Henry VIII., the unconquered King of England, a prince adorned with all
the virtues that become a great monarch, having some differences of no
small consequence with Charles the most serene Prince of Castile, sent
me into Flanders, as his ambassador, for treating and composing matters
between them. I was colleague and companion to that incomparable man
Cuthbert Tonstal, whom the King, with such universal applause, lately
made Master of the Rolls; but of whom I will say nothing; not because I
fear that the testimony of a friend will be suspected, but rather
because his learning and virtues are too great for me to do them
justice, and so well known, that they need not my commendations, unless
I would, according to the proverb, “Show the sun with a lantern.” Those
that were appointed by the Prince to treat with us, met us at Bruges,
according to agreement; they were all worthy men. The Margrave of
Bruges was their head, and the chief man among them; but he that was
esteemed the wisest, and that spoke for the rest, was George Temse, the
Provost of Casselsee: both art and nature had concurred to make him
eloquent: he was very learned in the law; and, as he had a great
capacity, so, by a long practice in affairs, he was very dexterous at
unravelling them. After we had several times met, without coming to an
agreement, they went to Brussels for some days, to know the Prince’s
pleasure; and, since our business would admit it, I went to Antwerp.
While I was there, among many that visited me, there was one that was
more acceptable to me than any other, Peter Giles, born at Antwerp, who
is a man of great honour, and of a good rank in his town, though less
than he deserves; for I do not know if there be anywhere to be found a
more learned and a better bred young man; for as he is both a very
worthy and a very knowing person, so he is so civil to all men, so
particularly kind to his friends, and so full of candour and affection,
that there is not, perhaps, above one or two anywhere to be found, that
is in all respects so perfect a friend: he is extraordinarily modest,
there is no artifice in him, and yet no man has more of a prudent
simplicity. His conversation was so pleasant and so innocently
cheerful, that his company in a great measure lessened any longings to
go back to my country, and to my wife and children, which an absence of
four months had quickened very much. One day, as I was returning home
from mass at St. Mary’s, which is the chief church, and the most
frequented of any in Antwerp, I saw him, by accident, talking with a
stranger, who seemed past the flower of his age; his face was tanned,
he had a long beard, and his cloak was hanging carelessly about him, so
that, by his looks and habit, I concluded he was a seaman. As soon as
Peter saw me, he came and saluted me, and as I was returning his
civility, he took me aside, and pointing to him with whom he had been
discoursing, he said, “Do you see that man? I was just thinking to
bring him to you.” I answered, “He should have been very welcome on
your account.” “And on his own too,” replied he, “if you knew the man,
for there is none alive that can give so copious an account of unknown
nations and countries as he can do, which I know you very much desire.”
“Then,” said I, “I did not guess amiss, for at first sight I took him
for a seaman.” “But you are much mistaken,” said he, “for he has not
sailed as a seaman, but as a traveller, or rather a philosopher. This
Raphael, who from his family carries the name of Hythloday, is not
ignorant of the Latin tongue, but is eminently learned in the Greek,
having applied himself more particularly to that than to the former,
because he had given himself much to philosophy, in which he knew that
the Romans have left us nothing that is valuable, except what is to be
found in Seneca and Cicero. He is a Portuguese by birth, and was so
desirous of seeing the world, that he divided his estate among his
brothers, ran the same hazard as Americus Vesputius, and bore a share
in three of his four voyages that are now published; only he did not
return with him in his last, but obtained leave of him, almost by
force, that he might be one of those twenty-four who were left at the
farthest place at which they touched in their last voyage to New
Castile. The leaving him thus did not a little gratify one that was
more fond of travelling than of returning home to be buried in his own
country; for he used often to say, that the way to heaven was the same
from all places, and he that had no grave had the heavens still over
him. Yet this disposition of mind had cost him dear, if God had not
been very gracious to him; for after he, with five Castalians, had
travelled over many countries, at last, by strange good fortune, he got
to Ceylon, and from thence to Calicut, where he, very happily, found
some Portuguese ships; and, beyond all men’s expectations, returned to
his native country.” When Peter had said this to me, I thanked him for
his kindness in intending to give me the acquaintance of a man whose
conversation he knew would be so acceptable; and upon that Raphael and
I embraced each other. After those civilities were past which are usual
with strangers upon their first meeting, we all went to my house, and
entering into the garden, sat down on a green bank and entertained one
another in discourse. He told us that when Vesputius had sailed away,
he, and his companions that stayed behind in New Castile, by degrees
insinuated themselves into the affections of the people of the country,
meeting often with them and treating them gently; and at last they not
only lived among them without danger, but conversed familiarly with
them, and got so far into the heart of a prince, whose name and country
I have forgot, that he both furnished them plentifully with all things
necessary, and also with the conveniences of travelling, both boats
when they went by water, and waggons when they travelled over land: he
sent with them a very faithful guide, who was to introduce and
recommend them to such other princes as they had a mind to see: and
after many days’ journey, they came to towns, and cities, and to
commonwealths, that were both happily governed and well peopled. Under
the equator, and as far on both sides of it as the sun moves, there lay
vast deserts that were parched with the perpetual heat of the sun; the
soil was withered, all things looked dismally, and all places were
either quite uninhabited, or abounded with wild beasts and serpents,
and some few men, that were neither less wild nor less cruel than the
beasts themselves. But, as they went farther, a new scene opened, all
things grew milder, the air less burning, the soil more verdant, and
even the beasts were less wild: and, at last, there were nations,
towns, and cities, that had not only mutual commerce among themselves
and with their neighbours, but traded, both by sea and land, to very
remote countries. There they found the conveniencies of seeing many
countries on all hands, for no ship went any voyage into which he and
his companions were not very welcome. The first vessels that they saw
were flat-bottomed, their sails were made of reeds and wicker, woven
close together, only some were of leather; but, afterwards, they found
ships made with round keels and canvas sails, and in all respects like
our ships, and the seamen understood both astronomy and navigation. He
got wonderfully into their favour by showing them the use of the
needle, of which till then they were utterly ignorant. They sailed
before with great caution, and only in summer time; but now they count
all seasons alike, trusting wholly to the loadstone, in which they are,
perhaps, more secure than safe; so that there is reason to fear that
this discovery, which was thought would prove so much to their
advantage, may, by their imprudence, become an occasion of much
mischief to them. But it were too long to dwell on all that he told us
he had observed in every place, it would be too great a digression from
our present purpose: whatever is necessary to be told concerning those
wise and prudent institutions which he observed among civilised
nations, may perhaps be related by us on a more proper occasion. We
asked him many questions concerning all these things, to which he
answered very willingly; we made no inquiries after monsters, than
which nothing is more common; for everywhere one may hear of ravenous
dogs and wolves, and cruel men-eaters, but it is not so easy to find
states that are well and wisely governed.
As he told us of many things that were amiss in those new-discovered
countries, so he reckoned up not a few things, from which patterns
might be taken for correcting the errors of these nations among whom we
live; of which an account may be given, as I have already promised, at
some other time; for, at present, I intend only to relate those
particulars that he told us, of the manners and laws of the Utopians:
but I will begin with the occasion that led us to speak of that
commonwealth. After Raphael had discoursed with great judgment on the
many errors that were both among us and these nations, had treated of
the wise institutions both here and there, and had spoken as distinctly
of the customs and government of every nation through which he had
past, as if he had spent his whole life in it, Peter, being struck with
admiration, said, “I wonder, Raphael, how it comes that you enter into
no king’s service, for I am sure there are none to whom you would not
be very acceptable; for your learning and knowledge, both of men and
things, is such, that you would not only entertain them very
pleasantly, but be of great use to them, by the examples you could set
before them, and the advices you could give them; and by this means you
would both serve your own interest, and be of great use to all your
friends.” “As for my friends,” answered he, “I need not be much
concerned, having already done for them all that was incumbent on me;
for when I was not only in good health, but fresh and young, I
distributed that among my kindred and friends which other people do not
part with till they are old and sick: when they then unwillingly give
that which they can enjoy no longer themselves. I think my friends
ought to rest contented with this, and not to expect that for their
sakes I should enslave myself to any king whatsoever.” “Soft and fair!”
said Peter; “I do not mean that you should be a slave to any king, but
only that you should assist them and be useful to them.” “The change of
the word,” said he, “does not alter the matter.” “But term it as you
will,” replied Peter, “I do not see any other way in which you can be
so useful, both in private to your friends and to the public, and by
which you can make your own condition happier.” “Happier?” answered
Raphael, “is that to be compassed in a way so abhorrent to my genius?
