
speaker of the House of Commons; while loyally striving to
secure the government's ends, he made a plea for truer
freedom of speech in Parliament. The universities—Oxford in
1524, Cambridge in 1525—made him their high steward.
By 1524 More had moved to Chelsea. The Great House he built
there bore the stamp of his philosophy, its gallery, chapel,
and library all geared toward studious and prayerful
seclusion. In 1525 he was promoted to chancellor of the
duchy of Lancaster, which put a large portion of northern
England under his judiciary and administrative control.
On More's return from an embassy to France in the summer of
1527, Henry VIII “laid the Bible open before him” as proof
that his marriage to Catherine of Aragon, who had failed to
produce a male heir, was void, even incestuous, because of
her previous marriage to Henry's late brother. More tried in
vain to share the king's scruples, but long study confirmed
his view that Catherine was the king's true wife. After
being commissioned in March 1528 by Bishop Tunstall of
London toread all heretical writings in the English language
in order to refute them for the sake of the unlearned, he
published seven books of polemics between 1529 and 1533—the
first and best being A Dialogue Concerning Heresies.
Years as chancellor of England.
Together with Tunstall, More attended the congress of
Cambrai at which peace was made between France and the Holy
Roman Empire in 1529. Though the Treaty of Cambrai
represented a rebuff to England and, more particularly, a
devastating reverse for Cardinal Wolsey's policies, More
managed to secure the inclusion of his country in the treaty
and the settlement of mutual debts. When Wolsey fell from
power, having failed in his foreign policy and in his
efforts to procure the annulment of the king's marriage to
Catherine, More succeeded him as lord chancellor on Oct. 26,
1529.
On Nov. 3, 1529, More opened the Parliament that was later
to forge the legal instruments for his death. As the king's
mouthpiece, More indicted Wolsey in his opening speech and,
in 1531, proclaimed the opinions of universities favourable
to the divorce; but he did not sign the letter of 1530 in
which England's nobles and prelates, including Wolsey,
pressured the pope to declare the first marriage void, and
he tried to resign in 1531, when the clergy acknowledged the
king as their supreme head, albeit with the clause “as far
as the law of Christ allows.”
More's longest book, The Confutation of Tyndale's Answer, in
two volumes (1532 and 1533), centres on “what the churchis.”
To the stress of stooping for hours over his manuscript More
ascribed the sharp pain in his chest, perhaps angina, which
he invoked when begging Henry to free him from the yoke of
office. This was on May 16, 1532, the day when the governing
body (synod) of the church in England delivered tothe crown
the document by which they promised never to legislate or so
much as convene without royal assent, thus placing a
layperson at the head of the spiritual order.
More meanwhile continued his campaign for the old faith,
defending England's antiheresy laws and his own handling
ofheretics, both as magistrate and as writer, in two books
of 1533: the Apology and the Debellacyon. He also laughs
away the accusation of greed levelled by William Tyndale,
translator of parts of the first printed English Bible.
More's poverty was so notorious that the hierarchy collected
£5,000to recoup his polemical costs, but he refused this
grant lest it be construed as a bribe.
Indictment, trial, and execution
More's refusal to attend the coronation of Anne Boleyn, whom
Henry married after his divorce from Catherine in 1533,
marked him out for vengeance. Several charges of accepting
bribes recoiled on the heads of his accusers. In February
1534 More was included in a bill of attainder for alleged
complicity with Elizabeth Barton, who had uttered prophecies
against Henry's divorce, but he produced a letter in which
he had warned the nun against meddling in affairs of state.
He was summoned to appear before royal commissioners on
April 13 to assent under oath to the Act of Succession,
which declared the king's marriage with Catherine void and
that with Anne valid. This More was willing to do,
acknowledging that Anne was in fact anointed queen. But he
refused the oath as then administered because it entailed a
repudiation of papal supremacy. On April 17, 1534, he was
imprisoned in the Tower. More welcomed prison life. But for
his family responsibilities, he would have chosen for
himself “as strait a room and straiter too,” as he said to
his daughter Margaret, who after some time took the oath and
was then allowed to visit him. In prison, More wrote A
Dialogue of Comfort against Tribulation, a masterpiece of
Christian wisdom and of literature.
His trial took place on July 1, 1535. Richard Rich, the
solicitor general, a creature of Thomas Cromwell, the
unacknowledged head of the government, testified that the
prisoner had, in his presence, denied the king's title as
supreme head of the Church of England. Despite More's
scathing denial of this perjured evidence, the jury's
unanimous verdict was “guilty.” Before the sentence was
pronounced, More spoke “in discharge of his conscience.” The
unity of the church was the main motive of his martyrdom.
His second objection was that “no temporal manmay be head of
the spirituality.” Henry's marriage to Anne Boleyn, to which
he also referred as the cause for which they “sought his
blood,” had been the occasion for the assaults on the
church: among his judges were the new queen's father,
brother, and uncle.
More was sentenced to the traitor's death—“to be drawn,
hanged, and quartered”—which the king changed to beheading.
During five days of suspense, More prepared hissoul to meet
“the great spouse” and wrote a beautiful prayer and several
letters of farewell. He walked to the scaffold on Tower
Hill. “See me safe up,” he said to the lieutenant, “and for
my coming down let me shift for myself.” He told the
onlookers to witness that he was dying “in the faith and for
the faith of the Catholic Church, the king's good servant
and God's first.” He altered the ritual by blindfolding
himself, playing “a part of his own” even on this awful
stage.
The news of More's death shocked Europe. Erasmus mourned the
man he had so often praised, “whose soul was more pure than
any snow, whose genius was such that England never had and
never again will have its like.” The official image of More
as a traitor did not gain credence even in Protestant lands.
Assessment
Though the triumph of Anglicanism brought about a certain
eclipse of Thomas More, the publication of the state papers
restored a fuller and truer picture of More, preparing
public opinion for his beatification (1886). He was
canonized by Pius XI in May 1935. Though the man is greater
than the writer, and though nothing in his life “became him
like the leaving of it,” his “golden little book” Utopia has
earned him greater fame than the crown of martyrdom or the
million words of his English works.
Erasmus' phrase describing More as omnium horarum homowas
rendered later as “a man for all seasons” and was given
currency by Robert Bolt's play A Man for All Seasons (1960).
Monuments to him have been placed in Westminster Hall, the
Tower of London, and the Chelsea Embankment, all in London.
In the words of the English Catholic apologist G.K.
Chesterton, More “may come to be counted the greatest
Englishman, or at least the greatest historical character in
English History.”
The Rev. Germain P. Marc'hadour
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UTOPIA
Type of work: Humanistic treatise
Author: Sir Thomas More (1478-1535)
Time: Reign of Henry VII of England
Locale: Antwerp, England, Utopia
First published: 1516
Principal Characters
Thomas More, the narrator of "Utopia," who meets the fictional Raphael
Hythloday while serving as Henry VII 's ambassador in Flanders. More
himself suggests in the first part of "Utopia" many reforms, including
reform of the severe penal code of England at the time.
Peter Giles, a citizen of Antwerp, a learned and honest young man with
whom Thomas More becomes acquainted. Peter Giles introduces Raphael
Hythloday to the Englishman and listens with him to Hythloday's
marvelous account of the island of Utopia.
Raphael Hythloday, a Portuguese mariner who is learned in the classical
languages and in philosophy. He is a widely traveled man, having
accompanied Amerigo Vespucci on some of the latter's voyages. He tells
Thomas More that he is interested only in peaceful matters and so has
attached himself to no monarch. He describes for Thomas More and Peter
Giles the civilization on the island of Utopia and tells why he thinks
it is the best state in the world.

How to make a better world for men to live in has fascinated the
minds of thinkers in every age. From Plato to the present day, men have
been thinking and writing about what the world would be like if men
could create an earthly paradise. One of the most celebrated examples of
such thought and writing is Sir Thomas More's Utopia, a work so famous
in Western civilization that its title has come to stand for any
idealized state. Originally written in Latin, the international language
of medieval and Renaissance Europe, the book was widely read, and as
early as 1551 a translation into English was made by Ralph Robinson, a
London goldsmith.
The book is in two parts, with the second part, curiously enough,
written first, in 1515, and the introductory half written in the
following year. The book begins with a narrative framework in which More
tells how he traveled to Antwerp on a royal mission and there met Peter
Giles, a worthy citizen of Antwerp, who in turn introduced him to
Raphael Hythloday, whose name in Greek means "a talker of nonsense."
Hythloday proved to be more than a mere mariner, for in his conversation
he appeared to More to be a man of ripe wisdom and rare experience. The
fictional Hythloday was supposedly a companion of Amerigo Vespucci when
that worthy was supposed to have made his voyages to America. It was on
one of his voyages with Vespucci that Hythloday, according to his own
account, discovered the fabled land of Utopia, somewhere in the oceans
near the Western hemisphere.
Actually, the first part of Utopia does not deal with the legendary
island; in it Hythloday tells how, during the reign of King Henry VII,
he visited England, conversed with Cardinal Morton, and suggested to
that churchman, who was Henry VII's chancellor, some reforms which might
benefit England. Among the reforms the fictional Hythloday suggested
were the abolishment of the death penalty for theft, the prevention of
gambling, less dependence upon the raising of sheep for wool, the disuse
of mercenary soldiers, cheaper prices for all commodities, and an end to
the enclosure of the common lands for the benefit of great and wealthy
landlords. Although Cardinal Morton is made to listen intently to
Hythloday's suggestions, More introduces a lawyer who objects that
Hythloday's reforms could not be undertaken and that they would not be
deemed desirable by anyone who knew the history and customs of England.
In the first part of his Utopia, More is obviously pointing out some of
the social and economic evils in sixteenth century European life. More
than that, he is suggesting that only an outsider can see the faults
with an objective eye. The introduction of the lawyer's objections,
which are cut short by Cardinal Morton, suggest also that More discerned
in sixteenth century society persons who opposed reform and who sought
reasons for doing so. Part one of the Utopia is More's way of preparing
the reader for the section in which his ideal realm is delineated.
In the second part, Hythloday expounds at length about the culture of
the mythical land of Utopia, which he had visited during his travels.
Hythloday describes Utopia as an island kingdom which is crescent shaped
and about five hundred miles in perimeter, separated from other lands by
an artificial channel constructed by its founder, the fabulous King
Utopus, who saw that the Utopian experiment, if it were to succeed, must
be isolated and protected from the encroachments of warlike and
predatory neighbors. The island is divided into fifty-four shires, or
counties, each with its own town, no town more than a day's walking
journey from its neighbors. The central city, Amaurote, is the capital,
the seat of the prince who is the island's nominal ruler.
The government of Utopia is relatively simple and largely vested in
older men, in patriarchal fashion. Each unit of thirty families is ruled
by one man chosen by election every year. Each ten groups of families
elects a member of the island council. This council in turn elects the
prince, who serves throughout his lifetime unless deposed because of
tyranny. The council meets every three days to take up matters of
consequence to the people, and no decision is made on the same day the
problem is advanced, lest undue haste cause mistakes.
It is not in government alone that More introduces suggestions for
reform in his Utopia. In this ideal state everyone works, each man
having a trade or craft, except the unusually talented who are selected
for training and service in the academy of learning. The workday is six
hours long, with the time divided equally between the morning and the
afternoon. Each person spends a two-year period working as a farmer in
the shire outside the city in which he resides. Since everyone works,
there is more than enough food and other commodities for the
inhabitants. All goods are community-owned, with each person guarding
what is given to him for the benefit of the commonwealth. The tastes of
the people are simple; no one, having enough for himself, desires to
have more than his fellows. Even the prince of Utopia is designated only
by the symbol of a sheaf of grain, symbol of plenty. Each person is
garbed in durable clothing of leather, linen, or wool. Jewelry is given
to children to play with, so that everyone associates such baubles with
childishness. Gold and silver are despised, being used for chamber pots,
chains for slaves, and the marks of criminal conviction.
In the dialogue Sir Thomas More interjects some objections to the
communal idea, but this is the only point on which he seems to have
reservations. Yet even on this point, Hythloday's answers to his
objections satisfy him.
Violence, bloodshed, and vice, says Hythloday, have been done away with
in Utopia. Lest bloodshed of any kind corrupt the people, slaves are
required to slaughter the cattle. Dicing and gambling are unknown. The
people choose instead to labor for recreation in their gardens, improve
their homes, attend humanistic lectures, enjoy music, and converse
profitably with one another. The sick are provided for in spacious
hospitals erected in each quarter of each city. In the event of a
painful and incurable illness, the priests consult with the patient and
encourage him to choose death administered painlessly by the
authorities. Although no one is required to do so, everyone eats in mess
halls where slaves prepare the meals under the supervision of the wives
of the family group. At mealtime young and old eat together, except for
children under five, and enlightening, pleasant conversation is
encouraged.
The Utopian criminal is enslaved, rather than put to death, as he was in
sixteenth century England. Adultery is regarded as a crime and punished
by slavery. Marriage for love is encouraged but with prudence. Males
must be twenty-two and women eighteen before marriage is permitted. The
welfare of the family is a state matter, since the family is the basic
unit of the Utopian state. The people are anxious for the commonwealth
to be rich, for the Utopians buy off their enemies and use their wealth
to hire foreign mercenary soldiers; they hope in this manner to
encourage potential enemies to murder one another.
The Utopians are described as a religious people who practice toleration
almost unknown in Catholic Tudor England. Some are Christians; others
worship God in other ways. Atheism and militant sectarianism are alike
forbidden.
Two points should be made in connection with Sir Thomas More's work. One
is that his borrowings from Plato and other earlier authors did not
prevent him from adding much that was his own in theory and practice.
The second point is that in the centuries since the writing of Utopia,
some of the author's ideas have been put into effect—unlikely as they
may have appeared to his contemporaries. Society may never realize an
Utopian ideal, but surely society today is closer to that ideal than in
the sixteenth century. Perhaps some of the credit should go to Sir
Thomas More.

Woodcut by Ambrosius Holbein for the 1518 edition of Thomas More's
Utopia
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Utopia
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Discourses of Raphael Hythloday
OF THE BEST STATE OF A COMMONWEALTH
Henry VIII., the unconquered King of England, a prince adorned with
all the virtues that become a great monarch, having some differences of
no small consequence with Charles the most serene Prince of Castile,
sent me into Flanders, as his ambassador, for treating and composing
matters between them. I was colleague and companion to that incomparable
man Cuthbert Tonstal, whom the King, with such universal applause,
lately made Master of the Rolls; but of whom I will say nothing; not
because I fear that the testimony of a friend will be suspected, but
rather because his learning and virtues are too great for me to do them
justice, and so well known, that they need not my commendations, unless
I would, according to the proverb, "Show the sun with a lantern." Those
that were appointed by the Prince to treat with us, met us at Bruges,
according to agreement; they were all worthy men. The Margrave of Bruges
was their head, and the chief man among them; but he that was esteemed
the wisest, and that spoke for the rest, was George Temse, the Provost
of Casselsee: both art and nature had concurred to make him eloquent: he
was very learned in the law; and, as he had a great capacity, so, by a
long practice in affairs, he was very dexterous at unravelling them.
After we had several times met, without coming to an agreement, they
went to Brussels for some days, to know the Prince's pleasure; and,
since our business would admit it, I went to Antwerp. While I was there,
among many that visited me, there was one that was more acceptable to me
than any other, Peter Giles, born at Antwerp, who is a man of great
honour, and of a good rank in his town, though less than he deserves;
for I do not know if there be anywhere to be found a more learned and a
better bred young man; for as he is both a very worthy and a very
knowing person, so he is so civil to all men, so particularly kind to
his friends, and so full of candour and affection, that there is not,
perhaps, above one or two anywhere to be found, that is in all respects
so perfect a friend: he is extraordinarily modest, there is no artifice
in him, and yet no man has more of a prudent simplicity. His
conversation was so pleasant and so innocently cheerful, that his
company in a great measure lessened any longings to go back to my
country, and to my wife and children, which an absence of four mouths
had quickened very much. One day, as I was returning home from mass at
St. Mary's, which is the chief church, and the most frequented of any in
Antwerp, I saw him, by accident, talking with a stranger, who seemed
past the flower of his age; his face was tanned, he had a long beard,
and his cloak was hanging carelessly about him, so that, by his looks
and habit, I concluded he was a seaman. As soon as Peter saw me, he came
and saluted me, and as I was returning his civility, he took me aside,
and pointing to him with whom he had been discoursing, he said, "Do you
see that man? I was just thinking to bring him to you." I answered, "He
should have been very welcome on your account." "And on his own too,"
replied he, "if you knew the man, for there is none alive that can give
so copious an account of unknown nations and countries as he can do,
which I know you very much desire." "Then," said I, "I did not guess
amiss, for at first sight I took him for a seaman." "But you are much
mistaken," said he, "for he has not sailed as a seaman, but as a
traveller, or rather a philosopher. This Raphael, who from his family
carries the name of Hythloday, is not ignorant of the Latin tongue, but
is eminently learned in the Greek, having applied himself more
particularly to that than to the former, because he had given himself
much to philosophy, in which he knew that the Romans have left us
nothing that is valuable, except what is to be found in Seneca and
Cicero. He is a Portuguese by birth, and was so desirous of seeing the
world, that he divided his estate among his brothers, ran the same
hazard as Americus Vesputius, and bore a share in three of his four
voyages that are now published; only he did not return with him in his
last, but obtained leave of him, almost by force, that he might be one
of those twenty-four who were left at the farthest place at which they
touched in their last voyage to New Castile. The leaving him thus did
not a little gratify one that was more fond of travelling than of
returning home to be buried in his own country; for he used often to
say, that the way to heaven was the same from all places, and he that
had no grave had the heavens still over him. Yet this disposition of
mind had cost him dear, if God had not been very gracious to him; for
after he, with five Castalians, had travelled over many countries, at
last, by strange good fortune, he got to Ceylon, and from thence to
Calicut, where he, very happily, found some Portuguese ships; and,
beyond all men's expectations, returned to his native country." When
Peter had said this to me, I thanked him for his kindness in intending
to give me the acquaintance of a man whose conversation he knew would be
so acceptable; and upon that Raphael and I embraced each other. After
those civilities were past which are usual with strangers upon their
first meeting, we all went to my house, and entering into the garden,
sat down on a green bank and entertained one another in discourse. He
told us that when Vesputius had sailed away, he, and his companions that
stayed behind in New Castile, by degrees insinuated themselves into the
affections of the people of the country, meeting often with them and
treating them gently; and at last they not only lived among them without
danger, but conversed familiarly with them, and got so far into the
heart of a prince, whose name and country I have forgot, that he both
furnished them plentifully with all things necessary, and also with the
conveniences of travelling, both boats when they went by water, and
waggons when they trained over land: he sent with them a very faithful
guide, who was to introduce and recommend them to such other princes as
they had a mind to see: and after many days' journey, they came to
towns, and cities, and to commonwealths, that were both happily governed
and well peopled. Under the equator, and as far on both sides of it as
the sun moves, there lay vast deserts that were parched with the
perpetual heat of the sun; the soil was withered, all things looked
dismally, and all places were either quite uninhabited, or abounded with
wild beasts and serpents, and some few men, that were neither less wild
nor less cruel than the beasts themselves. But, as they went farther, a
new scene opened, all things grew milder, the air less burning, the soil
more verdant, and even the beasts were less wild: and, at last, there
were nations, towns, and cities, that had not only mutual commerce among
themselves and with their neighbours, but traded, both by sea and land,
to very remote countries. There they found the conveniencies of seeing
many countries on all hands, for no ship went any voyage into which he
and his companions were not very welcome. The first vessels that they
saw were flat-bottomed, their sails were made of reeds and wicker, woven
close together, only some were of leather; but, afterwards, they found
ships made with round keels and canvas sails, and in all respects like
our ships, and the seamen understood both astronomy and navigation. He
got wonderfully into their favour by showing them the use of the needle,
of which till then they were utterly ignorant. They sailed before with
great caution, and only in summer time; but now they count all seasons
alike, trusting wholly to the loadstone, in which they are, perhaps,
more secure than safe; so that there is reason to fear that this
discovery, which was thought would prove so much to their advantage,
may, by their imprudence, become an occasion of much mischief to them.
But it were too long to dwell on all that he told us he had observed in
every place, it would be too great a digression from our present
purpose: whatever is necessary to be told concerning those wise and
prudent institutions which he observed among civilised nations, may
perhaps be related by us on a more proper occasion. We asked him many
questions concerning all these things, to which he answered very
willingly; we made no inquiries after monsters, than which nothing is
more common; for everywhere one may hear of ravenous dogs and wolves,
and cruel men- eaters, but it is not so easy to find states that are
well and wisely governed.
As he told us of many things that were amiss in those new- discovered
countries, so he reckoned up not a few things, from which patterns might
be taken for correcting the errors of these nations among whom we live;
of which an account may be given, as I have already promised, at some
other time; for, at present, I intend only to relate those particulars
that he told us, of the manners and laws of the Utopians: but I will
begin with the occasion that led us to speak of that commonwealth. After
Raphael had discoursed with great judgment on the many errors that were
both among us and these nations, had treated of the wise institutions
both here and there, and had spoken as distinctly of the customs and
government of every nation through which he had past, as if he had spent
his whole life in it, Peter, being struck with admiration, said, "I
wonder, Raphael, how it comes that you enter into no king's service, for
I am sure there are none to whom you would not be very acceptable; for
your learning and knowledge, both of men and things, is such, that you
would not only entertain them very pleasantly, but be of great use to
them, by the examples you could set before them, and the advices you
could give them; and by this means you would both serve your own
interest, and be of great use to all your friends." "As for my friends,"
answered he, "I need not be much concerned, having already done for them
all that was incumbent on me; for when I was not only in good health,
but fresh and young, I distributed that among my kindred and friends
which other people do not part with till they are old and sick: when
they then unwillingly give that which they can enjoy no longer
themselves. I think my friends ought to rest contented with this, and
not to expect that for their sakes I should enslave myself to any king
whatsoever." "Soft and fair!" said Peter; "I do not mean that you should
be a slave to any king, but only that you should assist them and be
useful to them." "The change of the word," said he, "does not alter the
matter." "But term it as you will," replied Peter, "I do not see any
other way in which you can be so useful, both in private to your friends
and to the public, and by which you can make your own condition
happier." "Happier?" answered Raphael, "is that to be compassed in a way
so abhorrent to my genius? Now I live as I will, to which I believe, few
courtiers can pretend; and there are so many that court the favour of
great men, that there will be no great loss if they are not troubled
either with me or with others of my temper." Upon this, said I, "I
perceive, Raphael, that you neither desire wealth nor greatness; and,
indeed, I value and admire such a man much more than I do any of the
great men in the world. Yet I think you would do what would well become
so generous and philosophical a soul as yours is, if you would apply
your time and thoughts to public affairs, even though you may happen to
find it a little uneasy to yourself; and this you can never do with so
much advantage as by being taken into the council of some great prince
and putting him on noble and worthy actions, which I know you would do
if you were in such a post; for the springs both of good and evil flow
from the prince over a whole nation, as from a lasting fountain. So much
learning as you have, even without practice in affairs, or so great a
practice as you have had, without any other learning, would render you a
very fit counsellor to any king whatsoever." "You are doubly mistaken,"
said he, "Mr. More, both in your opinion of me and in the judgment you
make of things: for as I have not that capacity that you fancy I have,
so if I had it, the public would not be one jot the better when I had
sacrificed my quiet to it. For most princes apply themselves more to
affairs of war than to the useful arts of peace; and in these I neither
have any knowledge, nor do I much desire it; they are generally more set
on acquiring new kingdoms, right or wrong, than on governing well those
they possess: and, among the ministers of princes, there are none that
are not so wise as to need no assistance, or at least, that do not think
themselves so wise that they imagine they need none; and if they court
any, it is only those for whom the prince has much personal favour, whom
by their fawning and flatteries they endeavour to fix to their own
interests; and, indeed, nature has so made us, that we all love to be
flattered and to please ourselves with our own notions: the old crow
loves his young, and the ape her cubs. Now if in such a court, made up
of persons who envy all others and only admire themselves, a person
should but propose anything that he had either read in history or
observed in his travels, the rest would think that the reputation of
their wisdom would sink, and that their interests would be much
depressed if they could not run it down: and, if all other things
failed, then they would fly to this, that such or such things pleased
our ancestors, and it were well for us if we could but match them. They
would set up their rest on such an answer, as a sufficient confutation
of all that could be said, as if it were a great misfortune that any
should be found wiser than his ancestors. But though they willingly let
go all the good things that were among those of former ages, yet, if
better things are proposed, they cover themselves obstinately with this
excuse of reverence to past times. I have met with these proud, morose,
and absurd judgments of things in many places, particularly once in
England." "Were you ever there?" said I. "Yes, I was," answered he, "and
stayed some months there, not long after the rebellion in the West was
suppressed, with a great slaughter of the poor people that were engaged
in it.
