Henry the Eighth, 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 lanthorn." 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 dextrous 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, run 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 heaven 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 Castilians, 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 conveniences 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 civilized 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; only
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 passed, 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 counsel 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 fawnings 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 interest 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."—"Was 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 in solitudes; for when an
insatiable wretch, who is a plague to his country, resolves to inclose
many thousand acres of ground, the owners, as well as tenants, are
turned out of their possessions, by tricks, or by main force, or being
wearied out with 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 like 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 alehouses are
no better; add to these, dice, cards, tables, foot-ball, 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 is 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 these 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 man in making laws can authorize 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
license 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 is much more 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 happened to be some extraordinary
circumstances 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 of a 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 beside 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 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 have
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 the
sentence of death was 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, back-biter, 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 one
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 councils."—"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 councils 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 it 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 had so
oft 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 councils 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 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 councils, how to carry on the war, if so mean a man as I should
stand up, and wish them to change all their councils, 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 interests of either. When they saw this, and that there
would be no end to these evils, they by joint councils 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 been also 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 licenses 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 out of 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 less 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 councils
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 have
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 makes 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 lie not
far from Utopia, by which their king, on the day on which he begins 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 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 at 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's 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 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
arguments," 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, have 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 house-tops 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 seemed 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, was 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 burthensome
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 effects, 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 1,200 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 after-times 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 be
easily 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
uncivilized 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 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
are 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 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, cyder, 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 altogether in it.
It lies upon the side of a hill, or rather a rising ground: its figure
is almost square, for from the one side of it, which shoots up almost to
the top of the hill, it runs down in a descent for two miles to the
river Anider; but it is a little broader the other way that runs along
by the bank of that river. The Anider rises about eighty miles above
Amaurot in a small spring at first; but other brooks falling into it, of
which two are more considerable than the rest. As it runs by Amaurot, it
is grown half a mile broad; but it still grows larger and larger, till
after sixty miles course below it, it is lost in the ocean, between the
town and the sea, and for some miles above the town, it ebbs and flows
every six hours, with a strong current. The tide comes up for about
thirty miles so full, that there is nothing but salt water in the river,
the fresh water being driven back with its force; and above that, for
some miles, the water is brackish; but a little higher, as it runs by
the town, it is quite fresh; and when the tide ebbs, it continues fresh
all along to the sea. There is a bridge cast over the river, not of
timber, but of fair stone, consisting of many stately arches; it lies at
that part of the town which is farthest from the sea, so that ships
without any 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 1,760 years. From these it appears that their
houses were at first low and mean, like cottages, made of any sort of
timber, and were built with mud walls and thatched with straw. But now
their houses are three stories high: the fronts of them are faced 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 Tranibor, but of late the
Archphilarch. All the Syphogrants, who are in number 200, choose the
Prince out of a list of four, who are named by the people of the four
divisions of the city; but they take an oath before they proceed to an
election, that they will choose him whom they think most fit for the
office. They give their voices secretly, so that it is not known for
whom 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 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 oppositions between the particular virtues and
vices; as also the methods by which vice either openly assaults or
secretly undermines virtue; and virtue on the other hand resists it. But
the time appointed for 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, are 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 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, cast carelessly about them, which
will last seven years; and when they appear in public they put on an
upper garment, which hides the other; and these are all of one 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 all the people as much time as is necessary for the improvement
of their minds, in which they think the happiness of life consists.
OF THEIR TRAFFIC.
But it is now time to explain to you the mutual intercourse of this
people, their commerce, and the rules by which all things are
distributed among them.
As their cities are composed of families, so their families are made up
of those that are nearly related to one another. Their women, when they
grow up, are married out; but all the males, both children and
grandchildren, live still in the same house, in great obedience to their
common parent, unless age has weakened his understanding; and in that
case, he that is next to him in age comes in his room. But lest any city
should become either too great, or by any accident be dispeopled,
provision is made that none of their cities may contain above six
thousand families, besides those of the country round it. No family may
have less than ten, and more than sixteen persons in it; but there can
be no determined number for the children under age. This rule is easily
observed, by removing some of the children of a more fruitful couple to
any other family that does not abound so much in them. By the same rule,
they supply cities that do not increase so fast, from others that breed
faster; and if there is any increase over the whole island, then they
draw out a number of their citizens out of the several towns, and send
them over to the 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 that they shall always be
supplied. It is the fear of want that makes any of the whole race of
animals either greedy or ravenous; but besides fear, there is in man a
pride that makes him fancy it a particular glory to excel others in pomp
and excess. But by the laws of the Utopians, there is no room for this.
