Utopia
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De optimo rei publicae statu"},{"Label":"Key Concepts","Value":"Utopia; De optimo rei publicae statu"},{"Label":"Methodology","Value":"Humanist dialogue, satire, legal-political argument, moral theology, scriptural controversy, and prison meditation."},{"Label":"Structure","Value":"Work page with title, visible year, areas, summary, Date Note, and source-backed context."}]},{"Kind":"TextSection","Title":"Arguments","Paragraphs":["More stages an imaginary commonwealth to test property, labor, law, punishment, war, religion, pleasure, counsel, and the moral imagination of political reform."]},{"Kind":"FieldSection","Title":"Influence","Fields":[{"Label":"Influenced By","Value":""},{"Label":"Influence On","Value":""}]},{"Kind":"TextSection","Title":"Significance","Paragraphs":["Accepted as More\u0027s central philosophical and political work from reference, text, catalog, and image-title-page evidence.","More stages an imaginary commonwealth to test property, labor, law, punishment, war, religion, pleasure, counsel, and the moral imagination of political reform."]},{"Kind":"TextSection","Title":"Evidence Note","Paragraphs":["Accepted as More\u0027s central philosophical and political work from reference, text, catalog, and image-title-page evidence."]},{"Kind":"RawSection","Title":"Full Text","BodyHtml":"\u003cp class=\"dz-philo__section-copy dz-philo__full-text-source\"\u003ePublic-domain full text from \u003ca href=\"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2130\"\u003eProject Gutenberg eBook #2130\u003c/a\u003e.\u003c/p\u003e\n \u003carticle class=\"dz-philo__full-text-body\"\u003e\r\n\u003c\u003e\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003ch1\u003eUtopia\u003c/h1\u003e\r\n\u003ch2 class=\"no-break\"\u003eby Thomas More\u003c/h2\u003e\r\n\u003chr\u003e\r\n\u003ch2\u003eContents\u003c/h2\u003e\r\n\u003ctable style=\"margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto\"\u003e\r\n\u003ctbody\u003e\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd\u003e \u003ca href=\"#chap01\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003eINTRODUCTION\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd\u003e \u003ca href=\"#chap02\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003eDISCOURSES OF RAPHAEL HYTHLODAY, OF THE BEST STATE OF A COMMONWEALTH\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd\u003e \u003ca href=\"#chap03\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003eOF THEIR TOWNS, PARTICULARLY OF AMAUROT\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd\u003e \u003ca href=\"#chap04\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003eOF THEIR MAGISTRATES\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd\u003e \u003ca href=\"#chap05\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003eOF THEIR TRADES, AND MANNER OF LIFE\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd\u003e \u003ca href=\"#chap06\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003eOF THEIR TRAFFIC\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd\u003e \u003ca href=\"#chap07\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003eOF THE TRAVELLING OF THE UTOPIANS\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd\u003e \u003ca href=\"#chap08\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003eOF THEIR SLAVES, AND OF THEIR MARRIAGES\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd\u003e \u003ca href=\"#chap09\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003eOF THEIR MILITARY DISCIPLINE\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003ctr\u003e\r\n\u003ctd\u003e \u003ca href=\"#chap10\" class=\"pginternal\"\u003eOF THE RELIGIONS OF THE UTOPIANS\u003c/a\u003e\u003c/td\u003e\r\n\u003c/tr\u003e\r\n\u003c/tbody\u003e\u003c/table\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"chapter\"\u003e\r\n\u003ch2\u003eUTOPIA\u003c/h2\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\u003c!–end chapter–\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"chapter\"\u003e\r\n\u003ch2\u003e\u003ca id=\"chap01\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003eINTRODUCTION\u003c/h2\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\nSir Thomas More, son of Sir John More, a justice of the King’s Bench, was\r\nborn in 1478, in Milk Street, in the city of London. After his earlier\r\neducation at St. Anthony’s School, in Threadneedle Street, he was placed,\r\nas a boy, in the household of Cardinal John Morton, Archbishop of Canterbury\r\nand Lord Chancellor. It was not unusual for persons of wealth or influence and\r\nsons of good families to be so established together in a relation of patron and\r\nclient. The youth wore his patron’s livery, and added to his state. The\r\npatron used, afterwards, his wealth or influence in helping his young client\r\nforward in the world. Cardinal Morton had been in earlier days that Bishop of\r\nEly whom Richard III. sent to the Tower; was busy afterwards in hostility to\r\nRichard; and was a chief adviser of Henry VII., who in 1486 made him Archbishop\r\nof Canterbury, and nine months afterwards Lord Chancellor. Cardinal\r\nMorton—of talk at whose table there are recollections in\r\n“Utopia”—delighted in the quick wit of young Thomas More. He\r\nonce said, “Whoever shall live to try it, shall see this child here\r\nwaiting at table prove a notable and rare man.”\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\nAt the age of about nineteen, Thomas More was sent to Canterbury College,\r\nOxford, by his patron, where he learnt Greek of the first men who brought Greek\r\nstudies from Italy to England—William Grocyn and Thomas Linacre. Linacre,\r\na physician, who afterwards took orders, was also the founder of the College of\r\nPhysicians. In 1499, More left Oxford to study law in London, at\r\nLincoln’s Inn, and in the next year Archbishop Morton died.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\nMore’s earnest character caused him while studying law to aim at the\r\nsubduing of the flesh, by wearing a hair shirt, taking a log for a pillow, and\r\nwhipping himself on Fridays. At the age of twenty-one he entered Parliament,\r\nand soon after he had been called to the bar he was made Under-Sheriff of\r\nLondon. In 1503 he opposed in the House of Commons Henry VII.’s proposal\r\nfor a subsidy on account of the marriage portion of his daughter Margaret; and\r\nhe opposed with so much energy that the House refused to grant it. One went and\r\ntold the king that a beardless boy had disappointed all his expectations.\r\nDuring the last years, therefore, of Henry VII. More was under the displeasure\r\nof the king, and had thoughts of leaving the country.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\nHenry VII. died in April, 1509, when More’s age was a little over thirty.\r\nIn the first years of the reign of Henry VIII. he rose to large practice in the\r\nlaw courts, where it is said he refused to plead in cases which he thought\r\nunjust, and took no fees from widows, orphans, or the poor. He would have\r\npreferred marrying the second daughter of John Colt, of New Hall, in Essex, but\r\nchose her elder sister, that he might not subject her to the discredit of being\r\npassed over.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\nIn 1513 Thomas More, still Under-Sheriff of London, is said to have written his\r\n“History of the Life and Death of King Edward V., and of the Usurpation\r\nof Richard III.” The book, which seems to contain the knowledge and\r\nopinions of More’s patron, Morton, was not printed until 1557, when its\r\nwriter had been twenty-two years dead. It was then printed from a MS. in\r\nMore’s handwriting.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\nIn the year 1515 Wolsey, Archbishop of York, was made Cardinal by Leo X.; Henry\r\nVIII. made him Lord Chancellor, and from that year until 1523 the King and the\r\nCardinal ruled England with absolute authority, and called no parliament. In\r\nMay of the year 1515 Thomas More—not knighted yet—was joined in a\r\ncommission to the Low Countries with Cuthbert Tunstal and others to confer with\r\nthe ambassadors of Charles V., then only Archduke of Austria, upon a renewal of\r\nalliance. On that embassy More, aged about thirty-seven, was absent from\r\nEngland for six months, and while at Antwerp he established friendship with\r\nPeter Giles (Latinised Ægidius), a scholarly and courteous young man, who\r\nwas secretary to the municipality of Antwerp.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\nCuthbert Tunstal was a rising churchman, chancellor to the Archbishop of\r\nCanterbury, who in that year (1515) was made Archdeacon of Chester, and in May\r\nof the next year (1516) Master of the Rolls. In 1516 he was sent again to the\r\nLow Countries, and More then went with him to Brussels, where they were in\r\nclose companionship with Erasmus.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\nMore’s “Utopia” was written in Latin, and is in two parts, of\r\nwhich the second, describing the place ([Greek text]—or Nusquama, as he\r\ncalled it sometimes in his letters—“Nowhere”), was probably\r\nwritten towards the close of 1515; the first part, introductory, early in 1516.\r\nThe book was first printed at Louvain, late in 1516, under the editorship of\r\nErasmus, Peter Giles, and other of More’s friends in Flanders. It was\r\nthen revised by More, and printed by Frobenius at Basle in November, 1518. It\r\nwas reprinted at Paris and Vienna, but was not printed in England during\r\nMore’s lifetime. Its first publication in this country was in the English\r\ntranslation, made in Edward’s VI.’s reign (1551) by Ralph Robinson.\r\nIt was translated with more literary skill by Gilbert Burnet, in 1684, soon\r\nafter he had conducted the defence of his friend Lord William Russell, attended\r\nhis execution, vindicated his memory, and been spitefully deprived by James II.\r\nof his lectureship at St. Clement’s. Burnet was drawn to the translation\r\nof “Utopia” by the same sense of unreason in high places that\r\ncaused More to write the book. Burnet’s is the translation given in this\r\nvolume.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\nThe name of the book has given an adjective to our language—we call an\r\nimpracticable scheme Utopian. Yet, under the veil of a playful fiction, the\r\ntalk is intensely earnest, and abounds in practical suggestion. It is the work\r\nof a scholarly and witty Englishman, who attacks in his own way the chief\r\npolitical and social evils of his time. Beginning with fact, More tells how he\r\nwas sent into Flanders with Cuthbert Tunstal, “whom the king’s\r\nmajesty of late, to the great rejoicing of all men, did prefer to the office of\r\nMaster of the Rolls;” how the commissioners of Charles met them at\r\nBruges, and presently returned to Brussels for instructions; and how More then\r\nwent to Antwerp, where he found a pleasure in the society of Peter Giles which\r\nsoothed his desire to see again his wife and children, from whom he had been\r\nfour months away. Then fact slides into fiction with the finding of Raphael\r\nHythloday (whose name, made of two Greek words [Greek text] and [Greek text],\r\nmeans “knowing in trifles”), a man who had been with Amerigo\r\nVespucci in the three last of the voyages to the new world lately discovered,\r\nof which the account had been first printed in 1507, only nine years before\r\nUtopia was written.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\nDesignedly fantastic in suggestion of details, “Utopia” is the work\r\nof a scholar who had read Plato’s “Republic,” and had his\r\nfancy quickened after reading Plutarch’s account of Spartan life under\r\nLycurgus. Beneath the veil of an ideal communism, into which there has been\r\nworked some witty extravagance, there lies a noble English argument. Sometimes\r\nMore puts the case as of France when he means England. Sometimes there is\r\nironical praise of the good faith of Christian kings, saving the book from\r\ncensure as a political attack on the policy of Henry VIII. Erasmus wrote to a\r\nfriend in 1517 that he should send for More’s “Utopia,” if he\r\nhad not read it, and “wished to see the true source of all political\r\nevils.” And to More Erasmus wrote of his book, “A burgomaster of\r\nAntwerp is so pleased with it that he knows it all by heart.”\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp class=\"right\"\u003e\r\nH. M.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\u003c!–end chapter–\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"chapter\"\u003e\r\n\u003ch2\u003e\u003ca id=\"chap02\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003eDISCOURSES OF RAPHAEL HYTHLODAY, OF THE BEST STATE OF A COMMONWEALTH\u003c/h2\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\nHenry VIII., the unconquered King of England, a prince adorned with all the\r\nvirtues that become a great monarch, having some differences of no small\r\nconsequence with Charles the most serene Prince of Castile, sent me into\r\nFlanders, as his ambassador, for treating and composing matters between them. I\r\nwas colleague and companion to that incomparable man Cuthbert Tonstal, whom the\r\nKing, with such universal applause, lately made Master of the Rolls; but of\r\nwhom I will say nothing; not because I fear that the testimony of a friend will\r\nbe suspected, but rather because his learning and virtues are too great for me\r\nto do them justice, and so well known, that they need not my commendations,\r\nunless I would, according to the proverb, “Show the sun with a\r\nlantern.” Those that were appointed by the Prince to treat with us, met\r\nus at Bruges, according to agreement; they were all worthy men. The Margrave of\r\nBruges was their head, and the chief man among them; but he that was esteemed\r\nthe wisest, and that spoke for the rest, was George Temse, the Provost of\r\nCasselsee: both art and nature had concurred to make him eloquent: he was very\r\nlearned in the law; and, as he had a great capacity, so, by a long practice in\r\naffairs, he was very dexterous at unravelling them. After we had several times\r\nmet, without coming to an agreement, they went to Brussels for some days, to\r\nknow the Prince’s pleasure; and, since our business would admit it, I\r\nwent to Antwerp. While I was there, among many that visited me, there was one\r\nthat was more acceptable to me than any other, Peter Giles, born at Antwerp,\r\nwho is a man of great honour, and of a good rank in his town, though less than\r\nhe deserves; for I do not know if there be anywhere to be found a more learned\r\nand a better bred young man; for as he is both a very worthy and a very knowing\r\nperson, so he is so civil to all men, so particularly kind to his friends, and\r\nso full of candour and affection, that there is not, perhaps, above one or two\r\nanywhere to be found, that is in all respects so perfect a friend: he is\r\nextraordinarily modest, there is no artifice in him, and yet no man has more of\r\na prudent simplicity. His conversation was so pleasant and so innocently\r\ncheerful, that his company in a great measure lessened any longings to go back\r\nto my country, and to my wife and children, which an absence of four months had\r\nquickened very much. One day, as I was returning home from mass at St.\r\nMary’s, which is the chief church, and the most frequented of any in\r\nAntwerp, I saw him, by accident, talking with a stranger, who seemed past the\r\nflower of his age; his face was tanned, he had a long beard, and his cloak was\r\nhanging carelessly about him, so that, by his looks and habit, I concluded he\r\nwas a seaman. As soon as Peter saw me, he came and saluted me, and as I was\r\nreturning his civility, he took me aside, and pointing to him with whom he had\r\nbeen discoursing, he said, “Do you see that man? I was just thinking to\r\nbring him to you.” I answered, “He should have been very welcome on\r\nyour account.” “And on his own too,” replied he, “if\r\nyou knew the man, for there is none alive that can give so copious an account\r\nof unknown nations and countries as he can do, which I know you very much\r\ndesire.” “Then,” said I, “I did not guess amiss, for at\r\nfirst sight I took him for a seaman.” “But you are much\r\nmistaken,” said he, “for he has not sailed as a seaman, but as a\r\ntraveller, or rather a philosopher. This Raphael, who from his family carries\r\nthe name of Hythloday, is not ignorant of the Latin tongue, but is eminently\r\nlearned in the Greek, having applied himself more particularly to that than to\r\nthe former, because he had given himself much to philosophy, in which he knew\r\nthat the Romans have left us nothing that is valuable, except what is to be\r\nfound in Seneca and Cicero. He is a Portuguese by birth, and was so desirous of\r\nseeing the world, that he divided his estate among his brothers, ran the same\r\nhazard as Americus Vesputius, and bore a share in three of his four voyages\r\nthat are now published; only he did not return with him in his last, but\r\nobtained leave of him, almost by force, that he might be one of those\r\ntwenty-four who were left at the farthest place at which they touched in their\r\nlast voyage to New Castile. The leaving him thus did not a little gratify one\r\nthat was more fond of travelling than of returning home to be buried in his own\r\ncountry; for he used often to say, that the way to heaven was the same from all\r\nplaces, and he that had no grave had the heavens still over him. Yet this\r\ndisposition of mind had cost him dear, if God had not been very gracious to\r\nhim; for after he, with five Castalians, had travelled over many countries, at\r\nlast, by strange good fortune, he got to Ceylon, and from thence to Calicut,\r\nwhere he, very happily, found some Portuguese ships; and, beyond all\r\nmen’s expectations, returned to his native country.” When Peter had\r\nsaid this to me, I thanked him for his kindness in intending to give me the\r\nacquaintance of a man whose conversation he knew would be so acceptable; and\r\nupon that Raphael and I embraced each other. After those civilities were past\r\nwhich are usual with strangers upon their first meeting, we all went to my\r\nhouse, and entering into the garden, sat down on a green bank and entertained\r\none another in discourse. He told us that when Vesputius had sailed away, he,\r\nand his companions that stayed behind in New Castile, by degrees insinuated\r\nthemselves into the affections of the people of the country, meeting often with\r\nthem and treating them gently; and at last they not only lived among them\r\nwithout danger, but conversed familiarly with them, and got so far into the\r\nheart of a prince, whose name and country I have forgot, that he both furnished\r\nthem plentifully with all things necessary, and also with the conveniences of\r\ntravelling, both boats when they went by water, and waggons when they travelled\r\nover land: he sent with them a very faithful guide, who was to introduce and\r\nrecommend them to such other princes as they had a mind to see: and after many\r\ndays’ journey, they came to towns, and cities, and to commonwealths, that\r\nwere both happily governed and well peopled. Under the equator, and as far on\r\nboth sides of it as the sun moves, there lay vast deserts that were parched\r\nwith the perpetual heat of the sun; the soil was withered, all things looked\r\ndismally, and all places were either quite uninhabited, or abounded with wild\r\nbeasts and serpents, and some few men, that were neither less wild nor less\r\ncruel than the beasts themselves. But, as they went farther, a new scene\r\nopened, all things grew milder, the air less burning, the soil more verdant,\r\nand even the beasts were less wild: and, at last, there were nations, towns,\r\nand cities, that had not only mutual commerce among themselves and with their\r\nneighbours, but traded, both by sea and land, to very remote countries. There\r\nthey found the conveniencies of seeing many countries on all hands, for no ship\r\nwent any voyage into which he and his companions were not very welcome. The\r\nfirst vessels that they saw were flat-bottomed, their sails were made of reeds\r\nand wicker, woven close together, only some were of leather; but, afterwards,\r\nthey found ships made with round keels and canvas sails, and in all respects\r\nlike our ships, and the seamen understood both astronomy and navigation. He got\r\nwonderfully into their favour by showing them the use of the needle, of which\r\ntill then they were utterly ignorant. They sailed before with great caution,\r\nand only in summer time; but now they count all seasons alike, trusting wholly\r\nto the loadstone, in which they are, perhaps, more secure than safe; so that\r\nthere is reason to fear that this discovery, which was thought would prove so\r\nmuch to their advantage, may, by their imprudence, become an occasion of much\r\nmischief to them. But it were too long to dwell on all that he told us he had\r\nobserved in every place, it would be too great a digression from our present\r\npurpose: whatever is necessary to be told concerning those wise and prudent\r\ninstitutions which he observed among civilised nations, may perhaps be related\r\nby us on a more proper occasion. We asked him many questions concerning all\r\nthese things, to which he answered very willingly; we made no inquiries after\r\nmonsters, than which nothing is more common; for everywhere one may hear of\r\nravenous dogs and wolves, and cruel men-eaters, but it is not so easy to find\r\nstates that are well and wisely governed.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\nAs he told us of many things that were amiss in those new-discovered countries,\r\nso he reckoned up not a few things, from which patterns might be taken for\r\ncorrecting the errors of these nations among whom we live; of which an account\r\nmay be given, as I have already promised, at some other time; for, at present,\r\nI intend only to relate those particulars that he told us, of the manners and\r\nlaws of the Utopians: but I will begin with the occasion that led us to speak\r\nof that commonwealth. After Raphael had discoursed with great judgment on the\r\nmany errors that were both among us and these nations, had treated of the wise\r\ninstitutions both here and there, and had spoken as distinctly of the customs\r\nand government of every nation through which he had past, as if he had spent\r\nhis whole life in it, Peter, being struck with admiration, said, “I\r\nwonder, Raphael, how it comes that you enter into no king’s service, for\r\nI am sure there are none to whom you would not be very acceptable; for your\r\nlearning and knowledge, both of men and things, is such, that you would not\r\nonly entertain them very pleasantly, but be of great use to them, by the\r\nexamples you could set before them, and the advices you could give them; and by\r\nthis means you would both serve your own interest, and be of great use to all\r\nyour friends.” “As for my friends,” answered he, “I\r\nneed not be much concerned, having already done for them all that was incumbent\r\non me; for when I was not only in good health, but fresh and young, I\r\ndistributed that among my kindred and friends which other people do not part\r\nwith till they are old and sick: when they then unwillingly give that which\r\nthey can enjoy no longer themselves. I think my friends ought to rest contented\r\nwith this, and not to expect that for their sakes I should enslave myself to\r\nany king whatsoever.” “Soft and fair!” said Peter; “I\r\ndo not mean that you should be a slave to any king, but only that you should\r\nassist them and be useful to them.” “The change of the word,”\r\nsaid he, “does not alter the matter.” “But term it as you\r\nwill,” replied Peter, “I do not see any other way in which you can\r\nbe so useful, both in private to your friends and to the public, and by which\r\nyou can make your own condition happier.” “Happier?” answered\r\nRaphael, “is that to be compassed in a way so abhorrent to my genius? Now\r\nI live as I will, to which I believe, few courtiers can pretend; and there are\r\nso many that court the favour of great men, that there will be no great loss if\r\nthey are not troubled either with me or with others of my temper.” Upon\r\nthis, said I, “I perceive, Raphael, that you neither desire wealth nor\r\ngreatness; and, indeed, I value and admire such a man much more than I do any\r\nof the great men in the world. Yet I think you would do what would well become\r\nso generous and philosophical a soul as yours is, if you would apply your time\r\nand thoughts to public affairs, even though you may happen to find it a little\r\nuneasy to yourself; and this you can never do with so much advantage as by\r\nbeing taken into the council of some great prince and putting him on noble and\r\nworthy actions, which I know you would do if you were in such a post; for the\r\nsprings both of good and evil flow from the prince over a whole nation, as from\r\na lasting fountain. So much learning as you have, even without practice in\r\naffairs, or so great a practice as you have had, without any other learning,\r\nwould render you a very fit counsellor to any king whatsoever.”\r\n“You are doubly mistaken,” said he, “Mr. More, both in your\r\nopinion of me and in the judgment you make of things: for as I have not that\r\ncapacity that you fancy I have, so if I had it, the public would not be one jot\r\nthe better when I had sacrificed my quiet to it. For most princes apply\r\nthemselves more to affairs of war than to the useful arts of peace; and in\r\nthese I neither have any knowledge, nor do I much desire it; they are generally\r\nmore set on acquiring new kingdoms, right or wrong, than on governing well\r\nthose they possess: and, among the ministers of princes, there are none that\r\nare not so wise as to need no assistance, or at least, that do not think\r\nthemselves so wise that they imagine they need none; and if they court any, it\r\nis only those for whom the prince has much personal favour, whom by their\r\nfawning and flatteries they endeavour to fix to their own interests; and,\r\nindeed, nature has so made us, that we all love to be flattered and to please\r\nourselves with our own notions: the old crow loves his young, and the ape her\r\ncubs. Now if in such a court, made up of persons who envy all others and only\r\nadmire themselves, a person should but propose anything that he had either read\r\nin history or observed in his travels, the rest would think that the reputation\r\nof their wisdom would sink, and that their interests would be much depressed if\r\nthey could not run it down: and, if all other things failed, then they would\r\nfly to this, that such or such things pleased our ancestors, and it were well\r\nfor us if we could but match them. They would set up their rest on such an\r\nanswer, as a sufficient confutation of all that could be said, as if it were a\r\ngreat misfortune that any should be found wiser than his ancestors. But though\r\nthey willingly let go all the good things that were among those of former ages,\r\nyet, if better things are proposed, they cover themselves obstinately with this\r\nexcuse of reverence to past times. I have met with these proud, morose, and\r\nabsurd judgments of things in many places, particularly once in England.”\r\n“Were you ever there?” said I. “Yes, I was,” answered\r\nhe, “and stayed some months there, not long after the rebellion in the\r\nWest was suppressed, with a great slaughter of the poor people that were\r\nengaged in it.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“I was then much obliged to that reverend prelate, John Morton,\r\nArchbishop of Canterbury, Cardinal, and Chancellor of England; a man,”\r\nsaid he, “Peter (for Mr. More knows well what he was), that was not less\r\nvenerable for his wisdom and virtues than for the high character he bore: he\r\nwas of a middle stature, not broken with age; his looks begot reverence rather\r\nthan fear; his conversation was easy, but serious and grave; he sometimes took\r\npleasure to try the force of those that came as suitors to him upon business by\r\nspeaking sharply, though decently, to them, and by that he discovered their\r\nspirit and presence of mind; with which he was much delighted when it did not\r\ngrow up to impudence, as bearing a great resemblance to his own temper, and he\r\nlooked on such persons as the fittest men for affairs. He spoke both gracefully\r\nand weightily; he was eminently skilled in the law, had a vast understanding,\r\nand a prodigious memory; and those excellent talents with which nature had\r\nfurnished him were improved by study and experience. When I was in England the\r\nKing depended much on his counsels, and the Government seemed to be chiefly\r\nsupported by him; for from his youth he had been all along practised in\r\naffairs; and, having passed through many traverses of fortune, he had, with\r\ngreat cost, acquired a vast stock of wisdom, which is not soon lost when it is\r\npurchased so dear. One day, when I was dining with him, there happened to be at\r\ntable one of the English lawyers, who took occasion to run out in a high\r\ncommendation of the severe execution of justice upon thieves,\r\n‘who,’ as he said, ‘were then hanged so fast that there were\r\nsometimes twenty on one gibbet!’ and, upon that, he said, ‘he could\r\nnot wonder enough how it came to pass that, since so few escaped, there were\r\nyet so many thieves left, who were still robbing in all places.’ Upon\r\nthis, I (who took the boldness to speak freely before the Cardinal) said,\r\n‘There was no reason to wonder at the matter, since this way of punishing\r\nthieves was neither just in itself nor good for the public; for, as the\r\nseverity was too great, so the remedy was not effectual; simple theft not being\r\nso great a crime that it ought to cost a man his life; no punishment, how\r\nsevere soever, being able to restrain those from robbing who can find out no\r\nother way of livelihood. In this,’ said I, ‘not only you in\r\nEngland, but a great part of the world, imitate some ill masters, that are\r\nreadier to chastise their scholars than to teach them. There are dreadful\r\npunishments enacted against thieves, but it were much better to make such good\r\nprovisions by which every man might be put in a method how to live, and so be\r\npreserved from the fatal necessity of stealing and of dying for it.’\r\n‘There has been care enough taken for that,’ said he; ‘there\r\nare many handicrafts, and there is husbandry, by which they may make a shift to\r\nlive, unless they have a greater mind to follow ill courses.’ ‘That\r\nwill not serve your turn,’ said I, ‘for many lose their limbs in\r\ncivil or foreign wars, as lately in the Cornish rebellion, and some time ago in\r\nyour wars with France, who, being thus mutilated in the service of their king\r\nand country, can no more follow their old trades, and are too old to learn new\r\nones; but since wars are only accidental things, and have intervals, let us\r\nconsider those things that fall out every day. There is a great number of\r\nnoblemen among you that are themselves as idle as drones, that subsist on other\r\nmen’s labour, on the labour of their tenants, whom, to raise their\r\nrevenues, they pare to the quick. This, indeed, is the only instance of their\r\nfrugality, for in all other things they are prodigal, even to the beggaring of\r\nthemselves; but, besides this, they carry about with them a great number of\r\nidle fellows, who never learned any art by which they may gain their living;\r\nand these, as soon as either their lord dies, or they themselves fall sick, are\r\nturned out of doors; for your lords are readier to feed idle people than to\r\ntake care of the sick; and often the heir is not able to keep together so great\r\na family as his predecessor did. Now, when the stomachs of those that are thus\r\nturned out of doors grow keen, they rob no less keenly; and what else can they\r\ndo? For when, by wandering about, they have worn out both their health and\r\ntheir clothes, and are tattered, and look ghastly, men of quality will not\r\nentertain them, and poor men dare not do it, knowing that one who has been bred\r\nup in idleness and pleasure, and who was used to walk about with his sword and\r\nbuckler, despising all the neighbourhood with an insolent scorn as far below\r\nhim, is not fit for the spade and mattock; nor will he serve a poor man for so\r\nsmall a hire and in so low a diet as he can afford to give him.’ To this\r\nhe answered, ‘This sort of men ought to be particularly cherished, for in\r\nthem consists the force of the armies for which we have occasion; since their\r\nbirth inspires them with a nobler sense of honour than is to be found among\r\ntradesmen or ploughmen.’ ‘You may as well say,’ replied I,\r\n‘that you must cherish thieves on the account of wars, for you will never\r\nwant the one as long as you have the other; and as robbers prove sometimes\r\ngallant soldiers, so soldiers often prove brave robbers, so near an alliance\r\nthere is between those two sorts of life. But this bad custom, so common among\r\nyou, of keeping many servants, is not peculiar to this nation. In France there\r\nis yet a more pestiferous sort of people, for the whole country is full of\r\nsoldiers, still kept up in time of peace (if such a state of a nation can be\r\ncalled a peace); and these are kept in pay upon the same account that you plead\r\nfor those idle retainers about noblemen: this being a maxim of those pretended\r\nstatesmen, that it is necessary for the public safety to have a good body of\r\nveteran soldiers ever in readiness. They think raw men are not to be depended\r\non, and they sometimes seek occasions for making war, that they may train up\r\ntheir soldiers in the art of cutting throats, or, as Sallust observed,\r\n“for keeping their hands in use, that they may not grow dull by too long\r\nan intermission.” But France has learned to its cost how dangerous it is\r\nto feed such beasts. The fate of the Romans, Carthaginians, and Syrians, and\r\nmany other nations and cities, which were both overturned and quite ruined by\r\nthose standing armies, should make others wiser; and the folly of this maxim of\r\nthe French appears plainly even from this, that their trained soldiers often\r\nfind your raw men prove too hard for them, of which I will not say much, lest\r\nyou may think I flatter the English. Every day’s experience shows that\r\nthe mechanics in the towns or the clowns in the country are not afraid of\r\nfighting with those idle gentlemen, if they are not disabled by some misfortune\r\nin their body or dispirited by extreme want; so that you need not fear that\r\nthose well-shaped and strong men (for it is only such that noblemen love to\r\nkeep about them till they spoil them), who now grow feeble with ease and are\r\nsoftened with their effeminate manner of life, would be less fit for action if\r\nthey were well bred and well employed. And it seems very unreasonable that, for\r\nthe prospect of a war, which you need never have but when you please, you\r\nshould maintain so many idle men, as will always disturb you in time of peace,\r\nwhich is ever to be more considered than war. But I do not think that this\r\nnecessity of stealing arises only from hence; there is another cause of it,\r\nmore peculiar to England.’ ‘What is that?’ said the Cardinal:\r\n‘The increase of pasture,’ said I, ‘by which your sheep,\r\nwhich are naturally mild, and easily kept in order, may be said now to devour\r\nmen and unpeople, not only villages, but towns; for wherever it is found that\r\nthe sheep of any soil yield a softer and richer wool than ordinary, there the\r\nnobility and gentry, and even those holy men, the abbots! not contented with\r\nthe old rents which their farms yielded, nor thinking it enough that they,\r\nliving at their ease, do no good to the public, resolve to do it hurt instead\r\nof good. They stop the course of agriculture, destroying houses and towns,\r\nreserving only the churches, and enclose grounds that they may lodge their\r\nsheep in them. As if forests and parks had swallowed up too little of the land,\r\nthose worthy countrymen turn the best inhabited places into solitudes; for when\r\nan insatiable wretch, who is a plague to his country, resolves to enclose many\r\nthousand acres of ground, the owners, as well as tenants, are turned out of\r\ntheir possessions by trick or by main force, or, being wearied out by ill\r\nusage, they are forced to sell them; by which means those miserable people,\r\nboth men and women, married and unmarried, old and young, with their poor but\r\nnumerous families (since country business requires many hands), are all forced\r\nto change their seats, not knowing whither to go; and they must sell, almost\r\nfor nothing, their household stuff, which could not bring them much money, even\r\nthough they might stay for a buyer. When that little money is at an end (for it\r\nwill be soon spent), what is left for them to do but either to steal, and so to\r\nbe hanged (God knows how justly!), or to go about and beg? and if they do this\r\nthey are put in prison as idle vagabonds, while they would willingly work but\r\ncan find none that will hire them; for there is no more occasion for country\r\nlabour, to which they have been bred, when there is no arable ground left. One\r\nshepherd can look after a flock, which will stock an extent of ground that\r\nwould require many hands if it were to be ploughed and reaped. This, likewise,\r\nin many places raises the price of corn. The price of wool is also so risen\r\nthat the poor people, who were wont to make cloth, are no more able to buy it;\r\nand this, likewise, makes many of them idle: for since the increase of pasture\r\nGod has punished the avarice of the owners by a rot among the sheep, which has\r\ndestroyed vast numbers of them—to us it might have seemed more just had\r\nit fell on the owners themselves. But, suppose the sheep should increase ever\r\nso much, their price is not likely to fall; since, though they cannot be called\r\na monopoly, because they are not engrossed by one person, yet they are in so\r\nfew hands, and these are so rich, that, as they are not pressed to sell them\r\nsooner than they have a mind to it, so they never do it till they have raised\r\nthe price as high as possible. And on the same account it is that the other\r\nkinds of cattle are so dear, because many villages being pulled down, and all\r\ncountry labour being much neglected, there are none who make it their business\r\nto breed them. The rich do not breed cattle as they do sheep, but buy them lean\r\nand at low prices; and, after they have fattened them on their grounds, sell\r\nthem again at high rates. And I do not think that all the inconveniences this\r\nwill produce are yet observed; for, as they sell the cattle dear, so, if they\r\nare consumed faster than the breeding countries from which they are brought can\r\nafford them, then the stock must decrease, and this must needs end in great\r\nscarcity; and by these means, this your island, which seemed as to this\r\nparticular the happiest in the world, will suffer much by the cursed avarice of\r\na few persons: besides this, the rising of corn makes all people lessen their\r\nfamilies as much as they can; and what can those who are dismissed by them do\r\nbut either beg or rob? And to this last a man of a great mind is much sooner\r\ndrawn than to the former. Luxury likewise breaks in apace upon you to set\r\nforward your poverty and misery; there is an excessive vanity in apparel, and\r\ngreat cost in diet, and that not only in noblemen’s families, but even\r\namong tradesmen, among the farmers themselves, and among all ranks of persons.\r\nYou have also many infamous houses, and, besides those that are known, the\r\ntaverns and ale-houses are no better; add to these dice, cards, tables,\r\nfootball, tennis, and quoits, in which money runs fast away; and those that are\r\ninitiated into them must, in the conclusion, betake themselves to robbing for a\r\nsupply. Banish these plagues, and give orders that those who have dispeopled so\r\nmuch soil may either rebuild the villages they have pulled down or let out\r\ntheir grounds to such as will do it; restrain those engrossings of the rich,\r\nthat are as bad almost as monopolies; leave fewer occasions to idleness; let\r\nagriculture be set up again, and the manufacture of the wool be regulated, that\r\nso there may be work found for those companies of idle people whom want forces\r\nto be thieves, or who now, being idle vagabonds or useless servants, will\r\ncertainly grow thieves at last. If you do not find a remedy to these evils it\r\nis a vain thing to boast of your severity in punishing theft, which, though it\r\nmay have the appearance of justice, yet in itself is neither just nor\r\nconvenient; for if you suffer your people to be ill-educated, and their manners\r\nto be corrupted from their infancy, and then punish them for those crimes to\r\nwhich their first education disposed them, what else is to be concluded from\r\nthis but that you first make thieves and then punish them?’\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“While I was talking thus, the Counsellor, who was present, had prepared\r\nan answer, and had resolved to resume all I had said, according to the\r\nformality of a debate, in which things are generally repeated more faithfully\r\nthan they are answered, as if the chief trial to be made were of men’s\r\nmemories. ‘You have talked prettily, for a stranger,’ said he,\r\n‘having heard of many things among us which you have not been able to\r\nconsider well; but I will make the whole matter plain to you, and will first\r\nrepeat in order all that you have said; then I will show how much your\r\nignorance of our affairs has misled you; and will, in the last place, answer\r\nall your arguments. And, that I may begin where I promised, there were four\r\nthings—’ ‘Hold your peace!’ said the Cardinal;\r\n‘this will take up too much time; therefore we will, at present, ease you\r\nof the trouble of answering, and reserve it to our next meeting, which shall be\r\nto-morrow, if Raphael’s affairs and yours can admit of it. But,\r\nRaphael,’ said he to me, ‘I would gladly know upon what reason it\r\nis that you think theft ought not to be punished by death: would you give way\r\nto it? or do you propose any other punishment that will be more useful to the\r\npublic? for, since death does not restrain theft, if men thought their lives\r\nwould be safe, what fear or force could restrain ill men? On the contrary, they\r\nwould look on the mitigation of the punishment as an invitation to commit more\r\ncrimes.’ I answered, ‘It seems to me a very unjust thing to take\r\naway a man’s life for a little money, for nothing in the world can be of\r\nequal value with a man’s life: and if it be said, “that it is not\r\nfor the money that one suffers, but for his breaking the law,” I must\r\nsay, extreme justice is an extreme injury: for we ought not to approve of those\r\nterrible laws that make the smallest offences capital, nor of that opinion of\r\nthe Stoics that makes all crimes equal; as if there were no difference to be\r\nmade between the killing a man and the taking his purse, between which, if we\r\nexamine things impartially, there is no likeness nor proportion. God has\r\ncommanded us not to kill, and shall we kill so easily for a little money? But\r\nif one shall say, that by that law we are only forbid to kill any except when\r\nthe laws of the land allow of it, upon the same grounds, laws may be made, in\r\nsome cases, to allow of adultery and perjury: for God having taken from us the\r\nright of disposing either of our own or of other people’s lives, if it is\r\npretended that the mutual consent of men in making laws can authorise\r\nman-slaughter in cases in which God has given us no example, that it frees\r\npeople from the obligation of the divine law, and so makes murder a lawful\r\naction, what is this, but to give a preference to human laws before the divine?\r\nand, if this is once admitted, by the same rule men may, in all other things,\r\nput what restrictions they please upon the laws of God. If, by the Mosaical\r\nlaw, though it was rough and severe, as being a yoke laid on an obstinate and\r\nservile nation, men were only fined, and not put to death for theft, we cannot\r\nimagine, that in this new law of mercy, in which God treats us with the\r\ntenderness of a father, He has given us a greater licence to cruelty than He\r\ndid to the Jews. Upon these reasons it is, that I think putting thieves to\r\ndeath is not lawful; and it is plain and obvious that it is absurd and of ill\r\nconsequence to the commonwealth that a thief and a murderer should be equally\r\npunished; for if a robber sees that his danger is the same if he is convicted\r\nof theft as if he were guilty of murder, this will naturally incite him to kill\r\nthe person whom otherwise he would only have robbed; since, if the punishment\r\nis the same, there is more security, and less danger of discovery, when he that\r\ncan best make it is put out of the way; so that terrifying thieves too much\r\nprovokes them to cruelty.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“But as to the question, ‘What more convenient way of punishment\r\ncan be found?’ I think it much easier to find out that than to invent\r\nanything that is worse; why should we doubt but the way that was so long in use\r\namong the old Romans, who understood so well the arts of government, was very\r\nproper for their punishment? They condemned such as they found guilty of great\r\ncrimes to work their whole lives in quarries, or to dig in mines with chains\r\nabout them. But the method that I liked best was that which I observed in my\r\ntravels in Persia, among the Polylerits, who are a considerable and\r\nwell-governed people: they pay a yearly tribute to the King of Persia, but in\r\nall other respects they are a free nation, and governed by their own laws: they\r\nlie far from the sea, and are environed with hills; and, being contented with\r\nthe productions of their own country, which is very fruitful, they have little\r\ncommerce with any other nation; and as they, according to the genius of their\r\ncountry, have no inclination to enlarge their borders, so their mountains and\r\nthe pension they pay to the Persian, secure them from all invasions. Thus they\r\nhave no wars among them; they live rather conveniently than with splendour, and\r\nmay be rather called a happy nation than either eminent or famous; for I do not\r\nthink that they are known, so much as by name, to any but their next\r\nneighbours. Those that are found guilty of theft among them are bound to make\r\nrestitution to the owner, and not, as it is in other places, to the prince, for\r\nthey reckon that the prince has no more right to the stolen goods than the\r\nthief; but if that which was stolen is no more in being, then the goods of the\r\nthieves are estimated, and restitution being made out of them, the remainder is\r\ngiven to their wives and children; and they themselves are condemned to serve\r\nin the public works, but are neither imprisoned nor chained, unless there\r\nhappens to be some extraordinary circumstance in their crimes. They go about\r\nloose and free, working for the public: if they are idle or backward to work\r\nthey are whipped, but if they work hard they are well used and treated without\r\nany mark of reproach; only the lists of them are called always at night, and\r\nthen they are shut up. They suffer no other uneasiness but this of constant\r\nlabour; for, as they work for the public, so they are well entertained out of\r\nthe public stock, which is done differently in different places: in some places\r\nwhatever is bestowed on them is raised by a charitable contribution; and,\r\nthough this way may seem uncertain, yet so merciful are the inclinations of\r\nthat people, that they are plentifully supplied by it; but in other places\r\npublic revenues are set aside for them, or there is a constant tax or\r\npoll-money raised for their maintenance. In some places they are set to no\r\npublic work, but every private man that has occasion to hire workmen goes to\r\nthe market-places and hires them of the public, a little lower than he would do\r\na freeman. If they go lazily about their task he may quicken them with the\r\nwhip. By this means there is always some piece of work or other to be done by\r\nthem; and, besides their livelihood, they earn somewhat still to the public.\r\nThey all wear a peculiar habit, of one certain colour, and their hair is\r\ncropped a little above their ears, and a piece of one of their ears is cut off.\r\nTheir friends are allowed to give them either meat, drink, or clothes, so they\r\nare of their proper colour; but it is death, both to the giver and taker, if\r\nthey give them money; nor is it less penal for any freeman to take money from\r\nthem upon any account whatsoever: and it is also death for any of these slaves\r\n(so they are called) to handle arms. Those of every division of the country are\r\ndistinguished by a peculiar mark, which it is capital for them to lay aside, to\r\ngo out of their bounds, or to talk with a slave of another jurisdiction, and\r\nthe very attempt of an escape is no less penal than an escape itself. It is\r\ndeath for any other slave to be accessory to it; and if a freeman engages in it\r\nhe is condemned to slavery. Those that discover it are rewarded—if\r\nfreemen, in money; and if slaves, with liberty, together with a pardon for\r\nbeing accessory to it; that so they might find their account rather in\r\nrepenting of their engaging in such a design than in persisting in it.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“These are their laws and rules in relation to robbery, and it is obvious\r\nthat they are as advantageous as they are mild and gentle; since vice is not\r\nonly destroyed and men preserved, but they are treated in such a manner as to\r\nmake them see the necessity of being honest and of employing the rest of their\r\nlives in repairing the injuries they had formerly done to society. Nor is there\r\nany hazard of their falling back to their old customs; and so little do\r\ntravellers apprehend mischief from them that they generally make use of them\r\nfor guides from one jurisdiction to another; for there is nothing left them by\r\nwhich they can rob or be the better for it, since, as they are disarmed, so the\r\nvery having of money is a sufficient conviction: and as they are certainly\r\npunished if discovered, so they cannot hope to escape; for their habit being in\r\nall the parts of it different from what is commonly worn, they cannot fly away,\r\nunless they would go naked, and even then their cropped ear would betray them.\r\nThe only danger to be feared from them is their conspiring against the\r\ngovernment; but those of one division and neighbourhood can do nothing to any\r\npurpose unless a general conspiracy were laid amongst all the slaves of the\r\nseveral jurisdictions, which cannot be done, since they cannot meet or talk\r\ntogether; nor will any venture on a design where the concealment would be so\r\ndangerous and the discovery so profitable. None are quite hopeless of\r\nrecovering their freedom, since by their obedience and patience, and by giving\r\ngood grounds to believe that they will change their manner of life for the\r\nfuture, they may expect at last to obtain their liberty, and some are every\r\nyear restored to it upon the good character that is given of them. When I had\r\nrelated all this, I added that I did not see why such a method might not be\r\nfollowed with more advantage than could ever be expected from that severe\r\njustice which the Counsellor magnified so much. To this he answered,\r\n‘That it could never take place in England without endangering the whole\r\nnation.’ As he said this he shook his head, made some grimaces, and held\r\nhis peace, while all the company seemed of his opinion, except the Cardinal,\r\nwho said, ‘That it was not easy to form a judgment of its success, since\r\nit was a method that never yet had been tried; but if,’ said he,\r\n‘when sentence of death were passed upon a thief, the prince would\r\nreprieve him for a while, and make the experiment upon him, denying him the\r\nprivilege of a sanctuary; and then, if it had a good effect upon him, it might\r\ntake place; and, if it did not succeed, the worst would be to execute the\r\nsentence on the condemned persons at last; and I do not see,’ added he,\r\n‘why it would be either unjust, inconvenient, or at all dangerous to\r\nadmit of such a delay; in my opinion the vagabonds ought to be treated in the\r\nsame manner, against whom, though we have made many laws, yet we have not been\r\nable to gain our end.’ When the Cardinal had done, they all commended the\r\nmotion, though they had despised it when it came from me, but more particularly\r\ncommended what related to the vagabonds, because it was his own observation.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“I do not know whether it be worth while to tell what followed, for it\r\nwas very ridiculous; but I shall venture at it, for as it is not foreign to\r\nthis matter, so some good use may be made of it. There was a Jester standing\r\nby, that counterfeited the fool so naturally that he seemed to be really one;\r\nthe jests which he offered were so cold and dull that we laughed more at him\r\nthan at them, yet sometimes he said, as it were by chance, things that were not\r\nunpleasant, so as to justify the old proverb, ‘That he who throws the\r\ndice often, will sometimes have a lucky hit.’ When one of the company had\r\nsaid that I had taken care of the thieves, and the Cardinal had taken care of\r\nthe vagabonds, so that there remained nothing but that some public provision\r\nmight be made for the poor whom sickness or old age had disabled from labour,\r\n‘Leave that to me,’ said the Fool, ‘and I shall take care of\r\nthem, for there is no sort of people whose sight I abhor more, having been so\r\noften vexed with them and with their sad complaints; but as dolefully soever as\r\nthey have told their tale, they could never prevail so far as to draw one penny\r\nfrom me; for either I had no mind to give them anything, or, when I had a mind\r\nto do it, I had nothing to give them; and they now know me so well that they\r\nwill not lose their labour, but let me pass without giving me any trouble,\r\nbecause they hope for nothing—no more, in faith, than if I were a priest;\r\nbut I would have a law made for sending all these beggars to monasteries, the\r\nmen to the Benedictines, to be made lay-brothers, and the women to be\r\nnuns.’ The Cardinal smiled, and approved of it in jest, but the rest\r\nliked it in earnest. There was a divine present, who, though he was a grave\r\nmorose man, yet he was so pleased with this reflection that was made on the\r\npriests and the monks that he began to play with the Fool, and said to him,\r\n‘This will not deliver you from all beggars, except you take care of us\r\nFriars.’ ‘That is done already,’ answered the Fool,\r\n‘for the Cardinal has provided for you by what he proposed for\r\nrestraining vagabonds and setting them to work, for I know no vagabonds like\r\nyou.’ This was well entertained by the whole company, who, looking at the\r\nCardinal, perceived that he was not ill-pleased at it; only the Friar himself\r\nwas vexed, as may be easily imagined, and fell into such a passion that he\r\ncould not forbear railing at the Fool, and calling him knave, slanderer,\r\nbackbiter, and son of perdition, and then cited some dreadful threatenings out\r\nof the Scriptures against him. Now the Jester thought he was in his element,\r\nand laid about him freely. ‘Good Friar,’ said he, ‘be not\r\nangry, for it is written, “In patience possess your soul.”’\r\nThe Friar answered (for I shall give you his own words), ‘I am not angry,\r\nyou hangman; at least, I do not sin in it, for the Psalmist says, “Be ye\r\nangry and sin not.”’ Upon this the Cardinal admonished him gently,\r\nand wished him to govern his passions. ‘No, my lord,’ said he,\r\n‘I speak not but from a good zeal, which I ought to have, for holy men\r\nhave had a good zeal, as it is said, “The zeal of thy house hath eaten me\r\nup;” and we sing in our church that those who mocked Elisha as he went up\r\nto the house of God felt the effects of his zeal, which that mocker, that\r\nrogue, that scoundrel, will perhaps feel.’ ‘You do this, perhaps,\r\nwith a good intention,’ said the Cardinal, ‘but, in my opinion, it\r\nwere wiser in you, and perhaps better for you, not to engage in so ridiculous a\r\ncontest with a Fool.’ ‘No, my lord,’ answered he, ‘that\r\nwere not wisely done, for Solomon, the wisest of men, said, “Answer a\r\nFool according to his folly,” which I now do, and show him the ditch into\r\nwhich he will fall, if he is not aware of it; for if the many mockers of\r\nElisha, who was but one bald man, felt the effect of his zeal, what will become\r\nof the mocker of so many Friars, among whom there are so many bald men? We\r\nhave, likewise, a bull, by which all that jeer us are excommunicated.’\r\nWhen the Cardinal saw that there was no end of this matter he made a sign to\r\nthe Fool to withdraw, turned the discourse another way, and soon after rose\r\nfrom the table, and, dismissing us, went to hear causes.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“Thus, Mr. More, I have run out into a tedious story, of the length of\r\nwhich I had been ashamed, if (as you earnestly begged it of me) I had not\r\nobserved you to hearken to it as if you had no mind to lose any part of it. I\r\nmight have contracted it, but I resolved to give it you at large, that you\r\nmight observe how those that despised what I had proposed, no sooner perceived\r\nthat the Cardinal did not dislike it but presently approved of it, fawned so on\r\nhim and flattered him to such a degree, that they in good earnest applauded\r\nthose things that he only liked in jest; and from hence you may gather how\r\nlittle courtiers would value either me or my counsels.”\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\nTo this I answered, “You have done me a great kindness in this relation;\r\nfor as everything has been related by you both wisely and pleasantly, so you\r\nhave made me imagine that I was in my own country and grown young again, by\r\nrecalling that good Cardinal to my thoughts, in whose family I was bred from my\r\nchildhood; and though you are, upon other accounts, very dear to me, yet you\r\nare the dearer because you honour his memory so much; but, after all this, I\r\ncannot change my opinion, for I still think that if you could overcome that\r\naversion which you have to the courts of princes, you might, by the advice\r\nwhich it is in your power to give, do a great deal of good to mankind, and this\r\nis the chief design that every good man ought to propose to himself in living;\r\nfor your friend Plato thinks that nations will be happy when either\r\nphilosophers become kings or kings become philosophers. It is no wonder if we\r\nare so far from that happiness while philosophers will not think it their duty\r\nto assist kings with their counsels.” “They are not so\r\nbase-minded,” said he, “but that they would willingly do it; many\r\nof them have already done it by their books, if those that are in power would\r\nbut hearken to their good advice. But Plato judged right, that except kings\r\nthemselves became philosophers, they who from their childhood are corrupted\r\nwith false notions would never fall in entirely with the counsels of\r\nphilosophers, and this he himself found to be true in the person of Dionysius.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“Do not you think that if I were about any king, proposing good laws to\r\nhim, and endeavouring to root out all the cursed seeds of evil that I found in\r\nhim, I should either be turned out of his court, or, at least, be laughed at\r\nfor my pains? For instance, what could I signify if I were about the King of\r\nFrance, and were called into his cabinet council, where several wise men, in\r\nhis hearing, were proposing many expedients; as, by what arts and practices\r\nMilan may be kept, and Naples, that has so often slipped out of their hands,\r\nrecovered; how the Venetians, and after them the rest of Italy, may be subdued;\r\nand then how Flanders, Brabant, and all Burgundy, and some other kingdoms which\r\nhe has swallowed already in his designs, may be added to his empire? One\r\nproposes a league with the Venetians, to be kept as long as he finds his\r\naccount in it, and that he ought to communicate counsels with them, and give\r\nthem some share of the spoil till his success makes him need or fear them less,\r\nand then it will be easily taken out of their hands; another proposes the\r\nhiring the Germans and the securing the Switzers by pensions; another proposes\r\nthe gaining the Emperor by money, which is omnipotent with him; another\r\nproposes a peace with the King of Arragon, and, in order to cement it, the\r\nyielding up the King of Navarre’s pretensions; another thinks that the\r\nPrince of Castile is to be wrought on by the hope of an alliance, and that some\r\nof his courtiers are to be gained to the French faction by pensions. The\r\nhardest point of all is, what to do with England; a treaty of peace is to be\r\nset on foot, and, if their alliance is not to be depended on, yet it is to be\r\nmade as firm as possible, and they are to be called friends, but suspected as\r\nenemies: therefore the Scots are to be kept in readiness to be let loose upon\r\nEngland on every occasion; and some banished nobleman is to be supported\r\nunderhand (for by the League it cannot be done avowedly) who has a pretension\r\nto the crown, by which means that suspected prince may be kept in awe. Now when\r\nthings are in so great a fermentation, and so many gallant men are joining\r\ncounsels how to carry on the war, if so mean a man as I should stand up and\r\nwish them to change all their counsels—to let Italy alone and stay at\r\nhome, since the kingdom of France was indeed greater than could be well\r\ngoverned by one man; that therefore he ought not to think of adding others to\r\nit; and if, after this, I should propose to them the resolutions of the\r\nAchorians, a people that lie on the south-east of Utopia, who long ago engaged\r\nin war in order to add to the dominions of their prince another kingdom, to\r\nwhich he had some pretensions by an ancient alliance: this they conquered, but\r\nfound that the trouble of keeping it was equal to that by which it was gained;\r\nthat the conquered people were always either in rebellion or exposed to foreign\r\ninvasions, while they were obliged to be incessantly at war, either for or\r\nagainst them, and consequently could never disband their army; that in the\r\nmeantime they were oppressed with taxes, their money went out of the kingdom,\r\ntheir blood was spilt for the glory of their king without procuring the least\r\nadvantage to the people, who received not the smallest benefit from it even in\r\ntime of peace; and that, their manners being corrupted by a long war, robbery\r\nand murders everywhere abounded, and their laws fell into contempt; while their\r\nking, distracted with the care of two kingdoms, was the less able to apply his\r\nmind to the interest of either. When they saw this, and that there would be no\r\nend to these evils, they by joint counsels made an humble address to their\r\nking, desiring him to choose which of the two kingdoms he had the greatest mind\r\nto keep, since he could not hold both; for they were too great a people to be\r\ngoverned by a divided king, since no man would willingly have a groom that\r\nshould be in common between him and another. Upon which the good prince was\r\nforced to quit his new kingdom to one of his friends (who was not long after\r\ndethroned), and to be contented with his old one. To this I would add that\r\nafter all those warlike attempts, the vast confusions, and the consumption both\r\nof treasure and of people that must follow them, perhaps upon some misfortune\r\nthey might be forced to throw up all at last; therefore it seemed much more\r\neligible that the king should improve his ancient kingdom all he could, and\r\nmake it flourish as much as possible; that he should love his people, and be\r\nbeloved of them; that he should live among them, govern them gently and let\r\nother kingdoms alone, since that which had fallen to his share was big enough,\r\nif not too big, for him:—pray, how do you think would such a speech as\r\nthis be heard?”