"I was then much obliged to that reverend prelate, John Morton,
Archbishop of Canterbury, Cardinal, and Chancellor of England; a man,"
said he, "Peter (for Mr. More knows well what he was), that was not less
venerable for his wisdom and virtues than for the high character he
bore: he was of a middle stature, not broken with age; his looks begot
reverence rather than fear; his conversation was easy, but serious and
grave; he sometimes took pleasure to try the force of those that came as
suitors to him upon business by speaking sharply, though decently, to
them, and by that he discovered their spirit and presence of mind; with
which he was much delighted when it did not grow up to impudence, as
bearing a great resemblance to his own temper, and he looked on such
persons as the fittest men for affairs. He spoke both gracefully and
weightily; he was eminently skilled in the law, had a vast
understanding, and a prodigious memory; and those excellent talents with
which nature had furnished him were improved by study and experience.
When I was in England the King depended much on his counsels, and the
Government seemed to be chiefly supported by him; for from his youth he
had been all along practised in affairs; and, having passed through many
traverses of fortune, he had, with great cost, acquired a vast stock of
wisdom, which is not soon lost when it is purchased so dear. One day,
when I was dining with him, there happened to be at table one of the
English lawyers, who took occasion to run out in a high commendation of
the severe execution of justice upon thieves, 'who,' as he said, 'were
then hanged so fast that there were sometimes twenty on one gibbet!'
and, upon that, he said, 'he could not wonder enough how it came to pass
that, since so few escaped, there were yet so many thieves left, who
were still robbing in all places.' Upon this, I (who took the boldness
to speak freely before the Cardinal) said, 'There was no reason to
wonder at the matter, since this way of punishing thieves was neither
just in itself nor good for the public; for, as the severity was too
great, so the remedy was not effectual; simple theft not being so great
a crime that it ought to cost a man his life; no punishment, how severe
soever, being able to restrain those from robbing who can find out no
other way of livelihood. In this,' said I, 'not only you in England, but
a great part of the world, imitate some ill masters, that are readier to
chastise their scholars than to teach them. There are dreadful
punishments enacted against thieves, but it were much better to make
such good provisions by which every man might be put in a method how to
live, and so be preserved from the fatal necessity of stealing and of
dying for it.' 'There has been care enough taken for that,' said he;
'there are many handicrafts, and there is husbandry, by which they may
make a shift to live, unless they have a greater mind to follow ill
courses.' 'That will not serve your turn,' said I, 'for many lose their
limbs in civil or foreign wars, as lately in the Cornish rebellion, and
some time ago in your wars with France, who, being thus mutilated in the
service of their king and country, can no more follow their old trades,
and are too old to learn new ones; but since wars are only accidental
things, and have intervals, let us consider those things that fall out
every day. There is a great number of noblemen among you that are
themselves as idle as drones, that subsist on other men's labour, on the
labour of their tenants, whom, to raise their revenues, they pare to the
quick. This, indeed, is the only instance of their frugality, for in all
other things they are prodigal, even to the beggaring of themselves;
but, besides this, they carry about with them a great number of idle
fellows, who never learned any art by which they may gain their living;
and these, as soon as either their lord dies, or they themselves fall
sick, are turned out of doors; for your lords are readier to feed idle
people than to take care of the sick; and often the heir is not able to
keep together so great a family as his predecessor did. Now, when the
stomachs of those that are thus turned out of doors grow keen, they rob
no less keenly; and what else can they do? For when, by wandering about,
they have worn out both their health and their clothes, and are
tattered, and look ghastly, men of quality will not entertain them, and
poor men dare not do it, knowing that one who has been bred up in
idleness and pleasure, and who was used to walk about with his sword and
buckler, despising all the neighbourhood with an insolent scorn as far
below him, is not fit for the spade and mattock; nor will he serve a
poor man for so small a hire and in so low a diet as he can afford to
give him.' To this he answered, 'This sort of men ought to be
particularly cherished, for in them consists the force of the armies for
which we have occasion; since their birth inspires them with a nobler
sense of honour than is to be found among tradesmen or ploughmen.' 'You
may as well say,' replied I, 'that you must cherish thieves on the
account of wars, for you will never want the one as long as you have the
other; and as robbers prove sometimes gallant soldiers, so soldiers
often prove brave robbers, so near an alliance there is between those
two sorts of life. But this bad custom, so common among you, of keeping
many servants, is not peculiar to this nation. In France there is yet a
more pestiferous sort of people, for the whole country is full of
soldiers, still kept up in time of peace (if such a state of a nation
can be called a peace); and these are kept in pay upon the same account
that you plead for those idle retainers about noblemen: this being a
maxim of those pretended statesmen, that it is necessary for the public
safety to have a good body of veteran soldiers ever in readiness. They
think raw men are not to be depended on, and they sometimes seek
occasions for making war, that they may train up their soldiers in the
art of cutting throats, or, as Sallust observed, "for keeping their
hands in use, that they may not grow dull by too long an intermission."
But France has learned to its cost how dangerous it is to feed such
beasts. The fate of the Romans, Carthaginians, and Syrians, and many
other nations and cities, which were both overturned and quite ruined by
those standing armies, should make others wiser; and the folly of this
maxim of the French appears plainly even from this, that their trained
soldiers often find your raw men prove too hard for them, of which I
will not say much, lest you may think I flatter the English. Every day's
experience shows that the mechanics in the towns or the clowns in the
country are not afraid of fighting with those idle gentlemen, if they
are not disabled by some misfortune in their body or dispirited by
extreme want; so that you need not fear that those well-shaped and
strong men (for it is only such that noblemen love to keep about them
till they spoil them), who now grow feeble with ease and are softened
with their effeminate manner of life, would be less fit for action if
they were well bred and well employed. And it seems very unreasonable
that, for the prospect of a war, which you need never have but when you
please, you should maintain so many idle men, as will always disturb you
in time of peace, which is ever to be more considered than war. But I do
not think that this necessity of stealing arises only from hence; there
is another cause of it, more peculiar to England.' 'What is that?' said
the Cardinal: 'The increase of pasture,' said I, 'by which your sheep,
which are naturally mild, and easily kept in order, may be said now to
devour men and unpeople, not only villages, but towns; for wherever it
is found that the sheep of any soil yield a softer and richer wool than
ordinary, there the nobility and gentry, and even those holy men, the
dobots! not contented with the old rents which their farms yielded, nor
thinking it enough that they, living at their ease, do no good to the
public, resolve to do it hurt instead of good. They stop the course of
agriculture, destroying houses and towns, reserving only the churches,
and enclose grounds that they may lodge their sheep in them. As if
forests and parks had swallowed up too little of the land, those worthy
countrymen turn the best inhabited places into solitudes; for when an
insatiable wretch, who is a plague to his country, resolves to enclose
many thousand acres of ground, the owners, as well as tenants, are
turned out of their possessions by trick or by main force, or, being
wearied out by ill usage, they are forced to sell them; by which means
those miserable people, both men and women, married and unmarried, old
and young, with their poor but numerous families (since country business
requires many hands), are all forced to change their seats, not knowing
whither to go; and they must sell, almost for nothing, their household
stuff, which could not bring them much money, even though they might
stay for a buyer. When that little money is at an end (for it will be
soon spent), what is left for them to do but either to steal, and so to
be hanged (God knows how justly!), or to go about and beg? and if they
do this they are put in prison as idle vagabonds, while they would
willingly work but can find none that will hire them; for there is no
more occasion for country labour, to which they have been bred, when
there is no arable ground left. One shepherd can look after a flock,
which will stock an extent of ground that would require many hands if it
were to be ploughed and reaped. This, likewise, in many places raises
the price of corn. The price of wool is also so risen that the poor
people, who were wont to make cloth, are no more able to buy it; and
this, likewise, makes many of them idle: for since the increase of
pasture God has punished the avarice of the owners by a rot among the
sheep, which has destroyed vast numbers of them--to us it might have
seemed more just had it fell on the owners themselves. But, suppose the
sheep should increase ever so much, their price is not likely to fall;
since, though they cannot be called a monopoly, because they are not
engrossed by one person, yet they are in so few hands, and these are so
rich, that, as they are not pressed to sell them sooner than they have a
mind to it, so they never do it till they have raised the price as high
as possible. And on the same account it is that the other kinds of
cattle are so dear, because many villages being pulled down, and all
country labour being much neglected, there are none who make it their
business to breed them. The rich do not breed cattle as they do sheep,
but buy them lean and at low prices; and, after they have fattened them
on their grounds, sell them again at high rates. And I do not think that
all the inconveniences this will produce are yet observed; for, as they
sell the cattle dear, so, if they are consumed faster than the breeding
countries from which they are brought can afford them, then the stock
must decrease, and this must needs end in great scarcity; and by these
means, this your island, which seemed as to this particular the happiest
in the world, will suffer much by the cursed avarice of a few persons:
besides this, the rising of corn makes all people lessen their families
as much as they can; and what can those who are dismissed by them do but
either beg or rob? And to this last a man of a great mind is much sooner
drawn than to the former. Luxury likewise breaks in apace upon you to
set forward your poverty and misery; there is an excessive vanity in
apparel, and great cost in diet, and that not only in noblemen's
families, but even among tradesmen, among the farmers themselves, and
among all ranks of persons. You have also many infamous houses, and,
besides those that are known, the taverns and ale- houses are no better;
add to these dice, cards, tables, football, tennis, and quoits, in which
money runs fast away; and those that are initiated into them must, in
the conclusion, betake themselves to robbing for a supply. Banish these
plagues, and give orders that those who have dispeopled so much soil may
either rebuild the villages they have pulled down or let out their
grounds to such as will do it; restrain those engrossings of the rich,
that are as bad almost as monopolies; leave fewer occasions to idleness;
let agriculture be set up again, and the manufacture of the wool be
regulated, that so there may be work found for those companies of idle
people whom want forces to be thieves, or who now, being idle vagabonds
or useless servants, will certainly grow thieves at last. If you do not
find a remedy to these evils it is a vain thing to boast of your
severity in punishing theft, which, though it may have the appearance of
justice, yet in itself is neither just nor convenient; for if you suffer
your people to be ill-educated, and their manners to be corrupted from
their infancy, and then punish them for those crimes to which their
first education disposed them, what else is to be concluded from this
but that you first make thieves and then punish them?'
"While I was talking thus, the Counsellor, who was present, had
prepared an answer, and had resolved to resume all I had said, according
to the formality of a debate, in which things are generally repeated
more faithfully than they are answered, as if the chief trial to be made
were of men's memories. 'You have talked prettily, for a stranger,' said
he, 'having heard of many things among us which you have not been able
to consider well; but I will make the whole matter plain to you, and
will first repeat in order all that you have said; then I will show how
much your ignorance of our affairs has misled you; and will, in the last
place, answer all your arguments. And, that I may begin where I
promised, there were four things--' 'Hold your peace!' said the
Cardinal; 'this will take up too much time; therefore we will, at
present, ease you of the trouble of answering, and reserve it to our
next meeting, which shall be to-morrow, if Raphael's affairs and yours
can admit of it. But, Raphael,' said he to me, 'I would gladly know upon
what reason it is that you think theft ought not to be punished by
death: would you give way to it? or do you propose any other punishment
that will be more useful to the public? for, since death does not
restrain theft, if men thought their lives would be safe, what fear or
force could restrain ill men? On the contrary, they would look on the
mitigation of the punishment as an invitation to commit more crimes.' I
answered, 'It seems to me a very unjust thing to take away a man's life
for a little money, for nothing in the world can be of equal value with
a man's life: and if it be said, "that it is not for the money that one
suffers, but for his breaking the law," I must say, extreme justice is
an extreme injury: for we ought not to approve of those terrible laws
that make the smallest offences capital, nor of that opinion of the
Stoics that makes all crimes equal; as if there were no difference to be
made between the killing a man and the taking his purse, between which,
if we examine things impartially, there is no likeness nor proportion.
God has commanded us not to kill, and shall we kill so easily for a
little money? But if one shall say, that by that law we are only forbid
to kill any except when the laws of the land allow of it, upon the same
grounds, laws may be made, in some cases, to allow of adultery and
perjury: for God having taken from us the right of disposing either of
our own or of other people's lives, if it is pretended that the mutual
consent of men in making laws can authorise man-slaughter in cases in
which God has given us no example, that it frees people from the
obligation of the divine law, and so makes murder a lawful action, what
is this, but to give a preference to human laws before the divine? and,
if this is once admitted, by the same rule men may, in all other things,
put what restrictions they please upon the laws of God. If, by the
Mosaical law, though it was rough and severe, as being a yoke laid on an
obstinate and servile nation, men were only fined, and not put to death
for theft, we cannot imagine, that in this new law of mercy, in which
God treats us with the tenderness of a father, He has given us a greater
licence to cruelty than He did to the Jews. Upon these reasons it is,
that I think putting thieves to death is not lawful; and it is plain and
obvious that it is absurd and of ill consequence to the commonwealth
that a thief and a murderer should be equally punished; for if a robber
sees that his danger is the same if he is convicted of theft as if he
were guilty of murder, this will naturally incite him to kill the person
whom otherwise he would only have robbed; since, if the punishment is
the same, there is more security, and less danger of discovery, when he
that can best make it is put out of the way; so that terrifying thieves
too much provokes them to cruelty.
"But as to the question, 'What more convenient way of punishment can
be found?' I think it much easier to find out that than to invent
anything that is worse; why should we doubt but the way that was so long
in use among the old Romans, who understood so well the arts of
government, was very proper for their punishment? They condemned such as
they found guilty of great crimes to work their whole lives in quarries,
or to dig in mines with chains about them. But the method that I liked
best was that which I observed in my travels in Persia, among the
Polylerits, who are a considerable and well-governed people: they pay a
yearly tribute to the King of Persia, but in all other respects they are
a free nation, and governed by their own laws: they lie far from the
sea, and are environed with hills; and, being contented with the
productions of their own country, which is very fruitful, they have
little commerce with any other nation; and as they, according to the
genius of their country, have no inclination to enlarge their borders,
so their mountains and the pension they pay to the Persian, secure them
from all invasions. Thus they have no wars among them; they live rather
conveniently than with splendour, and may be rather called a happy
nation than either eminent or famous; for I do not think that they are
known, so much as by name, to any but their next neighbours. Those that
are found guilty of theft among them are bound to make restitution to
the owner, and not, as it is in other places, to the prince, for they
reckon that the prince has no more right to the stolen goods than the
thief; but if that which was stolen is no more in being, then the goods
of the thieves are estimated, and restitution being made out of them,
the remainder is given to their wives and children; and they themselves
are condemned to serve in the public works, but are neither imprisoned
nor chained, unless there happens to be some extraordinary circumstance
in their crimes. They go about loose and free, working for the public:
if they are idle or backward to work they are whipped, but if they work
hard they are well used and treated without any mark of reproach; only
the lists of them are called always at night, and then they are shut up.
They suffer no other uneasiness but this of constant labour; for, as
they work for the public, so they are well entertained out of the public
stock, which is done differently in different places: in some places
whatever is bestowed on them is raised by a charitable contribution;
and, though this way may seem uncertain, yet so merciful are the
inclinations of that people, that they are plentifully supplied by it;
but in other places public revenues are set aside for them, or there is
a constant tax or poll-money raised for their maintenance. In some
places they are set to no public work, but every private man that has
occasion to hire workmen goes to the market-places and hires them of the
public, a little lower than he would do a freeman. If they go lazily
about their task he may quicken them with the whip. By this means there
is always some piece of work or other to be done by them; and, besides
their livelihood, they earn somewhat still to the public. They all wear
a peculiar habit, of one certain colour, and their hair is cropped a
little above their ears, and a piece of one of their ears is cut off.
Their friends are allowed to give them either meat, drink, or clothes,
so they are of their proper colour; but it is death, both to the giver
and taker, if they give them money; nor is it less penal for any freeman
to take money from them upon any account whatsoever: and it is also
death for any of these slaves (so they are called) to handle arms. Those
of every division of the country are distinguished by a peculiar mark,
which it is capital for them to lay aside, to go out of their bounds, or
to talk with a slave of another jurisdiction, and the very attempt of an
escape is no less penal than an escape itself. It is death for any other
slave to be accessory to it; and if a freeman engages in it he is
condemned to slavery. Those that discover it are rewarded--if freemen,
in money; and if slaves, with liberty, together with a pardon for being
accessory to it; that so they might find their account rather in
repenting of their engaging in such a design than in persisting in it.
"These are their laws and rules in relation to robbery, and it is
obvious that they are as advantageous as they are mild and gentle; since
vice is not only destroyed and men preserved, but they are treated in
such a manner as to make them see the necessity of being honest and of
employing the rest of their lives in repairing the injuries they had
formerly done to society. Nor is there any hazard of their falling back
to their old customs; and so little do travellers apprehend mischief
from them that they generally make use of them for guides from one
jurisdiction to another; for there is nothing left them by which they
can rob or be the better for it, since, as they are disarmed, so the
very having of money is a sufficient conviction: and as they are
certainly punished if discovered, so they cannot hope to escape; for
their habit being in all the parts of it different from what is commonly
worn, they cannot fly away, unless they would go naked, and even then
their cropped ear would betray them. The only danger to be feared from
them is their conspiring against the government; but those of one
division and neighbourhood can do nothing to any purpose unless a
general conspiracy were laid amongst all the slaves of the several
jurisdictions, which cannot be done, since they cannot meet or talk
together; nor will any venture on a design where the concealment would
be so dangerous and the discovery so profitable. None are quite hopeless
of recovering their freedom, since by their obedience and patience, and
by giving good grounds to believe that they will change their manner of
life for the future, they may expect at last to obtain their liberty,
and some are every year restored to it upon the good character that is
given of them. When I had related all this, I added that I did not see
why such a method might not be followed with more advantage than could
ever be expected from that severe justice which the Counsellor magnified
so much. To this he answered, 'That it could never take place in England
without endangering the whole nation.' As he said this he shook his
head, made some grimaces, and held his peace, while all the company
seemed of his opinion, except the Cardinal, who said, 'That it was not
easy to form a judgment of its success, since it was a method that never
yet had been tried; but if,' said he, 'when sentence of death were
passed upon a thief, the prince would reprieve him for a while, and make
the experiment upon him, denying him the privilege of a sanctuary; and
then, if it had a good effect upon him, it might take place; and, if it
did not succeed, the worst would be to execute the sentence on the
condemned persons at last; and I do not see,' added he, 'why it would be
either unjust, inconvenient, or at all dangerous to admit of such a
delay; in my opinion the vagabonds ought to be treated in the same
manner, against whom, though we have made many laws, yet we have not
been able to gain our end.' When the Cardinal had done, they all
commended the motion, though they had despised it when it came from me,
but more particularly commended what related to the vagabonds, because
it was his own observation
"I do not know whether it be worth while to tell what followed, for
it was very ridiculous; but I shall venture at it, for as it is not
foreign to this matter, so some good use may be made of it. There was a
Jester standing by, that counterfeited the fool so naturally that he
seemed to be really one; the jests which he offered were so cold and
dull that we laughed more at him than at them, yet sometimes he said, as
it were by chance, things that were not unpleasant, so as to justify the
old proverb, 'That he who throws the dice often, will sometimes have a
lucky hit.' When one of the company had said that I had taken care of
the thieves, and the Cardinal had taken care of the vagabonds, so that
there remained nothing but that some public provision might be made for
the poor whom sickness or old age had disabled from labour, 'Leave that
to me,' said the Fool, 'and I shall take care of them, for there is no
sort of people whose sight I abhor more, having been so often vexed with
them and with their sad complaints; but as dolefully soever as they have
told their tale, they could never prevail so far as to draw one penny
from me; for either I had no mind to give them anything, or, when I had
a mind to do it, I had nothing to give them; and they now know me so
well that they will not lose their labour, but let me pass without
giving me any trouble, because they hope for nothing--no more, in faith,
than if I were a priest; but I would have a law made for sending all
these beggars to monasteries, the men to the Benedictines, to be made
lay-brothers, and the women to be nuns.' The Cardinal smiled, and
approved of it in jest, but the rest liked it in earnest. There was a
divine present, who, though he was a grave morose man, yet he was so
pleased with this reflection that was made on the priests and the monks
that he began to play with the Fool, and said to him, 'This will not
deliver you from all beggars, except you take care of us Friars.' 'That
is done already,' answered the Fool, 'for the Cardinal has provided for
you by what he proposed for restraining vagabonds and setting them to
work, for I know no vagabonds like you.' This was well entertained by
the whole company, who, looking at the Cardinal, perceived that he was
not ill-pleased at it; only the Friar himself was vexed, as may be
easily imagined, and fell into such a passion that he could not forbear
railing at the Fool, and calling him knave, slanderer, backbiter, and
son of perdition, and then cited some dreadful threatenings out of the
Scriptures against him. Now the Jester thought he was in his element,
and laid about him freely. 'Good Friar,' said he, 'be not angry, for it
is written, "In patience possess your soul."' The Friar answered (for I
shall give you his own words), 'I am not angry, you hangman; at least, I
do not sin in it, for the Psalmist says, "Be ye angry and sin not."'