Near these markets there are others for all sorts of provisions, where
there are not only herbs, fruits, and bread, but also fish, fowl, and
cattle. There are also, without their towns, places appointed near some
running water, for killing their beasts, and for washing away their
filth; which is done by their slaves: for they suffer none of their
citizens to kill their cattle, because they think that pity and
good-nature, which are among the best of those affections that are born
with us, are much impaired by the butchering of animals: nor do they
suffer anything that is foul or unclean to be brought within their
towns, lest the air should be infected by ill smells which might
prejudice their health. In every street there are great halls that lie
at an equal distance from each other, distinguished by particular names.
The Syphogrants dwell in those that are set over thirty families,
fifteen lying on one side of it, and as many on the other. In these
halls they all meet and have their repasts. The stewards of every one of
them come to the market-place at an appointed hour; and according to the
number of those that belong to the hall, they carry home provisions. But
they take more care of their sick than of any others: these are lodged
and provided for in public hospitals: they have belonging to every town
four hospitals, that are built without their walls, and are so large
that they may pass for little towns: by this means, if they had ever
such a number of sick persons, they could lodge them conveniently, and
at such a distance, that such of them as are sick of infectious diseases
may be kept so far from the rest that there can be no danger of
contagion. The hospitals are furnished and stored with all things that
are convenient for the ease and recovery of the sick; and those that are
put in them are looked after with such tender and watchful care, and are
so constantly attended by their skilful physicians, that as none is sent
to them against their will, so there is scarce one in a whole town that,
if he should fall ill, would not choose rather to go thither than lie
sick at home.
After the steward of the hospitals has taken for the sick whatsoever the
physician prescribes, then the best things that are left in the market
are distributed equally among the halls, in proportion to their numbers,
only, in the first place, they serve the Prince, the chief priest, the
Tranibors, the ambassadors, and strangers, if there are any, which
indeed falls out but seldom, and for whom there are houses well
furnished, particularly appointed for their reception when they come
among them. At the hours of dinner and supper, the whole Syphogranty
being called together by sound of trumpet, they meet and eat together,
except only such as are in the hospitals, or lie sick at home. Yet after
the halls are served, no man is hindered to carry provisions home from
the market-place; for they know that none does that but for some good
reason; for though any that will may eat at home, yet none does it
willingly, since it is both ridiculous and foolish for any to give
themselves the trouble to make ready an ill dinner at home, when there
is a much more plentiful one made ready for him so near 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 nurse's 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 that Syphogranty, the
priest and his wife sit with the Syphogrant above all the rest: next
them there is a mixture of old and young, who are so placed, that as the
young are set near others, so they are mixed with the more ancient;
which they say was appointed on this account, that the gravity of the
old people, and the reverence that is due to them, might restrain the
younger from all indecent words and gestures. Dishes are not served up
to the whole table at first, but the best are first set before the old,
whose seats are distinguished from the young, and after them all the
rest are served alike. The old men distribute to the younger any curious
meats that happen to be set before them, if there is not such an
abundance of them that the whole company may be served alike.
Thus old men are 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
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 license 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
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 thus as
useful to the city to which he belongs, as if he were still within it.
Thus you see that there are no idle persons among them, nor pretences of
excusing any from labour. There are no taverns, no alehouses nor stews
among them; nor any other occasions of corrupting each other, of getting
into corners, or forming themselves into parties: all men live in full
view, so that all are obliged, both to perform their ordinary 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 own customs. But one who can judge aright, will not
wonder to find, that since their constitution differs so much from ours,
their value of gold and silver should be measured by a very different
standard; for since they have no use for money among themselves, but
keep it as a provision against events which seldom happen, and between
which there are generally long intervening intervals; they value it no
farther than it deserves, that is, in proportion to its use. So that it
is plain, they must prefer iron either to gold or silver: for men can no
more live without iron, than without fire or water; but Nature has
marked out no use for the other metals, so essential as not easily to be
dispensed with. The folly of men has enhanced the value of gold and
silver, because of their scarcity. Whereas, on the contrary, it is their
opinion that Nature, as an indulgent parent, has freely given us all the
best things in great abundance, such as water and earth, but has laid up
and hid from us the things that are vain and useless.