\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“I confess,” said I, “I think not very well.”\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“But what,” said he, “if I should sort with another kind of\r\nministers, whose chief contrivances and consultations were by what art the\r\nprince’s treasures might be increased? where one proposes raising the\r\nvalue of specie when the king’s debts are large, and lowering it when his\r\nrevenues were to come in, that so he might both pay much with a little, and in\r\na little receive a great deal. Another proposes a pretence of a war, that money\r\nmight be raised in order to carry it on, and that a peace be concluded as soon\r\nas that was done; and this with such appearances of religion as might work on\r\nthe people, and make them impute it to the piety of their prince, and to his\r\ntenderness for the lives of his subjects. A third offers some old musty laws\r\nthat have been antiquated by a long disuse (and which, as they had been\r\nforgotten by all the subjects, so they had also been broken by them), and\r\nproposes the levying the penalties of these laws, that, as it would bring in a\r\nvast treasure, so there might be a very good pretence for it, since it would\r\nlook like the executing a law and the doing of justice. A fourth proposes the\r\nprohibiting of many things under severe penalties, especially such as were\r\nagainst the interest of the people, and then the dispensing with these\r\nprohibitions, upon great compositions, to those who might find their advantage\r\nin breaking them. This would serve two ends, both of them acceptable to many;\r\nfor as those whose avarice led them to transgress would be severely fined, so\r\nthe selling licences dear would look as if a prince were tender of his people,\r\nand would not easily, or at low rates, dispense with anything that might be\r\nagainst the public good. Another proposes that the judges must be made sure,\r\nthat they may declare always in favour of the prerogative; that they must be\r\noften sent for to court, that the king may hear them argue those points in\r\nwhich he is concerned; since, how unjust soever any of his pretensions may be,\r\nyet still some one or other of them, either out of contradiction to others, or\r\nthe pride of singularity, or to make their court, would find out some pretence\r\nor other to give the king a fair colour to carry the point. For if the judges\r\nbut differ in opinion, the clearest thing in the world is made by that means\r\ndisputable, and truth being once brought in question, the king may then take\r\nadvantage to expound the law for his own profit; while the judges that stand\r\nout will be brought over, either through fear or modesty; and they being thus\r\ngained, all of them may be sent to the Bench to give sentence boldly as the\r\nking would have it; for fair pretences will never be wanting when sentence is\r\nto be given in the prince’s favour. It will either be said that equity\r\nlies of his side, or some words in the law will be found sounding that way, or\r\nsome forced sense will be put on them; and, when all other things fail, the\r\nking’s undoubted prerogative will be pretended, as that which is above\r\nall law, and to which a religious judge ought to have a special regard. Thus\r\nall consent to that maxim of Crassus, that a prince cannot have treasure\r\nenough, since he must maintain his armies out of it; that a king, even though\r\nhe would, can do nothing unjustly; that all property is in him, not excepting\r\nthe very persons of his subjects; and that no man has any other property but\r\nthat which the king, out of his goodness, thinks fit to leave him. And they\r\nthink it is the prince’s interest that there be as little of this left as\r\nmay be, as if it were his advantage that his people should have neither riches\r\nnor liberty, since these things make them less easy and willing to submit to a\r\ncruel and unjust government. Whereas necessity and poverty blunts them, makes\r\nthem patient, beats them down, and breaks that height of spirit that might\r\notherwise dispose them to rebel. Now what if, after all these propositions were\r\nmade, I should rise up and assert that such counsels were both unbecoming a\r\nking and mischievous to him; and that not only his honour, but his safety,\r\nconsisted more in his people’s wealth than in his own; if I should show\r\nthat they choose a king for their own sake, and not for his; that, by his care\r\nand endeavours, they may be both easy and safe; and that, therefore, a prince\r\nought to take more care of his people’s happiness than of his own, as a\r\nshepherd is to take more care of his flock than of himself? It is also certain\r\nthat they are much mistaken that think the poverty of a nation is a means of\r\nthe public safety. Who quarrel more than beggars? who does more earnestly long\r\nfor a change than he that is uneasy in his present circumstances? and who run\r\nto create confusions with so desperate a boldness as those who, having nothing\r\nto lose, hope to gain by them? If a king should fall under such contempt or\r\nenvy that he could not keep his subjects in their duty but by oppression and\r\nill usage, and by rendering them poor and miserable, it were certainly better\r\nfor him to quit his kingdom than to retain it by such methods as make him,\r\nwhile he keeps the name of authority, lose the majesty due to it. Nor is it so\r\nbecoming the dignity of a king to reign over beggars as over rich and happy\r\nsubjects. And therefore Fabricius, a man of a noble and exalted temper, said\r\n‘he would rather govern rich men than be rich himself; since for one man\r\nto abound in wealth and pleasure when all about him are mourning and groaning,\r\nis to be a gaoler and not a king.’ He is an unskilful physician that\r\ncannot cure one disease without casting his patient into another. So he that\r\ncan find no other way for correcting the errors of his people but by taking\r\nfrom them the conveniences of life, shows that he knows not what it is to\r\ngovern a free nation. He himself ought rather to shake off his sloth, or to lay\r\ndown his pride, for the contempt or hatred that his people have for him takes\r\nits rise from the vices in himself. Let him live upon what belongs to him\r\nwithout wronging others, and accommodate his expense to his revenue. Let him\r\npunish crimes, and, by his wise conduct, let him endeavour to prevent them,\r\nrather than be severe when he has suffered them to be too common. Let him not\r\nrashly revive laws that are abrogated by disuse, especially if they have been\r\nlong forgotten and never wanted. And let him never take any penalty for the\r\nbreach of them to which a judge would not give way in a private man, but would\r\nlook on him as a crafty and unjust person for pretending to it. To these things\r\nI would add that law among the Macarians—a people that live not far from\r\nUtopia—by which their king, on the day on which he began to reign, is\r\ntied by an oath, confirmed by solemn sacrifices, never to have at once above a\r\nthousand pounds of gold in his treasures, or so much silver as is equal to that\r\nin value. This law, they tell us, was made by an excellent king who had more\r\nregard to the riches of his country than to his own wealth, and therefore\r\nprovided against the heaping up of so much treasure as might impoverish the\r\npeople. He thought that moderate sum might be sufficient for any accident, if\r\neither the king had occasion for it against the rebels, or the kingdom against\r\nthe invasion of an enemy; but that it was not enough to encourage a prince to\r\ninvade other men’s rights—a circumstance that was the chief cause\r\nof his making that law. He also thought that it was a good provision for that\r\nfree circulation of money so necessary for the course of commerce and exchange.\r\nAnd when a king must distribute all those extraordinary accessions that\r\nincrease treasure beyond the due pitch, it makes him less disposed to oppress\r\nhis subjects. Such a king as this will be the terror of ill men, and will be\r\nbeloved by all the good.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“If, I say, I should talk of these or such-like things to men that had\r\ntaken their bias another way, how deaf would they be to all I could say!”\r\n“No doubt, very deaf,” answered I; “and no wonder, for one is\r\nnever to offer propositions or advice that we are certain will not be\r\nentertained. Discourses so much out of the road could not avail anything, nor\r\nhave any effect on men whose minds were prepossessed with different sentiments.\r\nThis philosophical way of speculation is not unpleasant among friends in a free\r\nconversation; but there is no room for it in the courts of princes, where great\r\naffairs are carried on by authority.” “That is what I was\r\nsaying,” replied he, “that there is no room for philosophy in the\r\ncourts of princes.” “Yes, there is,” said I, “but not\r\nfor this speculative philosophy, that makes everything to be alike fitting at\r\nall times; but there is another philosophy that is more pliable, that knows its\r\nproper scene, accommodates itself to it, and teaches a man with propriety and\r\ndecency to act that part which has fallen to his share. If when one of\r\nPlautus’ comedies is upon the stage, and a company of servants are acting\r\ntheir parts, you should come out in the garb of a philosopher, and repeat, out\r\nof \u003ci\u003eOctavia\u003c/i\u003e, a discourse of Seneca’s to Nero, would it not be\r\nbetter for you to say nothing than by mixing things of such different natures\r\nto make an impertinent tragi-comedy? for you spoil and corrupt the play that is\r\nin hand when you mix with it things of an opposite nature, even though they are\r\nmuch better. Therefore go through with the play that is acting the best you\r\ncan, and do not confound it because another that is pleasanter comes into your\r\nthoughts. It is even so in a commonwealth and in the councils of princes; if\r\nill opinions cannot be quite rooted out, and you cannot cure some received vice\r\naccording to your wishes, you must not, therefore, abandon the commonwealth,\r\nfor the same reasons as you should not forsake the ship in a storm because you\r\ncannot command the winds. You are not obliged to assault people with discourses\r\nthat are out of their road, when you see that their received notions must\r\nprevent your making an impression upon them: you ought rather to cast about and\r\nto manage things with all the dexterity in your power, so that, if you are not\r\nable to make them go well, they may be as little ill as possible; for, except\r\nall men were good, everything cannot be right, and that is a blessing that I do\r\nnot at present hope to see.” “According to your argument,”\r\nanswered he, “all that I could be able to do would be to preserve myself\r\nfrom being mad while I endeavoured to cure the madness of others; for, if I\r\nspeak truth, I must repeat what I have said to you; and as for lying, whether a\r\nphilosopher can do it or not I cannot tell: I am sure I cannot do it. But\r\nthough these discourses may be uneasy and ungrateful to them, I do not see why\r\nthey should seem foolish or extravagant; indeed, if I should either propose\r\nsuch things as Plato has contrived in his ‘Commonwealth,’ or as the\r\nUtopians practise in theirs, though they might seem better, as certainly they\r\nare, yet they are so different from our establishment, which is founded on\r\nproperty (there being no such thing among them), that I could not expect that\r\nit would have any effect on them. But such discourses as mine, which only call\r\npast evils to mind and give warning of what may follow, leave nothing in them\r\nthat is so absurd that they may not be used at any time, for they can only be\r\nunpleasant to those who are resolved to run headlong the contrary way; and if\r\nwe must let alone everything as absurd or extravagant—which, by reason of\r\nthe wicked lives of many, may seem uncouth—we must, even among\r\nChristians, give over pressing the greatest part of those things that Christ\r\nhath taught us, though He has commanded us not to conceal them, but to proclaim\r\non the housetops that which He taught in secret. The greatest parts of His\r\nprecepts are more opposite to the lives of the men of this age than any part of\r\nmy discourse has been, but the preachers seem to have learned that craft to\r\nwhich you advise me: for they, observing that the world would not willingly\r\nsuit their lives to the rules that Christ has given, have fitted His doctrine,\r\nas if it had been a leaden rule, to their lives, that so, some way or other,\r\nthey might agree with one another. But I see no other effect of this compliance\r\nexcept it be that men become more secure in their wickedness by it; and this is\r\nall the success that I can have in a court, for I must always differ from the\r\nrest, and then I shall signify nothing; or, if I agree with them, I shall then\r\nonly help forward their madness. I do not comprehend what you mean by your\r\n‘casting about,’ or by ‘the bending and handling things so\r\ndexterously that, if they go not well, they may go as little ill as may\r\nbe;’ for in courts they will not bear with a man’s holding his\r\npeace or conniving at what others do: a man must barefacedly approve of the\r\nworst counsels and consent to the blackest designs: so that he would pass for a\r\nspy, or, possibly, for a traitor, that did but coldly approve of such wicked\r\npractices; and therefore when a man is engaged in such a society, he will be so\r\nfar from being able to mend matters by his ‘casting about,’ as you\r\ncall it, that he will find no occasions of doing any good—the ill company\r\nwill sooner corrupt him than be the better for him; or if, notwithstanding all\r\ntheir ill company, he still remains steady and innocent, yet their follies and\r\nknavery will be imputed to him; and, by mixing counsels with them, he must bear\r\nhis share of all the blame that belongs wholly to others.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“It was no ill simile by which Plato set forth the unreasonableness of a\r\nphilosopher’s meddling with government. ‘If a man,’ says he,\r\n‘were to see a great company run out every day into the rain and take\r\ndelight in being wet—if he knew that it would be to no purpose for him to\r\ngo and persuade them to return to their houses in order to avoid the storm, and\r\nthat all that could be expected by his going to speak to them would be that he\r\nhimself should be as wet as they, it would be best for him to keep within\r\ndoors, and, since he had not influence enough to correct other people’s\r\nfolly, to take care to preserve himself.’\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“Though, to speak plainly my real sentiments, I must freely own that as\r\nlong as there is any property, and while money is the standard of all other\r\nthings, I cannot think that a nation can be governed either justly or happily:\r\nnot justly, because the best things will fall to the share of the worst men;\r\nnor happily, because all things will be divided among a few (and even these are\r\nnot in all respects happy), the rest being left to be absolutely miserable.\r\nTherefore, when I reflect on the wise and good constitution of the Utopians,\r\namong whom all things are so well governed and with so few laws, where virtue\r\nhath its due reward, and yet there is such an equality that every man lives in\r\nplenty—when I compare with them so many other nations that are still\r\nmaking new laws, and yet can never bring their constitution to a right\r\nregulation; where, notwithstanding every one has his property, yet all the laws\r\nthat they can invent have not the power either to obtain or preserve it, or\r\neven to enable men certainly to distinguish what is their own from what is\r\nanother’s, of which the many lawsuits that every day break out, and are\r\neternally depending, give too plain a demonstration—when, I say, I\r\nbalance all these things in my thoughts, I grow more favourable to Plato, and\r\ndo not wonder that he resolved not to make any laws for such as would not\r\nsubmit to a community of all things; for so wise a man could not but foresee\r\nthat the setting all upon a level was the only way to make a nation happy;\r\nwhich cannot be obtained so long as there is property, for when every man draws\r\nto himself all that he can compass, by one title or another, it must needs\r\nfollow that, how plentiful soever a nation may be, yet a few dividing the\r\nwealth of it among themselves, the rest must fall into indigence. So that there\r\nwill be two sorts of people among them, who deserve that their fortunes should\r\nbe interchanged—the former useless, but wicked and ravenous; and the\r\nlatter, who by their constant industry serve the public more than themselves,\r\nsincere and modest men—from whence I am persuaded that till property is\r\ntaken away, there can be no equitable or just distribution of things, nor can\r\nthe world be happily governed; for as long as that is maintained, the greatest\r\nand the far best part of mankind, will be still oppressed with a load of cares\r\nand anxieties. I confess, without taking it quite away, those pressures that\r\nlie on a great part of mankind may be made lighter, but they can never be quite\r\nremoved; for if laws were made to determine at how great an extent in soil, and\r\nat how much money, every man must stop—to limit the prince, that he might\r\nnot grow too great; and to restrain the people, that they might not become too\r\ninsolent—and that none might factiously aspire to public employments,\r\nwhich ought neither to be sold nor made burdensome by a great expense, since\r\notherwise those that serve in them would be tempted to reimburse themselves by\r\ncheats and violence, and it would become necessary to find out rich men for\r\nundergoing those employments, which ought rather to be trusted to the wise.\r\nThese laws, I say, might have such effect as good diet and care might have on a\r\nsick man whose recovery is desperate; they might allay and mitigate the\r\ndisease, but it could never be quite healed, nor the body politic be brought\r\nagain to a good habit as long as property remains; and it will fall out, as in\r\na complication of diseases, that by applying a remedy to one sore you will\r\nprovoke another, and that which removes the one ill symptom produces others,\r\nwhile the strengthening one part of the body weakens the rest.” “On\r\nthe contrary,” answered I, “it seems to me that men cannot live\r\nconveniently where all things are common. How can there be any plenty where\r\nevery man will excuse himself from labour? for as the hope of gain doth not\r\nexcite him, so the confidence that he has in other men’s industry may\r\nmake him slothful. If people come to be pinched with want, and yet cannot\r\ndispose of anything as their own, what can follow upon this but perpetual\r\nsedition and bloodshed, especially when the reverence and authority due to\r\nmagistrates falls to the ground? for I cannot imagine how that can be kept up\r\namong those that are in all things equal to one another.” “I do not\r\nwonder,” said he, “that it appears so to you, since you have no\r\nnotion, or at least no right one, of such a constitution; but if you had been\r\nin Utopia with me, and had seen their laws and rules, as I did, for the space\r\nof five years, in which I lived among them, and during which time I was so\r\ndelighted with them that indeed I should never have left them if it had not\r\nbeen to make the discovery of that new world to the Europeans, you would then\r\nconfess that you had never seen a people so well constituted as they.”\r\n“You will not easily persuade me,” said Peter, “that any\r\nnation in that new world is better governed than those among us; for as our\r\nunderstandings are not worse than theirs, so our government (if I mistake not)\r\nbeing more ancient, a long practice has helped us to find out many conveniences\r\nof life, and some happy chances have discovered other things to us which no\r\nman’s understanding could ever have invented.” “As for the\r\nantiquity either of their government or of ours,” said he, “you\r\ncannot pass a true judgment of it unless you had read their histories; for, if\r\nthey are to be believed, they had towns among them before these parts were so\r\nmuch as inhabited; and as for those discoveries that have been either hit on by\r\nchance or made by ingenious men, these might have happened there as well as\r\nhere. I do not deny but we are more ingenious than they are, but they exceed us\r\nmuch in industry and application. They knew little concerning us before our\r\narrival among them. They call us all by a general name of ‘The nations\r\nthat lie beyond the equinoctial line;’ for their chronicle mentions a\r\nshipwreck that was made on their coast twelve hundred years ago, and that some\r\nRomans and Egyptians that were in the ship, getting safe ashore, spent the rest\r\nof their days amongst them; and such was their ingenuity that from this single\r\nopportunity they drew the advantage of learning from those unlooked-for guests,\r\nand acquired all the useful arts that were then among the Romans, and which\r\nwere known to these shipwrecked men; and by the hints that they gave them they\r\nthemselves found out even some of those arts which they could not fully\r\nexplain, so happily did they improve that accident of having some of our people\r\ncast upon their shore. But if such an accident has at any time brought any from\r\nthence into Europe, we have been so far from improving it that we do not so\r\nmuch as remember it, as, in aftertimes perhaps, it will be forgot by our people\r\nthat I was ever there; for though they, from one such accident, made themselves\r\nmasters of all the good inventions that were among us, yet I believe it would\r\nbe long before we should learn or put in practice any of the good institutions\r\nthat are among them. And this is the true cause of their being better governed\r\nand living happier than we, though we come not short of them in point of\r\nunderstanding or outward advantages.” Upon this I said to him, “I\r\nearnestly beg you would describe that island very particularly to us; be not\r\ntoo short, but set out in order all things relating to their soil, their\r\nrivers, their towns, their people, their manners, constitution, laws, and, in a\r\nword, all that you imagine we desire to know; and you may well imagine that we\r\ndesire to know everything concerning them of which we are hitherto\r\nignorant.” “I will do it very willingly,” said he, “for\r\nI have digested the whole matter carefully, but it will take up some\r\ntime.” “Let us go, then,” said I, “first and dine, and\r\nthen we shall have leisure enough.” He consented; we went in and dined,\r\nand after dinner came back and sat down in the same place. I ordered my\r\nservants to take care that none might come and interrupt us, and both Peter and\r\nI desired Raphael to be as good as his word. When he saw that we were very\r\nintent upon it he paused a little to recollect himself, and began in this\r\nmanner:—\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“The island of Utopia is in the middle two hundred miles broad, and holds\r\nalmost at the same breadth over a great part of it, but it grows narrower\r\ntowards both ends. Its figure is not unlike a crescent. Between its horns the\r\nsea comes in eleven miles broad, and spreads itself into a great bay, which is\r\nenvironed with land to the compass of about five hundred miles, and is well\r\nsecured from winds. In this bay there is no great current; the whole coast is,\r\nas it were, one continued harbour, which gives all that live in the island\r\ngreat convenience for mutual commerce. But the entry into the bay, occasioned\r\nby rocks on the one hand and shallows on the other, is very dangerous. In the\r\nmiddle of it there is one single rock which appears above water, and may,\r\ntherefore, easily be avoided; and on the top of it there is a tower, in which a\r\ngarrison is kept; the other rocks lie under water, and are very dangerous. The\r\nchannel is known only to the natives; so that if any stranger should enter into\r\nthe bay without one of their pilots he would run great danger of shipwreck. For\r\neven they themselves could not pass it safe if some marks that are on the coast\r\ndid not direct their way; and if these should be but a little shifted, any\r\nfleet that might come against them, how great soever it were, would be\r\ncertainly lost. On the other side of the island there are likewise many\r\nharbours; and the coast is so fortified, both by nature and art, that a small\r\nnumber of men can hinder the descent of a great army. But they report (and\r\nthere remains good marks of it to make it credible) that this was no island at\r\nfirst, but a part of the continent. Utopus, that conquered it (whose name it\r\nstill carries, for Abraxa was its first name), brought the rude and uncivilised\r\ninhabitants into such a good government, and to that measure of politeness,\r\nthat they now far excel all the rest of mankind. Having soon subdued them, he\r\ndesigned to separate them from the continent, and to bring the sea quite round\r\nthem. To accomplish this he ordered a deep channel to be dug, fifteen miles\r\nlong; and that the natives might not think he treated them like slaves, he not\r\nonly forced the inhabitants, but also his own soldiers, to labour in carrying\r\nit on. As he set a vast number of men to work, he, beyond all men’s\r\nexpectations, brought it to a speedy conclusion. And his neighbours, who at\r\nfirst laughed at the folly of the undertaking, no sooner saw it brought to\r\nperfection than they were struck with admiration and terror.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“There are fifty-four cities in the island, all large and well built, the\r\nmanners, customs, and laws of which are the same, and they are all contrived as\r\nnear in the same manner as the ground on which they stand will allow. The\r\nnearest lie at least twenty-four miles’ distance from one another, and\r\nthe most remote are not so far distant but that a man can go on foot in one day\r\nfrom it to that which lies next it. Every city sends three of their wisest\r\nsenators once a year to Amaurot, to consult about their common concerns; for\r\nthat is the chief town of the island, being situated near the centre of it, so\r\nthat it is the most convenient place for their assemblies. The jurisdiction of\r\nevery city extends at least twenty miles, and, where the towns lie wider, they\r\nhave much more ground. No town desires to enlarge its bounds, for the people\r\nconsider themselves rather as tenants than landlords. They have built, over all\r\nthe country, farmhouses for husbandmen, which are well contrived, and furnished\r\nwith all things necessary for country labour. Inhabitants are sent, by turns,\r\nfrom the cities to dwell in them; no country family has fewer than forty men\r\nand women in it, besides two slaves. There is a master and a mistress set over\r\nevery family, and over thirty families there is a magistrate. Every year twenty\r\nof this family come back to the town after they have stayed two years in the\r\ncountry, and in their room there are other twenty sent from the town, that they\r\nmay learn country work from those that have been already one year in the\r\ncountry, as they must teach those that come to them the next from the town. By\r\nthis means such as dwell in those country farms are never ignorant of\r\nagriculture, and so commit no errors which might otherwise be fatal and bring\r\nthem under a scarcity of corn. But though there is every year such a shifting\r\nof the husbandmen to prevent any man being forced against his will to follow\r\nthat hard course of life too long, yet many among them take such pleasure in it\r\nthat they desire leave to continue in it many years. These husbandmen till the\r\nground, breed cattle, hew wood, and convey it to the towns either by land or\r\nwater, as is most convenient. They breed an infinite multitude of chickens in a\r\nvery curious manner; for the hens do not sit and hatch them, but a vast number\r\nof eggs are laid in a gentle and equal heat in order to be hatched, and they\r\nare no sooner out of the shell, and able to stir about, but they seem to\r\nconsider those that feed them as their mothers, and follow them as other\r\nchickens do the hen that hatched them. They breed very few horses, but those\r\nthey have are full of mettle, and are kept only for exercising their youth in\r\nthe art of sitting and riding them; for they do not put them to any work,\r\neither of ploughing or carriage, in which they employ oxen. For though their\r\nhorses are stronger, yet they find oxen can hold out longer; and as they are\r\nnot subject to so many diseases, so they are kept upon a less charge and with\r\nless trouble. And even when they are so worn out that they are no more fit for\r\nlabour, they are good meat at last. They sow no corn but that which is to be\r\ntheir bread; for they drink either wine, cider or perry, and often water,\r\nsometimes boiled with honey or liquorice, with which they abound; and though\r\nthey know exactly how much corn will serve every town and all that tract of\r\ncountry which belongs to it, yet they sow much more and breed more cattle than\r\nare necessary for their consumption, and they give that overplus of which they\r\nmake no use to their neighbours. When they want anything in the country which\r\nit does not produce, they fetch that from the town, without carrying anything\r\nin exchange for it. And the magistrates of the town take care to see it given\r\nthem; for they meet generally in the town once a month, upon a festival day.\r\nWhen the time of harvest comes, the magistrates in the country send to those in\r\nthe towns and let them know how many hands they will need for reaping the\r\nharvest; and the number they call for being sent to them, they commonly\r\ndespatch it all in one day.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\u003c!–end chapter–\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"chapter\"\u003e\r\n\u003ch2\u003e\u003ca id=\"chap03\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003eOF THEIR TOWNS, PARTICULARLY OF AMAUROT\u003c/h2\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“He that knows one of their towns knows them all—they are so like\r\none another, except where the situation makes some difference. I shall\r\ntherefore describe one of them, and none is so proper as Amaurot; for as none\r\nis more eminent (all the rest yielding in precedence to this, because it is the\r\nseat of their supreme council), so there was none of them better known to me, I\r\nhaving lived five years all together in it.