Upon this the Cardinal admonished him gently, and wished him to govern
his passions. 'No, my lord,' said he, 'I speak not but from a good zeal,
which I ought to have, for holy men have had a good zeal, as it is said,
"The zeal of thy house hath eaten me up;" and we sing in our church that
those who mocked Elisha as he went up to the house of God felt the
effects of his zeal, which that mocker, that rogue, that scoundrel, will
perhaps feel.' 'You do this, perhaps, with a good intention,' said the
Cardinal, 'but, in my opinion, it were wiser in you, and perhaps better
for you, not to engage in so ridiculous a contest with a Fool.' 'No, my
lord,' answered he, 'that were not wisely done, for Solomon, the wisest
of men, said, "Answer a Fool according to his folly," which I now do,
and show him the ditch into which he will fall, if he is not aware of
it; for if the many mockers of Elisha, who was but one bald man, felt
the effect of his zeal, what will become of the mocker of so many
Friars, among whom there are so many bald men? We have, likewise, a
bull, by which all that jeer us are excommunicated.' When the Cardinal
saw that there was no end of this matter he made a sign to the Fool to
withdraw, turned the discourse another way, and soon after rose from the
table, and, dismissing us, went to hear causes.
"Thus, Mr. More, I have run out into a tedious story, of the length
of which I had been ashamed, if (as you earnestly begged it of me) I had
not observed you to hearken to it as if you had no mind to lose any part
of it. I might have contracted it, but I resolved to give it you at
large, that you might observe how those that despised what I had
proposed, no sooner perceived that the Cardinal did not dislike it but
presently approved of it, fawned so on him and flattered him to such a
degree, that they in good earnest applauded those things that he only
liked in jest; and from hence you may gather how little courtiers would
value either me or my counsels."
To this I answered, "You have done me a great kindness in this
relation; for as everything has been related by you both wisely and
pleasantly, so you have made me imagine that I was in my own country and
grown young again, by recalling that good Cardinal to my thoughts, in
whose family I was bred from my childhood; and though you are, upon
other accounts, very dear to me, yet you are the dearer because you
honour his memory so much; but, after all this, I cannot change my
opinion, for I still think that if you could overcome that aversion
which you have to the courts of princes, you might, by the advice which
it is in your power to give, do a great deal of good to mankind, and
this is the chief design that every good man ought to propose to himself
in living; for your friend Plato thinks that nations will be happy when
either philosophers become kings or kings become philosophers. It is no
wonder if we are so far from that happiness while philosophers will not
think it their duty to assist kings with their counsels." "They are not
so base-minded," said he, "but that they would willingly do it; many of
them have already done it by their books, if those that are in power
would but hearken to their good advice. But Plato judged right, that
except kings themselves became philosophers, they who from their
childhood are corrupted with false notions would never fall in entirely
with the counsels of philosophers, and this he himself found to be true
in the person of Dionysius.
"Do not you think that if I were about any king, proposing good laws
to him, and endeavouring to root out all the cursed seeds of evil that I
found in him, I should either be turned out of his court, or, at least,
be laughed at for my pains? For instance, what could I signify if I were
about the King of France, and were called into his cabinet council,
where several wise men, in his hearing, were proposing many expedients;
as, by what arts and practices Milan may be kept, and Naples, that has
so often slipped out of their hands, recovered; how the Venetians, and
after them the rest of Italy, may be subdued; and then how Flanders,
Brabant, and all Burgundy, and some other kingdoms which he has
swallowed already in his designs, may be added to his empire? One
proposes a league with the Venetians, to be kept as long as he finds his
account in it, and that he ought to communicate counsels with them, and
give them some share of the spoil till his success makes him need or
fear them less, and then it will be easily taken out of their hands;
another proposes the hiring the Germans and the securing the Switzers by
pensions; another proposes the gaining the Emperor by money, which is
omnipotent with him; another proposes a peace with the King of Arragon,
and, in order to cement it, the yielding up the King of Navarre's
pretensions; another thinks that the Prince of Castile is to be wrought
on by the hope of an alliance, and that some of his courtiers are to be
gained to the French faction by pensions. The hardest point of all is,
what to do with England; a treaty of peace is to be set on foot, and, if
their alliance is not to be depended on, yet it is to be made as firm as
possible, and they are to be called friends, but suspected as enemies:
therefore the Scots are to be kept in readiness to be let loose upon
England on every occasion; and some banished nobleman is to be supported
underhand (for by the League it cannot be done avowedly) who has a
pretension to the crown, by which means that suspected prince may be
kept in awe. Now when things are in so great a fermentation, and so many
gallant men are joining counsels how to carry on the war, if so mean a
man as I should stand up and wish them to change all their counsels--to
let Italy alone and stay at home, since the kingdom of France was indeed
greater than could be well governed by one man; that therefore he ought
not to think of adding others to it; and if, after this, I should
propose to them the resolutions of the Achorians, a people that lie on
the south-east of Utopia, who long ago engaged in war in order to add to
the dominions of their prince another kingdom, to which he had some
pretensions by an ancient alliance: this they conquered, but found that
the trouble of keeping it was equal to that by which it was gained; that
the conquered people were always either in rebellion or exposed to
foreign invasions, while they were obliged to be incessantly at war,
either for or against them, and consequently could never disband their
army; that in the meantime they were oppressed with taxes, their money
went out of the kingdom, their blood was spilt for the glory of their
king without procuring the least advantage to the people, who received
not the smallest benefit from it even in time of peace; and that, their
manners being corrupted by a long war, robbery and murders everywhere
abounded, and their laws fell into contempt; while their king,
distracted with the care of two kingdoms, was the less able to apply his
mind to the interest of either. When they saw this, and that there would
be no end to these evils, they by joint counsels made an humble address
to their king, desiring him to choose which of the two kingdoms he had
the greatest mind to keep, since he could not hold both; for they were
too great a people to be governed by a divided king, since no man would
willingly have a groom that should be in common between him and another.
Upon which the good prince was forced to quit his new kingdom to one of
his friends (who was not long after dethroned), and to be contented with
his old one. To this I would add that after all those warlike attempts,
the vast confusions, and the consumption both of treasure and of people
that must follow them, perhaps upon some misfortune they might be forced
to throw up all at last; therefore it seemed much more eligible that the
king should improve his ancient kingdom all he could, and make it
flourish as much as possible; that he should love his people, and be
beloved of them; that he should live among them, govern them gently and
let other kingdoms alone, since that which had fallen to his share was
big enough, if not too big, for him:- pray, how do you think would such
a speech as this be heard?"
"I confess," said I, "I think not very well."
"But what," said he, "if I should sort with another kind of
ministers, whose chief contrivances and consultations were by what art
the prince's treasures might be increased? where one proposes raising
the value of specie when the king's debts are large, and lowering it
when his revenues were to come in, that so he might both pay much with a
little, and in a little receive a great deal. Another proposes a
pretence of a war, that money might be raised in order to carry it on,
and that a peace be concluded as soon as that was done; and this with
such appearances of religion as might work on the people, and make them
impute it to the piety of their prince, and to his tenderness for the
lives of his subjects. A third offers some old musty laws that have been
antiquated by a long disuse (and which, as they had been forgotten by
all the subjects, so they had also been broken by them), and proposes
the levying the penalties of these laws, that, as it would bring in a
vast treasure, so there might be a very good pretence for it, since it
would look like the executing a law and the doing of justice. A fourth
proposes the prohibiting of many things under severe penalties,
especially such as were against the interest of the people, and then the
dispensing with these prohibitions, upon great compositions, to those
who might find their advantage in breaking them. This would serve two
ends, both of them acceptable to many; for as those whose avarice led
them to transgress would be severely fined, so the selling licences dear
would look as if a prince were tender of his people, and would not
easily, or at low rates, dispense with anything that might be against
the public good. Another proposes that the judges must be made sure,
that they may declare always in favour of the prerogative; that they
must be often sent for to court, that the king may hear them argue those
points in which he is concerned; since, how unjust soever any of his
pretensions may be, yet still some one or other of them, either out of
contradiction to others, or the pride of singularity, or to make their
court, would find out some pretence or other to give the king a fair
colour to carry the point. For if the judges but differ in opinion, the
clearest thing in the world is made by that means disputable, and truth
being once brought in question, the king may then take advantage to
expound the law for his own profit; while the judges that stand out will
be brought over, either through fear or modesty; and they being thus
gained, all of them may be sent to the Bench to give sentence boldly as
the king would have it; for fair pretences will never be wanting when
sentence is to be given in the prince's favour. It will either be said
that equity lies of his side, or some words in the law will be found
sounding that way, or some forced sense will be put on them; and, when
all other things fail, the king's undoubted prerogative will be
pretended, as that which is above all law, and to which a religious
judge ought to have a special regard. Thus all consent to that maxim of
Crassus, that a prince cannot have treasure enough, since he must
maintain his armies out of it; that a king, even though he would, can do
nothing unjustly; that all property is in him, not excepting the very
persons of his subjects; and that no man has any other property but that
which the king, out of his goodness, thinks fit to leave him. And they
think it is the prince's interest that there be as little of this left
as may be, as if it were his advantage that his people should have
neither riches nor liberty, since these things make them less easy and
willing to submit to a cruel and unjust government. Whereas necessity
and poverty blunts them, makes them patient, beats them down, and breaks
that height of spirit that might otherwise dispose them to rebel. Now
what if, after all these propositions were made, I should rise up and
assert that such counsels were both unbecoming a king and mischievous to
him; and that not only his honour, but his safety, consisted more in his
people's wealth than in his own; if I should show that they choose a
king for their own sake, and not for his; that, by his care and
endeavours, they may be both easy and safe; and that, therefore, a
prince ought to take more care of his people's happiness than of his
own, as a shepherd is to take more care of his flock than of himself? It
is also certain that they are much mistaken that think the poverty of a
nation is a mean of the public safety. Who quarrel more than beggars?
who does more earnestly long for a change than he that is uneasy in his
present circumstances? and who run to create confusions with so
desperate a boldness as those who, having nothing to lose, hope to gain
by them? If a king should fall under such contempt or envy that he could
not keep his subjects in their duty but by oppression and ill usage, and
by rendering them poor and miserable, it were certainly better for him
to quit his kingdom than to retain it by such methods as make him, while
he keeps the name of authority, lose the majesty due to it. Nor is it so
becoming the dignity of a king to reign over beggars as over rich and
happy subjects. And therefore Fabricius, a man of a noble and exalted
temper, said 'he would rather govern rich men than be rich himself;
since for one man to abound in wealth and pleasure when all about him
are mourning and groaning, is to be a gaoler and not a king.' He is an
unskilful physician that cannot cure one disease without casting his
patient into another. So he that can find no other way for correcting
the errors of his people but by taking from them the conveniences of
life, shows that he knows not what it is to govern a free nation. He
himself ought rather to shake off his sloth, or to lay down his pride,
for the contempt or hatred that his people have for him takes its rise
from the vices in himself. Let him live upon what belongs to him without
wronging others, and accommodate his expense to his revenue. Let him
punish crimes, and, by his wise conduct, let him endeavour to prevent
them, rather than be severe when he has suffered them to be too common.
Let him not rashly revive laws that are abrogated by disuse, especially
if they have been long forgotten and never wanted. And let him never
take any penalty for the breach of them to which a judge would not give
way in a private man, but would look on him as a crafty and unjust
person for pretending to it. To these things I would add that law among
the Macarians--a people that live not far from Utopia--by which their
king, on the day on which he began to reign, is tied by an oath,
confirmed by solemn sacrifices, never to have at once above a thousand
pounds of gold in his treasures, or so much silver as is equal to that
in value. This law, they tell us, was made by an excellent king who had
more regard to the riches of his country than to his own wealth, and
therefore provided against the heaping up of so much treasure as might
impoverish the people. He thought that moderate sum might be sufficient
for any accident, if either the king had occasion for it against the
rebels, or the kingdom against the invasion of an enemy; but that it was
not enough to encourage a prince to invade other men's rights--a
circumstance that was the chief cause of his making that law. He also
thought that it was a good provision for that free circulation of money
so necessary for the course of commerce and exchange. And when a king
must distribute all those extraordinary accessions that increase
treasure beyond the due pitch, it makes him less disposed to oppress his
subjects. Such a king as this will be the terror of ill men, and will be
beloved by all the good.
"If, I say, I should talk of these or such-like things to men that
had taken their bias another way, how deaf would they be to all I could
say!" "No doubt, very deaf," answered I; "and no wonder, for one is
never to offer propositions or advice that we are certain will not be
entertained. Discourses so much out of the road could not avail
anything, nor have any effect on men whose minds were prepossessed with
different sentiments. This philosophical way of speculation is not
unpleasant among friends in a free conversation; but there is no room
for it in the courts of princes, where great affairs are carried on by
authority." "That is what I was saying," replied he, "that there is no
room for philosophy in the courts of princes." "Yes, there is," said I,
"but not for this speculative philosophy, that makes everything to be
alike fitting at all times; but there is another philosophy that is more
pliable, that knows its proper scene, accommodates itself to it, and
teaches a man with propriety and decency to act that part which has
fallen to his share. If when one of Plautus' comedies is upon the stage,
and a company of servants are acting their parts, you should come out in
the garb of a philosopher, and repeat, out of Octavia, a discourse of
Seneca's to Nero, would it not be better for you to say nothing than by
mixing things of such different natures to make an impertinent
tragi-comedy? for you spoil and corrupt the play that is in hand when
you mix with it things of an opposite nature, even though they are much
better. Therefore go through with the play that is acting the best you
can, and do not confound it because another that is pleasanter comes
into your thoughts. It is even so in a commonwealth and in the councils
of princes; if ill opinions cannot be quite rooted out, and you cannot
cure some received vice according to your wishes, you must not,
therefore, abandon the commonwealth, for the same reasons as you should
not forsake the ship in a storm because you cannot command the winds.
You are not obliged to assault people with discourses that are out of
their road, when you see that their received notions must prevent your
making an impression upon them: you ought rather to cast about and to
manage things with all the dexterity in your power, so that, if you are
not able to make them go well, they may be as little ill as possible;
for, except all men were good, everything cannot be right, and that is a
blessing that I do not at present hope to see." "According to your
argument," answered he, "all that I could be able to do would be to
preserve myself from being mad while I endeavoured to cure the madness
of others; for, if I speak with, I must repeat what I have said to you;
and as for lying, whether a philosopher can do it or not I cannot tell:
I am sure I cannot do it. But though these discourses may be uneasy and
ungrateful to them, I do not see why they should seem foolish or
extravagant; indeed, if I should either propose such things as Plato has
contrived in his 'Commonwealth,' or as the Utopians practise in theirs,
though they might seem better, as certainly they are, yet they are so
different from our establishment, which is founded on property (there
being no such thing among them), that I could not expect that it would
have any effect on them. But such discourses as mine, which only call
past evils to mind and give warning of what may follow, leave nothing in
them that is so absurd that they may not be used at any time, for they
can only be unpleasant to those who are resolved to run headlong the
contrary way; and if we must let alone everything as absurd or
extravagant--which, by reason of the wicked lives of many, may seem
uncouth--we must, even among Christians, give over pressing the greatest
part of those things that Christ hath taught us, though He has commanded
us not to conceal them, but to proclaim on the housetops that which He
taught in secret. The greatest parts of His precepts are more opposite
to the lives of the men of this age than any part of my discourse has
been, but the preachers seem to have learned that craft to which you
advise me: for they, observing that the world would not willingly suit
their lives to the rules that Christ has given, have fitted His
doctrine, as if it had been a leaden rule, to their lives, that so, some
way or other, they might agree with one another. But I see no other
effect of this compliance except it be that men become more secure in
their wickedness by it; and this is all the success that I can have in a
court, for I must always differ from the rest, and then I shall signify
nothing; or, if I agree with them, I shall then only help forward their
madness. I do not comprehend what you mean by your 'casting about,' or
by 'the bending and handling things so dexterously that, if they go not
well, they may go as little ill as may be;' for in courts they will not
bear with a man's holding his peace or conniving at what others do: a
man must barefacedly approve of the worst counsels and consent to the
blackest designs, so that he would pass for a spy, or, possibly, for a
traitor, that did but coldly approve of such wicked practices; and
therefore when a man is engaged in such a society, he will be so far
from being able to mend matters by his 'casting about,' as you call it,
that he will find no occasions of doing any good--the ill company will
sooner corrupt him than be the better for him; or if, notwithstanding
all their ill company, he still remains steady and innocent, yet their
follies and knavery will be imputed to him; and, by mixing counsels with
them, he must bear his share of all the blame that belongs wholly to
others.
"It was no ill simile by which Plato set forth the unreasonableness
of a philosopher's meddling with government. 'If a man,' says he, 'were
to see a great company run out every day into the rain and take delight
in being wet--if he knew that it would be to no purpose for him to go
and persuade them to return to their houses in order to avoid the storm,
and that all that could be expected by his going to speak to them would
be that he himself should be as wet as they, it would be best for him to
keep within doors, and, since he had not influence enough to correct
other people's folly, to take care to preserve himself.'
"Though, to speak plainly my real sentiments, I must freely own that
as long as there is any property, and while money is the standard of all
other things, I cannot think that a nation can be governed either justly
or happily: not justly, because the best things will fall to the share
of the worst men; nor happily, because all things will be divided among
a few (and even these are not in all respects happy), the rest being
left to be absolutely miserable. Therefore, when I reflect on the wise
and good constitution of the Utopians, among whom all things are so well
governed and with so few laws, where virtue hath its due reward, and yet
there is such an equality that every man lives in plenty-- when I
compare with them so many other nations that are still making new laws,
and yet can never bring their constitution to a right regulation; where,
notwithstanding every one has his property, yet all the laws that they
can invent have not the power either to obtain or preserve it, or even
to enable men certainly to distinguish what is their own from what is
another's, of which the many lawsuits that every day break out, and are
eternally depending, give too plain a demonstration--when, I say, I
balance all these things in my thoughts, I grow more favourable to
Plato, and do not wonder that he resolved not to make any laws for such
as would not submit to a community of all things; for so wise a man
could not but foresee that the setting all upon a level was the only way
to make a nation happy; which cannot be obtained so long as there is
property, for when every man draws to himself all that he can compass,
by one title or another, it must needs follow that, how plentiful soever
a nation may be, yet a few dividing the wealth of it among themselves,
the rest must fall into indigence. So that there will be two sorts of
people among them, who deserve that their fortunes should be
interchanged--the former useless, but wicked and ravenous; and the
latter, who by their constant industry serve the public more than
themselves, sincere and modest men--from whence I am persuaded that till
property is taken away, there can be no equitable or just distribution
of things, nor can the world be happily governed; for as long as that is
maintained, the greatest and the far best part of mankind, will be still
oppressed with a load of cares and anxieties. I confess, without taking
it quite away, those pressures that lie on a great part of mankind may
be made lighter, but they can never be quite removed; for if laws were
made to determine at how great an extent in soil, and at how much money,
every man must stop--to limit the prince, that he might not grow too
great; and to restrain the people, that they might not become too
insolent--and that none might factiously aspire to public employments,
which ought neither to be sold nor made burdensome by a great expense,
since otherwise those that serve in them would be tempted to reimburse
themselves by cheats and violence, and it would become necessary to find
out rich men for undergoing those employments, which ought rather to be
trusted to the wise. These laws, I say, might have such effect as good
diet and care might have on a sick man whose recovery is desperate; they
might allay and mitigate the disease, but it could never be quite
healed, nor the body politic be brought again to a good habit as long as
property remains; and it will fall out, as in a complication of
diseases, that by applying a remedy to one sore you will provoke
another, and that which removes the one ill symptom produces others,
while the strengthening one part of the body weakens the rest." "On the
contrary," answered I, "it seems to me that men cannot live conveniently
where all things are common. How can there be any plenty where every man
will excuse himself from labour? for as the hope of gain doth not excite
him, so the confidence that he has in other men's industry may make him
slothful. If people come to be pinched with want, and yet cannot dispose
of anything as their own, what can follow upon this but perpetual
sedition and bloodshed, especially when the reverence and authority due
to magistrates falls to the ground? for I cannot imagine how that can be
kept up among those that are in all things equal to one another." "I do
not wonder," said he, "that it appears so to you, since you have no
notion, or at least no right one, of such a constitution; but if you had
been in Utopia with me, and had seen their laws and rules, as I did, for
the space of five years, in which I lived among them, and during which
time I was so delighted with them that indeed I should never have left
them if it had not been to make the discovery of that new world to the
Europeans, you would then confess that you had never seen a people so
well constituted as they." "You will not easily persuade me," said
Peter, "that any nation in that new world is better governed than those
among us; for as our understandings are not worse than theirs, so our
government (if I mistake not) being more ancient, a long practice has
helped us to find out many conveniences of life, and some happy chances
have discovered other things to us which no man's understanding could
ever have invented." "As for the antiquity either of their government or
of ours," said he, "you cannot pass a true judgment of it unless you had
read their histories; for, if they are to be believed, they had towns
among them before these parts were so much as inhabited; and as for
those discoveries that have been either hit on by chance or made by
ingenious men, these might have happened there as well as here. I do not
deny but we are more ingenious than they are, but they exceed us much in
industry and application. They knew little concerning us before our
arrival among them. They call us all by a general name of 'The nations
that lie beyond the equinoctial line;' for their chronicle mentions a
shipwreck that was made on their coast twelve hundred years ago, and
that some Romans and Egyptians that were in the ship, getting safe
ashore, spent the rest of their days amongst them; and such was their
ingenuity that from this single opportunity they drew the advantage of
learning from those unlooked-for guests, and acquired all the useful
arts that were then among the Romans, and which were known to these
shipwrecked men; and by the hints that they gave them they themselves
found out even some of those arts which they could not fully explain, so
happily did they improve that accident of having some of our people cast
upon their shore. But if such an accident has at any time brought any
from thence into Europe, we have been so far from improving it that we
do not so much as remember it, as, in aftertimes perhaps, it will be
forgot by our people that I was ever there; for though they, from one
such accident, made themselves masters of all the good inventions that
were among us, yet I believe it would be long before we should learn or
put in practice any of the good institutions that are among them. And
this is the true cause of their being better governed and living happier
than we, though we come not short of them in point of understanding or
outward advantages." Upon this I said to him, "I earnestly beg you would
describe that island very particularly to us; be not too short, but set
out in order all things relating to their soil, their rivers, their
towns, their people, their manners, constitution, laws, and, in a word,
all that you imagine we desire to know; and you may well imagine that we
desire to know everything concerning them of which we are hitherto
ignorant." "I will do it very willingly," said he, "for I have digested
the whole matter carefully, but it will take up some time." "Let us go,
then," said I, "first and dine, and then we shall have leisure enough."