If these metals were laid up in any tower in the kingdom, it would raise
a jealousy of the Prince and Senate, and give birth to that foolish
mistrust into which the people are apt to fall, a jealousy of their
intending to sacrifice the interest of the public to their own private
advantage. If they should work it into vessels, or any sort of plate,
they fear that the people might grow too fond of it, and so be unwilling
to let the plate be run down, if a war made it necessary to employ it in
paying their soldiers. To prevent all these inconveniences, they have
fallen upon an expedient, which as it agrees with their other policy, so
is it very different from ours, and will scarce gain belief among us,
who value gold so much, and lay it up so carefully. They eat and drink
out of vessels of earth, or glass, which make an agreeable appearance
though formed of brittle materials: while they make their chamber-pots
and close-stools of gold and silver; and that not only in their public
halls, but in their private houses: of the same metals they likewise
make chains and fetters for their slaves; to some of which, as a badge
of infamy, they hang an ear-ring of gold, and make others wear a chain
or 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 coast; and diamonds and carbuncles
on their rocks; they do not look after them, but if they find them by
chance, they polish them, and with them they adorn their children, who
are delighted with them, and glory in them during their childhood; but
when they grow to years, and see that none but children use such
baubles, they of their own accord, without being bid by their parents,
lay them aside; and would be as much ashamed to use them 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, use 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 vain-glorious 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 an 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,
ear-rings and rings of gold: their caps were covered with bracelets set
full of pearls and other gems: in a word, they were set out with all
those things that, among the Utopians, were 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 ambassador's fools." Others censured the fashion of their
chains, and observed that they were of no use; for they were too slight
to bind their slaves, who could easily break them; and besides hung so
loose about them, that they thought it easy to throw them away, and so
get from them. But after the ambassadors had stayed a day among them,
and saw so vast a quantity of gold in their houses, which was as much
despised by them as it was esteemed in other nations, and beheld more
gold and silver in the chains and fetters of one slave than all their
ornaments amounted to, their plumes fell, and they were ashamed of all
that glory for which they had formerly valued themselves, and
accordingly laid it aside; a resolution that they immediately took, when
on their engaging in some free discourse with the Utopians, they
discovered their sense of such things and their other customs. The
Utopians wonder how any man should be so much taken with the glaring
doubtful lustre of a jewel or a stone, that can look up to a star, or to
the sun himself; or how any should value himself because his cloth is
made of a finer thread: for how fine soever that thread may be, it was
once no better than the fleece of a sheep, and that sheep was a sheep
still for all its wearing it. They wonder much to hear that gold which
in itself is so useless a thing, should be everywhere so much esteemed,
that even men for whom it was made, and by whom it has its value, should
yet be thought of less value than this metal. That a man of lead, who
has no more sense than a log of wood, and is as bad as he is foolish,
should have many wise and good men to serve him, only because he has a
great heap of that metal; and that if it should happen that by some
accident or trick of law (which sometimes produces as great changes as
chance itself) all this wealth should pass from the master to the
meanest varlet of his whole family, he himself would very soon become
one of his servants, as if he were a thing that belonged to his wealth,
and so were bound to follow its fortune. But they much more admire and
detest the folly of those who when they see a rich man, though they
neither owe him anything, nor are in any sort dependent on his bounty,
yet merely because he is rich give him little less than divine 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 has that people imbibed, partly from their
education, being bred in a country whose customs and laws are opposite
to all such foolish maxims, and partly from their learning and studies;
for though there are but few in any town that are so wholly excused from
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 causes 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 rigours, 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
advantages, as far as the laws allow it. They account it piety to prefer
the public good to one's private concerns; but they think it unjust for
a man to seek for pleasure, by snatching another man's pleasures from
him. And on the contrary, they think it a sign of a gentle and good
soul, for a man to dispense with his own advantage for the good of
others; and that by this means a good man finds as much pleasure one
way, as he parts with another; for as he may expect the like from others
when he may come to need it, so if that should fail him, yet the sense
of a good action, and the reflections that he makes on the love and
gratitude of those whom he has so obliged, gives the mind more pleasure
than the body could have found in that from which it had restrained
itself. They are also persuaded that God will make up the loss of those
small pleasures, with a vast and endless joy, of which religion easily
convinces a good soul.
Thus upon an inquiry into the whole matter, they reckon that all our
actions, and even all our virtues, terminate in pleasure, as in our
chief end and greatest happiness; and they call every motion or state,
either of body or mind, in which Nature teaches us to delight, a
pleasure. Thus they cautiously limit pleasure only to those appetites to
which Nature leads us; for they say that Nature leads us only to those
delights to which reason as well as sense carries us, and by which we
neither injure any other person, nor lose the possession of greater
pleasures, and of such as draw no troubles after them; but they look
upon those delights which men by a foolish, though common, mistake call
pleasure, as if they could change as easily the nature of things as the
use of words; as things that greatly obstruct their real happiness,
instead of advancing it, because they so entirely possess the minds of
those that are once captivated by them with a false notion of pleasure,
that there is no room left for pleasures of a truer or purer kind.