Now I live as I will, to which I believe, few courtiers can pretend;
and there are so many that court the favour of great men, that there
will be no great loss if they are not troubled either with me or with
others of my temper.” Upon this, said I, “I perceive, Raphael, that you
neither desire wealth nor greatness; and, indeed, I value and admire
such a man much more than I do any of the great men in the world. Yet I
think you would do what would well become so generous and philosophical
a soul as yours is, if you would apply your time and thoughts to public
affairs, even though you may happen to find it a little uneasy to
yourself; and this you can never do with so much advantage as by being
taken into the council of some great prince and putting him on noble
and worthy actions, which I know you would do if you were in such a
post; for the springs both of good and evil flow from the prince over a
whole nation, as from a lasting fountain. So much learning as you have,
even without practice in affairs, or so great a practice as you have
had, without any other learning, would render you a very fit counsellor
to any king whatsoever.” “You are doubly mistaken,” said he, “Mr. More,
both in your opinion of me and in the judgment you make of things: for
as I have not that capacity that you fancy I have, so if I had it, the
public would not be one jot the better when I had sacrificed my quiet
to it. For most princes apply themselves more to affairs of war than to
the useful arts of peace; and in these I neither have any knowledge,
nor do I much desire it; they are generally more set on acquiring new
kingdoms, right or wrong, than on governing well those they possess:
and, among the ministers of princes, there are none that are not so
wise as to need no assistance, or at least, that do not think
themselves so wise that they imagine they need none; and if they court
any, it is only those for whom the prince has much personal favour,
whom by their fawning and flatteries they endeavour to fix to their own
interests; and, indeed, nature has so made us, that we all love to be
flattered and to please ourselves with our own notions: the old crow
loves his young, and the ape her cubs. Now if in such a court, made up
of persons who envy all others and only admire themselves, a person
should but propose anything that he had either read in history or
observed in his travels, the rest would think that the reputation of
their wisdom would sink, and that their interests would be much
depressed if they could not run it down: and, if all other things
failed, then they would fly to this, that such or such things pleased
our ancestors, and it were well for us if we could but match them. They
would set up their rest on such an answer, as a sufficient confutation
of all that could be said, as if it were a great misfortune that any
should be found wiser than his ancestors. But though they willingly let
go all the good things that were among those of former ages, yet, if
better things are proposed, they cover themselves obstinately with this
excuse of reverence to past times. I have met with these proud, morose,
and absurd judgments of things in many places, particularly once in
England.” “Were you ever there?” said I. “Yes, I was,” answered he,
“and stayed some months there, not long after the rebellion in the West
was suppressed, with a great slaughter of the poor people that were
engaged in it.
“I was then much obliged to that reverend prelate, John Morton,
Archbishop of Canterbury, Cardinal, and Chancellor of England; a man,”
said he, “Peter (for Mr. More knows well what he was), that was not
less venerable for his wisdom and virtues than for the high character
he bore: he was of a middle stature, not broken with age; his looks
begot reverence rather than fear; his conversation was easy, but
serious and grave; he sometimes took pleasure to try the force of those
that came as suitors to him upon business by speaking sharply, though
decently, to them, and by that he discovered their spirit and presence
of mind; with which he was much delighted when it did not grow up to
impudence, as bearing a great resemblance to his own temper, and he
looked on such persons as the fittest men for affairs. He spoke both
gracefully and weightily; he was eminently skilled in the law, had a
vast understanding, and a prodigious memory; and those excellent
talents with which nature had furnished him were improved by study and
experience. When I was in England the King depended much on his
counsels, and the Government seemed to be chiefly supported by him; for
from his youth he had been all along practised in affairs; and, having
passed through many traverses of fortune, he had, with great cost,
acquired a vast stock of wisdom, which is not soon lost when it is
purchased so dear. One day, when I was dining with him, there happened
to be at table one of the English lawyers, who took occasion to run out
in a high commendation of the severe execution of justice upon thieves,
‘who,’ as he said, ‘were then hanged so fast that there were sometimes
twenty on one gibbet!’ and, upon that, he said, ‘he could not wonder
enough how it came to pass that, since so few escaped, there were yet
so many thieves left, who were still robbing in all places.’ Upon this,
I (who took the boldness to speak freely before the Cardinal) said,
‘There was no reason to wonder at the matter, since this way of
punishing thieves was neither just in itself nor good for the public;
for, as the severity was too great, so the remedy was not effectual;
simple theft not being so great a crime that it ought to cost a man his
life; no punishment, how severe soever, being able to restrain those
from robbing who can find out no other way of livelihood. In this,’
said I, ‘not only you in England, but a great part of the world,
imitate some ill masters, that are readier to chastise their scholars
than to teach them. There are dreadful punishments enacted against
thieves, but it were much better to make such good provisions by which
every man might be put in a method how to live, and so be preserved
from the fatal necessity of stealing and of dying for it.’ ‘There has
been care enough taken for that,’ said he; ‘there are many handicrafts,
and there is husbandry, by which they may make a shift to live, unless
they have a greater mind to follow ill courses.’ ‘That will not serve
your turn,’ said I, ‘for many lose their limbs in civil or foreign
wars, as lately in the Cornish rebellion, and some time ago in your
wars with France, who, being thus mutilated in the service of their
king and country, can no more follow their old trades, and are too old
to learn new ones; but since wars are only accidental things, and have
intervals, let us consider those things that fall out every day. There
is a great number of noblemen among you that are themselves as idle as
drones, that subsist on other men’s labour, on the labour of their
tenants, whom, to raise their revenues, they pare to the quick. This,
indeed, is the only instance of their frugality, for in all other
things they are prodigal, even to the beggaring of themselves; but,
besides this, they carry about with them a great number of idle
fellows, who never learned any art by which they may gain their living;
and these, as soon as either their lord dies, or they themselves fall
sick, are turned out of doors; for your lords are readier to feed idle
people than to take care of the sick; and often the heir is not able to
keep together so great a family as his predecessor did. Now, when the
stomachs of those that are thus turned out of doors grow keen, they rob
no less keenly; and what else can they do? For when, by wandering
about, they have worn out both their health and their clothes, and are
tattered, and look ghastly, men of quality will not entertain them, and
poor men dare not do it, knowing that one who has been bred up in
idleness and pleasure, and who was used to walk about with his sword
and buckler, despising all the neighbourhood with an insolent scorn as
far below him, is not fit for the spade and mattock; nor will he serve
a poor man for so small a hire and in so low a diet as he can afford to
give him.’ To this he answered, ‘This sort of men ought to be
particularly cherished, for in them consists the force of the armies
for which we have occasion; since their birth inspires them with a
nobler sense of honour than is to be found among tradesmen or
ploughmen.’ ‘You may as well say,’ replied I, ‘that you must cherish
thieves on the account of wars, for you will never want the one as long
as you have the other; and as robbers prove sometimes gallant soldiers,
so soldiers often prove brave robbers, so near an alliance there is
between those two sorts of life. But this bad custom, so common among
you, of keeping many servants, is not peculiar to this nation. In
France there is yet a more pestiferous sort of people, for the whole
country is full of soldiers, still kept up in time of peace (if such a
state of a nation can be called a peace); and these are kept in pay
upon the same account that you plead for those idle retainers about
noblemen: this being a maxim of those pretended statesmen, that it is
necessary for the public safety to have a good body of veteran soldiers
ever in readiness. They think raw men are not to be depended on, and
they sometimes seek occasions for making war, that they may train up
their soldiers in the art of cutting throats, or, as Sallust observed,
“for keeping their hands in use, that they may not grow dull by too
long an intermission.” But France has learned to its cost how dangerous
it is to feed such beasts. The fate of the Romans, Carthaginians, and
Syrians, and many other nations and cities, which were both overturned
and quite ruined by those standing armies, should make others wiser;
and the folly of this maxim of the French appears plainly even from
this, that their trained soldiers often find your raw men prove too
hard for them, of which I will not say much, lest you may think I
flatter the English. Every day’s experience shows that the mechanics in
the towns or the clowns in the country are not afraid of fighting with
those idle gentlemen, if they are not disabled by some misfortune in
their body or dispirited by extreme want; so that you need not fear
that those well-shaped and strong men (for it is only such that
noblemen love to keep about them till they spoil them), who now grow
feeble with ease and are softened with their effeminate manner of life,
would be less fit for action if they were well bred and well employed.