He consented; we went in and dined, and after dinner came back and sat
down in the same place. I ordered my servants to take care that none
might come and interrupt us, and both Peter and I desired Raphael to be
as good as his word. When he saw that we were very intent upon it he
paused a little to recollect himself, and began in this manner:-
"The island of Utopia is in the middle two hundred miles broad, and
holds almost at the same breadth over a great part of it, but it grows
narrower towards both ends. Its figure is not unlike a crescent. Between
its horns the sea comes in eleven miles broad, and spreads itself into a
great bay, which is environed with land to the compass of about five
hundred miles, and is well secured from winds. In this bay there is no
great current; the whole coast is, as it were, one continued harbour,
which gives all that live in the island great convenience for mutual
commerce. But the entry into the bay, occasioned by rocks on the one
hand and shallows on the other, is very dangerous. In the middle of it
there is one single rock which appears above water, and may, therefore,
easily be avoided; and on the top of it there is a tower, in which a
garrison is kept; the other rocks lie under water, and are very
dangerous. The channel is known only to the natives; so that if any
stranger should enter into the bay without one of their pilots he would
run great danger of shipwreck. For even they themselves could not pass
it safe if some marks that are on the coast did not direct their way;
and if these should be but a little shifted, any fleet that might come
against them, how great soever it were, would be certainly lost. On the
other side of the island there are likewise many harbours; and the coast
is so fortified, both by nature and art, that a small number of men can
hinder the descent of a great army. But they report (and there remains
good marks of it to make it credible) that this was no island at first,
but a part of the continent. Utopus, that conquered it (whose name it
still carries, for Abraxa was its first name), brought the rude and
uncivilised inhabitants into such a good government, and to that measure
of politeness, that they now far excel all the rest of mankind. Having
soon subdued them, he designed to separate them from the continent, and
to bring the sea quite round them. To accomplish this he ordered a deep
channel to be dug, fifteen miles long; and that the natives might not
think he treated them like slaves, he not only forced the inhabitants,
but also his own soldiers, to labour in carrying it on. As he set a vast
number of men to work, he, beyond all men's expectations, brought it to
a speedy conclusion. And his neighbours, who at first laughed at the
folly of the undertaking, no sooner saw it brought to perfection than
they were struck with admiration and terror.
"There are fifty-four cities in the island, all large and well built,
the manners, customs, and laws of which are the same, and they are all
contrived as near in the same manner as the ground on which they stand
will allow. The nearest lie at least twenty-four miles' distance from
one another, and the most remote are not so far distant but that a man
can go on foot in one day from it to that which lies next it. Every city
sends three of their wisest senators once a year to Amaurot, to consult
about their common concerns; for that is the chief town of the island,
being situated near the centre of it, so that it is the most convenient
place for their assemblies. The jurisdiction of every city extends at
least twenty miles, and, where the towns lie wider, they have much more
ground. No town desires to enlarge its bounds, for the people consider
themselves rather as tenants than landlords. They have built, over all
the country, farmhouses for husbandmen, which are well contrived, and
furnished with all things necessary for country labour. Inhabitants are
sent, by turns, from the cities to dwell in them; no country family has
fewer than forty men and women in it, besides two slaves. There is a
master and a mistress set over every family, and over thirty families
there is a magistrate. Every year twenty of this family come back to the
town after they have stayed two years in the country, and in their room
there are other twenty sent from the town, that they may learn country
work from those that have been already one year in the country, as they
must teach those that come to them the next from the town. By this means
such as dwell in those country farms are never ignorant of agriculture,
and so commit no errors which might otherwise be fatal and bring them
under a scarcity of corn. But though there is every year such a shifting
of the husbandmen to prevent any man being forced against his will to
follow that hard course of life too long, yet many among them take such
pleasure in it that they desire leave to continue in it many years.
These husbandmen till the ground, breed cattle, hew wood, and convey it
to the towns either by land or water, as is most convenient. They breed
an infinite multitude of chickens in a very curious manner; for the hens
do not sit and hatch them, but a vast number of eggs are laid in a
gentle and equal heat in order to be hatched, and they are no sooner out
of the shell, and able to stir about, but they seem to consider those
that feed them as their mothers, and follow them as other chickens do
the hen that hatched them. They breed very few horses, but those they
have are full of mettle, and are kept only for exercising their youth in
the art of sitting and riding them; for they do not put them to any
work, either of ploughing or carriage, in which they employ oxen. For
though their horses are stronger, yet they find oxen can hold out
longer; and as they are not subject to so many diseases, so they are
kept upon a less charge and with less trouble. And even when they are so
worn out that they are no more fit for labour, they are good meat at
last. They sow no corn but that which is to be their bread; for they
drink either wine, cider or perry, and often water, sometimes boiled
with honey or liquorice, with which they abound; and though they know
exactly how much corn will serve every town and all that tract of
country which belongs to it, yet they sow much more and breed more
cattle than are necessary for their consumption, and they give that
overplus of which they make no use to their neighbours. When they want
anything in the country which it does not produce, they fetch that from
the town, without carrying anything in exchange for it. And the
magistrates of the town take care to see it given them; for they meet
generally in the town once a month, upon a festival day. When the time
of harvest comes, the magistrates in the country send to those in the
towns and let them know how many hands they will need for reaping the
harvest; and the number they call for being sent to them, they commonly
despatch it all in one day.
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A Map of Utopia, from Thomas More's Utopia
|
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OF THEIR TOWNS, PARTICULARLY OF AMAUROT
HE that knows one of their towns knows them all, they are so like one
another, except w here the situation makes some difference. I shall
therefore describe one of them; and none is so proper as Amaurot; for as
none is more eminent, all the rest yielding in precedence to this,
because it is the seat of their Supreme Council, so there was none of
them better known to me, I having lived five years altogether in it.
It lies upon the side of a hill, or rather a rising ground: its
figure is almost square, for from the one side of it, which shoots up
almost to the top of the hill, it runs down in a descent for two miles
to the river Anider; but it is a little broader the other way that runs
along by the bank of that river. The Anider rises about eighty miles
above Amaurot, in a small spring at first, but other brooks falling into
it, of which two are more considerable than the rest. As it runs by
Amaurot, it is grown half a mile broad; but it still grows larger and
larger, till after sixty miles course below it, it is lost in the ocean,
between the town and the sea, and for some miles above the town, it ebbs
and flows every six hours, with a strong current. The tide comes up for
about thirty miles so full that there is nothing but salt water in the
river, the fresh water being driven back with its force; and above that,
for some miles, the water is brackish; but a little higher, as it runs
by the town, it is quite fresh; and when the tide ebbs, it continues
fresh all along to the sea. There is a bridge cast over the river, not
of timber, but of fair stone, consisting of many stately arches; it lies
at that part of the town which is farthest from the sea, so that ships
without any hinderance lie all along the side of the town.
There is likewise another river that runs by it, which, though it is
not great, yet it runs pleasantly, for it rises out of the same hill on
which the town stands, and so runs down through it, and falls into the
Anider. The inhabitants have fortified the fountain-head of this river,
which springs a little without the town; so that if they should happen
to be besieged, the enemy might not be able to stop or divert the course
of the water, nor poison it; from thence it is carried in earthen pipes
to the lower streets; and for those places of the town to which the
water of that shall river cannot be conveyed, they have great cisterns
for receiving the rain-water, which supplies the want of the other. The
town is compassed with a high and thick wall, in which there are many
towers and forts; there is also a broad and deep dry ditch, set thick
with thorns, cast round three sides of the town, and the river is
instead of a ditch on the fourth side. The streets are very convenient
for all carriage, and are well sheltered from the winds. Their buildings
are good, and are so uniform that a whole side of a street looks like
one house. The streets are twenty feet broad; there lie gardens behind
all their houses; these are large but enclosed with buildings that on
all hands face the streets; so that every house has both a door to the
street, and a back door to the garden. Their doors have all two leaves,
which, as they are easily opened, so they shut of their own accord; and
there being no property among them, every man may freely enter into any
house whatsoever. At every ten years' end they shift their houses by
lots.
They cultivate their gardens with great care, so that they have
vines, fruits, herbs, and flowers in them; and all is so well ordered,
and so finely kept, that I never saw gardens anywhere that were both so
fruitful and so beautiful as theirs. And this humor of ordering their
gardens so well is not only kept up by the pleasure they find in it, but
also by an emulation between the inhabitants of the several streets, who
vie with each other; and there is indeed nothing belonging to the whole
town that is both more useful and more pleasant. So that he who founded
the town seems to have taken care of nothing more than of their gardens;
for they say, the whole scheme of the town was designed at first by
Utopus, but he left all that belonged to the ornament and improvement of
it to be added by those that should come after him, that being too much
for one man to bring to perfection. Their records, that contain the
history of their town and State, are preserved with an exact care, and
run backward 1,760 years. From these it appears that their houses were
at first low and mean, like cottages, made of any sort of timber, and
were built with mud walls and thatched with straw. But now their houses
are three stories high: the fronts of them are faced with stone,
plastering, or brick; and between the facings of their walls they throw
in their rubbish. Their roofs are flat, and on them they lay a sort of
plaster, which costs very little, and yet is so tempered that it is not
apt to take fire, and yet resists the weather more than lead. They have
great quantities of glass among them, with which they glaze their
windows. They use also in their windows a thin linen cloth, that is so
oiled or gummed that it both keeps out the wind and gives free admission
to the light.
OF THEIR MAGISTRATES
THIRTY families choose every year a magistrate, who was anciently called
the syphogrant, but is now called the philarch; and over every ten
syphogrants, with the families subject to them, there is another
magistrate, who was anciently called the tranibor, but of late the
archphilarch. All the syphogrants, who are in number 200, choose the
Prince out of a list of four, who are named by the people of the four
divisions of the city; but they take an oath before they proceed to an
election, that they will choose him whom they think most fit for the
office. They give their voices secretly, so that it is not known for
whom everyone gives his suffrage. The Prince is for life, unless he is
removed upon suspicion of some design to enslave the people. The
tranibors are new-chosen every year, but yet they are for the most part
continued. All their other magistrates are only annual. The tranibors
meet every third day, and oftener if necessary, and consult with the
prince, either concerning the affairs of the State in general or such
private differences as may arise sometimes among the people; though that
falls out but seldom. There are always two syphogrants called into the
council-chamber, and these are changed every day. It is a fundamental
rule of their government that no conclusion can be made in anything that
relates to the public till it has been first debated three several days
in their Council. It is death for any to meet and consult concerning the
State, unless it be either in their ordinary Council, or in the assembly
of the whole body of the people.
These things have been so provided among them, that the prince and
the tranibors may not conspire together to change the government and
enslave the people; and therefore when anything of great importance is
set on foot, it is sent to the syphogrants; who after they have
communicated it to the families that belong to their divisions, and have
considered it among themselves, make report to the Senate; and upon
great occasions, the matter is referred to the Council of the whole
island. One rule observed in their Council, is, never to debate a thing
on the same day in which it is first proposed; for that is always
referred to the next meeting, that so men may not rashly, and in the
heat of discourse, engage themselves too soon, which might bias them so
much, that instead of consulting the good of the public, they might
rather study to support their first opinions, and by a perverse and
preposterous sort of shame, hazard their country rather than endanger
their own reputation, or venture the being suspected to have wanted
foresight in the expedients that they at first proposed. And therefore
to prevent this, they take care that they may rather be deliberate than
sudden in their motions.
OF THEIR TRADES, AND MANNER OF LIFE
AGRICULTURE is that which is so universally understood among them that
no person, either man or woman, is ignorant of it; they are instructed
in it from their childhood, partly by what they learn at school and
partly by practice; they being led out often into the fields, about the
town, where they not only see others at work, but are likewise exercised
in it themselves. Besides agriculture, which is so common to them all,
every man has some peculiar trade to which he applies himself, such as
the manufacture of wool, or flax, masonry, smith's work, or carpenter's
work; for there is no sort of trade that is not in great esteem among
them. Throughout the island they wear the same sort of clothes without
any other distinction, except what is necessary to distinguish the two
sexes, and the married and unmarried. The fashion never alters; and as
it is neither disagreeable nor uneasy, so it is suited to the climate,
and calculated both for their summers and winters. Every family makes
their own clothes; but all among them, women as well as men, learn one
or other of the trades formerly mentioned. Women, for the most part,
deal in wool and flax, which suit best with their weakness, leaving the
ruder trades to the men. The same trade generally passes down from
father to son, inclinations often following descent; but if any man's
genius lies another way, he is by adoption translated into a family that
deals in the trade to which he is inclined: and when that is to be done,
care is taken not only by his father, but by the magistrate, that he may
be put to a discreet and good man. And if after a person has learned one
trade, he desires to acquire another, that is also allowed, and is
managed in the same manner as the former. When he has learned both, he
follows that which he likes best, unless the public has more occasion
for the other.
The chief, and almost the only business of the syphogrants, is to
take care that no man may live idle, but that every one may follow his
trade diligently: yet they do not wear themselves out with perpetual
toil, from morning to night, as if they were beasts of burden, which, as
it is indeed a heavy slavery, so it is everywhere the common course of
life among all mechanics except the Utopians; but they dividing the day
and night into twenty-four hours, appoint six of these for work; three
of which are before dinner, and three after. They then sup, and at eight
o'clock, counting from noon, go to bed and sleep eight hours. The rest
of their time besides that taken up in work, eating and sleeping, is
left to every man's discretion; yet they are not to abuse that interval
to luxury and idleness, but must employ it in some proper exercise
according to their various inclinations, which is for the most part
reading. It is ordinary to have public lectures every morning before
daybreak; at which none are obliged to appear but those who are marked
out for literature; yet a great many, both men and women of all ranks,
go to hear lectures of one sort of other, according to their
inclinations. But if others, that are not made for contemplation, choose
rather to employ themselves at that time in their trades, as many of
them do, they are not hindered, but are rather commended, as men that
take care to serve their country. After supper, they spend an hour in
some diversion, in summer in their gardens, and in winter in the halls
where they eat; where they entertain each other, either with music or
discourse. They do not so much as know dice, or any such foolish and
mischievous games: they have, however, two sorts of games not unlike our
chess; the one is between several numbers, in which one number, as it
were, consumes another: the other resembles a battle between the virtues
and the vices, in which the enmity in the vices among themselves, and
their agreement against virtue, is not unpleasantly represented;
together with the special oppositions between the particular virtues and
vices; as also the methods by which vice either openly assaults or
secretly undermines virtue, and virtue on the other hand resists it. But
the time appointed for labor is to be narrowly examined, otherwise you
may imagine, that since there are only six hours appointed for work,
they may fall under a scarcity of necessary provisions. But it is so far
from being true, that this time is not sufficient for supplying them
with plenty of all things, either necessary or convenient, that it is
rather too much; and this you will easily apprehend, if you consider how
great a part of all other nations is quite idle.
First, women generally do little, who are the half of mankind; and if
some few women are diligent, their husbands are idle: then consider the
great company of idle priests, and of those that are called religious
men; add to these all rich men, chiefly those that have estates in land,
who are called noblemen and gentlemen, together with their families,
made up of idle persons, that are kept more for show than use; add to
these, all those strong and lusty beggars, that go about pretending some
disease, in excuse for their begging; and upon the whole account you
will find that the number of those by whose labors mankind is supplied,
is much less than you perhaps imagined. Then consider how few of those
that work are employed in labors that are of real service; for we who
measure all things by money, give rise to many trades that are both vain
and superfluous, and serve only to support riot and luxury. For if those
who work were employed only in such things as the conveniences of life
require, there would be such an abundance of them that the prices of
them would so sink that tradesmen could not be maintained by their
gains; if all those who labor about useless things were set to more
profitable employments, and if all they that languish out their lives in
sloth and idleness, every one of whom consumes as much as any two of the
men that are at work, were forced to labor, you may easily imagine that
a small proportion of time would serve for doing all that is either
necessary, profitable, or pleasant to mankind, especially while pleasure
is kept within its due bounds.
This appears very plainly in Utopia, for there, in a great city, and
in all the territory that lies round it, you can scarce find 500, either
men or women, by their age and strength, are capable of labor, that are
not engaged in it; even the syphogrants, though excused by the law, yet
do not excuse themselves, but work, that by their examples they may
excite the industry of the rest of the people. The like exemption is
allowed to those who, being recommended to the people by the priests,
are by the secret suffrages of the syphogrants privileged from labor,
that they may apply themselves wholly to study; and if any of these fall
short of those hopes that they seemed at first to give, they are obliged
to return to work. And sometimes a mechanic, that so employs his leisure
hours, as to make a considerable advancement in learning, is eased from
being a tradesman, and ranked among their learned men. Out of these they
choose their ambassadors, their priests, their tranibors, and the prince
himself, anciently called their Barzenes, but is called of late their
Ademus.
And thus from the great numbers among them that are neither suffered
to be idle, nor to be employed in any fruitless labor, you may easily
make the estimate how much may be done in those few hours in which they
are obliged to labor. But besides all that has been already said, it is
to be considered that the needful arts among them are managed with less
labor than anywhere else. The building or the repairing of houses among
us employ many hands, because often a thriftless heir suffers a house
that his father built to fall into decay, so that his successor must, at
a great cost, repair that which he might have kept up with a small
charge: it frequently happens that the same house which one person built
at a vast expense is neglected by another, who thinks he has a more
delicate sense of the beauties of architecture; and he suffering it to
fall to ruin, builds another at no less charge. But among the Utopians
all things are so regulated that men very seldom build upon a new piece
of ground; and are not only very quick in repairing their houses, but
show their foresight in preventing their decay: so that their buildings
are preserved very long, with but little labor, and thus the builders to
whom that care belongs are often without employment, except the hewing
of timber and the squaring of stones, that the materials may be in
readiness for raising a building very suddenly when there is any
occasion for it.
As to their clothes, observe how little work is spent in them: while
they are at labor, they are clothed with leather and skins. cast
carelessly about them, which will last seven years; and when they appear
in public they put on an upper garment, which hides the other; and these
are all of one color, and that is the natural color of the wool. As they
need less woollen cloth than is used anywhere else, so that which they
make use of is much less costly. They use linen cloth more; but that is
prepared with less labor, and they value cloth only by the whiteness of
the linen or the cleanness of the wool, without much regard to the
fineness of the thread: while in other places, four or five upper
garments of woollen cloth, of different colors, and as many vests of
silk, will scarce serve one man; and while those that are nicer think
ten are too few, every man there is content with one, which very often
serves him two years. Nor is there anything that can tempt a man to
desire more; for if he had them, he would neither be the warmer nor
would he make one jot the better appearance for it. And thus, since they
are all employed in some useful labor, and since they content themselves
with fewer things, it falls out that there is a great abundance of all
things among them: so that it frequently happens that, for want of other
work, vast numbers are sent out to mend the highways. But when no public
undertaking is to be performed, the hours of working are lessened. The
magistrates never engage the people in unnecessary labor, since the
chief end of the constitution is to regulate labor by the necessities of
the public, and to allow all the people as much time as is necessary for
the improvement of their minds, in which they think the happiness of
life consists.
OF THEIR TRAFFIC
BUT it is now time to explain to you the mutual intercourse of this
people, their commerce, and the rules by which all things are
distributed among them.
As their cities are composed of families, so their families are made
up of those that are nearly related to one another. Their women, when
they grow up, are married out; but all the males, both children and
grandchildren, live still in the same house, in great obedience to their
common parent, unless age has weakened his understanding: and in that
case, he that is next to him in age comes in his room. But lest any city
should become either too great, or by any accident be dispeopled,
provision is made that none of their cities may contain above 6,000
families, besides those of the country round it. No family may have less
than ten and more than sixteen persons in it; but there can be no
determined number for the children under age. This rule is easily
observed, by removing some of the children of a more fruitful couple to
any other family that does not abound so much in them.
By the same rule, they supply cities that do not increase so fast,
from others that breed faster; and if there is any increase over the
whole island, then they draw out a number of their citizens out of the
several towns, and send them over to the neighboring continent; where,
if they find that the inhabitants have more soil than they can well
cultivate, they fix a colony, taking the inhabitants into their society,
if they are willing to live with them; and where they do that of their
own accord, they quickly enter into their method of life, and conform to
their rules, and this proves a happiness to both nations; for according
to their constitution, such care is taken of the soil that it becomes
fruitful enough for both, though it might be otherwise too narrow and
barren for any one of them. But if the natives refuse to conform
themselves to their laws, they drive them out of those bounds which they
mark out for themselves, and use force if they resist. For they account
it a very just cause of war, for a nation to hinder others from
possessing a part of that soil of which they make no use, but which is
suffered to lie idle and uncultivated; since every man has by the law of
nature a right to such a waste portion of the earth as is necessary for
his subsistence. If an accident has so lessened the number of the
inhabitants of any of their towns that it cannot be made up from the
other towns of the island, without diminishing them too much, which is
said to have fallen out but twice since they were first a people, when
great numbers were carried off by the plague, the loss is then supplied
by recalling as many as are wanted from their colonies; for they will
abandon these, rather than suffer the towns in the island to sink too
low.
But to return to their manner of living in society, the oldest man of
every family, as has been already said, is its governor. Wives serve
their husbands, and children their parents, and always the younger
serves the elder. Every city is divided into four equal parts, and in
the middle of each there is a marketplace: what is brought thither, and
manufactured by the several families, is carried from thence to houses
appointed for that purpose, in which all things of a sort are laid by
themselves; and thither every father goes and takes whatsoever he or his
family stand in need of, without either paying for it or leaving
anything in exchange. There is no reason for giving a denial to any
person, since there is such plenty of everything among them; and there
is no danger of a man's asking for more than he needs; they have no
inducements to do this, since they are sure that they shall always be
supplied. It is the fear of want that makes any of the whole race of
animals either greedy or ravenous; but besides fear, there is in man a
pride that makes him fancy it a particular glory to excel others in pomp
and excess. But by the laws of the Utopians, there is no room for this.
Near these markets there are others for all sorts of provisions, where
there are not only herbs, fruits, and bread, but also fish, fowl, and
cattle.
There are also, without their towns, places appointed near some
running water, for killing their beasts, and for washing away their
filth, which is done by their slaves: for they suffer none of their
citizens to kill their cattle, because they think that pity and
good-nature, which are among the best of those affections that are born
with us, are much impaired by the butchering of animals: nor do they
suffer anything that is foul or unclean to be brought within their
towns, lest the air should be infected by ill-smells which might
prejudice their health. In every street there are great halls that lie
at an equal distance from each other, distinguished by particular names.
The syphogrants dwell in those that are set over thirty families,
fifteen lying on one side of it, and as many on the other. In these
halls they all meet and have their repasts. The stewards of every one of
them come to the market-place at an appointed hour; and according to the
number of those that belong to the hall, they carry home provisions. But
they take more care of their sick than of any others: these are lodged
and provided for in public hospitals they have belonging to every town
four hospitals, that are built without their walls, and are so large
that they may pass for little towns: by this means, if they had ever
such a number of sick persons, they could lodge them conveniently, and
at such a distance, that such of them as are sick of infectious diseases
may be kept so far from the rest that there can be no danger of
contagion. The hospitals are furnished and stored with all things that
are convenient for the ease and recovery of the sick; and those that are
put in them are looked after with such tender and watchful care, and are
so constantly attended by their skilful physicians, that as none is sent
to them against their will, so there is scarce one in a whole town that,
if he should fall ill, would not choose rather to go thither than lie
sick at home.
After the steward of the hospitals has taken for the sick whatsoever
the physician prescribes, then the best things that are left in the
market are distributed equally among the halls, in proportion to their
numbers, only, in the first place, they serve the Prince, the chief
priest, the tranibors, the ambassadors, and strangers, if there are any,
which indeed falls out but seldom, and for whom there are houses well
furnished, particularly appointed for their reception when they come
among them. At the hours of dinner and supper, the whole syphogranty
being called together by sound of trumpet, they meet and eat together,
except only such as are in the hospitals or lie sick at home. Yet after
the halls are served, no man is hindered to carry provisions home from
the market-place; for they know that none does that but for some good
reason; for though any that will may eat at home, yet none does it
willingly, since it is both ridiculous and foolish for any to give
themselves the trouble to make ready an ill dinner at home, when there
is a much more plentiful one made ready for him so near at hand. All the
uneasy and sordid services about these halls are performed by their
slaves; but the dressing and cooking their meat, and the ordering their
tables, belong only to the women, all those of every family taking it by
turns. They sit at three or more tables, according to their number; the
men sit toward the wall, and the women sit on the other side, that if
any of them should be taken suddenly ill, which is no uncommon case
among women with child, she may, without disturbing the rest, rise and
go to the nurses' room, who are there with the sucking children, where
there is always clean water at hand, and cradles in which they may lay
the young children, if there is occasion for it, and a fire that they
may shift and dress them before it.