There are many things that in themselves have nothing that is truly
delightful; on the contrary, they have a good deal of bitterness in
them; and yet from our perverse appetites after forbidden objects, are
not only ranked among the pleasures, but are made even the greatest
designs of life. Among those who pursue these sophisticated pleasures,
they reckon such as I mentioned before, who think themselves really the
better for having fine clothes; in which they think they are doubly
mistaken, both in the opinion that they have of their clothes, and in
that they have of themselves; for if you consider the use of clothes,
why should a fine thread be thought better than a coarse one? And yet
these men, as if they had some real advantages beyond others, and did
not owe them wholly to their mistakes, look big, seem to fancy
themselves to be more valuable, and imagine that a respect is due to
them for the sake of a rich garment, to which they would not have
pretended if they had been more meanly clothed; and even resent it as an
affront, if that respect is not paid them. It is also a great folly to
be taken with outward marks of respect, which signify nothing: for what
true or real pleasure can one man find in another's standing bare, or
making legs to him? Will the bending another man's knees give ease to
yours? And will the head's being bare cure the madness of yours? And yet
it is wonderful to see how this false notion of pleasure bewitches many
who delight themselves with the fancy of their nobility, and are pleased
with this conceit, that they are descended from ancestors, who have been
held for some successions rich, and who have had great possessions; for
this is all that makes nobility at present; yet they do not think
themselves a whit the less noble, though their immediate parents have
left none of this wealth to them, or though they themselves have
squandered it away. The Utopians have no better opinion of those who are
much taken with gems and precious stones, and who account it a degree of
happiness, next to a divine one, if they can purchase one that is very
extraordinary; especially if it be of that sort of stones that is then
in greatest request; for the same sort is not at all times universally
of the same value; nor will men buy it unless it be dismounted and taken
out of the gold; the jeweller is then made to give good security, and
required solemnly to swear that the stone is true, that by such an exact
caution a false one might not be bought instead of a true: though if you
were to examine it, your eye could find no difference between the
counterfeit and that which is true; so that they are all one to you as
much as if you were blind. Or can it be thought that they who heap up an
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 of it so often
should give one a surfeit of it: and what pleasure can one find in
hearing the barking and howling of dogs, which seem rather odious than
pleasant sounds? Nor can they comprehend the pleasure of seeing dogs run
after a hare, more than of seeing one dog run after another; for if the
seeing them run is that which gives the pleasure, you have the same
entertainment to the eye on both these occasions; since that is the same
in both cases: but if the pleasure lies in seeing the hare killed and
torn by the dogs, this ought rather to stir pity, that a weak, harmless
and fearful hare should be devoured by strong, fierce, and cruel dogs.
Therefore all this business of hunting is, among the Utopians, turned
over to their butchers; and those, as has been already said, are all
slaves; and they look on hunting as one of the basest parts of a
butcher's work: for they account it both more profitable and more decent
to kill those beasts that are more necessary and useful to mankind;
whereas the killing and tearing of so small and miserable an animal can
only attract the huntsman with a false show of pleasure, from which he
can reap but small advantage. They look on the desire of the bloodshed,
even of beasts, as a mark of a mind that is already corrupted with
cruelty, or that at least by the frequent returns of so brutal a
pleasure must degenerate into it.