And it seems very unreasonable that, for the prospect of a war, which
you need never have but when you please, you should maintain so many
idle men, as will always disturb you in time of peace, which is ever to
be more considered than war. But I do not think that this necessity of
stealing arises only from hence; there is another cause of it, more
peculiar to England.’ ‘What is that?’ said the Cardinal: ‘The increase
of pasture,’ said I, ‘by which your sheep, which are naturally mild,
and easily kept in order, may be said now to devour men and unpeople,
not only villages, but towns; for wherever it is found that the sheep
of any soil yield a softer and richer wool than ordinary, there the
nobility and gentry, and even those holy men, the abbots! not contented
with the old rents which their farms yielded, nor thinking it enough
that they, living at their ease, do no good to the public, resolve to
do it hurt instead of good. They stop the course of agriculture,
destroying houses and towns, reserving only the churches, and enclose
grounds that they may lodge their sheep in them. As if forests and
parks had swallowed up too little of the land, those worthy countrymen
turn the best inhabited places into solitudes; for when an insatiable
wretch, who is a plague to his country, resolves to enclose many
thousand acres of ground, the owners, as well as tenants, are turned
out of their possessions by trick or by main force, or, being wearied
out by ill usage, they are forced to sell them; by which means those
miserable people, both men and women, married and unmarried, old and
young, with their poor but numerous families (since country business
requires many hands), are all forced to change their seats, not knowing
whither to go; and they must sell, almost for nothing, their household
stuff, which could not bring them much money, even though they might
stay for a buyer. When that little money is at an end (for it will be
soon spent), what is left for them to do but either to steal, and so to
be hanged (God knows how justly!), or to go about and beg? and if they
do this they are put in prison as idle vagabonds, while they would
willingly work but can find none that will hire them; for there is no
more occasion for country labour, to which they have been bred, when
there is no arable ground left. One shepherd can look after a flock,
which will stock an extent of ground that would require many hands if
it were to be ploughed and reaped. This, likewise, in many places
raises the price of corn. The price of wool is also so risen that the
poor people, who were wont to make cloth, are no more able to buy it;
and this, likewise, makes many of them idle: for since the increase of
pasture God has punished the avarice of the owners by a rot among the
sheep, which has destroyed vast numbers of them—to us it might have
seemed more just had it fell on the owners themselves. But, suppose the
sheep should increase ever so much, their price is not likely to fall;
since, though they cannot be called a monopoly, because they are not
engrossed by one person, yet they are in so few hands, and these are so
rich, that, as they are not pressed to sell them sooner than they have
a mind to it, so they never do it till they have raised the price as
high as possible. And on the same account it is that the other kinds of
cattle are so dear, because many villages being pulled down, and all
country labour being much neglected, there are none who make it their
business to breed them. The rich do not breed cattle as they do sheep,
but buy them lean and at low prices; and, after they have fattened them
on their grounds, sell them again at high rates. And I do not think
that all the inconveniences this will produce are yet observed; for, as
they sell the cattle dear, so, if they are consumed faster than the
breeding countries from which they are brought can afford them, then
the stock must decrease, and this must needs end in great scarcity; and
by these means, this your island, which seemed as to this particular
the happiest in the world, will suffer much by the cursed avarice of a
few persons: besides this, the rising of corn makes all people lessen
their families as much as they can; and what can those who are
dismissed by them do but either beg or rob? And to this last a man of a
great mind is much sooner drawn than to the former. Luxury likewise
breaks in apace upon you to set forward your poverty and misery; there
is an excessive vanity in apparel, and great cost in diet, and that not
only in noblemen’s families, but even among tradesmen, among the
farmers themselves, and among all ranks of persons. You have also many
infamous houses, and, besides those that are known, the taverns and
ale-houses are no better; add to these dice, cards, tables, football,
tennis, and quoits, in which money runs fast away; and those that are
initiated into them must, in the conclusion, betake themselves to
robbing for a supply. Banish these plagues, and give orders that those
who have dispeopled so much soil may either rebuild the villages they
have pulled down or let out their grounds to such as will do it;
restrain those engrossings of the rich, that are as bad almost as
monopolies; leave fewer occasions to idleness; let agriculture be set
up again, and the manufacture of the wool be regulated, that so there
may be work found for those companies of idle people whom want forces
to be thieves, or who now, being idle vagabonds or useless servants,
will certainly grow thieves at last. If you do not find a remedy to
these evils it is a vain thing to boast of your severity in punishing
theft, which, though it may have the appearance of justice, yet in
itself is neither just nor convenient; for if you suffer your people to
be ill-educated, and their manners to be corrupted from their infancy,
and then punish them for those crimes to which their first education
disposed them, what else is to be concluded from this but that you
first make thieves and then punish them?’
“While I was talking thus, the Counsellor, who was present, had
prepared an answer, and had resolved to resume all I had said,
according to the formality of a debate, in which things are generally
repeated more faithfully than they are answered, as if the chief trial
to be made were of men’s memories. ‘You have talked prettily, for a
stranger,’ said he, ‘having heard of many things among us which you
have not been able to consider well; but I will make the whole matter
plain to you, and will first repeat in order all that you have said;
then I will show how much your ignorance of our affairs has misled you;
and will, in the last place, answer all your arguments. And, that I may
begin where I promised, there were four things—’ ‘Hold your peace!’