Every child is nursed by its own mother, if death or sickness does
not intervene; and in that case the syphogrants' wives find out a nurse
quickly, which is no hard matter; for anyone that can do it offers
herself cheerfully; for as they are much inclined to that piece of
mercy, so the child whom the nurse considers the nurse as its mother.
All the children under five years old sit among the nurses, the rest of
the younger sort of both sexes, till they are fit for marriage, either
serve those that sit at table or, if they are not strong enough for
that, stand by them in great silence, and eat what is given them; nor
have they any other formality of dining. In the middle of the first
table, which stands across the upper end of the hall, sit the syphogrant
and his wife; for that is the chief and most conspicuous place: next to
him sit two of the most ancient, for there go always four to a mess. If
there is a temple within that syphogranty, the priest and his wife sit
with the syphogrant above all the rest: next them there is a mixture of
old and young, who are so placed, that as the young are set near others,
so they are mixed with the more ancient; which they say was appointed on
this account, that the gravity of the old people, and the reverence that
is due to them, might restrain the younger from all indecent words and
gestures. Dishes are not served up to the whole table at first, but the
best are first set before the old, whose seats are distinguished from
the young, and after them all the rest are served alike. The old men
distribute to the younger any curious meats that happen to be set before
them, if there is not such an abundance of them that the whole company
may be served alike.
Thus old men are honored with a particular respect; yet all the rest
fare as well as they. Both dinner and supper are begun with some lecture
of morality that is read to them; but it is so short, that it is not
tedious nor uneasy to them to hear it: from hence the old men take
occasion to entertain those about them with some useful and pleasant
enlargements; but they do not engross the whole discourse so to
themselves, during their meals, that the younger may not put in for a
share: on the contrary, they engage them to talk, that so they may in
that free way of conversation find out the force of everyone's spirit
and observe his temper. They despatch their dinners quickly, but sit
long at supper; because they go to work after the one, and are to sleep
after the other, during which they think the stomach carries on the
concoction more vigorously. They never sup without music; and there is
always fruit served up after meat; while they are at table, some burn
perfumes and sprinkle about fragrant ointments and sweet waters: in
short, they want nothing that may cheer up their spirits: they give
themselves a large allowance that way, and indulge themselves in all
such pleasures as are attended with no inconvenience. Thus do those that
are in the towns live together; but in the country, where they live at
great distance, everyone eats at home, and no family wants any necessary
sort of provision, for it is from them that provisions are sent unto
those that live in the towns.
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OF THE TRAVELLING OF THE UTOPIANS
IF any man has a mind to visit his friends that live in some other town,
or desires to travel and see the rest of the country, he obtains leave
very easily from the syphogrant and tranibors when there is no
particular occasion for him at home: such as travel, carry with them a
passport from the Prince, which both certifies the license that is
granted for travelling, and limits the time of their return. They are
furnished with a wagon, and a slave who drives the oxen and looks after
them; but unless there are women in the company, the wagon is sent back
at the end of the journey as a needless encumbrance. While they are on
the road, they carry no provisions with them; yet they want nothing, but
are everywhere treated as if they were at home. If they stay in any
place longer than a night, everyone follows his proper occupation, and
is very well used by those of his own trade; but if any man goes out of
the city to which he belongs, without leave, and is found rambling
without a passport, he is severely treated, he is punished as a
fugitive, and sent home disgracefully; and if he falls again into the
like fault, is condemned to slavery. If any man has a mind to travel
only over the precinct of his own city, he may freely do it, with his
father's permission and his wife's consent; but when he comes into any
of the country houses, if he expects to be entertained by them, he must
labor with them and conform to their rules: and if he does this, he may
freely go over the whole precinct; being thus as useful to the city to
which he belongs, as if he were still within it. Thus you see that there
are no idle persons among them, nor pretences of excusing any from
labor. There are no taverns, no alehouses nor stews among them; nor any
other occasions of corrupting each other, of getting into corners, or
forming themselves into parties: all men live in full view, so that all
are obliged, both to perform their ordinary tasks, and to employ
themselves well in their spare hours. And it is certain that a people
thus ordered must live in great abundance of all things; and these being
equally distributed among them, no man can want, or be obliged to beg.
In their great Council at Amaurot, to which there are three sent from
every town once a year, they examine what towns abound in provisions and
what are under any scarcity, that so the one may be furnished from the
other; and this is done freely, without any sort of exchange; for
according to their plenty or scarcity they supply or are supplied from
one another; so that indeed the whole island is, as it were, one family.
When they have thus taken care of their whole country, and laid up
stores for two years, which they do to prevent the ill-consequences of
an unfavorable season, they order an exportation of the overplus, of
corn, honey, wool, flax, wood, wax, tallow, leather, and cattle; which
they send out commonly in great quantities to other nations. They order
a seventh part of all these goods to be freely given to the poor of the
countries to which they send them, and sell the rest at moderate rates.
And by this exchange, they not only bring back those few things that
they need at home (for indeed they scarce need anything but iron), but
likewise a great deal of gold and silver; and by their driving this
trade so long, it is not to be imagined how vast a treasure they have
got among them: so that now they do not much care whether they sell off
their merchandise for money in hand, or upon trust.
A great part of their treasure is now in bonds; but in all their
contracts no private man stands bound, but the writing runs in the name
of the town; and the towns that owe them money raise it from those
private hands that owe it to them, lay it Up in their public chamber, or
enjoy the profit of it till the Utopians call for it; and they choose
rather to let the greatest part of it lie in their hands who make
advantage by it, than to call for it themselves: but if they see that
any of their other neighbors stand more in need of it, then they call it
in and lend it to them: whenever they are engaged in war, which is the
only occasion in which their treasure can be usefully employed, they
make use of it themselves. In great extremities or sudden accidents they
employ it in hiring foreign troops, whom they more willingly expose to
danger than their own people: they give them great pay, knowing well
that this will work even on their enemies, that it will engage them
either to betray their own side, or at least to desert it, and that it
is the best means of raising mutual jealousies among them: for this end
they have an incredible treasure; but they do not keep it as a treasure,
but in such a manner as I am almost afraid to tell, lest you think it so
extravagant, as to be hardly credible. This I have the more reason to
apprehend, because if I had not seen it myself, I could not have been
easily persuaded to have believed it upon any man's report.
It is certain that all things appear incredible to us, in proportion
as they differ from our own customs. But one who can judge aright will
not wonder to find that, since their constitution differs so much from
ours, their value of gold and silver should be measured by a very
different standard; for since they have no use for money among
themselves, but keep it as a provision against events which seldom
happen, and between which there are generally long intervening
intervals, they value it no farther than it deserves, that is, in
proportion to its use. So that it is plain they must prefer iron either
to gold or silver; for men can no more live without iron than without
fire or water, but nature has marked out no use for the other metals, so
essential as not easily to be dispensed with. The folly of men has
enhanced the value of gold and silver, because of their scarcity.
Whereas, on the contrary, it is their opinion that nature, as an
indulgent parent, has freely given us all the best things in great
abundance, such as water and earth, but has laid up and hid from us the
things that are vain and useless.
If these metals were laid up in any tower in the kingdom, it would
raise a jealousy of the Prince and Senate, and give birth to that
foolish mistrust into which the people are apt to fall, a jealousy of
their intending to sacrifice the interest of the public to their own
private advantage. If they should work it into vessels or any sort of
plate, they fear that the people might grow too fond of it, and so be
unwilling to let the plate be run down if a war made it necessary to
employ it in paying their soldiers. To prevent all these inconveniences,
they have fallen upon an expedient, which, as it agrees with their other
policy, so is it very different from ours, and will scarce gain belief
among us, who value gold so much and lay it up so carefully. They eat
and drink out of vessels of earth, or glass, which make an agreeable
appearance though formed of brittle materials: while they make their
chamber-pots and close-stools of gold and silver; and that not only in
their public halls, but in their private houses: of the same metals they
likewise make chains and fetters for their slaves; to some of which, as
a badge of infamy, they hang an ear- ring of gold, and make others wear
a chain or coronet of the same metal; and thus they take care, by all
possible means, to render gold and silver of no esteem. And from hence
it is that while other nations part with their gold and silver as
unwillingly as if one tore out their bowels, those of Utopia would look
on their giving in all they possess of those (metals, when there was any
use for them) but as the parting with a trifle, or as we would esteem
the loss of a penny. They find pearls on their coast, and diamonds and
carbuncles on their rocks; they do not look after them, but, if they
find them by chance, they polish them, and with them they adorn their
children, who are delighted with them, and glory in them during their
childhood; but when they grow to years, and see that none but children
use such baubles, they of their own accord, without being bid by their
parents, lay them aside; and would be as much ashamed to use them
afterward as children among us, when they come to years, are of their
puppets and other toys.
I never saw a clearer instance of the opposite impressions that
different customs make on people, than I observed in the ambassadors of
the Anemolians, who came to Amaurot when I was there. As they came to
treat of affairs of great consequence, the deputies from several towns
met together to wait for their coming. The ambassadors of the nations
that lie near Utopia, knowing their customs, and that fine clothes are
in no esteem among them, that silk is despised, and gold is a badge of
infamy, used to come very modestly clothed; but the Anemolians, lying
more remote, and having had little commerce with them, understanding
that they were coarsely clothed, and all in the same manner, took it for
granted that they had none of those fine things among them of which they
made no use; and they being a vainglorious rather than a wise people,
resolved to set themselves out with so much pomp, that they should look
like gods, and strike the eyes of the poor Utopians with their splendor.
Thus three ambassadors made their entry with 100 attendants, all clad in
garments of different colors, and the greater part in silk; the
ambassadors themselves, who were of the nobility of their country, were
in cloth-of-gold, and adorned with massy chains, ear-rings, and rings of
gold: their caps were covered with bracelets set full of pearls and
other gems: in a word, they were set out with all those things that,
among the Utopians, were the badges of slavery, the marks of infamy, or
the playthings of children.
It was not unpleasant to see, on the one side, how they looked big,
when they compared their rich habits with the plain clothes of the
Utopians, who were come out in great numbers to see them make their
entry: and, on the other, to observe how much they were mistaken in the
impression which they hoped this pomp would have made on them. It
appeared so ridiculous a show to all that had never stirred out of their
country, and had not seen the customs of other nations, that though they
paid some reverence to those that were the most meanly clad, as if they
had been the ambassadors, yet when they saw the ambassadors themselves,
so full of gold and chains, they looked upon them as slaves, and forbore
to treat them with reverence. You might have seen the children, who were
grown big enough to despise their playthings, and who had thrown away
their jewels, call to their mothers, push them gently, and cry out, "See
that great fool that wears pearls and gems, as if he were yet a child."
While their mothers very innocently replied, "Hold your peace; this, I
believe, is one of the ambassador's fools." Others censured the fashion
of their chains, and observed that they were of no use; for they were
too slight to bind their slaves, who could easily break them; and
besides hung so loose about them that they thought it easy to throw them
away, and so get from them.
But after the ambassadors had stayed a day among them, and saw so
vast a quantity of gold in their houses, which was as much despised by
them as it was esteemed in other nations, and beheld more gold and
silver in the chains and fetters of one slave than all their ornaments
amounted to, their plumes fell, and they were ashamed of all that glory
for which they had formerly valued themselves, and accordingly laid it
aside; a resolution that they immediately took, when on their engaging
in some free discourse with the Utopians, they discovered their sense of
such things and their other customs. The Utopians wonder how any man
should be so much taken with the glaring doubtful lustre of a jewel or a
stone, that can look up to a star or to the sun himself; or how any
should value himself because his cloth is made of a finer thread: for
how fine soever that thread may be, it was once no better than the
fleece of a sheep, and that sheep was a sheep still for all its wearing
it. They wonder much to hear that gold which in itself is so useless a
thing, should be everywhere so much esteemed, that even men for whom it
was made, and by whom it has its value, should yet be thought of less
value than this metal. That a man of lead, who has no more sense than a
log of wood, and is as bad as he is foolish, should have many wise and
good men to serve him, only because he has a great heap of that metal;
and that if it should happen that by some accident or trick of law
(which sometimes produces as great changes as chance itself) all this
wealth should pass from the master to the meanest varlet of his whole
family, he himself would very soon become one of his servants, as if he
were a thing that belonged to his wealth, and so were bound to follow
its fortune. But they much more admire and detest the folly of those
who, when they see a rich man, though they neither owe him anything nor
are in any sort dependent on his bounty, yet merely because he is rich
give him little less than divine honors, even though they know him to be
so covetous and base-minded that notwithstanding all his wealth he will
not part with one farthing of it to them as long as he lives.
These and such like notions has that people imbibed, partly from
their education, being bred in a country whose customs and laws are
opposite to all such foolish maxims, and partly from their learning and
studies; for though there are but few in any town that are so wholly
excused from labor as to give themselves entirely up to their studies,
these being only such persons as discover from their childhood an
extraordinary capacity and disposition for letters; yet their children,
and a great part of the nation, both men and women, are taught to spend
those hours in which they are not obliged to work, in reading: and this
they do through the whole progress of life. They have all their learning
in their own tongue, which is both a copious and pleasant language, and
in which a man can fully express his mind. It runs over a great tract of
many countries, but it is not equally pure in all places. They had never
so much as heard of the names of any of those philosophers that are so
famous in these parts of the world, before we went among them; and yet
they had made the same discoveries as the Greeks, in music, logic,
arithmetic, and geometry. But as they are almost in everything equal to
the ancient philosophers, so they far exceed our modern logicians; for
they have never yet fallen upon the barbarous niceties that our youth
are forced to learn in those trifling logical schools that are among us;
they are so far from minding chimeras, and fantastical images made in
the mind, that none of them could comprehend what we meant when we
talked to them of man in the abstract, as common to all men in
particular (so that though we spoke of him as a thing that we could
point at with our fingers, yet none of them could perceive him), and yet
distinct from everyone, as if he were some monstrous Colossus or giant.
Yet for all this ignorance of these empty notions, they knew
astronomy, and were perfectly acquainted with the motions of the
heavenly bodies, and have many instruments, well contrived and divided,
by which they very accurately compute the course and positions of the
sun, moon, and stars. But for the cheat, of divining by the stars by
their oppositions or conjunctions, it has not so much as entered into
their thoughts. They have a particular sagacity, founded upon much
observation, in judging of the weather, by which they know when they may
look for rain, wind, or other alterations in the air; but as to the
philosophy of these things, the causes of the saltness of the sea, of
its ebbing and flowing, and of the origin and nature both of the heavens
and the earth; they dispute of them, partly as our ancient philosophers
have done, and partly upon some new hypothesis, in which, as they differ
from them, so they do not in all things agree among themselves.
As to moral philosophy, they have the same disputes among them as we
have here: they examine what are properly good both for the body and the
mind, and whether any outward thing can be called truly good, or if that
term belong only to the endowments of the soul. They inquire likewise
into the nature of virtue and pleasure; but their chief dispute is
concerning the happiness of a man, and wherein it consists? Whether in
some one thing, or in a great many? They seem, indeed, more inclinable
to that opinion that places, if not the whole, yet the chief part of a
man's happiness in pleasure; and, what may seem more strange, they make
use of arguments even from religion, notwithstanding its severity and
roughness, for the support of that opinion so indulgent to pleasure; for
they never dispute concerning happiness without fetching some arguments
from the principles of religion, as well as from natural reason, since
without the former they reckon that all our inquiries after happiness
must be but conjectural and defective.
These are their religious principles, that the soul of man is
immortal, and that God of his goodness has designed that it should be
happy; and that he has therefore appointed rewards for good and virtuous
actions, and punishments for vice, to be distributed after this life.
Though these principles of religion are conveyed down among them by
tradition, they think that even reason itself determines a man to
believe and acknowledge them, and freely confess that if these were
taken away no man would be so insensible as not to seek after pleasure
by all possible means, lawful or unlawful; using only this caution, that
a lesser pleasure might not stand in the way of a greater, and that no
pleasure ought to be pursued that should draw a great deal of pain after
it; for they think it the maddest thing in the world to pursue virtue,
that is a sour and difficult thing; and not only to renounce the
pleasures of life, but willingly to undergo much pain and trouble, if a
man has no prospect of a reward. And what reward can there be for one
that has passed his whole life, not only without pleasure, but in pain,
if there is nothing to be expected after death? Yet they do not place
happiness in all sorts of pleasures, but only in those that in
themselves are good and honest.
There is a party among them who place happiness in bare virtue;
others think that our natures are conducted by virtue to happiness, as
that which is the chief good of man. They define virtue thus, that it is
a living according to nature, and think that we are made by God for that
end; they believe that a man then follows the dictates of nature when he
pursues or avoids things according to the direction of reason; they say
that the first dictate of reason is the kindling in us of a love and
reverence for the Divine Majesty, to whom we owe both all that we have
and all that we can ever hope for. In the next place, reason directs us
to keep our minds as free from passion and as cheerful as we can, and
that we should consider ourselves as bound by the ties of good-nature
and humanity to use our utmost endeavors to help forward the happiness
of all other persons; for there never was any man such a morose and
severe pursuer of virtue, such an enemy to pleasure, that though he set
hard rules for men to undergo much pain, many watchings, and other
rigors, yet did not at the same time advise them to do all they could,
in order to relieve and ease the miserable, and who did not represent
gentleness and good- nature as amiable dispositions. And from thence
they infer that if a man ought to advance the welfare and comfort of the
rest of mankind, there being no virtue more proper and peculiar to our
nature, than to ease the miseries of others, to free from trouble and
anxiety, in furnishing them with the comforts of life, in which pleasure
consists, nature much more vigorously leads them to do all this for
himself.
A life of pleasure is either a real evil, and in that case we ought
not to assist others in their pursuit of it, but on the contrary, to
keep them from it all we can, as from that which is most hurtful and
deadly; or if it is a good thing, so that we not only may, but ought to
help others to it, why, then, ought not a man to begin with himself?
Since no man can be more bound to look after the good of another than
after his own; for nature cannot direct us to be good and kind to
others, and yet at the same time to be unmerciful and cruel to
ourselves. Thus, as they define virtue to be living according to nature,
so they imagine that nature prompts all people on to seek after
pleasure, as the end of all they do. They also observe that in order to
our supporting the pleasures of life, nature inclines us to enter into
society; for there is no man so much raised above the rest of mankind as
to be the only favorite of nature who, on the contrary, seems to have
placed on a level all those that belong to the same species. Upon this
they infer that no man ought to seek his own conveniences so eagerly as
to prejudice others; and therefore they think that not only all
agreements between private persons ought to be observed, but likewise
that all those laws ought to be kept, which either a good prince has
published in due form, or to which a people that is neither oppressed
with tyranny nor circumvented by fraud, has consented, for distributing
those conveniences of life which afford us all our pleasures.
They think it is an evidence of true wisdom for a man to pursue his
own advantages as far as the laws allow it. They account it piety to
prefer the public good to one's private concerns; but they think it
unjust for a man to seek for pleasure by snatching another man's
pleasures from him. And on the contrary, they think it a sign of a
gentle and good soul, for a man to dispense with his own advantage for
the good of others; and that by this means a good man finds as much
pleasure one way as he parts with another; for as he may expect the like
from others when he may come to need it, so if that should fail him, yet
the sense of a good action, and the reflections that he makes on the
love and gratitude of those whom he has so obliged, gives the mind more
pleasure than the body could have found in that from which it had
restrained itself. They are also persuaded that God will make up the
loss of those small pleasures, with a vast and endless joy, of which
religion easily convinces a good soul.
Thus, upon an inquiry into the whole matter, they reckon that all our
actions, and even all our virtues, terminate in pleasure, as in our
chief end and greatest happiness; and they call every motion or state,
either of body or mind, in which nature teaches us to delight, a
pleasure. Thus they cautiously limit pleasure only to those appetites to
which nature leads us; for they say that nature leads us only to those
delights to which reason as well as sense carries us, and by which we
neither injure any other person nor lose the possession of greater
pleasures, and of such as draw no troubles after them; but they look
upon those delights which men by a foolish though common mistake call
pleasure, as if they could change as easily the nature of things as the
use of words; as things that greatly obstruct their real happiness
instead of advancing it, because they so entirely possess the minds of
those that are once captivated by them with a false notion of pleasure,
that there is no room left for pleasures of a truer or purer kind.
There are many things that in themselves have nothing that is truly
delightful; on the contrary, they have a good deal of bitterness in
them; and yet from our perverse appetites after forbidden objects, are
not only ranked among the pleasures, but are made even the greatest
designs of life. Among those who pursue these sophisticated pleasures,
they reckon such as I mentioned before, who think themselves really the
better for having fine clothes; in which they think they are doubly
mistaken, both in the opinion that they have of their clothes, and in
that they have of themselves; for if you consider the use of clothes,
why should a fine thread be thought better than a coarse one? And yet
these men, as if they had some real advantages beyond others, and did
not owe them wholly to their mistakes, look big, seem to fancy
themselves to be more valuable, and imagine that a respect is due to
them for the sake of a rich garment, to which they would not have
pretended if they had been more meanly clothed; and even resent it as an
affront, if that respect is not paid them. It is also a great folly to
be taken with outward marks of respect, which signify nothing: for what
true or real pleasure can one man find in another's standing bare, or
making legs to him? Will the bending another man's knees give ease to
yours? And will the head's being bare cure the madness of yours? And yet
it is wonderful to see how this false notion of pleasure bewitches many
who delight themselves with the fancy of their nobility, and are pleased
with this conceit, that they are descended from ancestors who have been
held for some successions rich, and who have had great possessions; for
this is all that makes nobility at present; yet they do not think
themselves a whit the less noble, though their immediate parents have
left none of this wealth to them, or though they themselves have
squandered it away.
The Utopians have no better opinion of those who are much taken with
gems and precious stones, and who account it a degree of happiness, next
to a divine one, if they can purchase one that is very extraordinary;
especially if it be of that sort of stones that is then in greatest
request; for the same sort is not at all times universally of the same
value; nor will men buy it unless it be dismounted and taken out of the
gold; the jeweller is then made to give good security, and required
solemnly to swear that the stone is true, that by such an exact caution
a false one might not be bought instead of a true: though if you were to
examine it, your eye could find no difference between the counterfeit
and that which is true; so that they are all one to you as much as if
you were blind. Or can it be thought that they who heap up a useless
mass of wealth, not for any use that it is to bring them, but merely to
please themselves with the contemplation of it, enjoy any true pleasure
in it? The delight they find is only a false shadow of joy. Those are no
better whose error is somewhat different from the former, and who hide
it, out of their fear of losing it; for what other name can fit the
hiding it in the earth, or rather the restoring it to it again, it being
thus cut off from being useful, either to its owner or to the rest of
mankind? And yet the owner having hid it carefully, is glad, because he
thinks he is now sure of it. If it should be stolen, the owner, though
he might live perhaps ten years after the theft, of which he knew
nothing, would find no difference between his having or losing it; for
both ways it was equally useless to him.