Thus, though the rabble of mankind look upon these, and on innumerable
other things of the same nature, as pleasures; the Utopians, on the
contrary, observing that there is nothing in them truly pleasant,
conclude that they are not to be reckoned among pleasures: for though
these things may create some tickling in the senses (which seems to be a
true notion of pleasure), yet they imagine that this does not arise
from the thing itself, but from a depraved custom, which may so vitiate
a man's taste, that bitter things may pass for sweet; as women with
child think pitch or tallow 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 subtilty, that does not much alter
the matter. It is all one, in their opinion, whether it be said that
health is in itself a pleasure, or that it begets a pleasure, as fire
gives heat; so it be granted, that all those whose health is entire have
a true pleasure in the enjoyment of it: and they reason thus—what is
the pleasure of eating, but that a man's health which had been weakened,
does, with the assistance of food, drive away hunger, and so recruiting
itself recovers its former 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 arises 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
seasonings of life, which Nature seems to have marked out peculiarly for
man; since no other sort of animals contemplates the figure and beauty
of the universe; nor is delighted with smells, any farther than as they
distinguish meats by them; not 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 whatsoever may be said of their notions, there is not in
the whole world either a better people or a happier government: their
bodies are vigorous and lively; and though they are but of a middle
stature, and have neither the fruitfullest soil nor the purest air in
the world, yet they fortify themselves so well by their temperate course
of life, against the unhealthiness of their air, and by their industry
they so cultivate their soil, that there is nowhere to be seen a greater
increase both of corn and cattle, nor are there anywhere healthier men,
and freer from diseases: for one may there see reduced to practice, not
only all the 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 Dioscorides. They esteem Plutarch highly,
and were much taken with Lucian's wit, and with his pleasant way of
writing. As for the poets, they have Aristophanes, Homer, Euripides, and
Sophocles of Aldus's edition; and for historians Thucydides, Herodotus
and Herodian. One of my companions, Thricius Apinatus, happened to carry
with him some of Hippocrates's works, and Galen's Microtechne, which
they hold in great estimation; for though there is no nation in the
world that needs physic so little as they do, yet there is not any that
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 outlived
themselves, they should no longer nourish such a rooted distemper, but
choose rather to die, since they cannot live but in much misery: being
assured, that if they thus deliver themselves from torture, or are
willing that others should do it, they shall be happy after death. Since
by their acting thus, they lose none of the pleasures, but only the
troubles of life; they think they behave not only reasonably, but in a
manner consistent with religion and piety; because they follow the
advice given them by their priests, who are the expounders of the will
of God. Such as are wrought on by these persuasions, either starve
themselves of their own accord, or take opium, and by that means die
without pain. But no man is forced on this way of ending his life; and
if they cannot be persuaded to it, this does not induce them to fail in
their attendance and care of them; but as they believe that a voluntary
death, when it is chosen upon such an authority, is very 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
hand's-breadth of the face, all the rest of the body being covered,
under which there may lie hid what may be contagious, as well as
loathsome. All men are not so wise as to choose a woman only for her
good qualities; and even wise men consider the body as that which adds
not a little to the mind: and it is certain there may be some such
deformity covered with the clothes as may totally alienate a man from
his wife when it is too late to part 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 comfort, and that chiefly in the case of old age, which as it
carries many diseases along with it, so it is a disease of itself. But
it frequently falls out that when a married couple do not well agree,
they by mutual consent separate, and find out other persons with whom
they hope they may live more happily. Yet this is not done without
obtaining leave of the Senate, which never admits of a divorce, but upon
a strict inquiry made, both by the senators and their wives, into the
grounds upon which it is desired; and even when they are satisfied
concerning the reasons of it, they go on but slowly, for they imagine
that too great easiness in granting leave for new marriages would very
much shake the kindness of married people. They punish severely those
that defile the marriage-bed. If both parties are married they are
divorced, and the injured persons may marry one another, or whom they
please; but the adulterer and the adulteress are condemned to slavery.
Yet if either of the injured persons cannot shake off the love of the
married person, they may live with them still in that state, but they
must follow them to that 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 catched 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 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 confederacies; perhaps they would change their mind if they
lived among us; but yet though treaties were more religiously observed,
they would still dislike the custom of making them; since the world has
taken up a false maxim upon it, as if there were no tie of Nature
uniting one nation to another, only separated perhaps by a mountain or a
river, and that all were born in a state of hostility, and so might
lawfully do all that mischief to their 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 license 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 the human nature is instead of a league. And that
kindness and good-nature unite men more effectually and with greater
strength than any agreements whatsoever; since thereby the engagements
of men's hearts become stronger than the bond and obligation of words.
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 carry away the spoils;
but when the merchants of one country are oppressed in another, either
under pretence of some unjust laws, or by the perverse wresting of good
ones. This they count a juster cause of war than the other, because
those injuries are done under some 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 was 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 nothing in return
for the merchandises they export but that in which they so much abound,
and is of little use to them, the loss does not much affect them; they
think therefore it would be too severe to revenge a loss attended with
so little inconvenience either to their lives, or their subsistence,
with the death of many persons; but if any of their people is either
killed or wounded wrongfully, whether it be done by public authority or
only by private men, as soon as they hear of it they send ambassadors,
and demand that the guilty persons may be delivered up to them; and if
that is denied, they declare war; but if it be complied with, the
offenders are condemned either to death or slavery.