said the Cardinal; ‘this will take up too much time; therefore we will,
at present, ease you of the trouble of answering, and reserve it to our
next meeting, which shall be to-morrow, if Raphael’s affairs and yours
can admit of it. But, Raphael,’ said he to me, ‘I would gladly know
upon what reason it is that you think theft ought not to be punished by
death: would you give way to it? or do you propose any other punishment
that will be more useful to the public? for, since death does not
restrain theft, if men thought their lives would be safe, what fear or
force could restrain ill men? On the contrary, they would look on the
mitigation of the punishment as an invitation to commit more crimes.’ I
answered, ‘It seems to me a very unjust thing to take away a man’s life
for a little money, for nothing in the world can be of equal value with
a man’s life: and if it be said, “that it is not for the money that one
suffers, but for his breaking the law,” I must say, extreme justice is
an extreme injury: for we ought not to approve of those terrible laws
that make the smallest offences capital, nor of that opinion of the
Stoics that makes all crimes equal; as if there were no difference to
be made between the killing a man and the taking his purse, between
which, if we examine things impartially, there is no likeness nor
proportion. God has commanded us not to kill, and shall we kill so
easily for a little money? But if one shall say, that by that law we
are only forbid to kill any except when the laws of the land allow of
it, upon the same grounds, laws may be made, in some cases, to allow of
adultery and perjury: for God having taken from us the right of
disposing either of our own or of other people’s lives, if it is
pretended that the mutual consent of men in making laws can authorise
man-slaughter in cases in which God has given us no example, that it
frees people from the obligation of the divine law, and so makes murder
a lawful action, what is this, but to give a preference to human laws
before the divine? and, if this is once admitted, by the same rule men
may, in all other things, put what restrictions they please upon the
laws of God. If, by the Mosaical law, though it was rough and severe,
as being a yoke laid on an obstinate and servile nation, men were only
fined, and not put to death for theft, we cannot imagine, that in this
new law of mercy, in which God treats us with the tenderness of a
father, He has given us a greater licence to cruelty than He did to the
Jews. Upon these reasons it is, that I think putting thieves to death
is not lawful; and it is plain and obvious that it is absurd and of ill
consequence to the commonwealth that a thief and a murderer should be
equally punished; for if a robber sees that his danger is the same if
he is convicted of theft as if he were guilty of murder, this will
naturally incite him to kill the person whom otherwise he would only
have robbed; since, if the punishment is the same, there is more
security, and less danger of discovery, when he that can best make it
is put out of the way; so that terrifying thieves too much provokes
them to cruelty.
“But as to the question, ‘What more convenient way of punishment can be
found?’ I think it much easier to find out that than to invent anything
that is worse; why should we doubt but the way that was so long in use
among the old Romans, who understood so well the arts of government,
was very proper for their punishment? They condemned such as they found
guilty of great crimes to work their whole lives in quarries, or to dig
in mines with chains about them. But the method that I liked best was
that which I observed in my travels in Persia, among the Polylerits,
who are a considerable and well-governed people: they pay a yearly
tribute to the King of Persia, but in all other respects they are a
free nation, and governed by their own laws: they lie far from the sea,
and are environed with hills; and, being contented with the productions
of their own country, which is very fruitful, they have little commerce
with any other nation; and as they, according to the genius of their
country, have no inclination to enlarge their borders, so their
mountains and the pension they pay to the Persian, secure them from all
invasions. Thus they have no wars among them; they live rather
conveniently than with splendour, and may be rather called a happy
nation than either eminent or famous; for I do not think that they are
known, so much as by name, to any but their next neighbours. Those that
are found guilty of theft among them are bound to make restitution to
the owner, and not, as it is in other places, to the prince, for they
reckon that the prince has no more right to the stolen goods than the
thief; but if that which was stolen is no more in being, then the goods
of the thieves are estimated, and restitution being made out of them,
the remainder is given to their wives and children; and they themselves
are condemned to serve in the public works, but are neither imprisoned
nor chained, unless there happens to be some extraordinary circumstance
in their crimes. They go about loose and free, working for the public:
if they are idle or backward to work they are whipped, but if they work
hard they are well used and treated without any mark of reproach; only
the lists of them are called always at night, and then they are shut
up. They suffer no other uneasiness but this of constant labour; for,
as they work for the public, so they are well entertained out of the
public stock, which is done differently in different places: in some
places whatever is bestowed on them is raised by a charitable
contribution; and, though this way may seem uncertain, yet so merciful
are the inclinations of that people, that they are plentifully supplied
by it; but in other places public revenues are set aside for them, or
there is a constant tax or poll-money raised for their maintenance. In
some places they are set to no public work, but every private man that
has occasion to hire workmen goes to the market-places and hires them
of the public, a little lower than he would do a freeman. If they go
lazily about their task he may quicken them with the whip. By this
means there is always some piece of work or other to be done by them;
and, besides their livelihood, they earn somewhat still to the public.
They all wear a peculiar habit, of one certain colour, and their hair
is cropped a little above their ears, and a piece of one of their ears
is cut off. Their friends are allowed to give them either meat, drink,
or clothes, so they are of their proper colour; but it is death, both
to the giver and taker, if they give them money; nor is it less penal
for any freeman to take money from them upon any account whatsoever:
and it is also death for any of these slaves (so they are called) to
handle arms. Those of every division of the country are distinguished
by a peculiar mark, which it is capital for them to lay aside, to go
out of their bounds, or to talk with a slave of another jurisdiction,
and the very attempt of an escape is no less penal than an escape
itself. It is death for any other slave to be accessory to it; and if a
freeman engages in it he is condemned to slavery. Those that discover
it are rewarded—if freemen, in money; and if slaves, with liberty,
together with a pardon for being accessory to it; that so they might
find their account rather in repenting of their engaging in such a
design than in persisting in it.
“These are their laws and rules in relation to robbery, and it is
obvious that they are as advantageous as they are mild and gentle;
since vice is not only destroyed and men preserved, but they are
treated in such a manner as to make them see the necessity of being
honest and of employing the rest of their lives in repairing the
injuries they had formerly done to society. Nor is there any hazard of
their falling back to their old customs; and so little do travellers
apprehend mischief from them that they generally make use of them for
guides from one jurisdiction to another; for there is nothing left them
by which they can rob or be the better for it, since, as they are
disarmed, so the very having of money is a sufficient conviction: and
as they are certainly punished if discovered, so they cannot hope to
escape; for their habit being in all the parts of it different from
what is commonly worn, they cannot fly away, unless they would go
naked, and even then their cropped ear would betray them. The only
danger to be feared from them is their conspiring against the
government; but those of one division and neighbourhood can do nothing
to any purpose unless a general conspiracy were laid amongst all the
slaves of the several jurisdictions, which cannot be done, since they
cannot meet or talk together; nor will any venture on a design where
the concealment would be so dangerous and the discovery so profitable.
None are quite hopeless of recovering their freedom, since by their
obedience and patience, and by giving good grounds to believe that they
will change their manner of life for the future, they may expect at
last to obtain their liberty, and some are every year restored to it
upon the good character that is given of them. When I had related all
this, I added that I did not see why such a method might not be
followed with more advantage than could ever be expected from that
severe justice which the Counsellor magnified so much. To this he
answered, ‘That it could never take place in England without
endangering the whole nation.’ As he said this he shook his head, made
some grimaces, and held his peace, while all the company seemed of his
opinion, except the Cardinal, who said, ‘That it was not easy to form a
judgment of its success, since it was a method that never yet had been
tried; but if,’ said he, ‘when sentence of death were passed upon a
thief, the prince would reprieve him for a while, and make the
experiment upon him, denying him the privilege of a sanctuary; and
then, if it had a good effect upon him, it might take place; and, if it
did not succeed, the worst would be to execute the sentence on the
condemned persons at last; and I do not see,’ added he, ‘why it would
be either unjust, inconvenient, or at all dangerous to admit of such a
delay; in my opinion the vagabonds ought to be treated in the same
manner, against whom, though we have made many laws, yet we have not
been able to gain our end.’ When the Cardinal had done, they all
commended the motion, though they had despised it when it came from me,
but more particularly commended what related to the vagabonds, because
it was his own observation.