Among those foolish pursuers of pleasure they reckon all that delight
in hunting, in fowling, or gaming: of whose madness they have only
heard, for they have no such things among them. But they have asked us,
what sort of pleasure is it that men can find in throwing the dice? For
if there were any pleasure in it, they think the doing of it so often
should give one a surfeit of it: and what pleasure can one find in
hearing the barking and howling of dogs, which seem rather odious than
pleasant sounds? Nor can they comprehend the pleasure of seeing dogs run
after a hare, more than of seeing one dog run after another; for if the
seeing them run is that which gives the pleasure, you have the same
entertainment to the eye on both these occasions, since that is the same
in both cases: but if the pleasure lies in seeing the hare killed and
torn by the dogs, this ought rather to stir pity, that a weak, harmless
and fearful hare should be devoured by strong, fierce, and cruel dogs.
Therefore all this business of hunting is, among the Utopians, turned
over to their butchers; and those, as has been already said, are all
slaves; and they look on hunting as one of the basest parts of a
butcher's work: for they account it both more profitable and more decent
to kill those beasts that are more necessary and useful to mankind;
whereas the killing and tearing of so small and miserable an animal can
only attract the huntsman with a false show of pleasure, from which he
can reap but small advantage. They look on the desire of the bloodshed,
even of beasts, as a mark of a mind that is already corrupted with
cruelty, or that at least by the frequent returns of so brutal a
pleasure must degenerate into it.
Thus, though the rabble of mankind look upon these, and on
innumerable other things of the same nature, as pleasures, the Utopians,
on the contrary, observing that there is nothing in them truly pleasant,
conclude that they are not to be reckoned among pleasures: for though
these things may create some tickling in the senses (which seems to be a
true notion of pleasure), yet they imagine that this does not arise from
the thing itself, but from a depraved custom, which may so vitiate a
man's taste, that bitter things may pass for sweet; as women with child
think pitch or tallow tastes sweeter than honey; but as a man's sense
when corrupted, either by a disease or some ill habit, does not change
the nature of other things, so neither can it change the nature of
pleasure.
They reckon up several sorts of pleasures, which they call true ones:
some belong to the body and others to the mind. The pleasures of the
mind lie in knowledge, and in that delight which the contemplation of
truth carries with it; to which they add the joyful reflections on a
well-spent life, and the assured hopes of a future happiness. They
divide the pleasures of the body into two sorts; the one is that which
gives our senses some real delight, and is performed, either by
recruiting nature, and supplying those parts which feed the internal
heat of life by eating and drinking; or when nature is eased of any
surcharge that oppresses it; when we are relieved from sudden pain, or
that which arises from satisfying the appetite which nature has wisely
given to lead us to the propagation of the species. There is another
kind of pleasure that arises neither from our receiving what the body
requires nor its being relieved when overcharged, and yet by a secret,
unseen virtue affects the senses, raises the passions, and strikes the
mind with generous impressions; this is the pleasure that arises from
music. Another kind of bodily pleasure is that which results from an
undisturbed and vigorous constitution of body, when life and active
spirits seem to actuate every part. This lively health, when entirely
free from all mixture of pain, of itself gives an inward pleasure,
independent of all external objects of delight; and though this pleasure
does not so powerfully affect us, nor act so strongly on the senses as
some of the others, yet it may be esteemed as the greatest of all
pleasures, and almost all the Utopians reckon it the foundation and
basis of all the other joys of life; since this alone makes the state of
life easy and desirable; and when this is wanting, a man is really
capable of no other pleasure. They look upon freedom from pain, if it
does not rise from perfect health, to be a state of stupidity rather
than of pleasure.
This subject has been very narrowly canvassed among them; and it has
been debated whether a firm and entire health could be called a pleasure
or not? Some have thought that there was no pleasure but what was
excited by some sensible motion in the body. But this opinion has been
long ago excluded from among them, so that now they almost universally
agree that health is the greatest of all bodily pleasures; and that as
there is a pain in sickness, which is as opposite in its nature to
pleasure as sickness itself is to health, so they hold that health is
accompanied with pleasure: and if any should say that sickness is not
really pain, but that it only carries pain along with it, they look upon
that as a fetch of subtilty, that does not much alter the matter. It is
all one, in their opinion, whether it be said that health is in itself a
pleasure, or that it begets a pleasure, as fire gives heat; so it be
granted, that all those whose health is entire have a true pleasure in
the enjoyment of it: and they reason thus--what is the pleasure of
eating, but that a man's health which had been weakened, does, with the
assistance of food, drive away hunger, and so recruiting itself recovers
its former vigor? And being thus refreshed, it finds a pleasure in that
conflict; and if the conflict is pleasure, the victory must yet breed a
greater pleasure, except we fancy that it becomes stupid as soon as it
has obtained that which it pursued, and so neither knows nor rejoices in
its own welfare. If it is said that health cannot be felt, they
absolutely deny it; for what man is in health that does not perceive it
when he is awake? Is there any man that is so dull and stupid as not to
acknowledge that he feels a delight in health? And what is delight but
another name for pleasure?
But of all pleasures, they esteem those to be most valuable that lie
in the mind, the chief of which arises out of true virtue, and the
witnesses of a good conscience. They account health the chief pleasure
that belongs to the body; for they think that the pleasure of eating and
drinking, and all the other delights of sense, are only so far desirable
as they give or maintain health. But they are not pleasant in
themselves, otherwise than as they resist those impressions that our
natural infirmities are still making upon us: for as a wise man desires
rather to avoid diseases than to take physic, and to be freed from pain,
rather than to find ease by remedies; so it is more desirable not to
need this sort of pleasure, than to be obliged to indulge it. If any man
imagines that there is a real happiness in these enjoyments, he must
then confess that he would be the happiest of all men if he were to lead
his life in perpetual hunger, thirst, and itching, and by consequence in
perpetual eating, drinking, and scratching himself; which anyone may
easily see would be not only a base but a miserable state of life. These
are indeed the lowest of pleasures, and the least pure; for we can never
relish them, but when they are mixed with the contrary pains. The pain
of hunger must give us the pleasure of eating; and here the pain out-
balances the pleasure; and as the pain is more vehement, so it lasts
much longer; for as it begins before the pleasure, so it does not cease
but with the pleasure that extinguishes it, and both expire together.
They think, therefore, none of those pleasures is to be valued any
further than as it is necessary; yet they rejoice in them, and with due
gratitude acknowledge the tenderness of the great Author of nature, who
has planted in us appetites, by which those things that are necessary
for our preservation are likewise made pleasant to us. For how miserable
a thing would life be, if those daily diseases of hunger and thirst were
to be carried off by such bitter drugs as we must use for those diseases
that return seldomer upon us? And thus these pleasant as well as proper
gifts of nature maintain the strength and the sprightliness of our
bodies.
They also entertain themselves with the other delights let in at
their eyes, their ears, and their nostrils, as the pleasant relishes and
seasonings of life, which nature seems to have marked out peculiarly for
man; since no other sort of animals contemplates the figure and beauty
of the universe; nor is delighted with smells, any further than as they
distinguish meats by them; nor do they apprehend the concords or
discords of sound; yet in all pleasures whatsoever they take care that a
lesser joy does not hinder a greater, and that pleasure may never breed
pain, which they think always follows dishonest pleasures. But they
think it madness for a man to wear out the beauty of his face, or the
force of his natural strength; to corrupt the sprightliness of his body
by sloth and laziness, or to waste it by fasting; that it is madness to
weaken the strength of his constitution, and reject the other delights
of life; unless by renouncing his own satisfaction, he can either serve
the public or promote the happiness of others, for which he expects a
greater recompense from God. So that they look on such a course of life
as the mark of a mind that is both cruel to itself, and ungrateful to
the Author of nature, as if we would not be beholden to Him for His
favors, and therefore reject all His blessings; as one who should
afflict himself for the empty shadow of virtue; or for no better end
than to render himself capable of bearing those misfortunes which
possibly will never happen.
This is their notion of virtue and of pleasure; they think that no
man's reason can carry him to a truer idea of them, unless some
discovery from heaven should inspire him with sublimer notions. I have
not now the leisure to examine whether they think right or wrong in this
matter: nor do I judge it necessary, for I have only undertaken to give
you an account of their constitution, but not to defend all their
principles. I am sure, that whatsoever may be said of their notions,
there is not in the whole world either a better people or a happier
government: their bodies are vigorous and lively; and though they are
but of a middle stature, and have neither the fruitfullest soil nor the
purest air in the world, yet they fortify themselves so well by their
temperate course of life, against the unhealthiness of their air, and by
their industry they so cultivate their soil, that there is nowhere to be
seen a greater increase both of corn and cattle, nor are there anywhere
healthier men and freer from diseases: for one may there see reduced to
practice, not only all the arts that the husbandman employs in manuring
and improving an ill soil, but whole woods plucked up by the roots, and
in other places new ones planted, where there were none before.
Their principal motive for this is the convenience of carriage, that
their timber may be either near their towns or growing on the banks of
the sea or of some rivers, so as to be floated to them; for it is a
harder work to carry wood at any distance over land, than corn. The
people are industrious, apt to learn, as well as cheerful and pleasant;
and none can endure more labor, when it is necessary; but except in that
case they love their ease. They are unwearied pursuers of knowledge; for
when we had given them some hints of the learning and discipline of the
Greeks, concerning whom we only instructed them (for we know that there
was nothing among the Romans, except their historians and their poets,
that they would value much), it was strange to see how eagerly they were
set on learning that language. We began to read a little of it to them,
rather in compliance with their importunity, than out of any hopes of
their reaping from it any great advantage. But after a very short trial,
we found they made such progress, that we saw our labor was like to be
more successful than we could have expected. They learned to write their
characters and to pronounce their language so exactly, had so quick an
apprehension, they remembered it so faithfully, and became so ready and
correct in the use of it, that it would have looked like a miracle if
the greater part of those whom we taught had not been men both of
extraordinary capacity and of a fit age for instruction. They were for
the greatest part chosen from among their learned men, by their chief
Council, though some studied it of their own accord. In three years'
time they became masters of the whole language, so that they read the
best of the Greek authors very exactly. I am indeed apt to think that
they learned that language the more easily, from its having some
relation to their own. I believe that they were a colony of the Greeks;
for though their language comes nearer the Persian, yet they retain many
names, both for their towns and magistrates, that are of Greek
derivation.
I happened to carry a great many books with me, instead of
merchandise, when I sailed my fourth voyage; for I was so far from
thinking of soon coming back, that I rather thought never to have
returned at all, and I gave them all my books, among which were many of
Plato's and some of Aristotle's works. I had also Theophrastus "On
Plants," which, to my great regret, was imperfect; for having laid it
carelessly by, while we were at sea, a monkey had seized upon it, and in
many places torn out the leaves. They have no books of grammar but
Lascares, for I did not carry Theodorus with me; nor have they any
dictionaries but Hesichius and Dioscorides. They esteem Plutarch highly,
and were much taken with Lucian's wit and with his pleasant way of
writing. As for the poets, they have Aristophanes, Homer, Euripides, and
Sophocles of Aldus's edition; and for historians Thucydides, Herodotus,
and Herodian. One of my companions, Thricius Apinatus, happened to carry
with him some of Hippocrates's works, and Galen's "Microtechne," which
they hold in great estimation; for though there is no nation in the
world that needs physic so little as they do, yet there is not any that
honors it so much: they reckon the knowledge of it one of the
pleasantest and most profitable parts of philosophy, by which, as they
search into the secrets of nature, so they not only find this study
highly agreeable, but think that such inquiries are very acceptable to
the Author of nature; and imagine that as He, like the inventors of
curious engines among mankind, has exposed this great machine of the
universe to the view of the only creatures capable of contemplating it,
so an exact and curious observer, who admires His workmanship, is much
more acceptable to Him than one of the herd, who, like a beast incapable
of reason, looks on this glorious scene with the eyes of a dull and
unconcerned spectator.
The minds of the Utopians, when fenced with a love for learning, are
very ingenious in discovering all such arts as are necessary to carry it
to perfection. Two things they owe to us, the manufacture of paper and
the art of printing: yet they are not so entirely indebted to us for
these discoveries but that a great part of the invention was their own.
We showed them some books printed by Aldus, we explained to them the way
of making paper, and the mystery of printing; but as we had never
practised these arts, we described them in a crude and superficial
manner. They seized the hints we gave them, and though at first they
could not arrive at perfection, yet by making many essays they at last
found out and corrected all their errors, and conquered every
difficulty. Before this they only wrote on parchment, on reeds, or on
the bark of trees; but now they have established the manufacture of
paper, and set up printing-presses, so that if they had but a good
number of Greek authors they would be quickly supplied with many copies
of them: at present, though they have no more than those I have
mentioned, yet by several impressions they have multiplied them into
many thousands.
If any man was to go among them that had some extraordinary talent,
or that by much travelling had observed the customs of many nations
(which made us to be so well received), he would receive a hearty
welcome; for they are very desirous to know the state of the whole
world. Very few go among them on the account of traffic, for what can a
man carry to them but iron or gold or silver, which merchants desire
rather to export than import to a strange country: and as for their
exportation, they think it better to manage that themselves than to
leave it to foreigners, for by this means, as they understand the state
of the neighboring countries better, so they keep up the art of
navigation, which cannot be maintained but by much practice.
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OF THEIR SLAVES, AND OF THEIR MARRIAGES
THEY do not make slaves of prisoners of war, except those that are taken
in battle; nor of the sons of their slaves, nor of those of other
nations: the slaves among them are only such as are condemned to that
state of life for the commission of some crime, or, which is more
common, such as their merchants find condemned to die in those parts to
which they trade, whom they sometimes redeem at low rates; and in other
places have them for nothing. They are kept at perpetual labor, and are
always chained, but with this difference, that their own natives are
treated much worse than others; they are considered as more profligate
than the rest, and since they could not be restrained by the advantages
of so excellent an education, are judged worthy of harder usage. Another
sort of slaves are the poor of the neighboring countries, who offer of
their own accord to come and serve them; they treat these better, and
use them in all other respects as well as their own countrymen, except
their imposing more labor upon them, which is no hard task to those that
have been accustomed to it; and if any of these have a mind to go back
to their own country, which indeed falls out but seldom, as they do not
force them to stay, so they do not send them away empty-handed.
I have already told you with what care they look after their sick, so
that nothing is left undone that can contribute either to their ease or
health: and for those who are taken with fixed and incurable diseases,
they use all possible ways to cherish them, and to make their lives as
comfortable as possible. They visit them often, and take great pains to
make their time pass off easily: but when any is taken with a torturing
and lingering pain, so that there is no hope, either of recovery or
ease, the priests and magistrates come and exhort them, that since they
are now unable to go on with the business of life, are become a burden
to themselves and to all about them, and they have really outlived
themselves, they should no longer nourish such a rooted distemper, but
choose rather to die, since they cannot live but in much misery: being
assured, that if they thus deliver themselves from torture, or are
willing that others should do it, they shall be happy after death. Since
by their acting thus, they lose none of the pleasures but only the
troubles of life, they think they behave not only reasonably, but in a
manner consistent with religion and piety; because they follow the
advice given them by their priests, who are the expounders of the will
of God. Such as are wrought on by these persuasions, either starve
themselves of their own accord, or take opium, and by that means die
without pain. But no man is forced on this way of ending his life; and
if they cannot be persuaded to it, this does not induce them to fail in
their attendance and care of them; but as they believe that a voluntary
death, when it is chosen upon such an authority, is very honorable, so
if any man takes away his own life without the approbation of the
priests and the Senate, they give him none of the honors of a decent
funeral, but throw his body into a ditch.
Their women are not married before eighteen, nor their men before
two-and-twenty, and if any of them run into forbidden embraces before
marriage they are severely punished, and the privilege of marriage is
denied them, unless they can obtain a special warrant from the Prince.
Such disorders cast a great reproach upon the master and mistress of the
family in which they happen, for it is supposed that they have failed in
their duty. The reason of punishing this so severely is, because they
think that if they were not strictly restrained from all vagrant
appetites, very few would engage in a state in which they venture the
quiet of their whole lives, by being confined to one person, and are
obliged to endure all the inconveniences with which it is accompanied.
In choosing their wives they use a method that would appear to us
very absurd and ridiculous, but it is constantly observed among them,
and is accounted perfectly consistent with wisdom. Before marriage some
grave matron presents the bride naked, whether she is a virgin or a
widow, to the bridegroom; and after that some grave man presents the
bridegroom naked to the bride. We indeed both laughed at this, and
condemned it as very indecent. But they, on the other hand, wondered at
the folly of the men of all other nations, who, if they are but to buy a
horse of a small value, are so cautious that they will see every part of
him, and take off both his saddle and all his other tackle, that there
may be no secret ulcer hid under any of them; and that yet in the choice
of a wife, on which depends the happiness or unhappiness of the rest of
his life, a man should venture upon trust, and only see about a
hand's-breadth of the face, all the rest of the body being covered,
under which there may lie hid what may be contagious as well as
loathsome. All men are not so wise as to choose a woman only for her
good qualities; and even wise men consider the body as that which adds
not a little to the mind: and it is certain there may be some such
deformity covered with the clothes as may totally alienate a man from
his wife when it is too late to part from her. If such a thing is
discovered after marriage, a man has no remedy but patience. They
therefore think it is reasonable that there should be good provision
made against such mischievous frauds.
There was so much the more reason for them to make a regulation in
this matter, because they are the only people of those parts that
neither allow of polygamy nor of divorces, except in the case of
adultery or insufferable perverseness; for in these cases the Senate
dissolves the marriage, and grants the injured person leave to marry
again; but the guilty are made infamous, and are never allowed the
privilege of a second marriage. None are suffered to put away their
wives against their wills, from any great calamity that may have fallen
on their persons; for they look on it as the height of cruelty and
treachery to abandon either of the married persons when they need most
the tender care of their comfort, and that chiefly in the case of old
age, which as it carries many diseases along with it, so it is a disease
of itself. But it frequently falls out that when a married couple do not
well agree, they by mutual consent separate, and find out other persons
with whom they hope they may live more happily. Yet this is not done
without obtaining leave of the Senate, which never admits of a divorce
but upon a strict inquiry made, both by the Senators and their wives,
into the grounds upon which it is desired; and even when they are
satisfied concerning the reasons of it, they go on but slowly, for they
imagine that too great easiness in granting leave for new marriages
would very much shake the kindness of married people. They punish
severely those that defile the marriage-bed. If both parties are married
they are divorced, and the injured persons may marry one another, or
whom they please; but the adulterer and the adulteress are condemned to
slavery. Yet if either of the injured persons cannot shake off the love
of the married person, they may live with them still in that state, but
they must follow them to that labor to which the slaves are condemned;
and sometimes the repentance of the condemned, together with the
unshaken kindness of the innocent and injured person, has prevailed so
far with the Prince that he has taken off the sentence; but those that
relapse after they are once pardoned are punished with death.
Their law does not determine the punishment for other crimes; but
that is left to the Senate, to temper it according to the circumstances
of the fact. Husbands have power to correct their wives, and parents to
chastise their children, unless the fault is so great that a public
punishment is thought necessary for striking terror into others. For the
most part, slavery is the punishment even of the greatest crimes; for as
that is no less terrible to the criminals themselves than death, so they
think the preserving them in a state of servitude is more for the
interest of the commonwealth than killing them; since as their labor is
a greater benefit to the public than their death could be, so the sight
of their misery is a more lasting terror to other men than that which
would be given by their death. If their slaves rebel, and will not bear
their yoke and submit to the labor that is enjoined them, they are
treated as wild beasts that cannot be kept in order, neither by a prison
nor by their chains, and are at last put to death. But those who bear
their punishment patiently, and are so much wrought on by that pressure
that lies so hard on them that it appears they are really more troubled
for the crimes they have committed than for the miseries they suffer,
are not out of hope but that at last either the Prince will, by his
prerogative, or the people by their intercession, restore them again to
their liberty, or at least very much mitigate their slavery. He that
tempts a married woman to adultery is no less severely punished than he
that commits it; for they believe that a deliberate design to commit a
crime is equal to the fact itself: since its not taking effect does not
make the person that miscarried in his attempt at all the less guilty.
They take great pleasure in fools, and as it is thought a base and
unbecoming thing to use them ill, so they do not think it amiss for
people to divert themselves with their folly: and, in their opinion,
this is a great advantage to the fools themselves: for if men were so
sullen and severe as not at all to please themselves with their
ridiculous behavior and foolish sayings, which is all that they can do
to recommend themselves to others, it could not be expected that they
would be so well provided for, nor so tenderly used as they must
otherwise be. If any man should reproach another for his being misshaped
or imperfect in any part of his body, it would not at all be thought a
reflection on the person so treated, but it would be accounted
scandalous in him that had upbraided another with what he could not
help. It is thought a sign of a sluggish and sordid mind not to preserve
carefully one's natural beauty; but it is likewise infamous among them
to use paint. They all see that no beauty recommends a wife so much to
her husband as the probity of her life, and her obedience: for as some
few are caught and held only by beauty, so all are attracted by the
other excellences which charm all the world.
As they fright men from committing crimes by punishments, so they
invite them to the love of virtue by public honors: therefore they erect
statues to the memories of such worthy men as have deserved well of
their country, and set these in their market-places, both to perpetuate
the remembrance of their actions, and to be an incitement to their
posterity to follow their example.
If any man aspires to any office, he is sure never to compass it:
they all live easily together, for none of the magistrates are either
insolent or cruel to the people: they affect rather to be called
fathers, and by being really so, they well deserve the name; and the
people pay them all the marks of honor the more freely, because none are
exacted from them. The Prince himself has no distinction, either of
garments or of a crown; but is only distinguished by a sheaf of corn
carried before him; as the high- priest is also known by his being
preceded by a person carrying a wax light.
They have but few laws, and such is their constitution that they need
not many. They very much condemn other nations, whose laws, together
with the commentaries on them, swell up to so many volumes; for they
think it an unreasonable thing to oblige men to obey a body of laws that
are both of such a bulk and so dark as not to be read and understood by
every one of the subjects.
They have no lawyers among them, for they consider them as a sort of
people whose profession it is to disguise matters and to wrest the laws;
and therefore they think it is much better that every man should plead
his own cause, and trust it to the judge, as in other places the client
trusts it to a counsellor. By this means they both cut off many delays,
and find out truth more certainly: for after the parties have laid open
the merits of the cause, without those artifices which lawyers are apt
to suggest, the judge examines the whole matter, and supports the
simplicity of such well-meaning persons, whom otherwise crafty men would
be sure to run down: and thus they avoid those evils which appear very
remarkably among all those nations that labor under a vast load of laws.