They would be both troubled and ashamed of a bloody victory over their
enemies, and think it would be as foolish a purchase as to buy the most
valuable goods at too high a rate. And in no victory do they glory so
much as in that which is gained by dexterity and good conduct, without
bloodshed. In such cases they appoint public triumphs, and erect
trophies to the 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 vain-glory does not
work so much on them as a just care of their own security.
As soon as they declare war, they take care to have a great many
schedules, that are sealed with their common seal, affixed in the most
conspicuous places of their enemies' country. This is carried secretly,
and done in many places all at once. In these they promise great rewards
to such as shall kill the prince, and lesser in proportion to such as
shall kill any other persons, who are those on whom, next to the prince
himself, they cast the chief balance of the war. And they double the sum
to him that, instead of killing the person so marked out, shall take him
alive and put him in their hands. They offer not only indemnity, but
rewards, to such of the persons themselves that are so marked, if they
will act against their countrymen: by this means those that are named in
their schedules become not only distrustful of their fellow-citizens,
but are jealous of one another, and are much distracted by fear and
danger; for it has often fallen out that many of them, and even the
Prince himself, have been betrayed by those in whom they have trusted
most: for the rewards that the Utopians offer are so unmeasurably great,
that there is no sort of crime to which men cannot be drawn by them.
They consider the risk that those run who undertake such services, and
offer a recompense proportioned to the danger; not only a vast deal of
gold, but great revenues in lands, that lie among other nations that are
their friends, where they may go and enjoy them very securely; and they
observe the promises they make of this kind most religiously. They very
much approve of this way of corrupting their enemies, though it appears
to others to be base and cruel; but they look on it as a wise course, to
make an end of what would be otherwise a long war, without so much as
hazarding one battle to decide it. They think it likewise an act of
mercy and love to mankind to prevent the great slaughter of those that
must otherwise be killed in the progress of the war, both on their own
side and on that of their enemies, by the death of a few that are most
guilty; and that in so doing they are kind even to their enemies, and
pity them no less than their own people, as knowing that the greater
part of them do not engage in the war of their own accord, but are
driven into it by the passions of their prince.
If this method does not succeed with them, then they sow seeds of
contention among their enemies, and animate the prince's brother, or
some of the nobility, to aspire to the crown. If they cannot disunite
them by domestic broils, then they engage their 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
inconvenience to them though they should reserve nothing of it to
themselves. For besides the wealth that they have among them at home,
they have a vast treasure abroad, many nations round about them being
deep in their debt: so that they hire soldiers from all places for
carrying on their wars, but chiefly from the Zapolets, who live 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 men of eminent and approved virtue to
command in chief. There are two sent with him, who during his command
are but private men, but the first is to succeed him if he should happen
to be either killed or taken; and in case of the like misfortune to him,
the third comes in his place; and thus they provide against ill events,
that such accidents as may befall their generals may not endanger their
armies. When they draw out troops of their own people, they take such
out of every city as freely offer themselves, for none are forced to go
against their wills, since they think that if any man is pressed that
wants courage, he will not only act faintly, but by his cowardice
dishearten others. But if an invasion is made on their country they make
use of such men, if they have good bodies, though they are not brave;
and either put them aboard their ships or place them on the walls of
their towns, that being so posted they may find no opportunity of flying
away; and thus either shame, the heat of action, or the impossibility of
flying, bears down their cowardice; they often make a virtue of
necessity and behave themselves well, because nothing else is left them.
But as they force no man to go into any foreign war against his will, so
they do not hinder those women who are willing to go along with their
husbands; on the contrary, they encourage and praise them, and they
stand often next their husbands in the front of the army. They also
place together those who are related, parents and children, kindred, and
those that are mutually allied, near one another; that those whom Nature
has inspired with the greatest zeal for assisting one another, may be
the nearest and readiest to do it; and it is matter of great reproach if
husband or wife survive one another, or if a child survives his parents,
and therefore when they come to be engaged in action they continue to
fight to the last man, if their enemies stand before them. And as they
use all prudent methods to avoid the endangering their own men, and if
it is possible let all the action and danger fall upon the troops that
they hire, so if it becomes necessary for themselves to engage, they
then charge with as much courage as they avoided it before with
prudence: nor is it a fierce charge at first, but it increases by
degrees; and as they continue in action, they grow more obstinate and
press harder upon the enemy, insomuch that they will much sooner die
than give ground; for the certainty that their children will be well
looked after when they are dead, frees them from all that anxiety
concerning them which often masters men of great courage; and thus they
are animated by a noble and invincible resolution. Their skill in
military affairs increases their courage; and the wise sentiments which,
according to the laws of their country are instilled into them in their
education, give additional 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 daytime, they do it in such order, that it is no less
dangerous to fall upon them in a retreat than in a march. They fortify
their camps with a deep and large trench, and throw up the earth that is
dug out of it for a wall; nor do they employ only their slaves in this,
but the whole army works at it, except those that are then upon the
guard; so that when so many hands are at work, a great line and a strong
fortification 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 opposed the rendering of it up, and make the rest of the
garrison slaves, but for the other inhabitants, they do them no hurt;
and if any of them had advised a surrender, they give them good rewards
out of the estates of those that they condemn, and distribute the rest
among their auxiliary troops, but they themselves take no share of the
spoil.