“I do not know whether it be worth while to tell what followed, for it
was very ridiculous; but I shall venture at it, for as it is not
foreign to this matter, so some good use may be made of it. There was a
Jester standing by, that counterfeited the fool so naturally that he
seemed to be really one; the jests which he offered were so cold and
dull that we laughed more at him than at them, yet sometimes he said,
as it were by chance, things that were not unpleasant, so as to justify
the old proverb, ‘That he who throws the dice often, will sometimes
have a lucky hit.’ When one of the company had said that I had taken
care of the thieves, and the Cardinal had taken care of the vagabonds,
so that there remained nothing but that some public provision might be
made for the poor whom sickness or old age had disabled from labour,
‘Leave that to me,’ said the Fool, ‘and I shall take care of them, for
there is no sort of people whose sight I abhor more, having been so
often vexed with them and with their sad complaints; but as dolefully
soever as they have told their tale, they could never prevail so far as
to draw one penny from me; for either I had no mind to give them
anything, or, when I had a mind to do it, I had nothing to give them;
and they now know me so well that they will not lose their labour, but
let me pass without giving me any trouble, because they hope for
nothing—no more, in faith, than if I were a priest; but I would have a
law made for sending all these beggars to monasteries, the men to the
Benedictines, to be made lay-brothers, and the women to be nuns.’ The
Cardinal smiled, and approved of it in jest, but the rest liked it in
earnest. There was a divine present, who, though he was a grave morose
man, yet he was so pleased with this reflection that was made on the
priests and the monks that he began to play with the Fool, and said to
him, ‘This will not deliver you from all beggars, except you take care
of us Friars.’ ‘That is done already,’ answered the Fool, ‘for the
Cardinal has provided for you by what he proposed for restraining
vagabonds and setting them to work, for I know no vagabonds like you.’
This was well entertained by the whole company, who, looking at the
Cardinal, perceived that he was not ill-pleased at it; only the Friar
himself was vexed, as may be easily imagined, and fell into such a
passion that he could not forbear railing at the Fool, and calling him
knave, slanderer, backbiter, and son of perdition, and then cited some
dreadful threatenings out of the Scriptures against him. Now the Jester
thought he was in his element, and laid about him freely. ‘Good Friar,’
said he, ‘be not angry, for it is written, “In patience possess your
soul.”’ The Friar answered (for I shall give you his own words), ‘I am
not angry, you hangman; at least, I do not sin in it, for the Psalmist
says, “Be ye angry and sin not.”’ Upon this the Cardinal admonished him
gently, and wished him to govern his passions. ‘No, my lord,’ said he,
‘I speak not but from a good zeal, which I ought to have, for holy men
have had a good zeal, as it is said, “The zeal of thy house hath eaten
me up;” and we sing in our church that those who mocked Elisha as he
went up to the house of God felt the effects of his zeal, which that
mocker, that rogue, that scoundrel, will perhaps feel.’ ‘You do this,
perhaps, with a good intention,’ said the Cardinal, ‘but, in my
opinion, it were wiser in you, and perhaps better for you, not to
engage in so ridiculous a contest with a Fool.’ ‘No, my lord,’ answered
he, ‘that were not wisely done, for Solomon, the wisest of men, said,
“Answer a Fool according to his folly,” which I now do, and show him
the ditch into which he will fall, if he is not aware of it; for if the
many mockers of Elisha, who was but one bald man, felt the effect of
his zeal, what will become of the mocker of so many Friars, among whom
there are so many bald men? We have, likewise, a bull, by which all
that jeer us are excommunicated.’ When the Cardinal saw that there was
no end of this matter he made a sign to the Fool to withdraw, turned
the discourse another way, and soon after rose from the table, and,
dismissing us, went to hear causes.
“Thus, Mr. More, I have run out into a tedious story, of the length of
which I had been ashamed, if (as you earnestly begged it of me) I had
not observed you to hearken to it as if you had no mind to lose any
part of it. I might have contracted it, but I resolved to give it you
at large, that you might observe how those that despised what I had
proposed, no sooner perceived that the Cardinal did not dislike it but
presently approved of it, fawned so on him and flattered him to such a
degree, that they in good earnest applauded those things that he only
liked in jest; and from hence you may gather how little courtiers would
value either me or my counsels.”
To this I answered, “You have done me a great kindness in this
relation; for as everything has been related by you both wisely and
pleasantly, so you have made me imagine that I was in my own country
and grown young again, by recalling that good Cardinal to my thoughts,
in whose family I was bred from my childhood; and though you are, upon
other accounts, very dear to me, yet you are the dearer because you
honour his memory so much; but, after all this, I cannot change my
opinion, for I still think that if you could overcome that aversion
which you have to the courts of princes, you might, by the advice which
it is in your power to give, do a great deal of good to mankind, and
this is the chief design that every good man ought to propose to
himself in living; for your friend Plato thinks that nations will be
happy when either philosophers become kings or kings become
philosophers. It is no wonder if we are so far from that happiness
while philosophers will not think it their duty to assist kings with
their counsels.” “They are not so base-minded,” said he, “but that they
would willingly do it; many of them have already done it by their
books, if those that are in power would but hearken to their good
advice. But Plato judged right, that except kings themselves became
philosophers, they who from their childhood are corrupted with false
notions would never fall in entirely with the counsels of philosophers,
and this he himself found to be true in the person of Dionysius.
“Do not you think that if I were about any king, proposing good laws to
him, and endeavouring to root out all the cursed seeds of evil that I
found in him, I should either be turned out of his court, or, at least,
be laughed at for my pains? For instance, what could I signify if I
were about the King of France, and were called into his cabinet
council, where several wise men, in his hearing, were proposing many
expedients; as, by what arts and practices Milan may be kept, and
Naples, that has so often slipped out of their hands, recovered; how
the Venetians, and after them the rest of Italy, may be subdued; and
then how Flanders, Brabant, and all Burgundy, and some other kingdoms
which he has swallowed already in his designs, may be added to his
empire? One proposes a league with the Venetians, to be kept as long as
he finds his account in it, and that he ought to communicate counsels
with them, and give them some share of the spoil till his success makes
him need or fear them less, and then it will be easily taken out of
their hands; another proposes the hiring the Germans and the securing
the Switzers by pensions; another proposes the gaining the Emperor by
money, which is omnipotent with him; another proposes a peace with the
King of Arragon, and, in order to cement it, the yielding up the King
of Navarre’s pretensions; another thinks that the Prince of Castile is
to be wrought on by the hope of an alliance, and that some of his
courtiers are to be gained to the French faction by pensions. The
hardest point of all is, what to do with England; a treaty of peace is
to be set on foot, and, if their alliance is not to be depended on, yet
it is to be made as firm as possible, and they are to be called
friends, but suspected as enemies: therefore the Scots are to be kept
in readiness to be let loose upon England on every occasion; and some
banished nobleman is to be supported underhand (for by the League it
cannot be done avowedly) who has a pretension to the crown, by which
means that suspected prince may be kept in awe. Now when things are in
so great a fermentation, and so many gallant men are joining counsels
how to carry on the war, if so mean a man as I should stand up and wish
them to change all their counsels—to let Italy alone and stay at home,
since the kingdom of France was indeed greater than could be well
governed by one man; that therefore he ought not to think of adding
others to it; and if, after this, I should propose to them the
resolutions of the Achorians, a people that lie on the south-east of
Utopia, who long ago engaged in war in order to add to the dominions of
their prince another kingdom, to which he had some pretensions by an
ancient alliance: this they conquered, but found that the trouble of
keeping it was equal to that by which it was gained; that the conquered
people were always either in rebellion or exposed to foreign invasions,
while they were obliged to be incessantly at war, either for or against
them, and consequently could never disband their army; that in the
meantime they were oppressed with taxes, their money went out of the
kingdom, their blood was spilt for the glory of their king without
procuring the least advantage to the people, who received not the
smallest benefit from it even in time of peace; and that, their manners
being corrupted by a long war, robbery and murders everywhere abounded,
and their laws fell into contempt; while their king, distracted with
the care of two kingdoms, was the less able to apply his mind to the
interest of either. When they saw this, and that there would be no end
to these evils, they by joint counsels made an humble address to their
king, desiring him to choose which of the two kingdoms he had the
greatest mind to keep, since he could not hold both; for they were too
great a people to be governed by a divided king, since no man would
willingly have a groom that should be in common between him and
another. Upon which the good prince was forced to quit his new kingdom
to one of his friends (who was not long after dethroned), and to be
contented with his old one. To this I would add that after all those
warlike attempts, the vast confusions, and the consumption both of
treasure and of people that must follow them, perhaps upon some
misfortune they might be forced to throw up all at last; therefore it
seemed much more eligible that the king should improve his ancient
kingdom all he could, and make it flourish as much as possible; that he
should love his people, and be beloved of them; that he should live
among them, govern them gently and let other kingdoms alone, since that
which had fallen to his share was big enough, if not too big, for
him:—pray, how do you think would such a speech as this be heard?”