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“It lies upon the side of a hill, or, rather, a rising ground. Its figure\r\nis almost square, for from the one side of it, which shoots up almost to the\r\ntop of the hill, it runs down, in a descent for two miles, to the river Anider;\r\nbut it is a little broader the other way that runs along by the bank of that\r\nriver. The Anider rises about eighty miles above Amaurot, in a small spring at\r\nfirst. But other brooks falling into it, of which two are more considerable\r\nthan the rest, as it runs by Amaurot it is grown half a mile broad; but, it\r\nstill grows larger and larger, till, after sixty miles’ course below it,\r\nit is lost in the ocean. Between the town and the sea, and for some miles above\r\nthe town, it ebbs and flows every six hours with a strong current. The tide\r\ncomes up about thirty miles so full that there is nothing but salt water in the\r\nriver, the fresh water being driven back with its force; and above that, for\r\nsome miles, the water is brackish; but a little higher, as it runs by the town,\r\nit is quite fresh; and when the tide ebbs, it continues fresh all along to the\r\nsea. There is a bridge cast over the river, not of timber, but of fair stone,\r\nconsisting of many stately arches; it lies at that part of the town which is\r\nfarthest from the sea, so that the ships, without any hindrance, lie all along\r\nthe side of the town. There is, likewise, another river that runs by it, which,\r\nthough it is not great, yet it runs pleasantly, for it rises out of the same\r\nhill on which the town stands, and so runs down through it and falls into the\r\nAnider. The inhabitants have fortified the fountain-head of this river, which\r\nsprings a little without the towns; that so, if they should happen to be\r\nbesieged, the enemy might not be able to stop or divert the course of the\r\nwater, nor poison it; from thence it is carried, in earthen pipes, to the lower\r\nstreets. And for those places of the town to which the water of that small\r\nriver cannot be conveyed, they have great cisterns for receiving the\r\nrain-water, which supplies the want of the other. The town is compassed with a\r\nhigh and thick wall, in which there are many towers and forts; there is also a\r\nbroad and deep dry ditch, set thick with thorns, cast round three sides of the\r\ntown, and the river is instead of a ditch on the fourth side. The streets are\r\nvery convenient for all carriage, and are well sheltered from the winds. Their\r\nbuildings are good, and are so uniform that a whole side of a street looks like\r\none house. The streets are twenty feet broad; there lie gardens behind all\r\ntheir houses. These are large, but enclosed with buildings, that on all hands\r\nface the streets, so that every house has both a door to the street and a back\r\ndoor to the garden. Their doors have all two leaves, which, as they are easily\r\nopened, so they shut of their own accord; and, there being no property among\r\nthem, every man may freely enter into any house whatsoever. At every ten\r\nyears’ end they shift their houses by lots. They cultivate their gardens\r\nwith great care, so that they have both vines, fruits, herbs, and flowers in\r\nthem; and all is so well ordered and so finely kept that I never saw gardens\r\nanywhere that were both so fruitful and so beautiful as theirs. And this humour\r\nof ordering their gardens so well is not only kept up by the pleasure they find\r\nin it, but also by an emulation between the inhabitants of the several streets,\r\nwho vie with each other. And there is, indeed, nothing belonging to the whole\r\ntown that is both more useful and more pleasant. So that he who founded the\r\ntown seems to have taken care of nothing more than of their gardens; for they\r\nsay the whole scheme of the town was designed at first by Utopus, but he left\r\nall that belonged to the ornament and improvement of it to be added by those\r\nthat should come after him, that being too much for one man to bring to\r\nperfection. Their records, that contain the history of their town and State,\r\nare preserved with an exact care, and run backwards seventeen hundred and sixty\r\nyears. From these it appears that their houses were at first low and mean, like\r\ncottages, made of any sort of timber, and were built with mud walls and\r\nthatched with straw. But now their houses are three storeys high, the fronts of\r\nthem are faced either with stone, plastering, or brick, and between the facings\r\nof their walls they throw in their rubbish. Their roofs are flat, and on them\r\nthey lay a sort of plaster, which costs very little, and yet is so tempered\r\nthat it is not apt to take fire, and yet resists the weather more than lead.\r\nThey have great quantities of glass among them, with which they glaze their\r\nwindows; they use also in their windows a thin linen cloth, that is so oiled or\r\ngummed that it both keeps out the wind and gives free admission to the light.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\u003c!–end chapter–\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"chapter\"\u003e\r\n\u003ch2\u003e\u003ca id=\"chap04\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003eOF THEIR MAGISTRATES\u003c/h2\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“Thirty families choose every year a magistrate, who was anciently called\r\nthe Syphogrant, but is now called the Philarch; and over every ten Syphogrants,\r\nwith the families subject to them, there is another magistrate, who was\r\nanciently called the Tranibore, but of late the Archphilarch. All the\r\nSyphogrants, who are in number two hundred, choose the Prince out of a list of\r\nfour who are named by the people of the four divisions of the city; but they\r\ntake an oath, before they proceed to an election, that they will choose him\r\nwhom they think most fit for the office: they give him their voices secretly,\r\nso that it is not known for whom every one gives his suffrage. The Prince is\r\nfor life, unless he is removed upon suspicion of some design to enslave the\r\npeople. The Tranibors are new chosen every year, but yet they are, for the most\r\npart, continued; all their other magistrates are only annual. The Tranibors\r\nmeet every third day, and oftener if necessary, and consult with the Prince\r\neither concerning the affairs of the State in general, or such private\r\ndifferences as may arise sometimes among the people, though that falls out but\r\nseldom. There are always two Syphogrants called into the council chamber, and\r\nthese are changed every day. It is a fundamental rule of their government, that\r\nno conclusion can be made in anything that relates to the public till it has\r\nbeen first debated three several days in their council. It is death for any to\r\nmeet and consult concerning the State, unless it be either in their ordinary\r\ncouncil, or in the assembly of the whole body of the people.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“These things have been so provided among them that the Prince and the\r\nTranibors may not conspire together to change the government and enslave the\r\npeople; and therefore when anything of great importance is set on foot, it is\r\nsent to the Syphogrants, who, after they have communicated it to the families\r\nthat belong to their divisions, and have considered it among themselves, make\r\nreport to the senate; and, upon great occasions, the matter is referred to the\r\ncouncil of the whole island. One rule observed in their council is, never to\r\ndebate a thing on the same day in which it is first proposed; for that is\r\nalways referred to the next meeting, that so men may not rashly and in the heat\r\nof discourse engage themselves too soon, which might bias them so much that,\r\ninstead of consulting the good of the public, they might rather study to\r\nsupport their first opinions, and by a perverse and preposterous sort of shame\r\nhazard their country rather than endanger their own reputation, or venture the\r\nbeing suspected to have wanted foresight in the expedients that they at first\r\nproposed; and therefore, to prevent this, they take care that they may rather\r\nbe deliberate than sudden in their motions.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\u003c!–end chapter–\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"chapter\"\u003e\r\n\u003ch2\u003e\u003ca id=\"chap05\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003eOF THEIR TRADES, AND MANNER OF LIFE\u003c/h2\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“Agriculture is that which is so universally understood among them that\r\nno person, either man or woman, is ignorant of it; they are instructed in it\r\nfrom their childhood, partly by what they learn at school, and partly by\r\npractice, they being led out often into the fields about the town, where they\r\nnot only see others at work but are likewise exercised in it themselves.\r\nBesides agriculture, which is so common to them all, every man has some\r\npeculiar trade to which he applies himself; such as the manufacture of wool or\r\nflax, masonry, smith’s work, or carpenter’s work; for there is no\r\nsort of trade that is in great esteem among them. Throughout the island they\r\nwear the same sort of clothes, without any other distinction except what is\r\nnecessary to distinguish the two sexes and the married and unmarried. The\r\nfashion never alters, and as it is neither disagreeable nor uneasy, so it is\r\nsuited to the climate, and calculated both for their summers and winters. Every\r\nfamily makes their own clothes; but all among them, women as well as men, learn\r\none or other of the trades formerly mentioned. Women, for the most part, deal\r\nin wool and flax, which suit best with their weakness, leaving the ruder trades\r\nto the men. The same trade generally passes down from father to son,\r\ninclinations often following descent: but if any man’s genius lies\r\nanother way he is, by adoption, translated into a family that deals in the\r\ntrade to which he is inclined; and when that is to be done, care is taken, not\r\nonly by his father, but by the magistrate, that he may be put to a discreet and\r\ngood man: and if, after a person has learned one trade, he desires to acquire\r\nanother, that is also allowed, and is managed in the same manner as the former.\r\nWhen he has learned both, he follows that which he likes best, unless the\r\npublic has more occasion for the other.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\nThe chief, and almost the only, business of the Syphogrants is to take care\r\nthat no man may live idle, but that every one may follow his trade diligently;\r\nyet they do not wear themselves out with perpetual toil from morning to night,\r\nas if they were beasts of burden, which as it is indeed a heavy slavery, so it\r\nis everywhere the common course of life amongst all mechanics except the\r\nUtopians: but they, dividing the day and night into twenty-four hours, appoint\r\nsix of these for work, three of which are before dinner and three after; they\r\nthen sup, and at eight o’clock, counting from noon, go to bed and sleep\r\neight hours: the rest of their time, besides that taken up in work, eating, and\r\nsleeping, is left to every man’s discretion; yet they are not to abuse\r\nthat interval to luxury and idleness, but must employ it in some proper\r\nexercise, according to their various inclinations, which is, for the most part,\r\nreading. It is ordinary to have public lectures every morning before daybreak,\r\nat which none are obliged to appear but those who are marked out for\r\nliterature; yet a great many, both men and women, of all ranks, go to hear\r\nlectures of one sort or other, according to their inclinations: but if others\r\nthat are not made for contemplation, choose rather to employ themselves at that\r\ntime in their trades, as many of them do, they are not hindered, but are rather\r\ncommended, as men that take care to serve their country. After supper they\r\nspend an hour in some diversion, in summer in their gardens, and in winter in\r\nthe halls where they eat, where they entertain each other either with music or\r\ndiscourse. They do not so much as know dice, or any such foolish and\r\nmischievous games. They have, however, two sorts of games not unlike our chess;\r\nthe one is between several numbers, in which one number, as it were, consumes\r\nanother; the other resembles a battle between the virtues and the vices, in\r\nwhich the enmity in the vices among themselves, and their agreement against\r\nvirtue, is not unpleasantly represented; together with the special opposition\r\nbetween the particular virtues and vices; as also the methods by which vice\r\neither openly assaults or secretly undermines virtue; and virtue, on the other\r\nhand, resists it. But the time appointed for labour is to be narrowly examined,\r\notherwise you may imagine that since there are only six hours appointed for\r\nwork, they may fall under a scarcity of necessary provisions: but it is so far\r\nfrom being true that this time is not sufficient for supplying them with plenty\r\nof all things, either necessary or convenient, that it is rather too much; and\r\nthis you will easily apprehend if you consider how great a part of all other\r\nnations is quite idle. First, women generally do little, who are the half of\r\nmankind; and if some few women are diligent, their husbands are idle: then\r\nconsider the great company of idle priests, and of those that are called\r\nreligious men; add to these all rich men, chiefly those that have estates in\r\nland, who are called noblemen and gentlemen, together with their families, made\r\nup of idle persons, that are kept more for show than use; add to these all\r\nthose strong and lusty beggars that go about pretending some disease in excuse\r\nfor their begging; and upon the whole account you will find that the number of\r\nthose by whose labours mankind is supplied is much less than you perhaps\r\nimagined: then consider how few of those that work are employed in labours that\r\nare of real service, for we, who measure all things by money, give rise to many\r\ntrades that are both vain and superfluous, and serve only to support riot and\r\nluxury: for if those who work were employed only in such things as the\r\nconveniences of life require, there would be such an abundance of them that the\r\nprices of them would so sink that tradesmen could not be maintained by their\r\ngains; if all those who labour about useless things were set to more profitable\r\nemployments, and if all they that languish out their lives in sloth and\r\nidleness (every one of whom consumes as much as any two of the men that are at\r\nwork) were forced to labour, you may easily imagine that a small proportion of\r\ntime would serve for doing all that is either necessary, profitable, or\r\npleasant to mankind, especially while pleasure is kept within its due bounds:\r\nthis appears very plainly in Utopia; for there, in a great city, and in all the\r\nterritory that lies round it, you can scarce find five hundred, either men or\r\nwomen, by their age and strength capable of labour, that are not engaged in it.\r\nEven the Syphogrants, though excused by the law, yet do not excuse themselves,\r\nbut work, that by their examples they may excite the industry of the rest of\r\nthe people; the like exemption is allowed to those who, being recommended to\r\nthe people by the priests, are, by the secret suffrages of the Syphogrants,\r\nprivileged from labour, that they may apply themselves wholly to study; and if\r\nany of these fall short of those hopes that they seemed at first to give, they\r\nare obliged to return to work; and sometimes a mechanic that so employs his\r\nleisure hours as to make a considerable advancement in learning is eased from\r\nbeing a tradesman and ranked among their learned men. Out of these they choose\r\ntheir ambassadors, their priests, their Tranibors, and the Prince himself,\r\nanciently called their Barzenes, but is called of late their Ademus.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“And thus from the great numbers among them that are neither suffered to\r\nbe idle nor to be employed in any fruitless labour, you may easily make the\r\nestimate how much may be done in those few hours in which they are obliged to\r\nlabour. But, besides all that has been already said, it is to be considered\r\nthat the needful arts among them are managed with less labour than anywhere\r\nelse. The building or the repairing of houses among us employ many hands,\r\nbecause often a thriftless heir suffers a house that his father built to fall\r\ninto decay, so that his successor must, at a great cost, repair that which he\r\nmight have kept up with a small charge; it frequently happens that the same\r\nhouse which one person built at a vast expense is neglected by another, who\r\nthinks he has a more delicate sense of the beauties of architecture, and he,\r\nsuffering it to fall to ruin, builds another at no less charge. But among the\r\nUtopians all things are so regulated that men very seldom build upon a new\r\npiece of ground, and are not only very quick in repairing their houses, but\r\nshow their foresight in preventing their decay, so that their buildings are\r\npreserved very long with but very little labour, and thus the builders, to whom\r\nthat care belongs, are often without employment, except the hewing of timber\r\nand the squaring of stones, that the materials may be in readiness for raising\r\na building very suddenly when there is any occasion for it. As to their\r\nclothes, observe how little work is spent in them; while they are at labour\r\nthey are clothed with leather and skins, cut carelessly about them, which will\r\nlast seven years, and when they appear in public they put on an upper garment\r\nwhich hides the other; and these are all of one colour, and that is the natural\r\ncolour of the wool. As they need less woollen cloth than is used anywhere else,\r\nso that which they make use of is much less costly; they use linen cloth more,\r\nbut that is prepared with less labour, and they value cloth only by the\r\nwhiteness of the linen or the cleanness of the wool, without much regard to the\r\nfineness of the thread. While in other places four or five upper garments of\r\nwoollen cloth of different colours, and as many vests of silk, will scarce\r\nserve one man, and while those that are nicer think ten too few, every man\r\nthere is content with one, which very often serves him two years; nor is there\r\nanything that can tempt a man to desire more, for if he had them he would\r\nneither be the, warmer nor would he make one jot the better appearance for it.\r\nAnd thus, since they are all employed in some useful labour, and since they\r\ncontent themselves with fewer things, it falls out that there is a great\r\nabundance of all things among them; so that it frequently happens that, for\r\nwant of other work, vast numbers are sent out to mend the highways; but when no\r\npublic undertaking is to be performed, the hours of working are lessened. The\r\nmagistrates never engage the people in unnecessary labour, since the chief end\r\nof the constitution is to regulate labour by the necessities of the public, and\r\nto allow the people as much time as is necessary for the improvement of their\r\nminds, in which they think the happiness of life consists.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\u003c!–end chapter–\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"chapter\"\u003e\r\n\u003ch2\u003e\u003ca id=\"chap06\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003eOF THEIR TRAFFIC\u003c/h2\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“But it is now time to explain to you the mutual intercourse of this\r\npeople, their commerce, and the rules by which all things are distributed among\r\nthem.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“As their cities are composed of families, so their families are made up\r\nof those that are nearly related to one another. Their women, when they grow\r\nup, are married out, but all the males, both children and grand-children, live\r\nstill in the same house, in great obedience to their common parent, unless age\r\nhas weakened his understanding, and in that case he that is next to him in age\r\ncomes in his room; but lest any city should become either too great, or by any\r\naccident be dispeopled, provision is made that none of their cities may contain\r\nabove six thousand families, besides those of the country around it. No family\r\nmay have less than ten and more than sixteen persons in it, but there can be no\r\ndetermined number for the children under age; this rule is easily observed by\r\nremoving some of the children of a more fruitful couple to any other family\r\nthat does not abound so much in them. By the same rule they supply cities that\r\ndo not increase so fast from others that breed faster; and if there is any\r\nincrease over the whole island, then they draw out a number of their citizens\r\nout of the several towns and send them over to the neighbouring continent,\r\nwhere, if they find that the inhabitants have more soil than they can well\r\ncultivate, they fix a colony, taking the inhabitants into their society if they\r\nare willing to live with them; and where they do that of their own accord, they\r\nquickly enter into their method of life and conform to their rules, and this\r\nproves a happiness to both nations; for, according to their constitution, such\r\ncare is taken of the soil that it becomes fruitful enough for both, though it\r\nmight be otherwise too narrow and barren for any one of them. But if the\r\nnatives refuse to conform themselves to their laws they drive them out of those\r\nbounds which they mark out for themselves, and use force if they resist, for\r\nthey account it a very just cause of war for a nation to hinder others from\r\npossessing a part of that soil of which they make no use, but which is suffered\r\nto lie idle and uncultivated, since every man has, by the law of nature, a\r\nright to such a waste portion of the earth as is necessary for his subsistence.\r\nIf an accident has so lessened the number of the inhabitants of any of their\r\ntowns that it cannot be made up from the other towns of the island without\r\ndiminishing them too much (which is said to have fallen out but twice since\r\nthey were first a people, when great numbers were carried off by the plague),\r\nthe loss is then supplied by recalling as many as are wanted from their\r\ncolonies, for they will abandon these rather than suffer the towns in the\r\nisland to sink too low.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“But to return to their manner of living in society: the oldest man of\r\nevery family, as has been already said, is its governor; wives serve their\r\nhusbands, and children their parents, and always the younger serves the elder.\r\nEvery city is divided into four equal parts, and in the middle of each there is\r\na market-place. What is brought thither, and manufactured by the several\r\nfamilies, is carried from thence to houses appointed for that purpose, in which\r\nall things of a sort are laid by themselves; and thither every father goes, and\r\ntakes whatsoever he or his family stand in need of, without either paying for\r\nit or leaving anything in exchange. There is no reason for giving a denial to\r\nany person, since there is such plenty of everything among them; and there is\r\nno danger of a man’s asking for more than he needs; they have no\r\ninducements to do this, since they are sure they shall always be supplied: it\r\nis the fear of want that makes any of the whole race of animals either greedy\r\nor ravenous; but, besides fear, there is in man a pride that makes him fancy it\r\na particular glory to excel others in pomp and excess; but by the laws of the\r\nUtopians, there is no room for this. Near these markets there are others for\r\nall sorts of provisions, where there are not only herbs, fruits, and bread, but\r\nalso fish, fowl, and cattle. There are also, without their towns, places\r\nappointed near some running water for killing their beasts and for washing away\r\ntheir filth, which is done by their slaves; for they suffer none of their\r\ncitizens to kill their cattle, because they think that pity and good-nature,\r\nwhich are among the best of those affections that are born with us, are much\r\nimpaired by the butchering of animals; nor do they suffer anything that is foul\r\nor unclean to be brought within their towns, lest the air should be infected by\r\nill-smells, which might prejudice their health. In every street there are great\r\nhalls, that lie at an equal distance from each other, distinguished by\r\nparticular names. The Syphogrants dwell in those that are set over thirty\r\nfamilies, fifteen lying on one side of it, and as many on the other. In these\r\nhalls they all meet and have their repasts; the stewards of every one of them\r\ncome to the market-place at an appointed hour, and according to the number of\r\nthose that belong to the hall they carry home provisions. But they take more\r\ncare of their sick than of any others; these are lodged and provided for in\r\npublic hospitals. They have belonging to every town four hospitals, that are\r\nbuilt without their walls, and are so large that they may pass for little\r\ntowns; by this means, if they had ever such a number of sick persons, they\r\ncould lodge them conveniently, and at such a distance that such of them as are\r\nsick of infectious diseases may be kept so far from the rest that there can be\r\nno danger of contagion. The hospitals are furnished and stored with all things\r\nthat are convenient for the ease and recovery of the sick; and those that are\r\nput in them are looked after with such tender and watchful care, and are so\r\nconstantly attended by their skilful physicians, that as none is sent to them\r\nagainst their will, so there is scarce one in a whole town that, if he should\r\nfall ill, would not choose rather to go thither than lie sick at home.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“After the steward of the hospitals has taken for the sick whatsoever the\r\nphysician prescribes, then the best things that are left in the market are\r\ndistributed equally among the halls in proportion to their numbers; only, in\r\nthe first place, they serve the Prince, the Chief Priest, the Tranibors, the\r\nAmbassadors, and strangers, if there are any, which, indeed, falls out but\r\nseldom, and for whom there are houses, well furnished, particularly appointed\r\nfor their reception when they come among them. At the hours of dinner and\r\nsupper the whole Syphogranty being called together by sound of trumpet, they\r\nmeet and eat together, except only such as are in the hospitals or lie sick at\r\nhome. Yet, after the halls are served, no man is hindered to carry provisions\r\nhome from the market-place, for they know that none does that but for some good\r\nreason; for though any that will may eat at home, yet none does it willingly,\r\nsince it is both ridiculous and foolish for any to give themselves the trouble\r\nto make ready an ill dinner at home when there is a much more plentiful one\r\nmade ready for him so near hand. All the uneasy and sordid services about these\r\nhalls are performed by their slaves; but the dressing and cooking their meat,\r\nand the ordering their tables, belong only to the women, all those of every\r\nfamily taking it by turns. They sit at three or more tables, according to their\r\nnumber; the men sit towards the wall, and the women sit on the other side, that\r\nif any of them should be taken suddenly ill, which is no uncommon case amongst\r\nwomen with child, she may, without disturbing the rest, rise and go to the\r\nnurses’ room (who are there with the sucking children), where there is\r\nalways clean water at hand and cradles, in which they may lay the young\r\nchildren if there is occasion for it, and a fire, that they may shift and dress\r\nthem before it. Every child is nursed by its own mother if death or sickness\r\ndoes not intervene; and in that case the Syphogrants’ wives find out a\r\nnurse quickly, which is no hard matter, for any one that can do it offers\r\nherself cheerfully; for as they are much inclined to that piece of mercy, so\r\nthe child whom they nurse considers the nurse as its mother. All the children\r\nunder five years old sit among the nurses; the rest of the younger sort of both\r\nsexes, till they are fit for marriage, either serve those that sit at table,\r\nor, if they are not strong enough for that, stand by them in great silence and\r\neat what is given them; nor have they any other formality of dining. In the\r\nmiddle of the first table, which stands across the upper end of the hall, sit\r\nthe Syphogrant and his wife, for that is the chief and most conspicuous place;\r\nnext to him sit two of the most ancient, for there go always four to a mess. If\r\nthere is a temple within the Syphogranty, the Priest and his wife sit with the\r\nSyphogrant above all the rest; next them there is a mixture of old and young,\r\nwho are so placed that as the young are set near others, so they are mixed with\r\nthe more ancient; which, they say, was appointed on this account: that the\r\ngravity of the old people, and the reverence that is due to them, might\r\nrestrain the younger from all indecent words and gestures. Dishes are not\r\nserved up to the whole table at first, but the best are first set before the\r\nold, whose seats are distinguished from the young, and, after them, all the\r\nrest are served alike. The old men distribute to the younger any curious meats\r\nthat happen to be set before them, if there is not such an abundance of them\r\nthat the whole company may be served alike.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“Thus old men are honoured with a particular respect, yet all the rest\r\nfare as well as they. Both dinner and supper are begun with some lecture of\r\nmorality that is read to them; but it is so short that it is not tedious nor\r\nuneasy to them to hear it. From hence the old men take occasion to entertain\r\nthose about them with some useful and pleasant enlargements; but they do not\r\nengross the whole discourse so to themselves during their meals that the\r\nyounger may not put in for a share; on the contrary, they engage them to talk,\r\nthat so they may, in that free way of conversation, find out the force of every\r\none’s spirit and observe his temper. They despatch their dinners quickly,\r\nbut sit long at supper, because they go to work after the one, and are to sleep\r\nafter the other, during which they think the stomach carries on the concoction\r\nmore vigorously. They never sup without music, and there is always fruit served\r\nup after meat; while they are at table some burn perfumes and sprinkle about\r\nfragrant ointments and sweet waters—in short, they want nothing that may\r\ncheer up their spirits; they give themselves a large allowance that way, and\r\nindulge themselves in all such pleasures as are attended with no inconvenience.\r\nThus do those that are in the towns live together; but in the country, where\r\nthey live at a great distance, every one eats at home, and no family wants any\r\nnecessary sort of provision, for it is from them that provisions are sent unto\r\nthose that live in the towns.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\u003c!