Every one of them is skilled in their law, for as it is a very short
study, so the plainest meaning of which words are capable is always the
sense of their laws. And they argue thus: all laws are promulgated for
this end, that every man may know his duty; and therefore the plainest
and most obvious sense of the words is that which ought to be put upon
them; since a more refined exposition cannot be easily comprehended, and
would only serve to make the laws become useless to the greater part of
mankind, and especially to those who need most the direction of them:
for it is all one, not to make a law at all, or to couch it in such
terms that without a quick apprehension, and much study, a man cannot
find out the true meaning of it; since the generality of mankind are
both so dull and so much employed in their several trades that they have
neither the leisure nor the capacity requisite for such an inquiry.
Some of their neighbors, who are masters of their own liberties,
having long ago, by the assistance of the Utopians, shaken off the yoke
of tyranny, and being much taken with those virtues which they observe
among them, have come to desire that they would send magistrates to
govern them; some changing them every year, and others every five years.
At the end of their government they bring them back to Utopia, with
great expressions of honor and esteem, and carry away others to govern
in their stead. In this they seem to have fallen upon a very good
expedient for their own happiness and safety; for since the good or ill
condition of a nation depends so much upon their magistrates, they could
not have made a better choice than by pitching on men whom no advantages
can bias; for wealth is of no use to them, since they must so soon go
back to their own country; and they being strangers among them, are not
engaged in any of their heats or animosities; and it is certain that
when public judicatories are swayed, either by avarice or partial
affections, there must follow a dissolution of justice, the chief sinew
of society.
The Utopians call those nations that come and ask magistrates from
them, neighbors; but those to whom they have been of more particular
service, friends. And as all other nations are perpetually either making
leagues or breaking them, they never enter into an alliance with any
State. They think leagues are useless things, and believe that if the
common ties of humanity do not knit men together, the faith of promises
will have no great effect; and they are the more confirmed in this by
what they see among the nations round about them, who are no strict
observers of leagues and treaties. We know how religiously they are
observed in Europe, more particularly where the Christian doctrine is
received, among whom they are sacred and inviolable; which is partly
owing to the justice and goodness of the princes themselves, and partly
to the reverence they pay to the popes; who as they are most religious
observers of their own promises, so they exhort all other princes to
perform theirs; and when fainter methods do not prevail, they compel
them to it by the severity of the pastoral censure, and think that it
would be the most indecent thing possible if men who are particularly
distinguished by the title of the "faithful" should not religiously keep
the faith of their treaties. But in that newfound world, which is not
more distant from us in situation than the people are in their manners
and course of life, there is no trusting to leagues, even though they
were made with all the pomp of the most sacred ceremonies; on the
contrary, they are on this account the sooner broken, some slight
pretence being found in the words of the treaties, which are purposely
couched in such ambiguous terms that they can never be so strictly bound
but they will always find some loophole to escape at; and thus they
break both their leagues and their faith. And this is done with such
impudence, that those very men who value themselves on having suggested
these expedients to their princes, would with a haughty scorn declaim
against such craft, or, to speak plainer, such fraud and deceit, if they
found private men make use of it in their bargains, and would readily
say that they deserved to be hanged.
By this means it is, that all sorts of justice passes in the world
for a low-spirited and vulgar virtue, far below the dignity of royal
greatness. Or at least, there are set up two sorts of justice; the one
is mean, and creeps on the ground, and therefore becomes none but the
lower part of mankind, and so must be kept in severely by many
restraints that it may not break out beyond the bounds that are set to
it. The other is the peculiar virtue of princes, which as it is more
majestic than that which becomes the rabble, so takes a freer compass;
and thus lawful and unlawful are only measured by pleasure and interest.
These practices of the princes that lie about Utopia, who make so little
account of their faith, seem to be the reasons that determine them to
engage in no confederacies; perhaps they would change their mind if they
lived among us; but yet though treaties were more religiously observed,
they would still dislike the custom of making them; since the world has
taken up a false maxim upon it, as if there were no tie of nature
uniting one nation to another, only separated perhaps by a mountain or a
river, and that all were born in a state of hostility, and so might
lawfully do all that mischief to their neighbors against which there is
no provision made by treaties; and that when treaties are made, they do
not cut off the enmity, or restrain the license of preying upon each
other, if by the unskilfulness of wording them there are not effectual
provisos made against them. They, on the other hand, judge that no man
is to be esteemed our enemy that has never injured us; and that the
partnership of the human nature is instead of a league. And that
kindness and good-nature unite men more effectually and with greater
strength than any agreements whatsoever; since thereby the engagements
of men's hearts become stronger than the bond and obligation of words.
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OF THEIR MILITARY DISCIPLINE
THEY detest war as a very brutal thing; and which, to the reproach of
human nature, is more practised by men than by any sort of beasts. They,
in opposition to the sentiments of almost all other nations, think that
there is nothing more inglorious than that glory that is gained by war.
And therefore though they accustom themselves daily to military
exercises and the discipline of war-- in which not only their men but
their women likewise are trained up, that in cases of necessity they may
not be quite useless--yet they do not rashly engage in war, unless it be
either to defend themselves, or their friends, from any unjust
aggressors; or out of good-nature or in compassion assist an oppressed
nation in shaking off the yoke of tyranny. They indeed help their
friends, not only in defensive, but also in offensive wars; but they
never do that unless they had been consulted before the breach was made,
and being satisfied with the grounds on which they went, they had found
that all demands of reparation were rejected, so that a war was
unavoidable. This they think to be not only just, when one neighbor
makes an inroad on another, by public order, and carry away the spoils;
but when the merchants of one country are oppressed in another, either
under pretence of some unjust laws, or by the perverse wresting of good
ones. This they count a juster cause of war than the other, because
those injuries are done under some color of laws.
This was the only ground of that war in which they engaged with the
Nephelogetes against the Aleopolitanes, a little before our time; for
the merchants of the former having, as they thought, met with great
injustice among the latter, which, whether it was in itself right or
wrong, drew on a terrible war, in which many of their neighbors were
engaged; and their keenness in carrying it on being supported by their
strength in maintaining it, it not only shook some very flourishing
States, and very much afflicted others, but after a series of much
mischief ended in the entire conquest and slavery of the Aleopolitanes,
who though before the war they were in all respects much superior to the
Nephelogetes, were yet subdued; but though the Utopians had assisted
them in the war, yet they pretended to no share of the spoil.
But though they so vigorously assist their friends in obtaining
reparation for the injuries they have received in affairs of this
nature, yet if any such frauds were committed against themselves,
provided no violence was done to their persons, they would only on their
being refused satisfaction forbear trading with such a people. This is
not because they consider their neighbors more than their own citizens;
but since their neighbors trade everyone upon his own stock, fraud is a
more sensible injury to them than it is to the Utopians, among whom the
public in such a case only suffers. As they expect nothing in return for
the merchandise they export but that in which they so much abound, and
is of little use to them, the loss does not much affect them; they think
therefore it would be too severe to revenge a loss attended with so
little inconvenience, either to their lives or their subsistence, with
the death of many persons; but if any of their people is either killed
or wounded wrongfully, whether it be done by public authority or only by
private men, as soon as they hear of it they send ambassadors, and
demand that the guilty persons may be delivered up to them; and if that
is denied, they declare war; but if it be complied with, the offenders
are condemned either to death or slavery.
They would be both troubled and ashamed of a bloody victory over
their enemies, and think it would be as foolish a purchase as to buy the
most valuable goods at too high a rate. And in no victory do they glory
so much as in that which is gained by dexterity and good conduct,
without bloodshed. In such cases they appoint public triumphs, and erect
trophies to the honor of those who have succeeded; for then do they
reckon that a man acts suitably to his nature when he conquers his enemy
in such a way as that no other creature but a man could be capable of,
and that is by the strength of his understanding. Bears, lions, boars,
wolves, and dogs, and all other animals employ their bodily force one
against another, in which as many of them are superior to men, both in
strength and fierceness, so they are all subdued by his reason and
understanding.
The only design of the Utopians in war is to obtain that by force,
which if it had been granted them in time would have prevented the war;
or if that cannot be done, to take so severe a revenge on those that
have injured them that they may be terrified from doing the like for the
time to come. By these ends they measure all their designs, and manage
them so that it is visible that the appetite of fame or vainglory does
not work so much on them as a just care of their own security.
As soon as they declare war, they take care to have a great many
schedules, that are sealed with their common seal, affixed in the most
conspicuous places of their enemies' country. This is carried secretly,
and done in many places all at once. In these they promise great rewards
to such as shall kill the prince, and lesser in proportion to such as
shall kill any other persons, who are those on whom, next to the prince
himself, they cast the chief balance of the war. And they double the sum
to him that, instead of killing the person so marked out, shall take him
alive and put him in their hands. They offer not only indemnity, but
rewards, to such of the persons themselves that are so marked, if they
will act against their countrymen; by this means those that are named in
their schedules become not only distrustful of their fellow- citizens
but are jealous of one another, and are much distracted by fear and
danger; for it has often fallen out that many of them, and even the
Prince himself, have been betrayed by those in whom they have trusted
most; for the rewards that the Utopians offer are so unmeasurably great,
that there is no sort of crime to which men cannot be drawn by them.
They consider the risk that those run who undertake such services, and
offer a recompense proportioned to the danger; not only a vast deal of
gold, but great revenues in lands, that lie among other nations that are
their friends, where they may go and enjoy them very securely; and they
observe the promises they make of this kind most religiously.
They very much approve of this way of corrupting their enemies,
though it appears to others to be base and cruel; but they look on it as
a wise course, to make an end of what would be otherwise a long war,
without so much as hazarding one battle to decide it. They think it
likewise an act of mercy and love to mankind to prevent the great
slaughter of those that must otherwise be killed in the progress of the
war, both on their own side and on that of their enemies, by the death
of a few that are most guilty; and that in so doing they are kind even
to their enemies, and pity them no less than their own people, as
knowing that the greater part of them do not engage in the, war of their
own accord, but are driven into it by the passions of their prince.
If this method does not succeed with them, then they sow seeds of
contention among their enemies, and animate the prince's brother, or
some of the nobility, to aspire to the crown. If they cannot disunite
them by domestic broils, then they engage their neighbors against them,
and make them set on foot some old pretensions, which are never wanting
to princes when they have occasion for them. These they plentifully
supply with money, though but very sparingly with any auxiliary troops:
for they are so tender of their own people, that they would not
willingly exchange one of them, even with the prince of their enemies'
country.
But as they keep their gold and silver only for such an occasion, so
when that offers itself they easily part with it, since it would be no
inconvenience to them though they should reserve nothing of it to
themselves. For besides the wealth that they have among them at home,
they have a vast treasure abroad, many nations round about them being
deep in their debt: so that they hire soldiers from all places for
carrying on their wars, but chiefly from the Zapolets, who live 500
miles east of Utopia. They are a rude, wild, and fierce nation, who
delight in the woods and rocks, among which they were born and bred up.
They are hardened both against heat, cold, and labor, and know nothing
of the delicacies of life. They do not apply themselves to agriculture,
nor do they care either for their houses or their clothes. Cattle is all
that they look after; and for the greatest part they live either by
hunting, or upon rapine; and are made, as it were, only for war. They
watch all opportunities of engaging in it, and very readily embrace such
as are offered them. Great numbers of them will frequently go out, and
offer themselves for a very low pay, to serve any that will employ them:
they know none of the arts of life, but those that lead to the taking it
away; they serve those that hire them, both with much courage and great
fidelity; but will not engage to serve for any determined time, and
agree upon such terms, that the next day they may go over to the enemies
of those whom they serve, if they offer them a greater encouragement:
and will perhaps return to them the day after that, upon a higher
advance of their pay.
There are few wars in which they make not a considerable part of the
armies of both sides: so it often falls out that they who are related,
and were hired in the same country, and so have lived long and
familiarly together, forgetting both their relations and former
friendship, kill one another upon no other consideration than that of
being hired to it for a little money, by princes of different interests;
and such a regard have they for money, that they are easily wrought on
by the difference of one penny a day to change sides. So entirely does
their avarice influence them; and yet this money, which they value so
highly, is of little use to them; for what they purchase thus with their
blood, they quickly waste on luxury, which among them is but of a poor
and miserable form.
This nation serves the Utopians against all people whatsoever, for
they pay higher than any other. The Utopians hold this for a maxim, that
as they seek out the best sort of men for their own use at home, so they
make use of this worst sort of men for the consumption of war, and
therefore they hire them with the offers of vast rewards, to expose
themselves to all sorts of hazards, out of which the greater part never
returns to claim their promises. Yet they make them good most
religiously to such as escape. This animates them to adventure again,
whenever there is occasion for it; for the Utopians are not at all
troubled how many of these happen to be killed, and reckon it a service
done to mankind if they could be a means to deliver the world from such
a lewd and vicious sort of people; that seem to have run together as to
the drain of human nature. Next to these they are served in their wars
with those upon whose account they undertake them, and with the
auxiliary troops of their other friends, to whom they join a few of
their own people, and send some men of eminent and approved virtue to
command in chief. There are two sent with him, who during his command
are but private men, but the first is to succeed him if he should happen
to be either killed or taken; and in case of the like misfortune to him,
the third comes in his place; and thus they provide against ill events,
that such accidents as may befall their generals may not endanger their
armies.
When they draw out troops of their own people, they take such out of
every city as freely offer themselves, for none are forced to go against
their wills, since they think that if any man is pressed that wants
courage, he will not only act faintly, but by his cowardice dishearten
others. But if an invasion is made on their country they make use of
such men, if they have good bodies, though they are not brave; and
either put them aboard their ships or place them on the walls of their
towns, that being so posted they may find no opportunity of flying away;
and thus either shame, the heat of action, or the impossibility of
flying, bears down their cowardice; they often make a virtue of
necessity and behave themselves well, because nothing else is left them.
But as they force no man to go into any foreign war against his will, so
they do not hinder those women who are willing to go along with their
husbands; on the contrary, they encourage and praise them, and they
stand often next their husbands in the front of the army. They also
place together those who are related, parents and children, kindred, and
those that are mutually allied, near one another; that those whom nature
has inspired with the greatest zeal for assisting one another, may be
the nearest and readiest to do it; and it is matter of great reproach if
husband or wife survive one another, or if a child survives his parents,
and therefore when they come to be engaged in action they continue to
fight to the last man, if their enemies stand before them.
And as they use all prudent methods to avoid the endangering their
own men, and if it is possible let all the action and danger fall upon
the troops that they hire, so if it becomes necessary for themselves to
engage, they then charge with as much courage as they avoided it before
with prudence: nor is it a fierce charge at first, but it increases by
degrees; and as they continue in action, they grow more obstinate and
press harder upon the enemy, insomuch that they will much sooner die
than give ground; for the certainty that their children will be well
looked after when they are dead, frees them from all that anxiety
concerning them which often masters men of great courage; and thus they
are animated by a noble and invincible resolution. Their skill in
military affairs increases their courage; and the wise sentiments which,
according to the laws of their country, are instilled into them in their
education, give additional vigor to their minds: for as they do not
undervalue life so as prodigally to throw it away, they are not so
indecently fond of it as to preserve it by base and unbecoming methods.
In the greatest heat of action, the bravest of their youth, who have
devoted themselves to that service, single out the general of their
enemies, set on him either openly or by ambuscade, pursue him
everywhere, and when spent and wearied out, are relieved by others, who
never give over the pursuit; either attacking him with close weapons
when they can get near him, or with those which wound at a distance,
when others get in between them; so that unless he secures himself by
flight, they seldom fail at last to kill or to take him prisoner.
When they have obtained a victory, they kill as few as possible, and
are much more bent on taking many prisoners than on killing those that
fly before them; nor do they ever let their men so loose in the pursuit
of their enemies, as not to retain an entire body still in order; so
that if they have been forced to engage the last of their battalions
before they could gain the day, they will rather let their enemies all
escape than pursue them, when their own army is in disorder; remembering
well what has often fallen out to themselves, that when the main body of
their army has been quite defeated and broken, when their enemies
imagining the victory obtained, have let themselves loose into an
irregular pursuit, a few of them that lay for a reserve, waiting a fit
opportunity, have fallen on them in their chase, and when straggling in
disorder and apprehensive of no danger, but counting the day their own,
have turned the whole action, and wrestling out of their hands a victory
that seemed certain and undoubted, while the vanquished have suddenly
become victorious.
It is hard to tell whether they are more dexterous in laying or
avoiding ambushes. They sometimes seem to fly when it is far from their
thoughts; and when they intend to give ground, they do it so that it is
very hard to find out their design. If they see they are ill posted, or
are like to be overpowered by numbers, they then either march off in the
night with great silence, or by some stratagem delude their enemies: if
they retire in the daytime, they do it in such order, that it is no less
dangerous to fall upon them in a retreat than in a march. They fortify
their camps with a deep and large trench, and throw up the earth that is
dug out of it for a wall; nor do they employ only their slaves in this,
but the whole army works at it, except those that are then upon the
guard; so that when so many hands are at work, a great line and a strong
fortification are finished in so short a time that it is scarce
credible. Their armor is very strong for defence, and yet is not so
heavy as to make them uneasy in their marches; they can even swim with
it. All that are trained up to war practice swimming. Both horse and
foot make great use of arrows, and are very expert. They have no swords,
but fight with a pole-axe that is both sharp and heavy, by which they
thrust or strike down an enemy. They are very good at finding out
warlike machines, and disguise them so well, that the enemy does not
perceive them till he feels the use of them; so that he cannot prepare
such a defence as would render them useless; the chief consideration had
in the making them is that they may be easily carried and managed.
If they agree to a truce, they observe it so religiously that no
provocations will make them break it. They never lay their enemies'
country waste nor burn their corn, and even in their marches they take
all possible care that neither horse nor foot may tread it down, for
they do not know but that they may have use for it-themselves. They hurt
no man whom they find disarmed, unless he is a spy. When a town is
surrendered to them, they take it into their protection; and when they
carry a place by storm, they never plunder it, but put those only to the
sword that opposed the rendering of it up, and make the rest of the
garrison slaves, but for the other inhabitants, they do them no hurt;
and if any of them had advised a surrender, they give them good rewards
out of the estates of those that they condemn, and distribute the rest
among their auxiliary troops, but they themselves take no share of the
spoil.
When a war is ended, they do not oblige their friends to reimburse
their expenses; but they obtain them of the conquered, either in money,
which they keep for the next occasion, or in lands, out of which a
constant revenue is to be paid them; by many increases, the revenue
which they draw out from several countries on such occasions, is now
risen to above 700,000 ducats a year. They send some of their own people
to receive these revenues, who have orders to live magnificently, and
like princes, by which means they consume much of it upon the place; and
either bring over the rest to Utopia, or lend it to that nation in which
it lies. This they most commonly do, unless some great occasion, which
falls out but very seldom, should oblige them to call for it all. It is
out of these lands that they assign rewards to such as they encourage to
adventure on desperate attempts. If any prince that engages in war with
them is making preparations for invading their country, they prevent
him, and make his country the seat of the war; for they do not willingly
suffer any war to break in upon their island; and if that should happen,
they would only defend themselves by their own people, but would not
call for auxiliary troops to their assistance.
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OF THE RELIGIONS OF THE UTOPIANS
THERE are several sorts of religions, not only in different parts of the
island, but even in every town; some worshipping the sun, others the
moon or one of the planets: some worship such men as have been eminent
in former times for virtue or glory, not only as ordinary deities, but
as the supreme God: yet the greater and wiser sort of them worship none
of these, but adore one eternal, invisible, infinite, and
incomprehensible Deity; as a being that is far above all our
apprehensions, that is spread over the whole universe, not by His bulk,
but by His power and virtue; Him they call the Father of All, and
acknowledge that the beginnings, the increase, the progress, the
vicissitudes, and the end of all things come only from Him; nor do they
offer divine honors to any but to Him alone. And indeed, though they
differ concerning other things, yet all agree in this, that they think
there is one Supreme Being that made and governs the world, whom they
call in the language of their country Mithras. They differ in this, that
one thinks the god whom he worships is this Supreme Being, and another
thinks that his idol is that God; but they all agree in one principle,
that whoever is this Supreme Being, He is also that great Essence to
whose glory and majesty all honors are ascribed by the consent of all
nations.
By degrees, they fall off from the various superstitions that are
among them, and grow up to that one religion that is the best and most
in request; and there is no doubt to be made but that all the others had
vanished long ago, if some of those who advised them to lay aside their
superstitions had not met with some unhappy accident, which being
considered as inflicted by heaven, made them afraid that the God whose
worship had like to have been abandoned, had interposed, and revenged
themselves on those who despised their authority. After they had heard
from us an account of the doctrine, the course of life, and the miracles
of Christ, and of the wonderful constancy of so many martyrs, whose
blood, so willingly offered up by them, was the chief occasion of
spreading their religion over a vast number of nations; it is not to be
imagined how inclined they were to receive it. I shall not determine
whether this proceeded from any secret inspiration of God, or whether it
was because t seemed so favorable to that community of goods, which is
an opinion so particular as well as so dear to them; since they
perceived that Christ and his followers lived by that rule and that it
was still kept up in some communities among the sincerest sort of
Christians. From whichsoever of these motives it might be, true it is
that many of them came over to our religion, and were initiated into it
by baptism. But as two of our number were dead, so none of the four that
survived were in priest's orders; we therefore could only baptize them;
so that to our great regret they could not partake of the other
sacraments, that can only be administered by priests; but they are
instructed concerning them, and long most vehemently for them. They have
had great disputes among themselves, whether one chosen by them to be a
priest would not be thereby qualified to do all the things that belong
to that character, even though he had no authority derived from the
Pope; and they seemed to be resolved to choose some for that employment,
but they had not done it when I left them.
Those among them that have not received our religion, do not fright
any from it, and use none ill that goes over to it; so that all the
while I was there, one man was only punished on this occasion. He being
newly baptized, did, notwithstanding all that we could say to the
contrary, dispute publicly concerning the Christian religion with more
zeal than discretion; and with so much heat, that he not only preferred
our worship to theirs, but condemned all their rites as profane; and
cried out against all that adhered to them, as impious and sacrilegious
persons, that were to be damned to everlasting burnings. Upon his having
frequently preached in this manner, he was seized, and after trial he
was condemned to banishment, not for having disparaged their religion,
but for his inflaming the people to sedition: for this is one of their
most ancient laws, that no man ought to be punished for his religion. At
the first constitution of their government, Utopus having understood
that before his coming among them the old inhabitants had been engaged
in great quarrels concerning religion, by which they were so divided
among themselves, that he found it an easy thing to conquer them, since
instead of uniting their forces against him, every different party in
religion fought by themselves; after he had subdued them, he made a law
that every man might be of what religion he pleased, and might endeavor
to draw others to it by force of argument, and by amicable and modest
ways, but without bitterness against those of other opinions; but that
he ought to use no other force but that of persuasion, and was neither
to mix with it reproaches nor violence; and such as did otherwise were
to be condemned to banishment or slavery.
This law was made by Utopus, not only for preserving the public
peace, which he saw suffered much by daily contentions and
irreconcilable heats, but because he thought the interest of religion
itself required it. He judged it not fit to determine anything rashly,
and seemed to doubt whether those different forms of religion might not
all come from God, who might inspire men in a different manner, and be
pleased with this variety; he therefore thought it indecent and foolish
for any man to threaten and terrify another to make him believe what did
not appear to him to be true. And supposing that only one religion was
really true, and the rest false, he imagined that the native force of
truth would at last break forth and shine bright, if supported only by
the strength of argument, and attended to with a gentle and unprejudiced
mind; while, on the other hand, if such debates were carried on with
violence and tumults, as the most wicked are always the most obstinate,
so the best and most holy religion might be choked with superstition, as
corn is with briars and thorns.