“I confess,” said I, “I think not very well.”
“But what,” said he, “if I should sort with another kind of ministers,
whose chief contrivances and consultations were by what art the
prince’s treasures might be increased? where one proposes raising the
value of specie when the king’s debts are large, and lowering it when
his revenues were to come in, that so he might both pay much with a
little, and in a little receive a great deal. Another proposes a
pretence of a war, that money might be raised in order to carry it on,
and that a peace be concluded as soon as that was done; and this with
such appearances of religion as might work on the people, and make them
impute it to the piety of their prince, and to his tenderness for the
lives of his subjects. A third offers some old musty laws that have
been antiquated by a long disuse (and which, as they had been forgotten
by all the subjects, so they had also been broken by them), and
proposes the levying the penalties of these laws, that, as it would
bring in a vast treasure, so there might be a very good pretence for
it, since it would look like the executing a law and the doing of
justice. A fourth proposes the prohibiting of many things under severe
penalties, especially such as were against the interest of the people,
and then the dispensing with these prohibitions, upon great
compositions, to those who might find their advantage in breaking them.
This would serve two ends, both of them acceptable to many; for as
those whose avarice led them to transgress would be severely fined, so
the selling licences dear would look as if a prince were tender of his
people, and would not easily, or at low rates, dispense with anything
that might be against the public good. Another proposes that the judges
must be made sure, that they may declare always in favour of the
prerogative; that they must be often sent for to court, that the king
may hear them argue those points in which he is concerned; since, how
unjust soever any of his pretensions may be, yet still some one or
other of them, either out of contradiction to others, or the pride of
singularity, or to make their court, would find out some pretence or
other to give the king a fair colour to carry the point. For if the
judges but differ in opinion, the clearest thing in the world is made
by that means disputable, and truth being once brought in question, the
king may then take advantage to expound the law for his own profit;
while the judges that stand out will be brought over, either through
fear or modesty; and they being thus gained, all of them may be sent to
the Bench to give sentence boldly as the king would have it; for fair
pretences will never be wanting when sentence is to be given in the
prince’s favour. It will either be said that equity lies of his side,
or some words in the law will be found sounding that way, or some
forced sense will be put on them; and, when all other things fail, the
king’s undoubted prerogative will be pretended, as that which is above
all law, and to which a religious judge ought to have a special regard.
Thus all consent to that maxim of Crassus, that a prince cannot have
treasure enough, since he must maintain his armies out of it; that a
king, even though he would, can do nothing unjustly; that all property
is in him, not excepting the very persons of his subjects; and that no
man has any other property but that which the king, out of his
goodness, thinks fit to leave him. And they think it is the prince’s
interest that there be as little of this left as may be, as if it were
his advantage that his people should have neither riches nor liberty,
since these things make them less easy and willing to submit to a cruel
and unjust government. Whereas necessity and poverty blunts them, makes
them patient, beats them down, and breaks that height of spirit that
might otherwise dispose them to rebel. Now what if, after all these
propositions were made, I should rise up and assert that such counsels
were both unbecoming a king and mischievous to him; and that not only
his honour, but his safety, consisted more in his people’s wealth than
in his own; if I should show that they choose a king for their own
sake, and not for his; that, by his care and endeavours, they may be
both easy and safe; and that, therefore, a prince ought to take more
care of his people’s happiness than of his own, as a shepherd is to
take more care of his flock than of himself? It is also certain that
they are much mistaken that think the poverty of a nation is a means of
the public safety. Who quarrel more than beggars? who does more
earnestly long for a change than he that is uneasy in his present
circumstances? and who run to create confusions with so desperate a
boldness as those who, having nothing to lose, hope to gain by them? If
a king should fall under such contempt or envy that he could not keep
his subjects in their duty but by oppression and ill usage, and by
rendering them poor and miserable, it were certainly better for him to
quit his kingdom than to retain it by such methods as make him, while
he keeps the name of authority, lose the majesty due to it. Nor is it
so becoming the dignity of a king to reign over beggars as over rich
and happy subjects. And therefore Fabricius, a man of a noble and
exalted temper, said ‘he would rather govern rich men than be rich
himself; since for one man to abound in wealth and pleasure when all
about him are mourning and groaning, is to be a gaoler and not a king.’
He is an unskilful physician that cannot cure one disease without
casting his patient into another. So he that can find no other way for
correcting the errors of his people but by taking from them the
conveniences of life, shows that he knows not what it is to govern a
free nation. He himself ought rather to shake off his sloth, or to lay
down his pride, for the contempt or hatred that his people have for him
takes its rise from the vices in himself. Let him live upon what
belongs to him without wronging others, and accommodate his expense to
his revenue. Let him punish crimes, and, by his wise conduct, let him
endeavour to prevent them, rather than be severe when he has suffered
them to be too common. Let him not rashly revive laws that are
abrogated by disuse, especially if they have been long forgotten and
never wanted. And let him never take any penalty for the breach of them
to which a judge would not give way in a private man, but would look on
him as a crafty and unjust person for pretending to it. To these things
I would add that law among the Macarians—a people that live not far
from Utopia—by which their king, on the day on which he began to reign,
is tied by an oath, confirmed by solemn sacrifices, never to have at
once above a thousand pounds of gold in his treasures, or so much
silver as is equal to that in value. This law, they tell us, was made
by an excellent king who had more regard to the riches of his country
than to his own wealth, and therefore provided against the heaping up
of so much treasure as might impoverish the people. He thought that
moderate sum might be sufficient for any accident, if either the king
had occasion for it against the rebels, or the kingdom against the
invasion of an enemy; but that it was not enough to encourage a prince
to invade other men’s rights—a circumstance that was the chief cause of
his making that law. He also thought that it was a good provision for
that free circulation of money so necessary for the course of commerce
and exchange. And when a king must distribute all those extraordinary
accessions that increase treasure beyond the due pitch, it makes him
less disposed to oppress his subjects. Such a king as this will be the
terror of ill men, and will be beloved by all the good.