When a war is ended, they do not oblige their friends to reimburse their
expenses; but they obtain them of the conquered, either in money, which
they keep for the next occasion, or in lands, out of which a constant
revenue is to be paid them; by many increases, the revenue which they
draw out from several countries on such occasions, is now risen to above
700,000 ducats a year. They send some of their own people to receive
these revenues, who have orders to live magnificently, and like princes,
by which means they consume much of it upon the place; and either bring
over the rest to Utopia, or lend it to that nation in which it lies.
This they most commonly do, unless some great occasion, which falls out
but very seldom, should oblige them to call for it all. It is out of
these lands that they assign rewards to such as they encourage to
adventure on desperate attempts. If any prince that engages in war with
them is making preparations for invading their country, they prevent
him, and make his country the seat of the war; for they do not willingly
suffer any war to break in upon their island; and if that should happen,
they would only defend themselves by their own people, but would not
call for auxiliary troops to their assistance.
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 accident, which being
considered as inflicted by Heaven, made them afraid that the God whose
worship had like to have been abandoned, had interposed, and revenged
themselves on those who despised their authority.
After they had heard from us an account of the doctrine, the course of
life, and the miracles of Christ, and of the wonderful constancy of so
many martyrs, whose blood, so willingly offered up by them, was the
chief occasion of spreading their religion over a vast number of
nations; it is not to be imagined how inclined they were to receive it.
I shall not determine whether this proceeded from any secret inspiration
of God, or whether it was because 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 priest's orders; we therefore
could only baptize them; so that to our great regret they could not
partake of the other sacraments, that can only be administered by
priests; but they are instructed concerning them, and long most
vehemently for them. They have had great disputes among themselves,
whether one chosen by them to be a priest would not be thereby qualified
to do all the things that belong to that character, even though he had
no authority derived from the Pope; and they seemed to be resolved to
choose some for that employment, but they had not done it when I left
them.
Those among them that have not received our religion, do not fright any
from it, and use none ill that goes over to it; so that all the while I
was there, one man was only punished on this occasion. He being newly
baptized, did, notwithstanding all that we could say to the contrary,
dispute publicly concerning the Christian religion with more zeal than
discretion; and with so much heat, that he not only preferred our
worship to theirs, but condemned all their rites as profane; and cried
out against all that adhered to them, as impious and sacrilegious
persons, that were to be damned to everlasting burnings. Upon his having
frequently preached in this manner, he was seized, and after trial he
was condemned to banishment, not for having disparaged their religion,
but for his inflaming the people to sedition: for this is one of their
most ancient laws, that no man ought to be punished for his religion. At
the first constitution of their government, Utopus having understood
that before his coming among them the old inhabitants had been engaged
in great quarrels concerning religion, by which they were so divided
among themselves, that he found it an easy thing to conquer them, since
instead of uniting their forces against him, every different party in
religion fought by themselves; after he had subdued them, he made a law
that every man might be of what religion he pleased, and might 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 men in a different manner, and be pleased with
this variety; he therefore thought it indecent and foolish for any man
to threaten and terrify another to make him believe what did not appear
to him to be true. And supposing that only one religion was really true,
and the rest false, he imagined that the native force of truth would at
last break forth and shine bright, if supported only by the strength of
argument, and attended to with a gentle and unprejudiced mind; while, on
the other hand, if such debates were carried on with violence and
tumults, as the most wicked are always the most obstinate, so the best
and most holy religion might be choked with superstition, as corn is
with briars and thorns; he therefore left men wholly to their liberty,
that they might be free to believe as they should see cause; only he
made a solemn and severe law against such as should so far degenerate
from the dignity of human nature as to think that our souls died with
our bodies, or that the world was governed by chance, without a wise
overruling Providence: for they all formerly believed that there was a
state of rewards and punishments to the good and bad after this life;
and they now look on those that think otherwise as scarce fit to be
counted men, since they degrade so noble a being as the soul, and reckon
it no better than a beast's: thus they are far from looking on such men
as fit for human society, or to be citizens of a well-ordered
commonwealth; since a man of such principles must needs, as oft as he
dares do it, despise all their laws and customs: for there is no doubt
to be made that a man who is afraid of nothing but the law, and
apprehends nothing after death, will not scruple to break through all
