Utopia

UTOPIA

INTRODUCTION

Sir Thomas More, son of Sir John More, a justice of the King’s Bench, was
born in 1478, in Milk Street, in the city of London. After his earlier
education at St. Anthony’s School, in Threadneedle Street, he was placed,
as a boy, in the household of Cardinal John Morton, Archbishop of Canterbury
and Lord Chancellor. It was not unusual for persons of wealth or influence and
sons of good families to be so established together in a relation of patron and
client. The youth wore his patron’s livery, and added to his state. The
patron used, afterwards, his wealth or influence in helping his young client
forward in the world. Cardinal Morton had been in earlier days that Bishop of
Ely whom Richard III. sent to the Tower; was busy afterwards in hostility to
Richard; and was a chief adviser of Henry VII., who in 1486 made him Archbishop
of Canterbury, and nine months afterwards Lord Chancellor. Cardinal
Morton—of talk at whose table there are recollections in
“Utopia”—delighted in the quick wit of young Thomas More. He
once said, “Whoever shall live to try it, shall see this child here
waiting at table prove a notable and rare man.”

At the age of about nineteen, Thomas More was sent to Canterbury College,
Oxford, by his patron, where he learnt Greek of the first men who brought Greek
studies from Italy to England—William Grocyn and Thomas Linacre. Linacre,
a physician, who afterwards took orders, was also the founder of the College of
Physicians. In 1499, More left Oxford to study law in London, at
Lincoln’s Inn, and in the next year Archbishop Morton died.

More’s earnest character caused him while studying law to aim at the
subduing of the flesh, by wearing a hair shirt, taking a log for a pillow, and
whipping himself on Fridays. At the age of twenty-one he entered Parliament,
and soon after he had been called to the bar he was made Under-Sheriff of
London. In 1503 he opposed in the House of Commons Henry VII.’s proposal
for a subsidy on account of the marriage portion of his daughter Margaret; and
he opposed with so much energy that the House refused to grant it. One went and
told the king that a beardless boy had disappointed all his expectations.
During the last years, therefore, of Henry VII. More was under the displeasure
of the king, and had thoughts of leaving the country.

Henry VII. died in April, 1509, when More’s age was a little over thirty.
In the first years of the reign of Henry VIII. he rose to large practice in the
law courts, where it is said he refused to plead in cases which he thought
unjust, and took no fees from widows, orphans, or the poor. He would have
preferred marrying the second daughter of John Colt, of New Hall, in Essex, but
chose her elder sister, that he might not subject her to the discredit of being
passed over.

In 1513 Thomas More, still Under-Sheriff of London, is said to have written his
“History of the Life and Death of King Edward V., and of the Usurpation
of Richard III.” The book, which seems to contain the knowledge and
opinions of More’s patron, Morton, was not printed until 1557, when its
writer had been twenty-two years dead. It was then printed from a MS. in
More’s handwriting.

In the year 1515 Wolsey, Archbishop of York, was made Cardinal by Leo X.; Henry
VIII. made him Lord Chancellor, and from that year until 1523 the King and the
Cardinal ruled England with absolute authority, and called no parliament. In
May of the year 1515 Thomas More—not knighted yet—was joined in a
commission to the Low Countries with Cuthbert Tunstal and others to confer with
the ambassadors of Charles V., then only Archduke of Austria, upon a renewal of
alliance. On that embassy More, aged about thirty-seven, was absent from
England for six months, and while at Antwerp he established friendship with
Peter Giles (Latinised Ægidius), a scholarly and courteous young man, who
was secretary to the municipality of Antwerp.

Cuthbert Tunstal was a rising churchman, chancellor to the Archbishop of
Canterbury, who in that year (1515) was made Archdeacon of Chester, and in May
of the next year (1516) Master of the Rolls. In 1516 he was sent again to the
Low Countries, and More then went with him to Brussels, where they were in
close companionship with Erasmus.