“If, I say, I should talk of these or such-like things to men that had
taken their bias another way, how deaf would they be to all I could
say!” “No doubt, very deaf,” answered I; “and no wonder, for one is
never to offer propositions or advice that we are certain will not be
entertained. Discourses so much out of the road could not avail
anything, nor have any effect on men whose minds were prepossessed with
different sentiments. This philosophical way of speculation is not
unpleasant among friends in a free conversation; but there is no room
for it in the courts of princes, where great affairs are carried on by
authority.” “That is what I was saying,” replied he, “that there is no
room for philosophy in the courts of princes.” “Yes, there is,” said I,
“but not for this speculative philosophy, that makes everything to be
alike fitting at all times; but there is another philosophy that is
more pliable, that knows its proper scene, accommodates itself to it,
and teaches a man with propriety and decency to act that part which has
fallen to his share. If when one of Plautus’ comedies is upon the
stage, and a company of servants are acting their parts, you should
come out in the garb of a philosopher, and repeat, out of _Octavia_, a
discourse of Seneca’s to Nero, would it not be better for you to say
nothing than by mixing things of such different natures to make an
impertinent tragi-comedy? for you spoil and corrupt the play that is in
hand when you mix with it things of an opposite nature, even though
they are much better. Therefore go through with the play that is acting
the best you can, and do not confound it because another that is
pleasanter comes into your thoughts. It is even so in a commonwealth
and in the councils of princes; if ill opinions cannot be quite rooted
out, and you cannot cure some received vice according to your wishes,
you must not, therefore, abandon the commonwealth, for the same reasons
as you should not forsake the ship in a storm because you cannot
command the winds. You are not obliged to assault people with
discourses that are out of their road, when you see that their received
notions must prevent your making an impression upon them: you ought
rather to cast about and to manage things with all the dexterity in
your power, so that, if you are not able to make them go well, they may
be as little ill as possible; for, except all men were good, everything
cannot be right, and that is a blessing that I do not at present hope
to see.” “According to your argument,” answered he, “all that I could
be able to do would be to preserve myself from being mad while I
endeavoured to cure the madness of others; for, if I speak truth, I
must repeat what I have said to you; and as for lying, whether a
philosopher can do it or not I cannot tell: I am sure I cannot do it.
But though these discourses may be uneasy and ungrateful to them, I do
not see why they should seem foolish or extravagant; indeed, if I
should either propose such things as Plato has contrived in his
‘Commonwealth,’ or as the Utopians practise in theirs, though they
might seem better, as certainly they are, yet they are so different
from our establishment, which is founded on property (there being no
such thing among them), that I could not expect that it would have any
effect on them. But such discourses as mine, which only call past evils
to mind and give warning of what may follow, leave nothing in them that
is so absurd that they may not be used at any time, for they can only
be unpleasant to those who are resolved to run headlong the contrary
way; and if we must let alone everything as absurd or
extravagant—which, by reason of the wicked lives of many, may seem
uncouth—we must, even among Christians, give over pressing the greatest
part of those things that Christ hath taught us, though He has
commanded us not to conceal them, but to proclaim on the housetops that
which He taught in secret. The greatest parts of His precepts are more
opposite to the lives of the men of this age than any part of my
discourse has been, but the preachers seem to have learned that craft
to which you advise me: for they, observing that the world would not
willingly suit their lives to the rules that Christ has given, have
fitted His doctrine, as if it had been a leaden rule, to their lives,
that so, some way or other, they might agree with one another. But I
see no other effect of this compliance except it be that men become
more secure in their wickedness by it; and this is all the success that
I can have in a court, for I must always differ from the rest, and then
I shall signify nothing; or, if I agree with them, I shall then only
help forward their madness. I do not comprehend what you mean by your
‘casting about,’ or by ‘the bending and handling things so dexterously
that, if they go not well, they may go as little ill as may be;’ for in
courts they will not bear with a man’s holding his peace or conniving
at what others do: a man must barefacedly approve of the worst counsels
and consent to the blackest designs: so that he would pass for a spy,
or, possibly, for a traitor, that did but coldly approve of such wicked
practices; and therefore when a man is engaged in such a society, he
will be so far from being able to mend matters by his ‘casting about,’
as you call it, that he will find no occasions of doing any good—the
ill company will sooner corrupt him than be the better for him; or if,
notwithstanding all their ill company, he still remains steady and
innocent, yet their follies and knavery will be imputed to him; and, by
mixing counsels with them, he must bear his share of all the blame that
belongs wholly to others.
“It was no ill simile by which Plato set forth the unreasonableness of
a philosopher’s meddling with government. ‘If a man,’ says he, ‘were to
see a great company run out every day into the rain and take delight in
being wet—if he knew that it would be to no purpose for him to go and
persuade them to return to their houses in order to avoid the storm,
and that all that could be expected by his going to speak to them would
be that he himself should be as wet as they, it would be best for him
to keep within doors, and, since he had not influence enough to correct
other people’s folly, to take care to preserve himself.’
“Though, to speak plainly my real sentiments, I must freely own that as
long as there is any property, and while money is the standard of all
other things, I cannot think that a nation can be governed either
justly or happily: not justly, because the best things will fall to the
share of the worst men; nor happily, because all things will be divided
among a few (and even these are not in all respects happy), the rest
being left to be absolutely miserable. Therefore, when I reflect on the
wise and good constitution of the Utopians, among whom all things are
so well governed and with so few laws, where virtue hath its due
reward, and yet there is such an equality that every man lives in
plenty—when I compare with them so many other nations that are still
making new laws, and yet can never bring their constitution to a right
regulation; where, notwithstanding every one has his property, yet all
the laws that they can invent have not the power either to obtain or
preserve it, or even to enable men certainly to distinguish what is
their own from what is another’s, of which the many lawsuits that every
day break out, and are eternally depending, give too plain a
demonstration—when, I say, I balance all these things in my thoughts, I
grow more favourable to Plato, and do not wonder that he resolved not
to make any laws for such as would not submit to a community of all
things; for so wise a man could not but foresee that the setting all
upon a level was the only way to make a nation happy; which cannot be
obtained so long as there is property, for when every man draws to
himself all that he can compass, by one title or another, it must needs
follow that, how plentiful soever a nation may be, yet a few dividing
the wealth of it among themselves, the rest must fall into indigence.
So that there will be two sorts of people among them, who deserve that
their fortunes should be interchanged—the former useless, but wicked
and ravenous; and the latter, who by their constant industry serve the
public more than themselves, sincere and modest men—from whence I am
persuaded that till property is taken away, there can be no equitable
or just distribution of things, nor can the world be happily governed;
for as long as that is maintained, the greatest and the far best part
of mankind, will be still oppressed with a load of cares and anxieties.