–end chapter–\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"chapter\"\u003e\r\n\u003ch2\u003e\u003ca id=\"chap07\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003eOF THE TRAVELLING OF THE UTOPIANS\u003c/h2\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\nIf any man has a mind to visit his friends that live in some other town, or\r\ndesires to travel and see the rest of the country, he obtains leave very easily\r\nfrom the Syphogrant and Tranibors, when there is no particular occasion for him\r\nat home. Such as travel carry with them a passport from the Prince, which both\r\ncertifies the licence that is granted for travelling, and limits the time of\r\ntheir return. They are furnished with a waggon and a slave, who drives the oxen\r\nand looks after them; but, unless there are women in the company, the waggon is\r\nsent back at the end of the journey as a needless encumbrance. While they are\r\non the road they carry no provisions with them, yet they want for nothing, but\r\nare everywhere treated as if they were at home. If they stay in any place\r\nlonger than a night, every one follows his proper occupation, and is very well\r\nused by those of his own trade; but if any man goes out of the city to which he\r\nbelongs without leave, and is found rambling without a passport, he is severely\r\ntreated, he is punished as a fugitive, and sent home disgracefully; and, if he\r\nfalls again into the like fault, is condemned to slavery. If any man has a mind\r\nto travel only over the precinct of his own city, he may freely do it, with his\r\nfather’s permission and his wife’s consent; but when he comes into\r\nany of the country houses, if he expects to be entertained by them, he must\r\nlabour with them and conform to their rules; and if he does this, he may freely\r\ngo over the whole precinct, being then as useful to the city to which he\r\nbelongs as if he were still within it. Thus you see that there are no idle\r\npersons among them, nor pretences of excusing any from labour. There are no\r\ntaverns, no ale-houses, nor stews among them, nor any other occasions of\r\ncorrupting each other, of getting into corners, or forming themselves into\r\nparties; all men live in full view, so that all are obliged both to perform\r\ntheir ordinary task and to employ themselves well in their spare hours; and it\r\nis certain that a people thus ordered must live in great abundance of all\r\nthings, and these being equally distributed among them, no man can want or be\r\nobliged to beg.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“In their great council at Amaurot, to which there are three sent from\r\nevery town once a year, they examine what towns abound in provisions and what\r\nare under any scarcity, that so the one may be furnished from the other; and\r\nthis is done freely, without any sort of exchange; for, according to their\r\nplenty or scarcity, they supply or are supplied from one another, so that\r\nindeed the whole island is, as it were, one family. When they have thus taken\r\ncare of their whole country, and laid up stores for two years (which they do to\r\nprevent the ill consequences of an unfavourable season), they order an\r\nexportation of the overplus, both of corn, honey, wool, flax, wood, wax,\r\ntallow, leather, and cattle, which they send out, commonly in great quantities,\r\nto other nations. They order a seventh part of all these goods to be freely\r\ngiven to the poor of the countries to which they send them, and sell the rest\r\nat moderate rates; and by this exchange they not only bring back those few\r\nthings that they need at home (for, indeed, they scarce need anything but\r\niron), but likewise a great deal of gold and silver; and by their driving this\r\ntrade so long, it is not to be imagined how vast a treasure they have got among\r\nthem, so that now they do not much care whether they sell off their merchandise\r\nfor money in hand or upon trust. A great part of their treasure is now in\r\nbonds; but in all their contracts no private man stands bound, but the writing\r\nruns in the name of the town; and the towns that owe them money raise it from\r\nthose private hands that owe it to them, lay it up in their public chamber, or\r\nenjoy the profit of it till the Utopians call for it; and they choose rather to\r\nlet the greatest part of it lie in their hands, who make advantage by it, than\r\nto call for it themselves; but if they see that any of their other neighbours\r\nstand more in need of it, then they call it in and lend it to them. Whenever\r\nthey are engaged in war, which is the only occasion in which their treasure can\r\nbe usefully employed, they make use of it themselves; in great extremities or\r\nsudden accidents they employ it in hiring foreign troops, whom they more\r\nwillingly expose to danger than their own people; they give them great pay,\r\nknowing well that this will work even on their enemies; that it will engage\r\nthem either to betray their own side, or, at least, to desert it; and that it\r\nis the best means of raising mutual jealousies among them. For this end they\r\nhave an incredible treasure; but they do not keep it as a treasure, but in such\r\na manner as I am almost afraid to tell, lest you think it so extravagant as to\r\nbe hardly credible. This I have the more reason to apprehend because, if I had\r\nnot seen it myself, I could not have been easily persuaded to have believed it\r\nupon any man’s report.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“It is certain that all things appear incredible to us in proportion as\r\nthey differ from known customs; but one who can judge aright will not wonder to\r\nfind that, since their constitution differs so much from ours, their value of\r\ngold and silver should be measured by a very different standard; for since they\r\nhave no use for money among themselves, but keep it as a provision against\r\nevents which seldom happen, and between which there are generally long\r\nintervening intervals, they value it no farther than it deserves—that is,\r\nin proportion to its use. So that it is plain they must prefer iron either to\r\ngold or silver, for men can no more live without iron than without fire or\r\nwater; but Nature has marked out no use for the other metals so essential as\r\nnot easily to be dispensed with. The folly of men has enhanced the value of\r\ngold and silver because of their scarcity; whereas, on the contrary, it is\r\ntheir opinion that Nature, as an indulgent parent, has freely given us all the\r\nbest things in great abundance, such as water and earth, but has laid up and\r\nhid from us the things that are vain and useless.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“If these metals were laid up in any tower in the kingdom it would raise\r\na jealousy of the Prince and Senate, and give birth to that foolish mistrust\r\ninto which the people are apt to fall—a jealousy of their intending to\r\nsacrifice the interest of the public to their own private advantage. If they\r\nshould work it into vessels, or any sort of plate, they fear that the people\r\nmight grow too fond of it, and so be unwilling to let the plate be run down, if\r\na war made it necessary, to employ it in paying their soldiers. To prevent all\r\nthese inconveniences they have fallen upon an expedient which, as it agrees\r\nwith their other policy, so is it very different from ours, and will scarce\r\ngain belief among us who value gold so much, and lay it up so carefully. They\r\neat and drink out of vessels of earth or glass, which make an agreeable\r\nappearance, though formed of brittle materials; while they make their\r\nchamber-pots and close-stools of gold and silver, and that not only in their\r\npublic halls but in their private houses. Of the same metals they likewise make\r\nchains and fetters for their slaves, to some of which, as a badge of infamy,\r\nthey hang an earring of gold, and make others wear a chain or a coronet of the\r\nsame metal; and thus they take care by all possible means to render gold and\r\nsilver of no esteem; and from hence it is that while other nations part with\r\ntheir gold and silver as unwillingly as if one tore out their bowels, those of\r\nUtopia would look on their giving in all they possess of those metals (when\r\nthere were any use for them) but as the parting with a trifle, or as we would\r\nesteem the loss of a penny! They find pearls on their coasts, and diamonds and\r\ncarbuncles on their rocks; they do not look after them, but, if they find them\r\nby chance, they polish them, and with them they adorn their children, who are\r\ndelighted with them, and glory in them during their childhood; but when they\r\ngrow to years, and see that none but children use such baubles, they of their\r\nown accord, without being bid by their parents, lay them aside, and would be as\r\nmuch ashamed to use them afterwards as children among us, when they come to\r\nyears, are of their puppets and other toys.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“I never saw a clearer instance of the opposite impressions that\r\ndifferent customs make on people than I observed in the ambassadors of the\r\nAnemolians, who came to Amaurot when I was there. As they came to treat of\r\naffairs of great consequence, the deputies from several towns met together to\r\nwait for their coming. The ambassadors of the nations that lie near Utopia,\r\nknowing their customs, and that fine clothes are in no esteem among them, that\r\nsilk is despised, and gold is a badge of infamy, used to come very modestly\r\nclothed; but the Anemolians, lying more remote, and having had little commerce\r\nwith them, understanding that they were coarsely clothed, and all in the same\r\nmanner, took it for granted that they had none of those fine things among them\r\nof which they made no use; and they, being a vainglorious rather than a wise\r\npeople, resolved to set themselves out with so much pomp that they should look\r\nlike gods, and strike the eyes of the poor Utopians with their splendour. Thus\r\nthree ambassadors made their entry with a hundred attendants, all clad in\r\ngarments of different colours, and the greater part in silk; the ambassadors\r\nthemselves, who were of the nobility of their country, were in cloth-of-gold,\r\nand adorned with massy chains, earrings and rings of gold; their caps were\r\ncovered with bracelets set full of pearls and other gems—in a word, they\r\nwere set out with all those things that among the Utopians were either the\r\nbadges of slavery, the marks of infamy, or the playthings of children. It was\r\nnot unpleasant to see, on the one side, how they looked big, when they compared\r\ntheir rich habits with the plain clothes of the Utopians, who were come out in\r\ngreat numbers to see them make their entry; and, on the other, to observe how\r\nmuch they were mistaken in the impression which they hoped this pomp would have\r\nmade on them. It appeared so ridiculous a show to all that had never stirred\r\nout of their country, and had not seen the customs of other nations, that\r\nthough they paid some reverence to those that were the most meanly clad, as if\r\nthey had been the ambassadors, yet when they saw the ambassadors themselves so\r\nfull of gold and chains, they looked upon them as slaves, and forbore to treat\r\nthem with reverence. You might have seen the children who were grown big enough\r\nto despise their playthings, and who had thrown away their jewels, call to\r\ntheir mothers, push them gently, and cry out, ‘See that great fool, that\r\nwears pearls and gems as if he were yet a child!’ while their mothers\r\nvery innocently replied, ‘Hold your peace! this, I believe, is one of the\r\nambassadors’ fools.’ Others censured the fashion of their chains,\r\nand observed, ‘That they were of no use, for they were too slight to bind\r\ntheir slaves, who could easily break them; and, besides, hung so loose about\r\nthem that they thought it easy to throw their away, and so get from\r\nthem.” But after the ambassadors had stayed a day among them, and saw so\r\nvast a quantity of gold in their houses (which was as much despised by them as\r\nit was esteemed in other nations), and beheld more gold and silver in the\r\nchains and fetters of one slave than all their ornaments amounted to, their\r\nplumes fell, and they were ashamed of all that glory for which they had formed\r\nvalued themselves, and accordingly laid it aside—a resolution that they\r\nimmediately took when, on their engaging in some free discourse with the\r\nUtopians, they discovered their sense of such things and their other customs.\r\nThe Utopians wonder how any man should be so much taken with the glaring\r\ndoubtful lustre of a jewel or a stone, that can look up to a star or to the sun\r\nhimself; or how any should value himself because his cloth is made of a finer\r\nthread; for, how fine soever that thread may be, it was once no better than the\r\nfleece of a sheep, and that sheep, was a sheep still, for all its wearing it.\r\nThey wonder much to hear that gold, which in itself is so useless a thing,\r\nshould be everywhere so much esteemed that even man, for whom it was made, and\r\nby whom it has its value, should yet be thought of less value than this metal;\r\nthat a man of lead, who has no more sense than a log of wood, and is as bad as\r\nhe is foolish, should have many wise and good men to serve him, only because he\r\nhas a great heap of that metal; and that if it should happen that by some\r\naccident or trick of law (which, sometimes produces as great changes as chance\r\nitself) all this wealth should pass from the master to the meanest varlet of\r\nhis whole family, he himself would very soon become one of his servants, as if\r\nhe were a thing that belonged to his wealth, and so were bound to follow its\r\nfortune! But they much more admire and detest the folly of those who, when they\r\nsee a rich man, though they neither owe him anything, nor are in any sort\r\ndependent on his bounty, yet, merely because he is rich, give him little less\r\nthan divine honours, even though they know him to be so covetous and\r\nbase-minded that, notwithstanding all his wealth, he will not part with one\r\nfarthing of it to them as long as he lives!\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“These and such like notions have that people imbibed, partly from their\r\neducation, being bred in a country whose customs and laws are opposite to all\r\nsuch foolish maxims, and partly from their learning and studies—for\r\nthough there are but few in any town that are so wholly excused from labour as\r\nto give themselves entirely up to their studies (these being only such persons\r\nas discover from their childhood an extraordinary capacity and disposition for\r\nletters), yet their children and a great part of the nation, both men and\r\nwomen, are taught to spend those hours in which they are not obliged to work in\r\nreading; and this they do through the whole progress of life. They have all\r\ntheir learning in their own tongue, which is both a copious and pleasant\r\nlanguage, and in which a man can fully express his mind; it runs over a great\r\ntract of many countries, but it is not equally pure in all places. They had\r\nnever so much as heard of the names of any of those philosophers that are so\r\nfamous in these parts of the world, before we went among them; and yet they had\r\nmade the same discoveries as the Greeks, both in music, logic, arithmetic, and\r\ngeometry. But as they are almost in everything equal to the ancient\r\nphilosophers, so they far exceed our modern logicians for they have never yet\r\nfallen upon the barbarous niceties that our youth are forced to learn in those\r\ntrifling logical schools that are among us. They are so far from minding\r\nchimeras and fantastical images made in the mind that none of them could\r\ncomprehend what we meant when we talked to them of a man in the abstract as\r\ncommon to all men in particular (so that though we spoke of him as a thing that\r\nwe could point at with our fingers, yet none of them could perceive him) and\r\nyet distinct from every one, as if he were some monstrous Colossus or giant;\r\nyet, for all this ignorance of these empty notions, they knew astronomy, and\r\nwere perfectly acquainted with the motions of the heavenly bodies; and have\r\nmany instruments, well contrived and divided, by which they very accurately\r\ncompute the course and positions of the sun, moon, and stars. But for the cheat\r\nof divining by the stars, by their oppositions or conjunctions, it has not so\r\nmuch as entered into their thoughts. They have a particular sagacity, founded\r\nupon much observation, in judging of the weather, by which they know when they\r\nmay look for rain, wind, or other alterations in the air; but as to the\r\nphilosophy of these things, the cause of the saltness of the sea, of its ebbing\r\nand flowing, and of the original and nature both of the heavens and the earth,\r\nthey dispute of them partly as our ancient philosophers have done, and partly\r\nupon some new hypothesis, in which, as they differ from them, so they do not in\r\nall things agree among themselves.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“As to moral philosophy, they have the same disputes among them as we\r\nhave here. They examine what are properly good, both for the body and the mind;\r\nand whether any outward thing can be called truly \u003ci\u003egood\u003c/i\u003e, or if that term\r\nbelong only to the endowments of the soul. They inquire, likewise, into the\r\nnature of virtue and pleasure. But their chief dispute is concerning the\r\nhappiness of a man, and wherein it consists—whether in some one thing or\r\nin a great many. They seem, indeed, more inclinable to that opinion that\r\nplaces, if not the whole, yet the chief part, of a man’s happiness in\r\npleasure; and, what may seem more strange, they make use of arguments even from\r\nreligion, notwithstanding its severity and roughness, for the support of that\r\nopinion so indulgent to pleasure; for they never dispute concerning happiness\r\nwithout fetching some arguments from the principles of religion as well as from\r\nnatural reason, since without the former they reckon that all our inquiries\r\nafter happiness must be but conjectural and defective.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“These are their religious principles:—That the soul of man is\r\nimmortal, and that God of His goodness has designed that it should be happy;\r\nand that He has, therefore, appointed rewards for good and virtuous actions,\r\nand punishments for vice, to be distributed after this life. Though these\r\nprinciples of religion are conveyed down among them by tradition, they think\r\nthat even reason itself determines a man to believe and acknowledge them; and\r\nfreely confess that if these were taken away, no man would be so insensible as\r\nnot to seek after pleasure by all possible means, lawful or unlawful, using\r\nonly this caution—that a lesser pleasure might not stand in the way of a\r\ngreater, and that no pleasure ought to be pursued that should draw a great deal\r\nof pain after it; for they think it the maddest thing in the world to pursue\r\nvirtue, that is a sour and difficult thing, and not only to renounce the\r\npleasures of life, but willingly to undergo much pain and trouble, if a man has\r\nno prospect of a reward. And what reward can there be for one that has passed\r\nhis whole life, not only without pleasure, but in pain, if there is nothing to\r\nbe expected after death? Yet they do not place happiness in all sorts of\r\npleasures, but only in those that in themselves are good and honest. There is a\r\nparty among them who place happiness in bare virtue; others think that our\r\nnatures are conducted by virtue to happiness, as that which is the chief good\r\nof man. They define virtue thus—that it is a living according to Nature,\r\nand think that we are made by God for that end; they believe that a man then\r\nfollows the dictates of Nature when he pursues or avoids things according to\r\nthe direction of reason. They say that the first dictate of reason is the\r\nkindling in us a love and reverence for the Divine Majesty, to whom we owe both\r\nall that we have and, all that we can ever hope for. In the next place, reason\r\ndirects us to keep our minds as free from passion and as cheerful as we can,\r\nand that we should consider ourselves as bound by the ties of good-nature and\r\nhumanity to use our utmost endeavours to help forward the happiness of all\r\nother persons; for there never was any man such a morose and severe pursuer of\r\nvirtue, such an enemy to pleasure, that though he set hard rules for men to\r\nundergo, much pain, many watchings, and other rigors, yet did not at the same\r\ntime advise them to do all they could in order to relieve and ease the\r\nmiserable, and who did not represent gentleness and good-nature as amiable\r\ndispositions. And from thence they infer that if a man ought to advance the\r\nwelfare and comfort of the rest of mankind (there being no virtue more proper\r\nand peculiar to our nature than to ease the miseries of others, to free from\r\ntrouble and anxiety, in furnishing them with the comforts of life, in which\r\npleasure consists) Nature much more vigorously leads them to do all this for\r\nhimself. A life of pleasure is either a real evil, and in that case we ought\r\nnot to assist others in their pursuit of it, but, on the contrary, to keep them\r\nfrom it all we can, as from that which is most hurtful and deadly; or if it is\r\na good thing, so that we not only may but ought to help others to it, why,\r\nthen, ought not a man to begin with himself? since no man can be more bound to\r\nlook after the good of another than after his own; for Nature cannot direct us\r\nto be good and kind to others, and yet at the same time to be unmerciful and\r\ncruel to ourselves. Thus as they define virtue to be living according to\r\nNature, so they imagine that Nature prompts all people on to seek after\r\npleasure as the end of all they do. They also observe that in order to our\r\nsupporting the pleasures of life, Nature inclines us to enter into society; for\r\nthere is no man so much raised above the rest of mankind as to be the only\r\nfavourite of Nature, who, on the contrary, seems to have placed on a level all\r\nthose that belong to the same species. Upon this they infer that no man ought\r\nto seek his own conveniences so eagerly as to prejudice others; and therefore\r\nthey think that not only all agreements between private persons ought to be\r\nobserved, but likewise that all those laws ought to be kept which either a good\r\nprince has published in due form, or to which a people that is neither\r\noppressed with tyranny nor circumvented by fraud has consented, for\r\ndistributing those conveniences of life which afford us all our pleasures.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“They think it is an evidence of true wisdom for a man to pursue his own\r\nadvantage as far as the laws allow it, they account it piety to prefer the\r\npublic good to one’s private concerns, but they think it unjust for a man\r\nto seek for pleasure by snatching another man’s pleasures from him; and,\r\non the contrary, they think it a sign of a gentle and good soul for a man to\r\ndispense with his own advantage for the good of others, and that by this means\r\na good man finds as much pleasure one way as he parts with another; for as he\r\nmay expect the like from others when he may come to need it, so, if that should\r\nfail him, yet the sense of a good action, and the reflections that he makes on\r\nthe love and gratitude of those whom he has so obliged, gives the mind more\r\npleasure than the body could have found in that from which it had restrained\r\nitself. They are also persuaded that God will make up the loss of those small\r\npleasures with a vast and endless joy, of which religion easily convinces a\r\ngood soul.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“Thus, upon an inquiry into the whole matter, they reckon that all our\r\nactions, and even all our virtues, terminate in pleasure, as in our chief end\r\nand greatest happiness; and they call every motion or state, either of body or\r\nmind, in which Nature teaches us to delight, a pleasure. Thus they cautiously\r\nlimit pleasure only to those appetites to which Nature leads us; for they say\r\nthat Nature leads us only to those delights to which reason, as well as sense,\r\ncarries us, and by which we neither injure any other person nor lose the\r\npossession of greater pleasures, and of such as draw no troubles after them.\r\nBut they look upon those delights which men by a foolish, though common,\r\nmistake call pleasure, as if they could change as easily the nature of things\r\nas the use of words, as things that greatly obstruct their real happiness,\r\ninstead of advancing it, because they so entirely possess the minds of those\r\nthat are once captivated by them with a false notion of pleasure that there is\r\nno room left for pleasures of a truer or purer kind.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“There are many things that in themselves have nothing that is truly\r\ndelightful; on the contrary, they have a good deal of bitterness in them; and\r\nyet, from our perverse appetites after forbidden objects, are not only ranked\r\namong the pleasures, but are made even the greatest designs, of life. Among\r\nthose who pursue these sophisticated pleasures they reckon such as I mentioned\r\nbefore, who think themselves really the better for having fine clothes; in\r\nwhich they think they are doubly mistaken, both in the opinion they have of\r\ntheir clothes, and in that they have of themselves. For if you consider the use\r\nof clothes, why should a fine thread be thought better than a coarse one? And\r\nyet these men, as if they had some real advantages beyond others, and did not\r\nowe them wholly to their mistakes, look big, seem to fancy themselves to be\r\nmore valuable, and imagine that a respect is due to them for the sake of a rich\r\ngarment, to which they would not have pretended if they had been more meanly\r\nclothed, and even resent it as an affront if that respect is not paid them. It\r\nis also a great folly to be taken with outward marks of respect, which signify\r\nnothing; for what true or real pleasure can one man find in another’s\r\nstanding bare or making legs to him? Will the bending another man’s knees\r\ngive ease to yours? and will the head’s being bare cure the madness of\r\nyours? And yet it is wonderful to see how this false notion of pleasure\r\nbewitches many who delight themselves with the fancy of their nobility, and are\r\npleased with this conceit—that they are descended from ancestors who have\r\nbeen held for some successions rich, and who have had great possessions; for\r\nthis is all that makes nobility at present. Yet they do not think themselves a\r\nwhit the less noble, though their immediate parents have left none of this\r\nwealth to them, or though they themselves have squandered it away. The Utopians\r\nhave no better opinion of those who are much taken with gems and precious\r\nstones, and who account it a degree of happiness next to a divine one if they\r\ncan purchase one that is very extraordinary, especially if it be of that sort\r\nof stones that is then in greatest request, for the same sort is not at all\r\ntimes universally of the same value, nor will men buy it unless it be\r\ndismounted and taken out of the gold. The jeweller is then made to give good\r\nsecurity, and required solemnly to swear that the stone is true, that, by such\r\nan exact caution, a false one might not be bought instead of a true; though, if\r\nyou were to examine it, your eye could find no difference between the\r\ncounterfeit and that which is true; so that they are all one to you, as much as\r\nif you were blind. Or can it be thought that they who heap up a useless mass of\r\nwealth, not for any use that it is to bring them, but merely to please\r\nthemselves with the contemplation of it, enjoy any true pleasure in it? The\r\ndelight they find is only a false shadow of joy. Those are no better whose\r\nerror is somewhat different from the former, and who hide it out of their fear\r\nof losing it; for what other name can fit the hiding it in the earth, or,\r\nrather, the restoring it to it again, it being thus cut off from being useful\r\neither to its owner or to the rest of mankind? And yet the owner, having hid it\r\ncarefully, is glad, because he thinks he is now sure of it. If it should be\r\nstole, the owner, though he might live perhaps ten years after the theft, of\r\nwhich he knew nothing, would find no difference between his having or losing\r\nit, for both ways it was equally useless to him.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“Among those foolish pursuers of pleasure they reckon all that delight in\r\nhunting, in fowling, or gaming, of whose madness they have only heard, for they\r\nhave no such things among them. But they have asked us, ‘What sort of\r\npleasure is it that men can find in throwing the dice?’ (for if there\r\nwere any pleasure in it, they think the doing it so often should give one a\r\nsurfeit of it); ‘and what pleasure can one find in hearing the barking\r\nand howling of dogs, which seem rather odious than pleasant sounds?’ Nor\r\ncan they comprehend the pleasure of seeing dogs run after a hare, more than of\r\nseeing one dog run after another; for if the seeing them run is that which\r\ngives the pleasure, you have the same entertainment to the eye on both these\r\noccasions, since that is the same in both cases. But if the pleasure lies in\r\nseeing the hare killed and torn by the dogs, this ought rather to stir pity,\r\nthat a weak, harmless, and fearful hare should be devoured by strong, fierce,\r\nand cruel dogs. Therefore all this business of hunting is, among the Utopians,\r\nturned over to their butchers, and those, as has been already said, are all\r\nslaves, and they look on hunting as one of the basest parts of a\r\nbutcher’s work, for they account it both more profitable and more decent\r\nto kill those beasts that are more necessary and useful to mankind, whereas the\r\nkilling and tearing of so small and miserable an animal can only attract the\r\nhuntsman with a false show of pleasure, from which he can reap but small\r\nadvantage. They look on the desire of the bloodshed, even of beasts, as a mark\r\nof a mind that is already corrupted with cruelty, or that at least, by too\r\nfrequent returns of so brutal a pleasure, must degenerate into it.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“Thus though the rabble of mankind look upon these, and on innumerable\r\nother things of the same nature, as pleasures, the Utopians, on the contrary,\r\nobserving that there is nothing in them truly pleasant, conclude that they are\r\nnot to be reckoned among pleasures; for though these things may create some\r\ntickling in the senses (which seems to be a true notion of pleasure), yet they\r\nimagine that this does not arise from the thing itself, but from a depraved\r\ncustom, which may so vitiate a man’s taste that bitter things may pass\r\nfor sweet, as women with child think pitch or tallow taste sweeter than honey;\r\nbut as a man’s sense, when corrupted either by a disease or some ill\r\nhabit, does not change the nature of other things, so neither can it change the\r\nnature of pleasure.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“They reckon up several sorts of pleasures, which they call true ones;\r\nsome belong to the body, and others to the mind. The pleasures of the mind lie\r\nin knowledge, and in that delight which the contemplation of truth carries with\r\nit; to which they add the joyful reflections on a well-spent life, and the\r\nassured hopes of a future happiness. They divide the pleasures of the body into\r\ntwo sorts—the one is that which gives our senses some real delight, and\r\nis performed either by recruiting Nature and supplying those parts which feed\r\nthe internal heat of life by eating and drinking, or when Nature is eased of\r\nany surcharge that oppresses it, when we are relieved from sudden pain, or that\r\nwhich arises from satisfying the appetite which Nature has wisely given to lead\r\nus to the propagation of the species. There is another kind of pleasure that\r\narises neither from our receiving what the body requires, nor its being\r\nrelieved when overcharged, and yet, by a secret unseen virtue, affects the\r\nsenses, raises the passions, and strikes the mind with generous\r\nimpressions—this is, the pleasure that arises from music. Another kind of\r\nbodily pleasure is that which results from an undisturbed and vigorous\r\nconstitution of body, when life and active spirits seem to actuate every part.