More’s “Utopia” was written in Latin, and is in two parts, of
which the second, describing the place ([Greek text]—or Nusquama, as he
called it sometimes in his letters—“Nowhere”), was probably
written towards the close of 1515; the first part, introductory, early in 1516.
The book was first printed at Louvain, late in 1516, under the editorship of
Erasmus, Peter Giles, and other of More’s friends in Flanders. It was
then revised by More, and printed by Frobenius at Basle in November, 1518. It
was reprinted at Paris and Vienna, but was not printed in England during
More’s lifetime. Its first publication in this country was in the English
translation, made in Edward’s VI.’s reign (1551) by Ralph Robinson.
It was translated with more literary skill by Gilbert Burnet, in 1684, soon
after he had conducted the defence of his friend Lord William Russell, attended
his execution, vindicated his memory, and been spitefully deprived by James II.
of his lectureship at St. Clement’s. Burnet was drawn to the translation
of “Utopia” by the same sense of unreason in high places that
caused More to write the book. Burnet’s is the translation given in this
volume.

The name of the book has given an adjective to our language—we call an
impracticable scheme Utopian. Yet, under the veil of a playful fiction, the
talk is intensely earnest, and abounds in practical suggestion. It is the work
of a scholarly and witty Englishman, who attacks in his own way the chief
political and social evils of his time. Beginning with fact, More tells how he
was sent into Flanders with Cuthbert Tunstal, “whom the king’s
majesty of late, to the great rejoicing of all men, did prefer to the office of
Master of the Rolls;” how the commissioners of Charles met them at
Bruges, and presently returned to Brussels for instructions; and how More then
went to Antwerp, where he found a pleasure in the society of Peter Giles which
soothed his desire to see again his wife and children, from whom he had been
four months away. Then fact slides into fiction with the finding of Raphael
Hythloday (whose name, made of two Greek words [Greek text] and [Greek text],
means “knowing in trifles”), a man who had been with Amerigo
Vespucci in the three last of the voyages to the new world lately discovered,
of which the account had been first printed in 1507, only nine years before
Utopia was written.

Designedly fantastic in suggestion of details, “Utopia” is the work
of a scholar who had read Plato’s “Republic,” and had his
fancy quickened after reading Plutarch’s account of Spartan life under
Lycurgus. Beneath the veil of an ideal communism, into which there has been
worked some witty extravagance, there lies a noble English argument. Sometimes
More puts the case as of France when he means England. Sometimes there is
ironical praise of the good faith of Christian kings, saving the book from
censure as a political attack on the policy of Henry VIII. Erasmus wrote to a
friend in 1517 that he should send for More’s “Utopia,” if he
had not read it, and “wished to see the true source of all political
evils.” And to More Erasmus wrote of his book, “A burgomaster of
Antwerp is so pleased with it that he knows it all by heart.”

H. M.

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 months 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 travelled
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 abbots! 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 means 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 truth, 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.

OF THEIR TOWNS, PARTICULARLY OF AMAUROT

“He that knows one of their towns knows them all—they are so like
one another, except where 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 all together 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 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 the ships, without any hindrance, 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 towns; that so, 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 small
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 both 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 humour
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 backwards seventeen hundred and sixty
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 storeys high, the fronts of
them are faced either 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 Tranibore, but of late the Archphilarch. All the
Syphogrants, who are in number two hundred, 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 him their voices secretly,
so that it is not known for whom every one 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 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 amongst 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 or 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 opposition
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 labour 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 labours mankind is supplied is much less than you perhaps
imagined: then consider how few of those that work are employed in labours 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 labour 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 labour, 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 five hundred, either men or
women, by their age and strength capable of labour, 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 labour, 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 labour, you may easily make the
estimate how much may be done in those few hours in which they are obliged to
labour. But, besides all that has been already said, it is to be considered
that the needful arts among them are managed with less labour 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 very little labour, 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 labour
they are clothed with leather and skins, cut 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 colour, and that is the natural
colour 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 labour, 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 colours, and as many vests of silk, will scarce
serve one man, and while those that are nicer think ten 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 labour, 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 labour, since the chief end
of the constitution is to regulate labour by the necessities of the public, and
to allow 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 grand-children, 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 six thousand families, besides those of the country around 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 neighbouring 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 market-place. 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 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 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 towards 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 amongst
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 any one that can do it offers
herself cheerfully; for as they are much inclined to that piece of mercy, so
the child whom they 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 the 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 honoured 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 every
one’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 a great distance, every one 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.