the laws of his country, either by fraud or force, when by this means he
may satisfy his appetites. They never raise any that hold these maxims,
either to 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
priests and other grave men, being confident that they will be cured of
those mad opinions by having reason laid before them. There are many
among them that run far to the other extreme, though it is neither
thought an ill nor unreasonable opinion, and therefore is not at all
discouraged. They think that the souls of beasts are immortal, though
far inferior to the dignity of the human soul, and not capable of so
great a happiness. They are almost all of them very firmly persuaded
that good men will be infinitely happy in another state; so that though
they are compassionate to all that are sick, yet they lament no man's
death, except they see him loth to depart with life; for they look on
this as a very ill presage, as if the soul, conscious to itself of
guilt, and quite hopeless, was afraid to leave the body, from some
secret hints of approaching misery. They think that such a man's
appearance before God cannot be acceptable to Him, who, being called on,
does not go out cheerfully, but is backward and unwilling, and is, as it
were, dragged to it. They are struck with horror when they see any die
in this manner, and carry them out in silence and with sorrow, and
praying God that He would be merciful to the errors of the departed
soul, they lay the body in the ground; but when any die cheerfully, and
full of hope, they do not mourn for them, but sing hymns when they carry
out their bodies, and commending their souls very earnestly to God:
their whole 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
stones. Others fell and cleave timber, and bring wood, corn, and other
necessaries on carts into their towns. Nor do these only serve the
public, but they serve even private men, more than the slaves
themselves do; for if there is anywhere a rough, hard, and sordid piece
of work to be done, from which many are frightened by the 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 employment when they return; and those who served in
their absence attend upon the high-priest, till vacancies fall by death;
for there is one set over all the rest. They are chosen by the people as
the other magistrates are, by suffrages given in secret, for preventing
of factions; and when they are chosen they are consecrated by the
college of priests. The care of all sacred things, the worship of God,
and an inspection into the manners of the people, are committed to them.
It is a reproach to a man to be sent for by any of them, or for them to
speak to him in secret, for that always gives some suspicion. All that
is incumbent on them is only to exhort and admonish the people; for the
power of correcting and punishing ill men belongs wholly to the Prince
and to the other magistrates. The severest thing that the priest does,
is the excluding those that are desperately wicked from joining in their
worship. There is not any sort of punishment more dreaded by them than
this, for as it loads them with infamy, so it fills them with secret
horrors, such is their reverence to their religion; nor will their
bodies be long exempted from their share of trouble; for if they do not
very quickly satisfy the priests of the truth of their repentance, they
are seized on by the Senate, and punished for their impiety. The
education of youth belongs to the priests, yet they do not take so much
care of instructing them in letters as in forming their minds and
manners aright; they use all possible methods to infuse very early into
the tender and flexible minds of children such opinions as are both good
in themselves and will be useful to their country. For when deep
impressions of these things are made at that age, they follow men
through the whole course of their lives, and conduce much to preserve
the peace of the government, which suffers by nothing more than by vices
that rise out of ill opinions. The wives of their priests are the most
extraordinary women of the whole country; sometimes the women themselves
are made priests, though that falls out but seldom, nor are any but
ancient widows chosen into that order.
None of the magistrates 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 roundabout 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 that family to
which they belong; so that those who have the government of them at home
may see their deportment in public; and they intermingle them so, that
the younger and the older may be set by one another; for if the younger
sort were all set together, they would perhaps trifle away that time too
much in which they ought to beget in themselves that religious dread of
the supreme Being, which is the greatest and almost the only incitement
to virtue.
They offer up no living creature in sacrifice, nor do they think it
suitable to the divine Being, from whose bounty it is that these
creatures have derived their lives, to take pleasure in their deaths, or
the offering up 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 blessings 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 grandchildren, to as many generations as he can
fancy, will all live both plentifully and happily; since among them
there is no less care taken of those who were once engaged in 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 commotion at home; which alone has been the ruin of many
states, that seemed otherwise to be well secured; but as long as they
live in peace at home, and are governed by such good laws, the envy of
all their 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 as 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.