\r\nThis lively health, when entirely free from all mixture of pain, of itself\r\ngives an inward pleasure, independent of all external objects of delight; and\r\nthough this pleasure does not so powerfully affect us, nor act so strongly on\r\nthe senses as some of the others, yet it may be esteemed as the greatest of all\r\npleasures; and almost all the Utopians reckon it the foundation and basis of\r\nall the other joys of life, since this alone makes the state of life easy and\r\ndesirable, and when this is wanting, a man is really capable of no other\r\npleasure. They look upon freedom from pain, if it does not rise from perfect\r\nhealth, to be a state of stupidity rather than of pleasure. This subject has\r\nbeen very narrowly canvassed among them, and it has been debated whether a firm\r\nand entire health could be called a pleasure or not. Some have thought that\r\nthere was no pleasure but what was ‘excited’ by some sensible\r\nmotion in the body. But this opinion has been long ago excluded from among\r\nthem; so that now they almost universally agree that health is the greatest of\r\nall bodily pleasures; and that as there is a pain in sickness which is as\r\nopposite in its nature to pleasure as sickness itself is to health, so they\r\nhold that health is accompanied with pleasure. And if any should say that\r\nsickness is not really pain, but that it only carries pain along with it, they\r\nlook upon that as a fetch of subtlety that does not much alter the matter. It\r\nis all one, in their opinion, whether it be said that health is in itself a\r\npleasure, or that it begets a pleasure, as fire gives heat, so it be granted\r\nthat all those whose health is entire have a true pleasure in the enjoyment of\r\nit. And they reason thus:—‘What is the pleasure of eating, but that\r\na man’s health, which had been weakened, does, with the assistance of\r\nfood, drive away hunger, and so recruiting itself, recovers its former vigour?\r\nAnd being thus refreshed it finds a pleasure in that conflict; and if the\r\nconflict is pleasure, the victory must yet breed a greater pleasure, except we\r\nfancy that it becomes stupid as soon as it has obtained that which it pursued,\r\nand so neither knows nor rejoices in its own welfare.’ If it is said that\r\nhealth cannot be felt, they absolutely deny it; for what man is in health, that\r\ndoes not perceive it when he is awake? Is there any man that is so dull and\r\nstupid as not to acknowledge that he feels a delight in health? And what is\r\ndelight but another name for pleasure?\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“But, of all pleasures, they esteem those to be most valuable that lie in\r\nthe mind, the chief of which arise out of true virtue and the witness of a good\r\nconscience. They account health the chief pleasure that belongs to the body;\r\nfor they think that the pleasure of eating and drinking, and all the other\r\ndelights of sense, are only so far desirable as they give or maintain health;\r\nbut they are not pleasant in themselves otherwise than as they resist those\r\nimpressions that our natural infirmities are still making upon us. For as a\r\nwise man desires rather to avoid diseases than to take physic, and to be freed\r\nfrom pain rather than to find ease by remedies, so it is more desirable not to\r\nneed this sort of pleasure than to be obliged to indulge it. If any man\r\nimagines that there is a real happiness in these enjoyments, he must then\r\nconfess that he would be the happiest of all men if he were to lead his life in\r\nperpetual hunger, thirst, and itching, and, by consequence, in perpetual\r\neating, drinking, and scratching himself; which any one may easily see would be\r\nnot only a base, but a miserable, state of a life. These are, indeed, the\r\nlowest of pleasures, and the least pure, for we can never relish them but when\r\nthey are mixed with the contrary pains. The pain of hunger must give us the\r\npleasure of eating, and here the pain out-balances the pleasure. And as the\r\npain is more vehement, so it lasts much longer; for as it begins before the\r\npleasure, so it does not cease but with the pleasure that extinguishes it, and\r\nboth expire together. They think, therefore, none of those pleasures are to be\r\nvalued any further than as they are necessary; yet they rejoice in them, and\r\nwith due gratitude acknowledge the tenderness of the great Author of Nature,\r\nwho has planted in us appetites, by which those things that are necessary for\r\nour preservation are likewise made pleasant to us. For how miserable a thing\r\nwould life be if those daily diseases of hunger and thirst were to be carried\r\noff by such bitter drugs as we must use for those diseases that return seldomer\r\nupon us! And thus these pleasant, as well as proper, gifts of Nature maintain\r\nthe strength and the sprightliness of our bodies.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“They also entertain themselves with the other delights let in at their\r\neyes, their ears, and their nostrils as the pleasant relishes and seasoning of\r\nlife, which Nature seems to have marked out peculiarly for man, since no other\r\nsort of animals contemplates the figure and beauty of the universe, nor is\r\ndelighted with smells any further than as they distinguish meats by them; nor\r\ndo they apprehend the concords or discords of sound. Yet, in all pleasures\r\nwhatsoever, they take care that a lesser joy does not hinder a greater, and\r\nthat pleasure may never breed pain, which they think always follows dishonest\r\npleasures. But they think it madness for a man to wear out the beauty of his\r\nface or the force of his natural strength, to corrupt the sprightliness of his\r\nbody by sloth and laziness, or to waste it by fasting; that it is madness to\r\nweaken the strength of his constitution and reject the other delights of life,\r\nunless by renouncing his own satisfaction he can either serve the public or\r\npromote the happiness of others, for which he expects a greater recompense from\r\nGod. So that they look on such a course of life as the mark of a mind that is\r\nboth cruel to itself and ungrateful to the Author of Nature, as if we would not\r\nbe beholden to Him for His favours, and therefore rejects all His blessings; as\r\none who should afflict himself for the empty shadow of virtue, or for no better\r\nend than to render himself capable of bearing those misfortunes which possibly\r\nwill never happen.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“This is their notion of virtue and of pleasure: they think that no\r\nman’s reason can carry him to a truer idea of them unless some discovery\r\nfrom heaven should inspire him with sublimer notions. I have not now the\r\nleisure to examine whether they think right or wrong in this matter; nor do I\r\njudge it necessary, for I have only undertaken to give you an account of their\r\nconstitution, but not to defend all their principles. I am sure that whatever\r\nmay be said of their notions, there is not in the whole world either a better\r\npeople or a happier government. Their bodies are vigorous and lively; and\r\nthough they are but of a middle stature, and have neither the fruitfullest soil\r\nnor the purest air in the world; yet they fortify themselves so well, by their\r\ntemperate course of life, against the unhealthiness of their air, and by their\r\nindustry they so cultivate their soil, that there is nowhere to be seen a\r\ngreater increase, both of corn and cattle, nor are there anywhere healthier men\r\nand freer from diseases; for one may there see reduced to practice not only all\r\nthe art that the husbandman employs in manuring and improving an ill soil, but\r\nwhole woods plucked up by the roots, and in other places new ones planted,\r\nwhere there were none before. Their principal motive for this is the\r\nconvenience of carriage, that their timber may be either near their towns or\r\ngrowing on the banks of the sea, or of some rivers, so as to be floated to\r\nthem; for it is a harder work to carry wood at any distance over land than\r\ncorn. The people are industrious, apt to learn, as well as cheerful and\r\npleasant, and none can endure more labour when it is necessary; but, except in\r\nthat case, they love their ease. They are unwearied pursuers of knowledge; for\r\nwhen we had given them some hints of the learning and discipline of the Greeks,\r\nconcerning whom we only instructed them (for we know that there was nothing\r\namong the Romans, except their historians and their poets, that they would\r\nvalue much), it was strange to see how eagerly they were set on learning that\r\nlanguage: we began to read a little of it to them, rather in compliance with\r\ntheir importunity than out of any hopes of their reaping from it any great\r\nadvantage: but, after a very short trial, we found they made such progress,\r\nthat we saw our labour was like to be more successful than we could have\r\nexpected: they learned to write their characters and to pronounce their\r\nlanguage so exactly, had so quick an apprehension, they remembered it so\r\nfaithfully, and became so ready and correct in the use of it, that it would\r\nhave looked like a miracle if the greater part of those whom we taught had not\r\nbeen men both of extraordinary capacity and of a fit age for instruction: they\r\nwere, for the greatest part, chosen from among their learned men by their chief\r\ncouncil, though some studied it of their own accord. In three years’ time\r\nthey became masters of the whole language, so that they read the best of the\r\nGreek authors very exactly. I am, indeed, apt to think that they learned that\r\nlanguage the more easily from its having some relation to their own. I believe\r\nthat they were a colony of the Greeks; for though their language comes nearer\r\nthe Persian, yet they retain many names, both for their towns and magistrates,\r\nthat are of Greek derivation. I happened to carry a great many books with me,\r\ninstead of merchandise, when I sailed my fourth voyage; for I was so far from\r\nthinking of soon coming back, that I rather thought never to have returned at\r\nall, and I gave them all my books, among which were many of Plato’s and\r\nsome of Aristotle’s works: I had also Theophrastus on Plants, which, to\r\nmy great regret, was imperfect; for having laid it carelessly by, while we were\r\nat sea, a monkey had seized upon it, and in many places torn out the leaves.\r\nThey have no books of grammar but Lascares, for I did not carry Theodorus with\r\nme; nor have they any dictionaries but Hesichius and Dioscerides. They esteem\r\nPlutarch highly, and were much taken with Lucian’s wit and with his\r\npleasant way of writing. As for the poets, they have Aristophanes, Homer,\r\nEuripides, and Sophocles of Aldus’s edition; and for historians,\r\nThucydides, Herodotus, and Herodian. One of my companions, Thricius Apinatus,\r\nhappened to carry with him some of Hippocrates’s works and Galen’s\r\nMicrotechne, which they hold in great estimation; for though there is no nation\r\nin the world that needs physic so little as they do, yet there is not any that\r\nhonours it so much; they reckon the knowledge of it one of the pleasantest and\r\nmost profitable parts of philosophy, by which, as they search into the secrets\r\nof nature, so they not only find this study highly agreeable, but think that\r\nsuch inquiries are very acceptable to the Author of nature; and imagine, that\r\nas He, like the inventors of curious engines amongst mankind, has exposed this\r\ngreat machine of the universe to the view of the only creatures capable of\r\ncontemplating it, so an exact and curious observer, who admires His\r\nworkmanship, is much more acceptable to Him than one of the herd, who, like a\r\nbeast incapable of reason, looks on this glorious scene with the eyes of a dull\r\nand unconcerned spectator.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“The minds of the Utopians, when fenced with a love for learning, are\r\nvery ingenious in discovering all such arts as are necessary to carry it to\r\nperfection. Two things they owe to us, the manufacture of paper and the art of\r\nprinting; yet they are not so entirely indebted to us for these discoveries but\r\nthat a great part of the invention was their own. We showed them some books\r\nprinted by Aldus, we explained to them the way of making paper and the mystery\r\nof printing; but, as we had never practised these arts, we described them in a\r\ncrude and superficial manner. They seized the hints we gave them; and though at\r\nfirst they could not arrive at perfection, yet by making many essays they at\r\nlast found out and corrected all their errors and conquered every difficulty.\r\nBefore this they only wrote on parchment, on reeds, or on the barks of trees;\r\nbut now they have established the manufactures of paper and set up printing\r\npresses, so that, if they had but a good number of Greek authors, they would be\r\nquickly supplied with many copies of them: at present, though they have no more\r\nthan those I have mentioned, yet, by several impressions, they have multiplied\r\nthem into many thousands. If any man was to go among them that had some\r\nextraordinary talent, or that by much travelling had observed the customs of\r\nmany nations (which made us to be so well received), he would receive a hearty\r\nwelcome, for they are very desirous to know the state of the whole world. Very\r\nfew go among them on the account of traffic; for what can a man carry to them\r\nbut iron, or gold, or silver? which merchants desire rather to export than\r\nimport to a strange country: and as for their exportation, they think it better\r\nto manage that themselves than to leave it to foreigners, for by this means, as\r\nthey understand the state of the neighbouring countries better, so they keep up\r\nthe art of navigation which cannot be maintained but by much practice.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\u003c!–end chapter–\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"chapter\"\u003e\r\n\u003ch2\u003e\u003ca id=\"chap08\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003eOF THEIR SLAVES, AND OF THEIR MARRIAGES\u003c/h2\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“They do not make slaves of prisoners of war, except those that are taken\r\nin battle, nor of the sons of their slaves, nor of those of other nations: the\r\nslaves among them are only such as are condemned to that state of life for the\r\ncommission of some crime, or, which is more common, such as their merchants\r\nfind condemned to die in those parts to which they trade, whom they sometimes\r\nredeem at low rates, and in other places have them for nothing. They are kept\r\nat perpetual labour, and are always chained, but with this difference, that\r\ntheir own natives are treated much worse than others: they are considered as\r\nmore profligate than the rest, and since they could not be restrained by the\r\nadvantages of so excellent an education, are judged worthy of harder usage.\r\nAnother sort of slaves are the poor of the neighbouring countries, who offer of\r\ntheir own accord to come and serve them: they treat these better, and use them\r\nin all other respects as well as their own countrymen, except their imposing\r\nmore labour upon them, which is no hard task to those that have been accustomed\r\nto it; and if any of these have a mind to go back to their own country, which,\r\nindeed, falls out but seldom, as they do not force them to stay, so they do not\r\nsend them away empty-handed.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“I have already told you with what care they look after their sick, so\r\nthat nothing is left undone that can contribute either to their ease or health;\r\nand for those who are taken with fixed and incurable diseases, they use all\r\npossible ways to cherish them and to make their lives as comfortable as\r\npossible. They visit them often and take great pains to make their time pass\r\noff easily; but when any is taken with a torturing and lingering pain, so that\r\nthere is no hope either of recovery or ease, the priests and magistrates come\r\nand exhort them, that, since they are now unable to go on with the business of\r\nlife, are become a burden to themselves and to all about them, and they have\r\nreally out-lived themselves, they should no longer nourish such a rooted\r\ndistemper, but choose rather to die since they cannot live but in much misery;\r\nbeing assured that if they thus deliver themselves from torture, or are willing\r\nthat others should do it, they shall be happy after death: since, by their\r\nacting thus, they lose none of the pleasures, but only the troubles of life,\r\nthey think they behave not only reasonably but in a manner consistent with\r\nreligion and piety; because they follow the advice given them by their priests,\r\nwho are the expounders of the will of God. Such as are wrought on by these\r\npersuasions either starve themselves of their own accord, or take opium, and by\r\nthat means die without pain. But no man is forced on this way of ending his\r\nlife; and if they cannot be persuaded to it, this does not induce them to fail\r\nin their attendance and care of them: but as they believe that a voluntary\r\ndeath, when it is chosen upon such an authority, is very honourable, so if any\r\nman takes away his own life without the approbation of the priests and the\r\nsenate, they give him none of the honours of a decent funeral, but throw his\r\nbody into a ditch.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“Their women are not married before eighteen nor their men before\r\ntwo-and-twenty, and if any of them run into forbidden embraces before marriage\r\nthey are severely punished, and the privilege of marriage is denied them unless\r\nthey can obtain a special warrant from the Prince. Such disorders cast a great\r\nreproach upon the master and mistress of the family in which they happen, for\r\nit is supposed that they have failed in their duty. The reason of punishing\r\nthis so severely is, because they think that if they were not strictly\r\nrestrained from all vagrant appetites, very few would engage in a state in\r\nwhich they venture the quiet of their whole lives, by being confined to one\r\nperson, and are obliged to endure all the inconveniences with which it is\r\naccompanied. In choosing their wives they use a method that would appear to us\r\nvery absurd and ridiculous, but it is constantly observed among them, and is\r\naccounted perfectly consistent with wisdom. Before marriage some grave matron\r\npresents the bride, naked, whether she is a virgin or a widow, to the\r\nbridegroom, and after that some grave man presents the bridegroom, naked, to\r\nthe bride. We, indeed, both laughed at this, and condemned it as very indecent.\r\nBut they, on the other hand, wondered at the folly of the men of all other\r\nnations, who, if they are but to buy a horse of a small value, are so cautious\r\nthat they will see every part of him, and take off both his saddle and all his\r\nother tackle, that there may be no secret ulcer hid under any of them, and that\r\nyet in the choice of a wife, on which depends the happiness or unhappiness of\r\nthe rest of his life, a man should venture upon trust, and only see about a\r\nhandsbreadth of the face, all the rest of the body being covered, under which\r\nmay lie hid what may be contagious as well as loathsome. All men are not so\r\nwise as to choose a woman only for her good qualities, and even wise men\r\nconsider the body as that which adds not a little to the mind, and it is\r\ncertain there may be some such deformity covered with clothes as may totally\r\nalienate a man from his wife, when it is too late to part with her; if such a\r\nthing is discovered after marriage a man has no remedy but patience; they,\r\ntherefore, think it is reasonable that there should be good provision made\r\nagainst such mischievous frauds.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“There was so much the more reason for them to make a regulation in this\r\nmatter, because they are the only people of those parts that neither allow of\r\npolygamy nor of divorces, except in the case of adultery or insufferable\r\nperverseness, for in these cases the Senate dissolves the marriage and grants\r\nthe injured person leave to marry again; but the guilty are made infamous and\r\nare never allowed the privilege of a second marriage. None are suffered to put\r\naway their wives against their wills, from any great calamity that may have\r\nfallen on their persons, for they look on it as the height of cruelty and\r\ntreachery to abandon either of the married persons when they need most the\r\ntender care of their consort, and that chiefly in the case of old age, which,\r\nas it carries many diseases along with it, so it is a disease of itself. But it\r\nfrequently falls out that when a married couple do not well agree, they, by\r\nmutual consent, separate, and find out other persons with whom they hope they\r\nmay live more happily; yet this is not done without obtaining leave of the\r\nSenate, which never admits of a divorce but upon a strict inquiry made, both by\r\nthe senators and their wives, into the grounds upon which it is desired, and\r\neven when they are satisfied concerning the reasons of it they go on but\r\nslowly, for they imagine that too great easiness in granting leave for new\r\nmarriages would very much shake the kindness of married people. They punish\r\nseverely those that defile the marriage bed; if both parties are married they\r\nare divorced, and the injured persons may marry one another, or whom they\r\nplease, but the adulterer and the adulteress are condemned to slavery, yet if\r\neither of the injured persons cannot shake off the love of the married person\r\nthey may live with them still in that state, but they must follow them to that\r\nlabour to which the slaves are condemned, and sometimes the repentance of the\r\ncondemned, together with the unshaken kindness of the innocent and injured\r\nperson, has prevailed so far with the Prince that he has taken off the\r\nsentence; but those that relapse after they are once pardoned are punished with\r\ndeath.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“Their law does not determine the punishment for other crimes, but that\r\nis left to the Senate, to temper it according to the circumstances of the fact.\r\nHusbands have power to correct their wives and parents to chastise their\r\nchildren, unless the fault is so great that a public punishment is thought\r\nnecessary for striking terror into others. For the most part slavery is the\r\npunishment even of the greatest crimes, for as that is no less terrible to the\r\ncriminals themselves than death, so they think the preserving them in a state\r\nof servitude is more for the interest of the commonwealth than killing them,\r\nsince, as their labour is a greater benefit to the public than their death\r\ncould be, so the sight of their misery is a more lasting terror to other men\r\nthan that which would be given by their death. If their slaves rebel, and will\r\nnot bear their yoke and submit to the labour that is enjoined them, they are\r\ntreated as wild beasts that cannot be kept in order, neither by a prison nor by\r\ntheir chains, and are at last put to death. But those who bear their punishment\r\npatiently, and are so much wrought on by that pressure that lies so hard on\r\nthem, that it appears they are really more troubled for the crimes they have\r\ncommitted than for the miseries they suffer, are not out of hope, but that, at\r\nlast, either the Prince will, by his prerogative, or the people, by their\r\nintercession, restore them again to their liberty, or, at least, very much\r\nmitigate their slavery. He that tempts a married woman to adultery is no less\r\nseverely punished than he that commits it, for they believe that a deliberate\r\ndesign to commit a crime is equal to the fact itself, since its not taking\r\neffect does not make the person that miscarried in his attempt at all the less\r\nguilty.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“They take great pleasure in fools, and as it is thought a base and\r\nunbecoming thing to use them ill, so they do not think it amiss for people to\r\ndivert themselves with their folly; and, in their opinion, this is a great\r\nadvantage to the fools themselves; for if men were so sullen and severe as not\r\nat all to please themselves with their ridiculous behaviour and foolish\r\nsayings, which is all that they can do to recommend themselves to others, it\r\ncould not be expected that they would be so well provided for nor so tenderly\r\nused as they must otherwise be. If any man should reproach another for his\r\nbeing misshaped or imperfect in any part of his body, it would not at all be\r\nthought a reflection on the person so treated, but it would be accounted\r\nscandalous in him that had upbraided another with what he could not help. It is\r\nthought a sign of a sluggish and sordid mind not to preserve carefully\r\none’s natural beauty; but it is likewise infamous among them to use\r\npaint. They all see that no beauty recommends a wife so much to her husband as\r\nthe probity of her life and her obedience; for as some few are caught and held\r\nonly by beauty, so all are attracted by the other excellences which charm all\r\nthe world.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“As they fright men from committing crimes by punishments, so they invite\r\nthem to the love of virtue by public honours; therefore they erect statues to\r\nthe memories of such worthy men as have deserved well of their country, and set\r\nthese in their market-places, both to perpetuate the remembrance of their\r\nactions and to be an incitement to their posterity to follow their example.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“If any man aspires to any office he is sure never to compass it. They\r\nall live easily together, for none of the magistrates are either insolent or\r\ncruel to the people; they affect rather to be called fathers, and, by being\r\nreally so, they well deserve the name; and the people pay them all the marks of\r\nhonour the more freely because none are exacted from them. The Prince himself\r\nhas no distinction, either of garments or of a crown; but is only distinguished\r\nby a sheaf of corn carried before him; as the High Priest is also known by his\r\nbeing preceded by a person carrying a wax light.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“They have but few laws, and such is their constitution that they need\r\nnot many. They very much condemn other nations whose laws, together with the\r\ncommentaries on them, swell up to so many volumes; for they think it an\r\nunreasonable thing to oblige men to obey a body of laws that are both of such a\r\nbulk, and so dark as not to be read and understood by every one of the\r\nsubjects.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“They have no lawyers among them, for they consider them as a sort of\r\npeople whose profession it is to disguise matters and to wrest the laws, and,\r\ntherefore, they think it is much better that every man should plead his own\r\ncause, and trust it to the judge, as in other places the client trusts it to a\r\ncounsellor; by this means they both cut off many delays and find out truth more\r\ncertainly; for after the parties have laid open the merits of the cause,\r\nwithout those artifices which lawyers are apt to suggest, the judge examines\r\nthe whole matter, and supports the simplicity of such well-meaning persons,\r\nwhom otherwise crafty men would be sure to run down; and thus they avoid those\r\nevils which appear very remarkably among all those nations that labour under a\r\nvast load of laws. Every one of them is skilled in their law; for, as it is a\r\nvery short study, so the plainest meaning of which words are capable is always\r\nthe sense of their laws; and they argue thus: all laws are promulgated for this\r\nend, that every man may know his duty; and, therefore, the plainest and most\r\nobvious sense of the words is that which ought to be put upon them, since a\r\nmore refined exposition cannot be easily comprehended, and would only serve to\r\nmake the laws become useless to the greater part of mankind, and especially to\r\nthose who need most the direction of them; for it is all one not to make a law\r\nat all or to couch it in such terms that, without a quick apprehension and much\r\nstudy, a man cannot find out the true meaning of it, since the generality of\r\nmankind are both so dull, and so much employed in their several trades, that\r\nthey have neither the leisure nor the capacity requisite for such an inquiry.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“Some of their neighbours, who are masters of their own liberties (having\r\nlong ago, by the assistance of the Utopians, shaken off the yoke of tyranny,\r\nand being much taken with those virtues which they observe among them), have\r\ncome to desire that they would send magistrates to govern them, some changing\r\nthem every year, and others every five years; at the end of their government\r\nthey bring them back to Utopia, with great expressions of honour and esteem,\r\nand carry away others to govern in their stead. In this they seem to have\r\nfallen upon a very good expedient for their own happiness and safety; for since\r\nthe good or ill condition of a nation depends so much upon their magistrates,\r\nthey could not have made a better choice than by pitching on men whom no\r\nadvantages can bias; for wealth is of no use to them, since they must so soon\r\ngo back to their own country, and they, being strangers among them, are not\r\nengaged in any of their heats or animosities; and it is certain that when\r\npublic judicatories are swayed, either by avarice or partial affections, there\r\nmust follow a dissolution of justice, the chief sinew of society.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“The Utopians call those nations that come and ask magistrates from them\r\nNeighbours; but those to whom they have been of more particular service,\r\nFriends; and as all other nations are perpetually either making leagues or\r\nbreaking them, they never enter into an alliance with any state. They think\r\nleagues are useless things, and believe that if the common ties of humanity do\r\nnot knit men together, the faith of promises will have no great effect; and\r\nthey are the more confirmed in this by what they see among the nations round\r\nabout them, who are no strict observers of leagues and treaties. We know how\r\nreligiously they are observed in Europe, more particularly where the Christian\r\ndoctrine is received, among whom they are sacred and inviolable! which is\r\npartly owing to the justice and goodness of the princes themselves, and partly\r\nto the reverence they pay to the popes, who, as they are the most religious\r\nobservers of their own promises, so they exhort all other princes to perform\r\ntheirs, and, when fainter methods do not prevail, they compel them to it by the\r\nseverity of the pastoral censure, and think that it would be the most indecent\r\nthing possible if men who are particularly distinguished by the title of\r\n‘The Faithful’ should not religiously keep the faith of their\r\ntreaties. But in that new-found world, which is not more distant from us in\r\nsituation than the people are in their manners and course of life, there is no\r\ntrusting to leagues, even though they were made with all the pomp of the most\r\nsacred ceremonies; on the contrary, they are on this account the sooner broken,\r\nsome slight pretence being found in the words of the treaties, which are\r\npurposely couched in such ambiguous terms that they can never be so strictly\r\nbound but they will always find some loophole to escape at, and thus they break\r\nboth their leagues and their faith; and this is done with such impudence, that\r\nthose very men who value themselves on having suggested these expedients to\r\ntheir princes would, with a haughty scorn, declaim against such craft; or, to\r\nspeak plainer, such fraud and deceit, if they found private men make use of it\r\nin their bargains, and would readily say that they deserved to be hanged.