I confess, without taking it quite away, those pressures that lie on a
great part of mankind may be made lighter, but they can never be quite
removed; for if laws were made to determine at how great an extent in
soil, and at how much money, every man must stop—to limit the prince,
that he might not grow too great; and to restrain the people, that they
might not become too insolent—and that none might factiously aspire to
public employments, which ought neither to be sold nor made burdensome
by a great expense, since otherwise those that serve in them would be
tempted to reimburse themselves by cheats and violence, and it would
become necessary to find out rich men for undergoing those employments,
which ought rather to be trusted to the wise. These laws, I say, might
have such effect as good diet and care might have on a sick man whose
recovery is desperate; they might allay and mitigate the disease, but
it could never be quite healed, nor the body politic be brought again
to a good habit as long as property remains; and it will fall out, as
in a complication of diseases, that by applying a remedy to one sore
you will provoke another, and that which removes the one ill symptom
produces others, while the strengthening one part of the body weakens
the rest.” “On the contrary,” answered I, “it seems to me that men
cannot live conveniently where all things are common. How can there be
any plenty where every man will excuse himself from labour? for as the
hope of gain doth not excite him, so the confidence that he has in
other men’s industry may make him slothful. If people come to be
pinched with want, and yet cannot dispose of anything as their own,
what can follow upon this but perpetual sedition and bloodshed,
especially when the reverence and authority due to magistrates falls to
the ground? for I cannot imagine how that can be kept up among those
that are in all things equal to one another.” “I do not wonder,” said
he, “that it appears so to you, since you have no notion, or at least
no right one, of such a constitution; but if you had been in Utopia
with me, and had seen their laws and rules, as I did, for the space of
five years, in which I lived among them, and during which time I was so
delighted with them that indeed I should never have left them if it had
not been to make the discovery of that new world to the Europeans, you
would then confess that you had never seen a people so well constituted
as they.” “You will not easily persuade me,” said Peter, “that any
nation in that new world is better governed than those among us; for as
our understandings are not worse than theirs, so our government (if I
mistake not) being more ancient, a long practice has helped us to find
out many conveniences of life, and some happy chances have discovered
other things to us which no man’s understanding could ever have
invented.” “As for the antiquity either of their government or of
ours,” said he, “you cannot pass a true judgment of it unless you had
read their histories; for, if they are to be believed, they had towns
among them before these parts were so much as inhabited; and as for
those discoveries that have been either hit on by chance or made by
ingenious men, these might have happened there as well as here. I do
not deny but we are more ingenious than they are, but they exceed us
much in industry and application. They knew little concerning us before
our arrival among them. They call us all by a general name of ‘The
nations that lie beyond the equinoctial line;’ for their chronicle
mentions a shipwreck that was made on their coast twelve hundred years
ago, and that some Romans and Egyptians that were in the ship, getting
safe ashore, spent the rest of their days amongst them; and such was
their ingenuity that from this single opportunity they drew the
advantage of learning from those unlooked-for guests, and acquired all
the useful arts that were then among the Romans, and which were known
to these shipwrecked men; and by the hints that they gave them they
themselves found out even some of those arts which they could not fully
explain, so happily did they improve that accident of having some of
our people cast upon their shore. But if such an accident has at any
time brought any from thence into Europe, we have been so far from
improving it that we do not so much as remember it, as, in aftertimes
perhaps, it will be forgot by our people that I was ever there; for
though they, from one such accident, made themselves masters of all the
good inventions that were among us, yet I believe it would be long
before we should learn or put in practice any of the good institutions
that are among them. And this is the true cause of their being better
governed and living happier than we, though we come not short of them
in point of understanding or outward advantages.” Upon this I said to
him, “I earnestly beg you would describe that island very particularly
to us; be not too short, but set out in order all things relating to
their soil, their rivers, their towns, their people, their manners,
constitution, laws, and, in a word, all that you imagine we desire to
know; and you may well imagine that we desire to know everything
concerning them of which we are hitherto ignorant.” “I will do it very
willingly,” said he, “for I have digested the whole matter carefully,
but it will take up some time.” “Let us go, then,” said I, “first and
dine, and then we shall have leisure enough.” He consented; we went in
and dined, and after dinner came back and sat down in the same place. I
ordered my servants to take care that none might come and interrupt us,
and both Peter and I desired Raphael to be as good as his word. When he
saw that we were very intent upon it he paused a little to recollect
himself, and began in this manner:—
“The island of Utopia is in the middle two hundred miles broad, and
holds almost at the same breadth over a great part of it, but it grows
narrower towards both ends. Its figure is not unlike a crescent.
Between its horns the sea comes in eleven miles broad, and spreads
itself into a great bay, which is environed with land to the compass of
about five hundred miles, and is well secured from winds. In this bay
there is no great current; the whole coast is, as it were, one
continued harbour, which gives all that live in the island great
convenience for mutual commerce. But the entry into the bay, occasioned
by rocks on the one hand and shallows on the other, is very dangerous.
In the middle of it there is one single rock which appears above water,
and may, therefore, easily be avoided; and on the top of it there is a
tower, in which a garrison is kept; the other rocks lie under water,
and are very dangerous. The channel is known only to the natives; so
that if any stranger should enter into the bay without one of their
pilots he would run great danger of shipwreck. For even they themselves
could not pass it safe if some marks that are on the coast did not
direct their way; and if these should be but a little shifted, any
fleet that might come against them, how great soever it were, would be
certainly lost. On the other side of the island there are likewise many
harbours; and the coast is so fortified, both by nature and art, that a
small number of men can hinder the descent of a great army. But they
report (and there remains good marks of it to make it credible) that
this was no island at first, but a part of the continent. Utopus, that
conquered it (whose name it still carries, for Abraxa was its first
name), brought the rude and uncivilised inhabitants into such a good
government, and to that measure of politeness, that they now far excel
all the rest of mankind. Having soon subdued them, he designed to
separate them from the continent, and to bring the sea quite round
them. To accomplish this he ordered a deep channel to be dug, fifteen
miles long; and that the natives might not think he treated them like
slaves, he not only forced the inhabitants, but also his own soldiers,
to labour in carrying it on. As he set a vast number of men to work,
he, beyond all men’s expectations, brought it to a speedy conclusion.
And his neighbours, who at first laughed at the folly of the
undertaking, no sooner saw it brought to perfection than they were
struck with admiration and terror.
“There are fifty-four cities in the island, all large and well built,
the manners, customs, and laws of which are the same, and they are all
contrived as near in the same manner as the ground on which they stand
will allow. The nearest lie at least twenty-four miles’ distance from
one another, and the most remote are not so far distant but that a man
can go on foot in one day from it to that which lies next it. Every
city sends three of their wisest senators once a year to Amaurot, to
consult about their common concerns; for that is the chief town of the
island, being situated near the centre of it, so that it is the most
convenient place for their assemblies. The jurisdiction of every city
extends at least twenty miles, and, where the towns lie wider, they
have much more ground. No town desires to enlarge its bounds, for the
people consider themselves rather as tenants than landlords. They have
built, over all the country, farmhouses for husbandmen, which are well
contrived, and furnished with all things necessary for country labour.
Inhabitants are sent, by turns, from the cities to dwell in them; no
country family has fewer than forty men and women in it, besides two
slaves. There is a master and a mistress set over every family, and
over thirty families there is a magistrate. Every year twenty of this
family come back to the town after they have stayed two years in the
country, and in their room there are other twenty sent from the town,
that they may learn country work from those that have been already one
year in the country, as they must teach those that come to them the
next from the town. By this means such as dwell in those country farms
are never ignorant of agriculture, and so commit no errors which might
otherwise be fatal and bring them under a scarcity of corn. But though
there is every year such a shifting of the husbandmen to prevent any
man being forced against his will to follow that hard course of life
too long, yet many among them take such pleasure in it that they desire
leave to continue in it many years. These husbandmen till the ground,
breed cattle, hew wood, and convey it to the towns either by land or
water, as is most convenient. They breed an infinite multitude of
chickens in a very curious manner; for the hens do not sit and hatch
them, but a vast number of eggs are laid in a gentle and equal heat in
order to be hatched, and they are no sooner out of the shell, and able
to stir about, but they seem to consider those that feed them as their
mothers, and follow them as other chickens do the hen that hatched
them. They breed very few horses, but those they have are full of
mettle, and are kept only for exercising their youth in the art of
sitting and riding them; for they do not put them to any work, either
of ploughing or carriage, in which they employ oxen. For though their
horses are stronger, yet they find oxen can hold out longer; and as
they are not subject to so many diseases, so they are kept upon a less
charge and with less trouble. And even when they are so worn out that
they are no more fit for labour, they are good meat at last. They sow
no corn but that which is to be their bread; for they drink either
wine, cider or perry, and often water, sometimes boiled with honey or
liquorice, with which they abound; and though they know exactly how
much corn will serve every town and all that tract of country which
belongs to it, yet they sow much more and breed more cattle than are
necessary for their consumption, and they give that overplus of which
they make no use to their neighbours. When they want anything in the
country which it does not produce, they fetch that from the town,
without carrying anything in exchange for it. And the magistrates of
the town take care to see it given them; for they meet generally in the
town once a month, upon a festival day. When the time of harvest comes,
the magistrates in the country send to those in the towns and let them
know how many hands they will need for reaping the harvest; and the
number they call for being sent to them, they commonly despatch it all
in one day.