He therefore left men wholly to their liberty, that they might be
free to believe as they should see cause; only he made a solemn and
severe law against such as should so far degenerate from the dignity of
human nature as to think that our souls died with our bodies, or that
the world was governed by chance, without a wise overruling Providence:
for they all formerly believed that there was a state of rewards and
punishments to the good and bad after this life; and they now look on
those that think otherwise as scarce fit to be counted men, since they
degrade so noble a being as the soul, and reckon it no better than a
beast's: thus they are far from looking on such men as fit for human
society, or to be citizens of a well-ordered commonwealth; since a man
of such principles must needs, as oft as he dares do it, despise all
their laws and customs: for there is no doubt to be made that a man who
is afraid of nothing but the law, and apprehends nothing after death,
will not scruple to break through all the laws of his country, either by
fraud or force, when by this means he may satisfy his appetites. They
never raise any that hold these maxims, either to honors or offices, nor
employ them in any public trust, but despise them, as men of base and
sordid minds: yet they do not punish them, because they lay this down as
a maxim that a man cannot make himself believe anything he pleases; nor
do they drive any to dissemble their thoughts by threatenings, so that
men are not tempted to lie or disguise their opinions; which being a
sort of fraud, is abhorred by the Utopians. They take care indeed to
prevent their disputing in defence of these opinions, especially before
the common people; but they suffer, and even encourage them to dispute
concerning them in private with their priests and other grave men, being
confident that they will be cured of those mad opinions by having reason
laid before them.
There are many among them that run far to the other extreme, though
it is neither thought an ill nor unreasonable opinion, and therefore is
not at all discouraged. They think that the souls of beasts are
immortal, though far inferior to the dignity of the human soul, and not
capable of so great a happiness. They are almost all of them very firmly
persuaded that good men will be infinitely happy in another state; so
that though they are compassionate to all that are sick, yet they lament
no man's death, except they see him loth to depart with life; for they
look on this as a very ill presage, as if the soul, conscious to itself
of guilt, and quite hopeless, was afraid to leave the body, from some
secret hints of approaching misery. They think that such a man's
appearance before God cannot be acceptable to him, who being called on,
does not go out cheerfully, but is backward and unwilling, and is, as it
were, dragged to it. They are struck with horror when they see any die
in this manner, and carry them out in silence and with sorrow, and
praying God that he would be merciful to the errors of the departed
soul, they lay the body in the ground; but when any die cheerfully, and
full of hope, they do not mourn for them, but sing hymns when they carry
out their bodies, and commending their souls very earnestly to God:
their whole behavior is then rather grave than sad, they burn the body,
and set up a pillar where the pile was made, with an inscription to the
honor of the deceased.
When they come from the funeral, they discourse of his good life and
worthy actions, but speak of nothing oftener and with more pleasure than
of his serenity at the hour of death. They think such respect paid to
the memory of good men is both the greatest incitement to engage others
to follow their example, and the most acceptable worship that can be
offered them; for they believe that though by the imperfection of human
sight they are invisible to us, yet they are present among us, and hear
those discourses that pass concerning themselves. They believe it
inconsistent with the happiness of departed souls not to be at liberty
to be where they will, and do not imagine them capable of the
ingratitude of not desiring to see those friends with whom they lived on
earth in the strictest bonds of love and kindness: besides they are
persuaded that good men after death have these affections and all other
good dispositions increased rather than diminished, and therefore
conclude that they are still among the living, and observe all they say
or do. From hence they engage in all their affairs with the greater
confidence of success, as trusting to their protection; while this
opinion of the presence of their ancestors is a restraint that prevents
their engaging in ill designs.
They despise and laugh at auguries, and the other vain and
superstitious ways of divination, so much observed among other nations;
but have great reverence for such miracles as cannot flow from any of
the powers of nature, and look on them as effects and indications of the
presence of the Supreme Being, of which they say many instances have
occurred among them; and that sometimes their public prayers, which upon
great and dangerous occasions they have solemnly put up to God, with
assured confidence of being heard, have been answered in a miraculous
manner.
They think the contemplating God in His works, and the adoring Him
for them, is a very acceptable piece of worship to Him.
There are many among them, that upon a motive of religion neglect
learning, and apply themselves to no sort of study; nor do they allow
themselves any leisure time, but are perpetually employed. believing
that by the good things that a man does he secures to himself that
happiness that comes after death. Some of these visit the sick; others
mend highways, cleanse ditches, repair bridges, or dig turf, gravel, or
stones. Others fell and cleave timber, and bring wood, corn, and other
necessaries on carts into their towns. Nor do these only serve the
public, but they serve even private men, more than the slaves themselves
do; for if there is anywhere a rough, hard, and sordid piece of work to
be done, from which many are frightened by the labor and loathsomeness
of it, if not the despair of accomplishing it, they cheerfully, and of
their own accord, take that to their share; and by that means, as they
ease others very much, so they afflict themselves, and spend their whole
life in hard labor; and yet they do not value themselves upon this, nor
lessen other people's credit to raise their own; but by their stooping
to such servile employments, they are so far from being despised, that
they are so much the more esteemed by the whole nation.
Of these there are two sorts; some live unmarried and chaste, and
abstain from eating any sort of flesh; and thus weaning themselves from
all the pleasures of the present life, which they account hurtful, they
pursue, even by the hardest and painfullest methods possible, that
blessedness which they hope for hereafter; and the nearer they approach
to it, they are the more cheerful and earnest in their endeavors after
it. Another sort of them is less willing to put themselves to much toil,
and therefore prefer a married state to a single one; and as they do not
deny themselves the pleasure of it, so they think the begetting of
children is a debt which they owe to human nature and to their country;
nor do they avoid any pleasure that does not hinder labor, and therefore
eat flesh so much the more willingly, as they find that by this means
they are the more able to work; the Utopians look upon these as the
wiser sect, but they esteem the others as the most holy. They would
indeed laugh at any man, who from the principles of reason would prefer
an unmarried state to a married, or a life of labor to an easy life; but
they reverence and admire such as do it from the motives of religion.
There is nothing in which they are more cautious than in giving their
opinion positively concerning any sort of religion. The men that lead
those severe lives are called in the language of their country
Brutheskas, which answers to those we call religious orders.
Their priests are men of eminent piety, and therefore they are but
few for there are only thirteen in every town, one for every temple; but
when they go to war, seven of these go out with their forces, and seven
others are chosen to supply their room in their absence; but these enter
again upon their employment when they return; and those who served in
their absence attend upon the high-priest, till vacancies fall by death;
for there is one set over all the rest. They are chosen by the people as
the other magistrates are, by suffrages given in secret, for preventing
of factions; and when they are chosen they are consecrated by the
College of Priests. The care of all sacred things, the worship of God,
and an inspection into the manners of the people, are committed to them.
It is a reproach to a man to be sent for by any of them, or for them to
speak to him in secret, for that always gives some suspicion. All that
is incumbent on them is only to exhort and admonish the people; for the
power of correcting and punishing ill men belongs wholly to the Prince
and to the other magistrates. The severest thing that the priest does is
the excluding those that are desperately wicked from joining in their
worship. There is not any sort of punishment more dreaded by them than
this, for as it loads them with infamy, so it fills them with secret
horrors, such is their reverence to their religion; nor will their
bodies be long exempted from their share of trouble; for if they do not
very quickly satisfy the priests of the truth of their repentance, they
are seized on by the Senate, and punished for their impiety. The
education of youth belongs to the priests, yet they do not take so much
care of instructing them in letters as in forming their minds and
manners aright; they use all possible methods to infuse very early into
the tender and flexible minds of children such opinions as are both good
in themselves and will be useful to their country. For when deep
impressions of these things are made at that age, they follow men
through the whole course of their lives, and conduce much to preserve
the peace of the government, which suffers by nothing more than by vices
that rise out of ill-opinions. The wives of their priests are the most
extraordinary women of the whole country; sometimes the women themselves
are made priests, though that falls out but seldom, nor are any but
ancient widows chosen into that order.
None of the magistrates has greater honor paid him than is paid the
priests; and if they should happen to commit any crime, they would not
be questioned for it. Their punishment is left to God, and to their own
consciences; for they do not think it lawful to lay hands on any man,
how wicked soever he is, that has been in a peculiar manner dedicated to
God; nor do they find any great inconvenience in this, both because they
have so few priests, and because these are chosen with much caution, so
that it must be a very unusual thing to find one who merely out of
regard to his virtue, and for his being esteemed a singularly good man,
was raised up to so great a dignity, degenerate into corruption and
vice. And if such a thing should fall out, for man is a changeable
creature, yet there being few priests, and these having no authority but
what rises out of the respect that is paid them, nothing of great
consequence to the public can proceed from the indemnity that the
priests enjoy.
They have indeed very few of them, lest greater numbers sharing in
the same honor might make the dignity of that order which they esteem so
highly to sink in its reputation. They also think it difficult to find
out many of such an exalted pitch of goodness, as to be equal to that
dignity which demands the exercise of more than ordinary virtues. Nor
are the priests in greater veneration among them than they are among
their neighboring nations, as you may imagine by that which I think
gives occasion for it.
When the Utopians engage in battle, the priests who accompany them to
the war, apparelled in their sacred vestments, kneel down during the
action, in a place not far from the field; and lifting up their hands to
heaven, pray, first for peace, and then for victory to their own side,
and particularly that it may be gained without the effusion of much
blood on either side; and when the victory turns to their side, they run
in among their own men to restrain their fury; and if any of their
enemies see them, or call to them, they are preserved by that means; and
such as can come so near them as to touch their garments, have not only
their lives, but their fortunes secured to them; it is upon this account
that all the nations round about consider them so much, and treat them
with such reverence, that they have been often no less able to preserve
their own people from the fury of their enemies, than to save their
enemies from their rage; for it has sometimes fallen out, that when
their armies have been in disorder, and forced to fly, so that their
enemies were running upon the slaughter and spoil, the priests by
interposing have separated them from one another, and stopped the
effusion of more blood; so that by their mediation a peace has been
concluded on very reasonable terms; nor is there any nation about them
so fierce, cruel, or barbarous as not to look upon their persons as
sacred and inviolable.
The first and the last day of the month, and of the year, is a
festival. They measure their months by the course of the moon, and their
years by the course of the sun. The first days are called in their
language the Cynemernes, and the last the Trapemernes; which answers in
our language to the festival that begins, or ends, the season.
They have magnificent temples, that are not only nobly built, but
extremely spacious; which is the more necessary, as they have so few of
them; they are a little dark within, which proceeds not from any error
in the architecture, but is done with design; for their priests think
that too much light dissipates the thoughts, and that a more moderate
degree of it both recollects the mind and raises devotion. Though there
are many different forms of religion among them, yet all these, how
various soever, agree in the main point, which is the worshipping of the
Divine Essence; and therefore there is nothing to be seen or heard in
their temples in which the several persuasions among them may not agree;
for every sect performs those rites that are peculiar to it, in their
private houses, nor is there anything in the public worship that
contradicts the particular ways of those different sects. There are no
images for God in their temples, so that everyone may represent Him to
his thoughts, according to the way of his religion; nor do they call
this one God by any other name than that of Mithras, which is the common
name by which they all express the Divine Essence, whatsoever otherwise
they think it to be; nor are there any prayers among them but such as
every one of them may use without prejudice to his own opinion.
They meet in their temples on the evening of the festival that
concludes a season: and not having yet broke their fast, they thank God
for their good success during that year or month, which is then at an
end; and the next day being that which begins the new season, they meet
early in their temples, to pray for the happy progress of all their
affairs during that period upon which they then enter. In the festival
which concludes the period, before they go to the temple, both wives and
children fall on their knees before their husbands or parents, and
confess everything in which they have either erred or failed in their
duty, and beg pardon for it. Thus all little discontents in families are
removed, that they may offer up their devotions with a pure and serene
mind; for they hold it a great impiety to enter upon them with disturbed
thoughts, or with a consciousness of their bearing hatred or anger in
their hearts to any person whatsoever; and think that they should become
liable to severe punishments if they presumed to offer sacrifices
without cleansing their hearts, and reconciling all their differences.
In the temples, the two sexes are separated, the men go to the right
hand, and the women to the left; and the males and females all place
themselves before the head and master or mistress of that family to
which they belong; so that those who have the government of them at home
may see their deportment in public; and they intermingle them so, that
the younger and the older may be set by one another; for if the younger
sort were all set together, they would perhaps trifle away that time too
much in which they ought to beget in themselves that religious dread of
the Supreme Being, which is the greatest and almost the only incitement
to virtue.
They offer up no living creature in sacrifice, nor do they think it
suitable to the Divine Being, from whose bounty it is that these
creatures have derived their lives, to take pleasure in their deaths, or
the offering up of their blood. They burn incense and other sweet odors,
and have a great number of wax lights during their worship; not out of
any imagination that such oblations can add anything to the divine
nature, which even prayers cannot do; but as it is a harmless and pure
way of worshipping God, so they think those sweet savors and lights,
together with some other ceremonies, by a secret and unaccountable
virtue, elevate men's souls, and inflame them with greater energy and
cheerfulness during the divine worship.
All the people appear in the temples in white garments, but the
priest's vestments are parti-colored, and both the work and colors are
wonderful. They are made of no rich materials, for they are neither
embroidered nor set with precious stones, but are composed of the plumes
of several birds, laid together with so much art and so neatly, that the
true value of them is far beyond the costliest materials. They say that
in the ordering and placing those plumes some dark mysteries are
represented, which pass down among their priests in a secret tradition
concerning them; and that they are as hieroglyphics, putting them in
mind of the blessings that they have received from God, and of their
duties both to Him and to their neighbors. As soon as the priest appears
in those ornaments, they all fall prostrate on the ground, with so much
reverence and so deep a silence that such as look on cannot but be
struck with it, as if it were the effect of the appearance of a deity.
After they have been for some time in this posture, they all stand up,
upon a sign given by the priest, and sing hymns to the honor of God,
some musical instruments playing all the while. These are quite of
another form than those used among us: but as many of them are much
sweeter than ours, so others are made use of by us.
Yet in one thing they very much exceed us; all their music, both
vocal and instrumental, is adapted to imitate and express the passions,
and is so happily suited to every occasion, that whether the subject of
the hymn be cheerful or formed to soothe or trouble the mind, or to
express grief or remorse, the music takes the impression of whatever is
represented, affects and kindles the passions, and works the sentiments
deep into the hearts of the hearers. When this is done, both priests and
people offer up very solemn prayers to God in a set form of words; and
these are so composed, that whatsoever is pronounced by the whole
assembly may be likewise applied by every man in particular to his own
condition; in these they acknowledge God to be the author and governor
of the world, and the fountain of all the good they receive, and
therefore offer up to Him their thanksgiving; and in particular bless
Him for His goodness in ordering it so that they are born under the
happiest government in the world, and are of a religion which they hope
is the truest of all others: but if they are mistaken, and if there is
either a better government or a religion more acceptable to God, they
implore Him goodness to let them know it, vowing that they resolve to
follow Him whithersoever He leads them. But if their government is the
best and their religion the truest, then they pray that He may fortify
them in it, and bring all the world both to the same rules of life, and
to the same opinions concerning Himself; unless, according to the
unsearchableness of His mind, He is pleased with a variety of religions.
Then they pray that God may give them an easy passage at last to
Himself; not presuming to set limits to Him, how early or late it should
be; but if it may be wished for, without derogating from His supreme
authority, they desire to be quickly delivered, and to be taken to
Himself, though by the most terrible kind of death, rather than to be
detained long from seeing Him by the most prosperous course of life.
When this prayer is ended, they all fall down again upon the ground, and
after a little while they rise up, go home to dinner, and spend the rest
of the day in diversion or military exercises.
Thus have I described to you, as particularly as I could, the
constitution of that commonwealth, which I do not only think the best in
the world, but indeed the only commonwealth that truly deserves that
name. In all other places it is visible, that while people talk of a
commonwealth, every man only seeks his own wealth; but there, where no
man has any property, all men zealously pursue the good of the public:
and, indeed, it is no wonder to see men act so differently; for in other
commonwealths, every man knows that unless he provides for himself, how
flourishing soever the commonwealth may be, he must die of hunger; so
that he sees the necessity of preferring his own concerns to the public;
but in Utopia, where every man has a right to everything, they all know
that if care is taken to keep the public stores full, no private man can
want anything; for among them there is no unequal distribution, so that
no man is poor, none in necessity; and though no man has anything, yet
they are all rich; for what can make a man so rich as to lead a serene
and cheerful life, free from anxieties; neither apprehending want
himself, nor vexed with the endless complaints of his wife? He is not
afraid of the misery of his children, nor is he contriving how to raise
a portion for his daughters, but is secure in this, that both he and his
wife, his children and grandchildren, to as many generations as he can
fancy, will all live both plentifully and happily; since among them
there is no less care taken of those who were once engaged in labor, but
grow afterward unable to follow it, than there is elsewhere of these
that continue still employed. I would gladly hear any man compare the
justice that is among them with that of all other nations; among whom,
may I perish, if I see anything that looks either like justice or
equity: for what justice is there in this, that a nobleman, a goldsmith,
a banker, or any other man, that either does nothing at all, or at best
is employed in things that are of no use to the public, should live in
great luxury and splendor, upon what is so ill acquired; and a mean man,
a carter, a smith, or a ploughman, that works harder even than the
beasts themselves, and is employed in labors so necessary, that no
commonwealth could hold out a year without them, can only earn so poor a
livelihood, and must lead so miserable a life, that the condition of the
beasts is much better than theirs? For as the beasts do not work so
constantly, so they feed almost as well, and with more pleasure; and
have no anxiety about what is to come, whilst these men are depressed by
a barren and fruitless employment, and tormented with the apprehensions
of want in their old age; since that which they get by their daily labor
does but maintain them at present, and is consumed as fast as it comes
in, there is no overplus left to lay up for old age. Is not that
government both unjust and ungrateful, that is so prodigal of its favors
to those that are called gentlemen, or goldsmiths, or such others who
are idle, or live either by flattery, or by contriving the arts of vain
pleasure; and on the other hand, takes no care of those of a meaner
sort, such as ploughmen, colliers, and smiths, without whom it could not
subsist? But after the public has reaped all the advantage of their
service, and they come to be oppressed with age, sickness, and want, all
their labors and the good they have done is forgotten; and all the
recompense given them is that they are left to die in great misery. The
richer sort are often endeavoring to bring the hire of laborers lower,
not only by their fraudulent practices, but by the laws which they
procure to be made to that effect; so that though it is a thing most
unjust in itself, to give such small rewards to those who deserve so
well of the public, yet they have given those hardships the name and
color of justice, by procuring laws to be made for regulating them.
Therefore I must say that, as I hope for mercy, I can have no other
notion of all the other governments that I see or know, than that they
are a conspiracy of the rich, who on pretence of managing the public
only pursue their private ends, and devise all the ways and arts they
can find out; first, that they may, without danger, preserve all that
they have so ill acquired, and then that they may engage the poor to
toil and labor for them at as low rates as possible, and oppress them as
much as they please. And if they can but prevail to get these
contrivances established by the show of public authority, which is
considered as the representative of the whole people, then they are
accounted laws. Yet these wicked men after they have, by a most
insatiable covetousness, divided that among themselves with which all
the rest might have been well supplied, are far from that happiness that
is enjoyed among the Utopians: for the use as well as the desire of
money being extinguished, much anxiety and great occasions of mischief
is cut off with it. And who does not see that the frauds, thefts,
robberies, quarrels, tumults, contentions, seditions, murders,
treacheries, and witchcrafts, which are indeed rather punished than
restrained by the severities of law, would all fall off, if money were
not any more valued by the world? Men's fears, solicitudes, cares,
labors, and watchings, would all perish in the same moment with the
value of money: even poverty itself, for the relief of which money seems
most necessary, would fall. But, in order to the apprehending this
aright, take one instance.
Consider any year that has been so unfruitful that many thousands
have died of hunger; and yet if at the end of that year a survey was
made of the granaries of all the rich men that have hoarded up the corn,
it would be found that there was enough among them to have prevented all
that consumption of men that perished in misery; and that if it had been
distributed among them, none would have felt the terrible effects of
that scarcity; so easy a thing would it be to supply all the necessities
of life, if that blessed thing called money, which is pretended to be
invented for procuring them, was not really the only thing that
obstructed their being procured!
I do not doubt but rich men are sensible of this, and that they well
know how much a greater happiness it is to want nothing necessary than
to abound in many superfluities, and to be rescued out of so much misery
than to abound with so much wealth; and I cannot think but the sense of
every man's interest, added to the authority of Christ's commands, who
as He was infinitely wise, knew what was best, and was not less good in
discovering it to us, would have drawn all the world over to the laws of
the Utopians, if pride, that plague of human nature, that source of so
much misery, did not hinder it; for this vice does not measure happiness
so much by its own conveniences as by the miseries of others; and would
not be satisfied with being thought a goddess, if none were left that
were miserable, over whom she might insult. Pride thinks its own
happiness shines the brighter by comparing it with the misfortunes of
other persons; that by displaying its own wealth, they may feel their
poverty the more sensibly. This is that infernal serpent that creeps
into the breasts of mortals, and possesses them too much to be easily
drawn out; and therefore I am glad that the Utopians have fallen upon
this form of government, in which I wish that all the world could be so
wise as to imitate them; for they have indeed laid down such a scheme
and foundation of policy, that as men live happily under it, so it is
like to be of great continuance; for they having rooted out of the minds
of their people all the seeds both of ambition and faction, there is no
danger of any commotion at home; which alone has been the ruin of many
States that seemed otherwise to be well secured; but as long as they
live in peace at home, and are governed by such good laws, the envy of
all their neighboring princes, who have often though in vain attempted
their ruin, will never be able to put their State into any commotion or
disorder.
When Raphael had thus made an end of speaking, though many things
occurred to me, both concerning the manners and laws of that people,
that seemed very absurd, as well in their way of making war, as in their
notions of religion and divine matters; together with several other
particulars, but chiefly what seemed the foundation of all the rest,
their living in common, without the use of money, by which all nobility,
magnificence, splendor, and majesty, which, according to the common
opinion, are the true ornaments of a nation, would be quite taken
away;--yet since I perceived that Raphael was weary, and was not sure
whether he could easily bear contradiction, remembering that he had
taken notice of some who seemed to think they were bound in honor to
support the credit of their own wisdom, by finding out something to
censure in all other men's inventions, besides their own; I only
commended their constitution, and the account he had given of it in
general; and so taking him by the hand, carried him to supper, and told
him I would find out some other time for examining this subject more
particularly, and for discoursing more copiously upon it; and indeed I
shall be glad to embrace an opportunity of doing it. In the meanwhile,
though it must be confessed that he is both a very learned man, and a
person who has obtained a great knowledge of the world, I cannot
perfectly agree to everything he has related; however, there are many
things in the Commonwealth of Utopia that I rather wish, than hope, to
see followed in our governments.
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