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 licence that is granted for travelling, and limits the time of
their return. They are furnished with a waggon and a slave, who drives the oxen
and looks after them; but, unless there are women in the company, the waggon 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 for nothing, but
are everywhere treated as if they were at home. If they stay in any place
longer than a night, every one 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
labour with them and conform to their rules; and if he does this, he may freely
go over the whole precinct, being then 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 labour. There are no
taverns, no ale-houses, 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 task 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 unfavourable season), they order an
exportation of the overplus, both 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 neighbours
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 known 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 earring of gold, and make others wear a chain or a 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 were 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 coasts, 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 afterwards 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 splendour. Thus
three ambassadors made their entry with a hundred attendants, all clad in
garments of different colours, 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, earrings 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 either 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
ambassadors’ 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 their 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 formed
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 man, 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 honours, 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 have 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 labour 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, both 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 a 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 every one, 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 cause of the saltness of the sea, of its ebbing
and flowing, and of the original 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 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 endeavours 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
favourite 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
advantage 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 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
stole, 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 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 too
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 taste 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 subtlety 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 vigour?
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 arise out of true virtue and the witness 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 any one may easily see would be
not only a base, but a miserable, state of a 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 are to be
valued any further than as they are 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 seasoning 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 favours, and therefore rejects 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 whatever
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 art 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 labour 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 labour 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 Dioscerides. 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
honours 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 amongst 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 barks of trees;
but now they have established the manufactures 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 neighbouring countries better, so they keep up
the art of navigation which cannot be maintained but by much practice.

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 labour, 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 neighbouring 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 labour 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 out-lived 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 honourable, so if any
man takes away his own life without the approbation of the priests and the
senate, they give him none of the honours 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
handsbreadth of the face, all the rest of the body being covered, under which
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 clothes as may totally
alienate a man from his wife, when it is too late to part with 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 consort, 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
labour 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 labour 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 labour 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 behaviour 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 honours; 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
honour 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 labour 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 neighbours, 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 honour 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
Neighbours; 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 the 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 new-found 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 sort 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 confederacy. 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 neighbours 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 licence of preying upon each other, if, by the unskilfulness of
wording them, there are not effectual provisoes 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 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.

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 neighbour makes an inroad on another by public order,
and carries 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 colour 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 neighbours 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
neighbours more than their own citizens; but, since their neighbours trade
every one 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 no thing 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 are
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 honour 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 there 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 immeasurably
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 their 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 neighbours 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
convenience 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 five hundred 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 labour,
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 man 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
all 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 parent, 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
vigour 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, wresting 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 day-time, 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 is finished in so short a time that it is scarce credible. Their
armour 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 practise 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 oppose 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.

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 honours
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 honours 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 accidents, 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 it
seemed so favourable 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 priests’ orders, we, therefore, could only
baptise 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 baptised 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 endeavour to draw others to it by the 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 man
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 honours 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 priest, 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
loath to part 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 behaviour 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 honour 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 stone. 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 labour
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 labour: 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 endeavours 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 labour;
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 labour 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
employments 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
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 have greater honour paid them 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 honour 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 neighbouring 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 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 every one may represent Him to his thoughts
according to the way of his religion; nor do they call this one God by any
other name but 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 the 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 their
blood. They burn incense and other sweet odours, 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 savours
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-coloured, and both the work and colours 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 blessing that they have received
from God, and of their duties, both to Him and to their neighbours. 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 honour 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 His
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
grand-children, 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 labour, but grow afterwards 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 splendour 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 labours 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 labour 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 favours 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 labours 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 endeavouring to bring
the hire of labourers 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 colour 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 labour 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,
labours, 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 commotions 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 neighbouring 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, splendour, 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 honour 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.