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“By this means it is that all sort of justice passes in the world for a\r\nlow-spirited and vulgar virtue, far below the dignity of royal\r\ngreatness—or at least there are set up two sorts of justice; the one is\r\nmean and creeps on the ground, and, therefore, becomes none but the lower part\r\nof mankind, and so must be kept in severely by many restraints, that it may not\r\nbreak out beyond the bounds that are set to it; the other is the peculiar\r\nvirtue of princes, which, as it is more majestic than that which becomes the\r\nrabble, so takes a freer compass, and thus lawful and unlawful are only\r\nmeasured by pleasure and interest. These practices of the princes that lie\r\nabout Utopia, who make so little account of their faith, seem to be the reasons\r\nthat determine them to engage in no confederacy. Perhaps they would change\r\ntheir mind if they lived among us; but yet, though treaties were more\r\nreligiously observed, they would still dislike the custom of making them, since\r\nthe world has taken up a false maxim upon it, as if there were no tie of nature\r\nuniting one nation to another, only separated perhaps by a mountain or a river,\r\nand that all were born in a state of hostility, and so might lawfully do all\r\nthat mischief to their neighbours against which there is no provision made by\r\ntreaties; and that when treaties are made they do not cut off the enmity or\r\nrestrain the licence of preying upon each other, if, by the unskilfulness of\r\nwording them, there are not effectual provisoes made against them; they, on the\r\nother hand, judge that no man is to be esteemed our enemy that has never\r\ninjured us, and that the partnership of human nature is instead of a league;\r\nand that kindness and good nature unite men more effectually and with greater\r\nstrength than any agreements whatsoever, since thereby the engagements of\r\nmen’s hearts become stronger than the bond and obligation of words.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\u003c!–end chapter–\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"chapter\"\u003e\r\n\u003ch2\u003e\u003ca id=\"chap09\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003eOF THEIR MILITARY DISCIPLINE\u003c/h2\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\nThey detest war as a very brutal thing, and which, to the reproach of human\r\nnature, is more practised by men than by any sort of beasts. They, in\r\nopposition to the sentiments of almost all other nations, think that there is\r\nnothing more inglorious than that glory that is gained by war; and therefore,\r\nthough they accustom themselves daily to military exercises and the discipline\r\nof war, in which not only their men, but their women likewise, are trained up,\r\nthat, in cases of necessity, they may not be quite useless, yet they do not\r\nrashly engage in war, unless it be either to defend themselves or their friends\r\nfrom any unjust aggressors, or, out of good nature or in compassion, assist an\r\noppressed nation in shaking off the yoke of tyranny. They, indeed, help their\r\nfriends not only in defensive but also in offensive wars; but they never do\r\nthat unless they had been consulted before the breach was made, and, being\r\nsatisfied with the grounds on which they went, they had found that all demands\r\nof reparation were rejected, so that a war was unavoidable. This they think to\r\nbe not only just when one neighbour makes an inroad on another by public order,\r\nand carries away the spoils, but when the merchants of one country are\r\noppressed in another, either under pretence of some unjust laws, or by the\r\nperverse wresting of good ones. This they count a juster cause of war than the\r\nother, because those injuries are done under some colour of laws. This was the\r\nonly ground of that war in which they engaged with the Nephelogetes against the\r\nAleopolitanes, a little before our time; for the merchants of the former\r\nhaving, as they thought, met with great injustice among the latter, which\r\n(whether it was in itself right or wrong) drew on a terrible war, in which many\r\nof their neighbours were engaged; and their keenness in carrying it on being\r\nsupported by their strength in maintaining it, it not only shook some very\r\nflourishing states and very much afflicted others, but, after a series of much\r\nmischief ended in the entire conquest and slavery of the Aleopolitanes, who,\r\nthough before the war they were in all respects much superior to the\r\nNephelogetes, were yet subdued; but, though the Utopians had assisted them in\r\nthe war, yet they pretended to no share of the spoil.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“But, though they so vigorously assist their friends in obtaining\r\nreparation for the injuries they have received in affairs of this nature, yet,\r\nif any such frauds were committed against themselves, provided no violence was\r\ndone to their persons, they would only, on their being refused satisfaction,\r\nforbear trading with such a people. This is not because they consider their\r\nneighbours more than their own citizens; but, since their neighbours trade\r\nevery one upon his own stock, fraud is a more sensible injury to them than it\r\nis to the Utopians, among whom the public, in such a case, only suffers, as\r\nthey expect no thing in return for the merchandise they export but that in\r\nwhich they so much abound, and is of little use to them, the loss does not much\r\naffect them. They think, therefore, it would be too severe to revenge a loss\r\nattended with so little inconvenience, either to their lives or their\r\nsubsistence, with the death of many persons; but if any of their people are\r\neither killed or wounded wrongfully, whether it be done by public authority, or\r\nonly by private men, as soon as they hear of it they send ambassadors, and\r\ndemand that the guilty persons may be delivered up to them, and if that is\r\ndenied, they declare war; but if it be complied with, the offenders are\r\ncondemned either to death or slavery.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“They would be both troubled and ashamed of a bloody victory over their\r\nenemies; and think it would be as foolish a purchase as to buy the most\r\nvaluable goods at too high a rate. And in no victory do they glory so much as\r\nin that which is gained by dexterity and good conduct without bloodshed. In\r\nsuch cases they appoint public triumphs, and erect trophies to the honour of\r\nthose who have succeeded; for then do they reckon that a man acts suitably to\r\nhis nature, when he conquers his enemy in such a way as that no other creature\r\nbut a man could be capable of, and that is by the strength of his\r\nunderstanding. Bears, lions, boars, wolves, and dogs, and all other animals,\r\nemploy their bodily force one against another, in which, as many of them are\r\nsuperior to men, both in strength and fierceness, so they are all subdued by\r\nhis reason and understanding.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“The only design of the Utopians in war is to obtain that by force which,\r\nif it had been granted them in time, would have prevented the war; or, if that\r\ncannot be done, to take so severe a revenge on those that have injured them\r\nthat they may be terrified from doing the like for the time to come. By these\r\nends they measure all their designs, and manage them so, that it is visible\r\nthat the appetite of fame or vainglory does not work so much on there as a just\r\ncare of their own security.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“As soon as they declare war, they take care to have a great many\r\nschedules, that are sealed with their common seal, affixed in the most\r\nconspicuous places of their enemies’ country. This is carried secretly,\r\nand done in many places all at once. In these they promise great rewards to\r\nsuch as shall kill the prince, and lesser in proportion to such as shall kill\r\nany other persons who are those on whom, next to the prince himself, they cast\r\nthe chief balance of the war. And they double the sum to him that, instead of\r\nkilling the person so marked out, shall take him alive, and put him in their\r\nhands. They offer not only indemnity, but rewards, to such of the persons\r\nthemselves that are so marked, if they will act against their countrymen. By\r\nthis means those that are named in their schedules become not only distrustful\r\nof their fellow-citizens, but are jealous of one another, and are much\r\ndistracted by fear and danger; for it has often fallen out that many of them,\r\nand even the prince himself, have been betrayed, by those in whom they have\r\ntrusted most; for the rewards that the Utopians offer are so immeasurably\r\ngreat, that there is no sort of crime to which men cannot be drawn by them.\r\nThey consider the risk that those run who undertake such services, and offer a\r\nrecompense proportioned to the danger—not only a vast deal of gold, but\r\ngreat revenues in lands, that lie among other nations that are their friends,\r\nwhere they may go and enjoy them very securely; and they observe the promises\r\nthey make of their kind most religiously. They very much approve of this way of\r\ncorrupting their enemies, though it appears to others to be base and cruel; but\r\nthey look on it as a wise course, to make an end of what would be otherwise a\r\nlong war, without so much as hazarding one battle to decide it. They think it\r\nlikewise an act of mercy and love to mankind to prevent the great slaughter of\r\nthose that must otherwise be killed in the progress of the war, both on their\r\nown side and on that of their enemies, by the death of a few that are most\r\nguilty; and that in so doing they are kind even to their enemies, and pity them\r\nno less than their own people, as knowing that the greater part of them do not\r\nengage in the war of their own accord, but are driven into it by the passions\r\nof their prince.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“If this method does not succeed with them, then they sow seeds of\r\ncontention among their enemies, and animate the prince’s brother, or some\r\nof the nobility, to aspire to the crown. If they cannot disunite them by\r\ndomestic broils, then they engage their neighbours against them, and make them\r\nset on foot some old pretensions, which are never wanting to princes when they\r\nhave occasion for them. These they plentifully supply with money, though but\r\nvery sparingly with any auxiliary troops; for they are so tender of their own\r\npeople that they would not willingly exchange one of them, even with the prince\r\nof their enemies’ country.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“But as they keep their gold and silver only for such an occasion, so,\r\nwhen that offers itself, they easily part with it; since it would be no\r\nconvenience to them, though they should reserve nothing of it to themselves.\r\nFor besides the wealth that they have among them at home, they have a vast\r\ntreasure abroad; many nations round about them being deep in their debt: so\r\nthat they hire soldiers from all places for carrying on their wars; but chiefly\r\nfrom the Zapolets, who live five hundred miles east of Utopia. They are a rude,\r\nwild, and fierce nation, who delight in the woods and rocks, among which they\r\nwere born and bred up. They are hardened both against heat, cold, and labour,\r\nand know nothing of the delicacies of life. They do not apply themselves to\r\nagriculture, nor do they care either for their houses or their clothes: cattle\r\nis all that they look after; and for the greatest part they live either by\r\nhunting or upon rapine; and are made, as it were, only for war. They watch all\r\nopportunities of engaging in it, and very readily embrace such as are offered\r\nthem. Great numbers of them will frequently go out, and offer themselves for a\r\nvery low pay, to serve any that will employ them: they know none of the arts of\r\nlife, but those that lead to the taking it away; they serve those that hire\r\nthem, both with much courage and great fidelity; but will not engage to serve\r\nfor any determined time, and agree upon such terms, that the next day they may\r\ngo over to the enemies of those whom they serve if they offer them a greater\r\nencouragement; and will, perhaps, return to them the day after that upon a\r\nhigher advance of their pay. There are few wars in which they make not a\r\nconsiderable part of the armies of both sides: so it often falls out that they\r\nwho are related, and were hired in the same country, and so have lived long and\r\nfamiliarly together, forgetting both their relations and former friendship,\r\nkill one another upon no other consideration than that of being hired to it for\r\na little money by princes of different interests; and such a regard have they\r\nfor money that they are easily wrought on by the difference of one penny a day\r\nto change sides. So entirely does their avarice influence them; and yet this\r\nmoney, which they value so highly, is of little use to them; for what they\r\npurchase thus with their blood they quickly waste on luxury, which among them\r\nis but of a poor and miserable form.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“This nation serves the Utopians against all people whatsoever, for they\r\npay higher than any other. The Utopians hold this for a maxim, that as they\r\nseek out the best sort of men for their own use at home, so they make use of\r\nthis worst sort of men for the consumption of war; and therefore they hire them\r\nwith the offers of vast rewards to expose themselves to all sorts of hazards,\r\nout of which the greater part never returns to claim their promises; yet they\r\nmake them good most religiously to such as escape. This animates them to\r\nadventure again, whenever there is occasion for it; for the Utopians are not at\r\nall troubled how many of these happen to be killed, and reckon it a service\r\ndone to mankind if they could be a means to deliver the world from such a lewd\r\nand vicious sort of people, that seem to have run together, as to the drain of\r\nhuman nature. Next to these, they are served in their wars with those upon\r\nwhose account they undertake them, and with the auxiliary troops of their other\r\nfriends, to whom they join a few of their own people, and send some man of\r\neminent and approved virtue to command in chief. There are two sent with him,\r\nwho, during his command, are but private men, but the first is to succeed him\r\nif he should happen to be either killed or taken; and, in case of the like\r\nmisfortune to him, the third comes in his place; and thus they provide against\r\nall events, that such accidents as may befall their generals may not endanger\r\ntheir armies. When they draw out troops of their own people, they take such out\r\nof every city as freely offer themselves, for none are forced to go against\r\ntheir wills, since they think that if any man is pressed that wants courage, he\r\nwill not only act faintly, but by his cowardice dishearten others. But if an\r\ninvasion is made on their country, they make use of such men, if they have good\r\nbodies, though they are not brave; and either put them aboard their ships, or\r\nplace them on the walls of their towns, that being so posted, they may find no\r\nopportunity of flying away; and thus either shame, the heat of action, or the\r\nimpossibility of flying, bears down their cowardice; they often make a virtue\r\nof necessity, and behave themselves well, because nothing else is left them.\r\nBut as they force no man to go into any foreign war against his will, so they\r\ndo not hinder those women who are willing to go along with their husbands; on\r\nthe contrary, they encourage and praise them, and they stand often next their\r\nhusbands in the front of the army. They also place together those who are\r\nrelated, parents, and children, kindred, and those that are mutually allied,\r\nnear one another; that those whom nature has inspired with the greatest zeal\r\nfor assisting one another may be the nearest and readiest to do it; and it is\r\nmatter of great reproach if husband or wife survive one another, or if a child\r\nsurvives his parent, and therefore when they come to be engaged in action, they\r\ncontinue to fight to the last man, if their enemies stand before them: and as\r\nthey use all prudent methods to avoid the endangering their own men, and if it\r\nis possible let all the action and danger fall upon the troops that they hire,\r\nso if it becomes necessary for themselves to engage, they then charge with as\r\nmuch courage as they avoided it before with prudence: nor is it a fierce charge\r\nat first, but it increases by degrees; and as they continue in action, they\r\ngrow more obstinate, and press harder upon the enemy, insomuch that they will\r\nmuch sooner die than give ground; for the certainty that their children will be\r\nwell looked after when they are dead frees them from all that anxiety\r\nconcerning them which often masters men of great courage; and thus they are\r\nanimated by a noble and invincible resolution. Their skill in military affairs\r\nincreases their courage: and the wise sentiments which, according to the laws\r\nof their country, are instilled into them in their education, give additional\r\nvigour to their minds: for as they do not undervalue life so as prodigally to\r\nthrow it away, they are not so indecently fond of it as to preserve it by base\r\nand unbecoming methods. In the greatest heat of action the bravest of their\r\nyouth, who have devoted themselves to that service, single out the general of\r\ntheir enemies, set on him either openly or by ambuscade; pursue him everywhere,\r\nand when spent and wearied out, are relieved by others, who never give over the\r\npursuit, either attacking him with close weapons when they can get near him, or\r\nwith those which wound at a distance, when others get in between them. So that,\r\nunless he secures himself by flight, they seldom fail at last to kill or to\r\ntake him prisoner. When they have obtained a victory, they kill as few as\r\npossible, and are much more bent on taking many prisoners than on killing those\r\nthat fly before them. Nor do they ever let their men so loose in the pursuit of\r\ntheir enemies as not to retain an entire body still in order; so that if they\r\nhave been forced to engage the last of their battalions before they could gain\r\nthe day, they will rather let their enemies all escape than pursue them when\r\ntheir own army is in disorder; remembering well what has often fallen out to\r\nthemselves, that when the main body of their army has been quite defeated and\r\nbroken, when their enemies, imagining the victory obtained, have let themselves\r\nloose into an irregular pursuit, a few of them that lay for a reserve, waiting\r\na fit opportunity, have fallen on them in their chase, and when straggling in\r\ndisorder, and apprehensive of no danger, but counting the day their own, have\r\nturned the whole action, and, wresting out of their hands a victory that seemed\r\ncertain and undoubted, while the vanquished have suddenly become victorious.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“It is hard to tell whether they are more dexterous in laying or avoiding\r\nambushes. They sometimes seem to fly when it is far from their thoughts; and\r\nwhen they intend to give ground, they do it so that it is very hard to find out\r\ntheir design. If they see they are ill posted, or are like to be overpowered by\r\nnumbers, they then either march off in the night with great silence, or by some\r\nstratagem delude their enemies. If they retire in the day-time, they do it in\r\nsuch order that it is no less dangerous to fall upon them in a retreat than in\r\na march. They fortify their camps with a deep and large trench; and throw up\r\nthe earth that is dug out of it for a wall; nor do they employ only their\r\nslaves in this, but the whole army works at it, except those that are then upon\r\nthe guard; so that when so many hands are at work, a great line and a strong\r\nfortification is finished in so short a time that it is scarce credible. Their\r\narmour is very strong for defence, and yet is not so heavy as to make them\r\nuneasy in their marches; they can even swim with it. All that are trained up to\r\nwar practise swimming. Both horse and foot make great use of arrows, and are\r\nvery expert. They have no swords, but fight with a pole-axe that is both sharp\r\nand heavy, by which they thrust or strike down an enemy. They are very good at\r\nfinding out warlike machines, and disguise them so well that the enemy does not\r\nperceive them till he feels the use of them; so that he cannot prepare such a\r\ndefence as would render them useless; the chief consideration had in the making\r\nthem is that they may be easily carried and managed.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“If they agree to a truce, they observe it so religiously that no\r\nprovocations will make them break it. They never lay their enemies’\r\ncountry waste nor burn their corn, and even in their marches they take all\r\npossible care that neither horse nor foot may tread it down, for they do not\r\nknow but that they may have use for it themselves. They hurt no man whom they\r\nfind disarmed, unless he is a spy. When a town is surrendered to them, they\r\ntake it into their protection; and when they carry a place by storm they never\r\nplunder it, but put those only to the sword that oppose the rendering of it up,\r\nand make the rest of the garrison slaves, but for the other inhabitants, they\r\ndo them no hurt; and if any of them had advised a surrender, they give them\r\ngood rewards out of the estates of those that they condemn, and distribute the\r\nrest among their auxiliary troops, but they themselves take no share of the\r\nspoil.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“When a war is ended, they do not oblige their friends to reimburse their\r\nexpenses; but they obtain them of the conquered, either in money, which they\r\nkeep for the next occasion, or in lands, out of which a constant revenue is to\r\nbe paid them; by many increases the revenue which they draw out from several\r\ncountries on such occasions is now risen to above 700,000 ducats a year. They\r\nsend some of their own people to receive these revenues, who have orders to\r\nlive magnificently and like princes, by which means they consume much of it\r\nupon the place; and either bring over the rest to Utopia or lend it to that\r\nnation in which it lies. This they most commonly do, unless some great\r\noccasion, which falls out but very seldom, should oblige them to call for it\r\nall. It is out of these lands that they assign rewards to such as they\r\nencourage to adventure on desperate attempts. If any prince that engages in war\r\nwith them is making preparations for invading their country, they prevent him,\r\nand make his country the seat of the war; for they do not willingly suffer any\r\nwar to break in upon their island; and if that should happen, they would only\r\ndefend themselves by their own people; but would not call for auxiliary troops\r\nto their assistance.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\u003c!–end chapter–\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv class=\"chapter\"\u003e\r\n\u003ch2\u003e\u003ca id=\"chap10\"\u003e\u003c/a\u003eOF THE RELIGIONS OF THE UTOPIANS\u003c/h2\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“There are several sorts of religions, not only in different parts of the\r\nisland, but even in every town; some worshipping the sun, others the moon or\r\none of the planets. Some worship such men as have been eminent in former times\r\nfor virtue or glory, not only as ordinary deities, but as the supreme god. Yet\r\nthe greater and wiser sort of them worship none of these, but adore one\r\neternal, invisible, infinite, and incomprehensible Deity; as a Being that is\r\nfar above all our apprehensions, that is spread over the whole universe, not by\r\nHis bulk, but by His power and virtue; Him they call the Father of All, and\r\nacknowledge that the beginnings, the increase, the progress, the vicissitudes,\r\nand the end of all things come only from Him; nor do they offer divine honours\r\nto any but to Him alone. And, indeed, though they differ concerning other\r\nthings, yet all agree in this: that they think there is one Supreme Being that\r\nmade and governs the world, whom they call, in the language of their country,\r\nMithras. They differ in this: that one thinks the god whom he worships is this\r\nSupreme Being, and another thinks that his idol is that god; but they all agree\r\nin one principle, that whoever is this Supreme Being, He is also that great\r\nessence to whose glory and majesty all honours are ascribed by the consent of\r\nall nations.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“By degrees they fall off from the various superstitions that are among\r\nthem, and grow up to that one religion that is the best and most in request;\r\nand there is no doubt to be made, but that all the others had vanished long\r\nago, if some of those who advised them to lay aside their superstitions had not\r\nmet with some unhappy accidents, which, being considered as inflicted by\r\nheaven, made them afraid that the god whose worship had like to have been\r\nabandoned had interposed and revenged themselves on those who despised their\r\nauthority.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“After they had heard from us an account of the doctrine, the course of\r\nlife, and the miracles of Christ, and of the wonderful constancy of so many\r\nmartyrs, whose blood, so willingly offered up by them, was the chief occasion\r\nof spreading their religion over a vast number of nations, it is not to be\r\nimagined how inclined they were to receive it. I shall not determine whether\r\nthis proceeded from any secret inspiration of God, or whether it was because it\r\nseemed so favourable to that community of goods, which is an opinion so\r\nparticular as well as so dear to them; since they perceived that Christ and His\r\nfollowers lived by that rule, and that it was still kept up in some communities\r\namong the sincerest sort of Christians. From whichsoever of these motives it\r\nmight be, true it is, that many of them came over to our religion, and were\r\ninitiated into it by baptism. But as two of our number were dead, so none of\r\nthe four that survived were in priests’ orders, we, therefore, could only\r\nbaptise them, so that, to our great regret, they could not partake of the other\r\nsacraments, that can only be administered by priests, but they are instructed\r\nconcerning them and long most vehemently for them. They have had great disputes\r\namong themselves, whether one chosen by them to be a priest would not be\r\nthereby qualified to do all the things that belong to that character, even\r\nthough he had no authority derived from the Pope, and they seemed to be\r\nresolved to choose some for that employment, but they had not done it when I\r\nleft them.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“Those among them that have not received our religion do not fright any\r\nfrom it, and use none ill that goes over to it, so that all the while I was\r\nthere one man was only punished on this occasion. He being newly baptised did,\r\nnotwithstanding all that we could say to the contrary, dispute publicly\r\nconcerning the Christian religion, with more zeal than discretion, and with so\r\nmuch heat, that he not only preferred our worship to theirs, but condemned all\r\ntheir rites as profane, and cried out against all that adhered to them as\r\nimpious and sacrilegious persons, that were to be damned to everlasting\r\nburnings. Upon his having frequently preached in this manner he was seized, and\r\nafter trial he was condemned to banishment, not for having disparaged their\r\nreligion, but for his inflaming the people to sedition; for this is one of\r\ntheir most ancient laws, that no man ought to be punished for his religion. At\r\nthe first constitution of their government, Utopus having understood that\r\nbefore his coming among them the old inhabitants had been engaged in great\r\nquarrels concerning religion, by which they were so divided among themselves,\r\nthat he found it an easy thing to conquer them, since, instead of uniting their\r\nforces against him, every different party in religion fought by themselves.\r\nAfter he had subdued them he made a law that every man might be of what\r\nreligion he pleased, and might endeavour to draw others to it by the force of\r\nargument and by amicable and modest ways, but without bitterness against those\r\nof other opinions; but that he ought to use no other force but that of\r\npersuasion, and was neither to mix with it reproaches nor violence; and such as\r\ndid otherwise were to be condemned to banishment or slavery.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“This law was made by Utopus, not only for preserving the public peace,\r\nwhich he saw suffered much by daily contentions and irreconcilable heats, but\r\nbecause he thought the interest of religion itself required it. He judged it\r\nnot fit to determine anything rashly; and seemed to doubt whether those\r\ndifferent forms of religion might not all come from God, who might inspire man\r\nin a different manner, and be pleased with this variety; he therefore thought\r\nit indecent and foolish for any man to threaten and terrify another to make him\r\nbelieve what did not appear to him to be true. And supposing that only one\r\nreligion was really true, and the rest false, he imagined that the native force\r\nof truth would at last break forth and shine bright, if supported only by the\r\nstrength of argument, and attended to with a gentle and unprejudiced mind;\r\nwhile, on the other hand, if such debates were carried on with violence and\r\ntumults, as the most wicked are always the most obstinate, so the best and most\r\nholy religion might be choked with superstition, as corn is with briars and\r\nthorns; he therefore left men wholly to their liberty, that they might be free\r\nto believe as they should see cause; only he made a solemn and severe law\r\nagainst such as should so far degenerate from the dignity of human nature, as\r\nto think that our souls died with our bodies, or that the world was governed by\r\nchance, without a wise overruling Providence: for they all formerly believed\r\nthat there was a state of rewards and punishments to the good and bad after\r\nthis life; and they now look on those that think otherwise as scarce fit to be\r\ncounted men, since they degrade so noble a being as the soul, and reckon it no\r\nbetter than a beast’s: thus they are far from looking on such men as fit\r\nfor human society, or to be citizens of a well-ordered commonwealth; since a\r\nman of such principles must needs, as oft as he dares do it, despise all their\r\nlaws and customs: for there is no doubt to be made, that a man who is afraid of\r\nnothing but the law, and apprehends nothing after death, will not scruple to\r\nbreak through all the laws of his country, either by fraud or force, when by\r\nthis means he may satisfy his appetites. They never raise any that hold these\r\nmaxims, either to honours or offices, nor employ them in any public trust, but\r\ndespise them, as men of base and sordid minds. Yet they do not punish them,\r\nbecause they lay this down as a maxim, that a man cannot make himself believe\r\nanything he pleases; nor do they drive any to dissemble their thoughts by\r\nthreatenings, so that men are not tempted to lie or disguise their opinions;\r\nwhich being a sort of fraud, is abhorred by the Utopians: they take care indeed\r\nto prevent their disputing in defence of these opinions, especially before the\r\ncommon people: but they suffer, and even encourage them to dispute concerning\r\nthem in private with their priest, and other grave men, being confident that\r\nthey will be cured of those mad opinions by having reason laid before them.\r\nThere are many among them that run far to the other extreme, though it is\r\nneither thought an ill nor unreasonable opinion, and therefore is not at all\r\ndiscouraged. They think that the souls of beasts are immortal, though far\r\ninferior to the dignity of the human soul, and not capable of so great a\r\nhappiness. They are almost all of them very firmly persuaded that good men will\r\nbe infinitely happy in another state: so that though they are compassionate to\r\nall that are sick, yet they lament no man’s death, except they see him\r\nloath to part with life; for they look on this as a very ill presage, as if the\r\nsoul, conscious to itself of guilt, and quite hopeless, was afraid to leave the\r\nbody, from some secret hints of approaching misery. They think that such a\r\nman’s appearance before God cannot be acceptable to Him, who being called\r\non, does not go out cheerfully, but is backward and unwilling, and is as it\r\nwere dragged to it. They are struck with horror when they see any die in this\r\nmanner, and carry them out in silence and with sorrow, and praying God that He\r\nwould be merciful to the errors of the departed soul, they lay the body in the\r\nground: but when any die cheerfully, and full of hope, they do not mourn for\r\nthem, but sing hymns when they carry out their bodies, and commending their\r\nsouls very earnestly to God: their whole behaviour is then rather grave than\r\nsad, they burn the body, and set up a pillar where the pile was made, with an\r\ninscription to the honour of the deceased. When they come from the funeral,\r\nthey discourse of his good life, and worthy actions, but speak of nothing\r\noftener and with more pleasure than of his serenity at the hour of death. They\r\nthink such respect paid to the memory of good men is both the greatest\r\nincitement to engage others to follow their example, and the most acceptable\r\nworship that can be offered them; for they believe that though by the\r\nimperfection of human sight they are invisible to us, yet they are present\r\namong us, and hear those discourses that pass concerning themselves. They\r\nbelieve it inconsistent with the happiness of departed souls not to be at\r\nliberty to be where they will: and do not imagine them capable of the\r\ningratitude of not desiring to see those friends with whom they lived on earth\r\nin the strictest bonds of love and kindness: besides, they are persuaded that\r\ngood men, after death, have these affections; and all other good dispositions\r\nincreased rather than diminished, and therefore conclude that they are still\r\namong the living, and observe all they say or do. From hence they engage in all\r\ntheir affairs with the greater confidence of success, as trusting to their\r\nprotection; while this opinion of the presence of their ancestors is a\r\nrestraint that prevents their engaging in ill designs.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“They despise and laugh at auguries, and the other vain and superstitious\r\nways of divination, so much observed among other nations; but have great\r\nreverence for such miracles as cannot flow from any of the powers of nature,\r\nand look on them as effects and indications of the presence of the Supreme\r\nBeing, of which they say many instances have occurred among them; and that\r\nsometimes their public prayers, which upon great and dangerous occasions they\r\nhave solemnly put up to God, with assured confidence of being heard, have been\r\nanswered in a miraculous manner.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“They think the contemplating God in His works, and the adoring Him for\r\nthem, is a very acceptable piece of worship to Him.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“There are many among them that upon a motive of religion neglect\r\nlearning, and apply themselves to no sort of study; nor do they allow\r\nthemselves any leisure time, but are perpetually employed, believing that by\r\nthe good things that a man does he secures to himself that happiness that comes\r\nafter death. Some of these visit the sick; others mend highways, cleanse\r\nditches, repair bridges, or dig turf, gravel, or stone. Others fell and cleave\r\ntimber, and bring wood, corn, and other necessaries, on carts, into their\r\ntowns; nor do these only serve the public, but they serve even private men,\r\nmore than the slaves themselves do: for if there is anywhere a rough, hard, and\r\nsordid piece of work to be done, from which many are frightened by the labour\r\nand loathsomeness of it, if not the despair of accomplishing it, they\r\ncheerfully, and of their own accord, take that to their share; and by that\r\nmeans, as they ease others very much, so they afflict themselves, and spend\r\ntheir whole life in hard labour: and yet they do not value themselves upon\r\nthis, nor lessen other people’s credit to raise their own; but by their\r\nstooping to such servile employments they are so far from being despised, that\r\nthey are so much the more esteemed by the whole nation.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“Of these there are two sorts: some live unmarried and chaste, and\r\nabstain from eating any sort of flesh; and thus weaning themselves from all the\r\npleasures of the present life, which they account hurtful, they pursue, even by\r\nthe hardest and painfullest methods possible, that blessedness which they hope\r\nfor hereafter; and the nearer they approach to it, they are the more cheerful\r\nand earnest in their endeavours after it. Another sort of them is less willing\r\nto put themselves to much toil, and therefore prefer a married state to a\r\nsingle one; and as they do not deny themselves the pleasure of it, so they\r\nthink the begetting of children is a debt which they owe to human nature, and\r\nto their country; nor do they avoid any pleasure that does not hinder labour;\r\nand therefore eat flesh so much the more willingly, as they find that by this\r\nmeans they are the more able to work: the Utopians look upon these as the wiser\r\nsect, but they esteem the others as the most holy. They would indeed laugh at\r\nany man who, from the principles of reason, would prefer an unmarried state to\r\na married, or a life of labour to an easy life: but they reverence and admire\r\nsuch as do it from the motives of religion. There is nothing in which they are\r\nmore cautious than in giving their opinion positively concerning any sort of\r\nreligion. The men that lead those severe lives are called in the language of\r\ntheir country Brutheskas, which answers to those we call Religious Orders.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“Their priests are men of eminent piety, and therefore they are but few,\r\nfor there are only thirteen in every town, one for every temple; but when they\r\ngo to war, seven of these go out with their forces, and seven others are chosen\r\nto supply their room in their absence; but these enter again upon their\r\nemployments when they return; and those who served in their absence, attend\r\nupon the high priest, till vacancies fall by death; for there is one set over\r\nthe rest. They are chosen by the people as the other magistrates are, by\r\nsuffrages given in secret, for preventing of factions: and when they are\r\nchosen, they are consecrated by the college of priests. The care of all sacred\r\nthings, the worship of God, and an inspection into the manners of the people,\r\nare committed to them. It is a reproach to a man to be sent for by any of them,\r\nor for them to speak to him in secret, for that always gives some suspicion:\r\nall that is incumbent on them is only to exhort and admonish the people; for\r\nthe power of correcting and punishing ill men belongs wholly to the Prince, and\r\nto the other magistrates: the severest thing that the priest does is the\r\nexcluding those that are desperately wicked from joining in their worship:\r\nthere is not any sort of punishment more dreaded by them than this, for as it\r\nloads them with infamy, so it fills them with secret horrors, such is their\r\nreverence to their religion; nor will their bodies be long exempted from their\r\nshare of trouble; for if they do not very quickly satisfy the priests of the\r\ntruth of their repentance, they are seized on by the Senate, and punished for\r\ntheir impiety. The education of youth belongs to the priests, yet they do not\r\ntake so much care of instructing them in letters, as in forming their minds and\r\nmanners aright; they use all possible methods to infuse, very early, into the\r\ntender and flexible minds of children, such opinions as are both good in\r\nthemselves and will be useful to their country, for when deep impressions of\r\nthese things are made at that age, they follow men through the whole course of\r\ntheir lives, and conduce much to preserve the peace of the government, which\r\nsuffers by nothing more than by vices that rise out of ill opinions. The wives\r\nof their priests are the most extraordinary women of the whole country;\r\nsometimes the women themselves are made priests, though that falls out but\r\nseldom, nor are any but ancient widows chosen into that order.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“None of the magistrates have greater honour paid them than is paid the\r\npriests; and if they should happen to commit any crime, they would not be\r\nquestioned for it; their punishment is left to God, and to their own\r\nconsciences; for they do not think it lawful to lay hands on any man, how\r\nwicked soever he is, that has been in a peculiar manner dedicated to God; nor\r\ndo they find any great inconvenience in this, both because they have so few\r\npriests, and because these are chosen with much caution, so that it must be a\r\nvery unusual thing to find one who, merely out of regard to his virtue, and for\r\nhis being esteemed a singularly good man, was raised up to so great a dignity,\r\ndegenerate into corruption and vice; and if such a thing should fall out, for\r\nman is a changeable creature, yet, there being few priests, and these having no\r\nauthority but what rises out of the respect that is paid them, nothing of great\r\nconsequence to the public can proceed from the indemnity that the priests\r\nenjoy.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“They have, indeed, very few of them, lest greater numbers sharing in the\r\nsame honour might make the dignity of that order, which they esteem so highly,\r\nto sink in its reputation; they also think it difficult to find out many of\r\nsuch an exalted pitch of goodness as to be equal to that dignity, which demands\r\nthe exercise of more than ordinary virtues. Nor are the priests in greater\r\nveneration among them than they are among their neighbouring nations, as you\r\nmay imagine by that which I think gives occasion for it.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“When the Utopians engage in battle, the priests who accompany them to\r\nthe war, apparelled in their sacred vestments, kneel down during the action (in\r\na place not far from the field), and, lifting up their hands to heaven, pray,\r\nfirst for peace, and then for victory to their own side, and particularly that\r\nit may be gained without the effusion of much blood on either side; and when\r\nthe victory turns to their side, they run in among their own men to restrain\r\ntheir fury; and if any of their enemies see them or call to them, they are\r\npreserved by that means; and such as can come so near them as to touch their\r\ngarments have not only their lives, but their fortunes secured to them; it is\r\nupon this account that all the nations round about consider them so much, and\r\ntreat them with such reverence, that they have been often no less able to\r\npreserve their own people from the fury of their enemies than to save their\r\nenemies from their rage; for it has sometimes fallen out, that when their\r\narmies have been in disorder and forced to fly, so that their enemies were\r\nrunning upon the slaughter and spoil, the priests by interposing have separated\r\nthem from one another, and stopped the effusion of more blood; so that, by\r\ntheir mediation, a peace has been concluded on very reasonable terms; nor is\r\nthere any nation about them so fierce, cruel, or barbarous, as not to look upon\r\ntheir persons as sacred and inviolable.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“The first and the last day of the month, and of the year, is a festival;\r\nthey measure their months by the course of the moon, and their years by the\r\ncourse of the sun: the first days are called in their language the Cynemernes,\r\nand the last the Trapemernes, which answers in our language, to the festival\r\nthat begins or ends the season.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“They have magnificent temples, that are not only nobly built, but\r\nextremely spacious, which is the more necessary as they have so few of them;\r\nthey are a little dark within, which proceeds not from any error in the\r\narchitecture, but is done with design; for their priests think that too much\r\nlight dissipates the thoughts, and that a more moderate degree of it both\r\nrecollects the mind and raises devotion. Though there are many different forms\r\nof religion among them, yet all these, how various soever, agree in the main\r\npoint, which is the worshipping the Divine Essence; and, therefore, there is\r\nnothing to be seen or heard in their temples in which the several persuasions\r\namong them may not agree; for every sect performs those rites that are peculiar\r\nto it in their private houses, nor is there anything in the public worship that\r\ncontradicts the particular ways of those different sects. There are no images\r\nfor God in their temples, so that every one may represent Him to his thoughts\r\naccording to the way of his religion; nor do they call this one God by any\r\nother name but that of Mithras, which is the common name by which they all\r\nexpress the Divine Essence, whatsoever otherwise they think it to be; nor are\r\nthere any prayers among them but such as every one of them may use without\r\nprejudice to his own opinion.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“They meet in their temples on the evening of the festival that concludes\r\na season, and not having yet broke their fast, they thank God for their good\r\nsuccess during that year or month which is then at an end; and the next day,\r\nbeing that which begins the new season, they meet early in their temples, to\r\npray for the happy progress of all their affairs during that period upon which\r\nthey then enter. In the festival which concludes the period, before they go to\r\nthe temple, both wives and children fall on their knees before their husbands\r\nor parents and confess everything in which they have either erred or failed in\r\ntheir duty, and beg pardon for it. Thus all little discontents in families are\r\nremoved, that they may offer up their devotions with a pure and serene mind;\r\nfor they hold it a great impiety to enter upon them with disturbed thoughts, or\r\nwith a consciousness of their bearing hatred or anger in their hearts to any\r\nperson whatsoever; and think that they should become liable to severe\r\npunishments if they presumed to offer sacrifices without cleansing their\r\nhearts, and reconciling all their differences. In the temples the two sexes are\r\nseparated, the men go to the right hand, and the women to the left; and the\r\nmales and females all place themselves before the head and master or mistress\r\nof the family to which they belong, so that those who have the government of\r\nthem at home may see their deportment in public. And they intermingle them so,\r\nthat the younger and the older may be set by one another; for if the younger\r\nsort were all set together, they would, perhaps, trifle away that time too much\r\nin which they ought to beget in themselves that religious dread of the Supreme\r\nBeing which is the greatest and almost the only incitement to virtue.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“They offer up no living creature in sacrifice, nor do they think it\r\nsuitable to the Divine Being, from whose bounty it is that these creatures have\r\nderived their lives, to take pleasure in their deaths, or the offering up their\r\nblood. They burn incense and other sweet odours, and have a great number of wax\r\nlights during their worship, not out of any imagination that such oblations can\r\nadd anything to the divine nature (which even prayers cannot do), but as it is\r\na harmless and pure way of worshipping God; so they think those sweet savours\r\nand lights, together with some other ceremonies, by a secret and unaccountable\r\nvirtue, elevate men’s souls, and inflame them with greater energy and\r\ncheerfulness during the divine worship.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“All the people appear in the temples in white garments; but the\r\npriest’s vestments are parti-coloured, and both the work and colours are\r\nwonderful. They are made of no rich materials, for they are neither embroidered\r\nnor set with precious stones; but are composed of the plumes of several birds,\r\nlaid together with so much art, and so neatly, that the true value of them is\r\nfar beyond the costliest materials. They say, that in the ordering and placing\r\nthose plumes some dark mysteries are represented, which pass down among their\r\npriests in a secret tradition concerning them; and that they are as\r\nhieroglyphics, putting them in mind of the blessing that they have received\r\nfrom God, and of their duties, both to Him and to their neighbours. As soon as\r\nthe priest appears in those ornaments, they all fall prostrate on the ground,\r\nwith so much reverence and so deep a silence, that such as look on cannot but\r\nbe struck with it, as if it were the effect of the appearance of a deity. After\r\nthey have been for some time in this posture, they all stand up, upon a sign\r\ngiven by the priest, and sing hymns to the honour of God, some musical\r\ninstruments playing all the while. These are quite of another form than those\r\nused among us; but, as many of them are much sweeter than ours, so others are\r\nmade use of by us. Yet in one thing they very much exceed us: all their music,\r\nboth vocal and instrumental, is adapted to imitate and express the passions,\r\nand is so happily suited to every occasion, that, whether the subject of the\r\nhymn be cheerful, or formed to soothe or trouble the mind, or to express grief\r\nor remorse, the music takes the impression of whatever is represented, affects\r\nand kindles the passions, and works the sentiments deep into the hearts of the\r\nhearers. When this is done, both priests and people offer up very solemn\r\nprayers to God in a set form of words; and these are so composed, that\r\nwhatsoever is pronounced by the whole assembly may be likewise applied by every\r\nman in particular to his own condition. In these they acknowledge God to be the\r\nauthor and governor of the world, and the fountain of all the good they\r\nreceive, and therefore offer up to him their thanksgiving; and, in particular,\r\nbless him for His goodness in ordering it so, that they are born under the\r\nhappiest government in the world, and are of a religion which they hope is the\r\ntruest of all others; but, if they are mistaken, and if there is either a\r\nbetter government, or a religion more acceptable to God, they implore His\r\ngoodness to let them know it, vowing that they resolve to follow him\r\nwhithersoever he leads them; but if their government is the best, and their\r\nreligion the truest, then they pray that He may fortify them in it, and bring\r\nall the world both to the same rules of life, and to the same opinions\r\nconcerning Himself, unless, according to the unsearchableness of His mind, He\r\nis pleased with a variety of religions. Then they pray that God may give them\r\nan easy passage at last to Himself, not presuming to set limits to Him, how\r\nearly or late it should be; but, if it may be wished for without derogating\r\nfrom His supreme authority, they desire to be quickly delivered, and to be\r\ntaken to Himself, though by the most terrible kind of death, rather than to be\r\ndetained long from seeing Him by the most prosperous course of life. When this\r\nprayer is ended, they all fall down again upon the ground; and, after a little\r\nwhile, they rise up, go home to dinner, and spend the rest of the day in\r\ndiversion or military exercises.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“Thus have I described to you, as particularly as I could, the\r\nConstitution of that commonwealth, which I do not only think the best in the\r\nworld, but indeed the only commonwealth that truly deserves that name. In all\r\nother places it is visible that, while people talk of a commonwealth, every man\r\nonly seeks his own wealth; but there, where no man has any property, all men\r\nzealously pursue the good of the public, and, indeed, it is no wonder to see\r\nmen act so differently, for in other commonwealths every man knows that, unless\r\nhe provides for himself, how flourishing soever the commonwealth may be, he\r\nmust die of hunger, so that he sees the necessity of preferring his own\r\nconcerns to the public; but in Utopia, where every man has a right to\r\neverything, they all know that if care is taken to keep the public stores full\r\nno private man can want anything; for among them there is no unequal\r\ndistribution, so that no man is poor, none in necessity, and though no man has\r\nanything, yet they are all rich; for what can make a man so rich as to lead a\r\nserene and cheerful life, free from anxieties; neither apprehending want\r\nhimself, nor vexed with the endless complaints of his wife? He is not afraid of\r\nthe misery of his children, nor is he contriving how to raise a portion for his\r\ndaughters; but is secure in this, that both he and his wife, his children and\r\ngrand-children, to as many generations as he can fancy, will all live both\r\nplentifully and happily; since, among them, there is no less care taken of\r\nthose who were once engaged in labour, but grow afterwards unable to follow it,\r\nthan there is, elsewhere, of these that continue still employed. I would gladly\r\nhear any man compare the justice that is among them with that of all other\r\nnations; among whom, may I perish, if I see anything that looks either like\r\njustice or equity; for what justice is there in this: that a nobleman, a\r\ngoldsmith, a banker, or any other man, that either does nothing at all, or, at\r\nbest, is employed in things that are of no use to the public, should live in\r\ngreat luxury and splendour upon what is so ill acquired, and a mean man, a\r\ncarter, a smith, or a ploughman, that works harder even than the beasts\r\nthemselves, and is employed in labours so necessary, that no commonwealth could\r\nhold out a year without them, can only earn so poor a livelihood and must lead\r\nso miserable a life, that the condition of the beasts is much better than\r\ntheirs? For as the beasts do not work so constantly, so they feed almost as\r\nwell, and with more pleasure, and have no anxiety about what is to come, whilst\r\nthese men are depressed by a barren and fruitless employment, and tormented\r\nwith the apprehensions of want in their old age; since that which they get by\r\ntheir daily labour does but maintain them at present, and is consumed as fast\r\nas it comes in, there is no overplus left to lay up for old age.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“Is not that government both unjust and ungrateful, that is so prodigal\r\nof its favours to those that are called gentlemen, or goldsmiths, or such\r\nothers who are idle, or live either by flattery or by contriving the arts of\r\nvain pleasure, and, on the other hand, takes no care of those of a meaner sort,\r\nsuch as ploughmen, colliers, and smiths, without whom it could not subsist? But\r\nafter the public has reaped all the advantage of their service, and they come\r\nto be oppressed with age, sickness, and want, all their labours and the good\r\nthey have done is forgotten, and all the recompense given them is that they are\r\nleft to die in great misery. The richer sort are often endeavouring to bring\r\nthe hire of labourers lower, not only by their fraudulent practices, but by the\r\nlaws which they procure to be made to that effect, so that though it is a thing\r\nmost unjust in itself to give such small rewards to those who deserve so well\r\nof the public, yet they have given those hardships the name and colour of\r\njustice, by procuring laws to be made for regulating them.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“Therefore I must say that, as I hope for mercy, I can have no other\r\nnotion of all the other governments that I see or know, than that they are a\r\nconspiracy of the rich, who, on pretence of managing the public, only pursue\r\ntheir private ends, and devise all the ways and arts they can find out; first,\r\nthat they may, without danger, preserve all that they have so ill-acquired, and\r\nthen, that they may engage the poor to toil and labour for them at as low rates\r\nas possible, and oppress them as much as they please; and if they can but\r\nprevail to get these contrivances established by the show of public authority,\r\nwhich is considered as the representative of the whole people, then they are\r\naccounted laws; yet these wicked men, after they have, by a most insatiable\r\ncovetousness, divided that among themselves with which all the rest might have\r\nbeen well supplied, are far from that happiness that is enjoyed among the\r\nUtopians; for the use as well as the desire of money being extinguished, much\r\nanxiety and great occasions of mischief is cut off with it, and who does not\r\nsee that the frauds, thefts, robberies, quarrels, tumults, contentions,\r\nseditions, murders, treacheries, and witchcrafts, which are, indeed, rather\r\npunished than restrained by the severities of law, would all fall off, if money\r\nwere not any more valued by the world? Men’s fears, solicitudes, cares,\r\nlabours, and watchings would all perish in the same moment with the value of\r\nmoney; even poverty itself, for the relief of which money seems most necessary,\r\nwould fall. But, in order to the apprehending this aright, take one\r\ninstance:—\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“Consider any year, that has been so unfruitful that many thousands have\r\ndied of hunger; and yet if, at the end of that year, a survey was made of the\r\ngranaries of all the rich men that have hoarded up the corn, it would be found\r\nthat there was enough among them to have prevented all that consumption of men\r\nthat perished in misery; and that, if it had been distributed among them, none\r\nwould have felt the terrible effects of that scarcity: so easy a thing would it\r\nbe to supply all the necessities of life, if that blessed thing called money,\r\nwhich is pretended to be invented for procuring them was not really the only\r\nthing that obstructed their being procured!\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\n“I do not doubt but rich men are sensible of this, and that they well\r\nknow how much a greater happiness it is to want nothing necessary, than to\r\nabound in many superfluities; and to be rescued out of so much misery, than to\r\nabound with so much wealth: and I cannot think but the sense of every\r\nman’s interest, added to the authority of Christ’s commands, who,\r\nas He was infinitely wise, knew what was best, and was not less good in\r\ndiscovering it to us, would have drawn all the world over to the laws of the\r\nUtopians, if pride, that plague of human nature, that source of so much misery,\r\ndid not hinder it; for this vice does not measure happiness so much by its own\r\nconveniences, as by the miseries of others; and would not be satisfied with\r\nbeing thought a goddess, if none were left that were miserable, over whom she\r\nmight insult. Pride thinks its own happiness shines the brighter, by comparing\r\nit with the misfortunes of other persons; that by displaying its own wealth\r\nthey may feel their poverty the more sensibly. This is that infernal serpent\r\nthat creeps into the breasts of mortals, and possesses them too much to be\r\neasily drawn out; and, therefore, I am glad that the Utopians have fallen upon\r\nthis form of government, in which I wish that all the world could be so wise as\r\nto imitate them; for they have, indeed, laid down such a scheme and foundation\r\nof policy, that as men live happily under it, so it is like to be of great\r\ncontinuance; for they having rooted out of the minds of their people all the\r\nseeds, both of ambition and faction, there is no danger of any commotions at\r\nhome; which alone has been the ruin of many states that seemed otherwise to be\r\nwell secured; but as long as they live in peace at home, and are governed by\r\nsuch good laws, the envy of all their neighbouring princes, who have often,\r\nthough in vain, attempted their ruin, will never be able to put their state\r\ninto any commotion or disorder.”\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003cp\u003e\r\nWhen Raphael had thus made an end of speaking, though many things occurred to\r\nme, both concerning the manners and laws of that people, that seemed very\r\nabsurd, as well in their way of making war, as in their notions of religion and\r\ndivine matters—together with several other particulars, but chiefly what\r\nseemed the foundation of all the rest, their living in common, without the use\r\nof money, by which all nobility, magnificence, splendour, and majesty, which,\r\naccording to the common opinion, are the true ornaments of a nation, would be\r\nquite taken away—yet since I perceived that Raphael was weary, and was\r\nnot sure whether he could easily bear contradiction, remembering that he had\r\ntaken notice of some, who seemed to think they were bound in honour to support\r\nthe credit of their own wisdom, by finding out something to censure in all\r\nother men’s inventions, besides their own, I only commended their\r\nConstitution, and the account he had given of it in general; and so, taking him\r\nby the hand, carried him to supper, and told him I would find out some other\r\ntime for examining this subject more particularly, and for discoursing more\r\ncopiously upon it. And, indeed, I shall be glad to embrace an opportunity of\r\ndoing it. In the meanwhile, though it must be confessed that he is both a very\r\nlearned man and a person who has obtained a great knowledge of the world, I\r\ncannot perfectly agree to everything he has related. However, there are many\r\nthings in the commonwealth of Utopia that I rather wish, than hope, to see\r\nfollowed in our governments.\r\n\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\u003c/div\u003e\u003c!–end chapter–\u003e\r\n\u003cdiv style=\"display:block;margin-top:4em\"\u003e\u003c/div\u003e\r\n\u003c/article\u003e"}],"SectionSequence":["Back Link","Work Title","Deck","Author","Period","Era","Composition","Date Note","Region","Terra Avita","Terra Avita Region","Modern Country","Original Title","Language","Primary Discipline","Secondary Discipline","Tradition","Full Versions","Core Thesis","Classification","Arguments","Influence","Significance","Evidence Note","Full Text"],"Counts":{"ContextCards":3,"GeoCards":4,"DisciplineCards":2,"Links":11,"Sections":25,"Styles":3,"Scripts":1}}