"UTOPIA\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nSir Thomas More, son of Sir John More, a justice of the King's Bench, was\nborn in 1478, in Milk Street, in the city of London.  After his earlier\neducation at St. Anthony's School, in Threadneedle Street, he was placed,\nas a boy, in the household of Cardinal John Morton, Archbishop of\nCanterbury and Lord Chancellor.  It was not unusual for persons of wealth\nor influence and sons of good families to be so established together in a\nrelation of patron and client.  The youth wore his patron's livery, and\nadded to his state.  The patron used, afterwards, his wealth or influence\nin helping his young client forward in the world.  Cardinal Morton had\nbeen in earlier days that Bishop of Ely whom Richard III. sent to the\nTower; was busy afterwards in hostility to Richard; and was a chief\nadviser of Henry VII., who in 1486 made him Archbishop of Canterbury, and\nnine months afterwards Lord Chancellor.  Cardinal Morton--of talk at\nwhose table there are recollections in \"Utopia\"--delighted in the quick\nwit of young Thomas More.  He once said, \"Whoever shall live to try it,\nshall see this child here waiting at table prove a notable and rare man.\"\n\nAt the age of about nineteen, Thomas More was sent to Canterbury College,\nOxford, by his patron, where he learnt Greek of the first men who brought\nGreek studies from Italy to England--William Grocyn and Thomas Linacre.\nLinacre, a physician, who afterwards took orders, was also the founder of\nthe College of Physicians.  In 1499, More left Oxford to study law in\nLondon, at Lincoln's Inn, and in the next year Archbishop Morton died.\n\nMore's earnest character caused him while studying law to aim at the\nsubduing of the flesh, by wearing a hair shirt, taking a log for a\npillow, and whipping himself on Fridays.  At the age of twenty-one he\nentered Parliament, and soon after he had been called to the bar he was\nmade Under-Sheriff of London.  In 1503 he opposed in the House of Commons\nHenry VII.'s proposal for a subsidy on account of the marriage portion of\nhis daughter Margaret; and he opposed with so much energy that the House\nrefused to grant it.  One went and told the king that a beardless boy had\ndisappointed all his expectations.  During the last years, therefore, of\nHenry VII.  More was under the displeasure of the king, and had thoughts\nof leaving the country.\n\nHenry VII. died in April, 1509, when More's age was a little over thirty.\nIn the first years of the reign of Henry VIII. he rose to large practice\nin the law courts, where it is said he refused to plead in cases which he\nthought unjust, and took no fees from widows, orphans, or the poor.  He\nwould have preferred marrying the second daughter of John Colt, of New\nHall, in Essex, but chose her elder sister, that he might not subject her\nto the discredit of being passed over.\n\nIn 1513 Thomas More, still Under-Sheriff of London, is said to have\nwritten his \"History of the Life and Death of King Edward V., and of the\nUsurpation of Richard III.\"  The book, which seems to contain the\nknowledge and opinions of More's patron, Morton, was not printed until\n1557, when its writer had been twenty-two years dead.  It was then\nprinted from a MS. in More's handwriting.\n\nIn the year 1515 Wolsey, Archbishop of York, was made Cardinal by Leo X.;\nHenry VIII. made him Lord Chancellor, and from that year until 1523 the\nKing and the Cardinal ruled England with absolute authority, and called\nno parliament.  In May of the year 1515 Thomas More--not knighted yet--was\njoined in a commission to the Low Countries with Cuthbert Tunstal and\nothers to confer with the ambassadors of Charles V., then only Archduke\nof Austria, upon a renewal of alliance.  On that embassy More, aged about\nthirty-seven, was absent from England for six months, and while at\nAntwerp he established friendship with Peter Giles (Latinised AEgidius),\na scholarly and courteous young man, who was secretary to the\nmunicipality of Antwerp.\n\nCuthbert Tunstal was a rising churchman, chancellor to the Archbishop of\nCanterbury, who in that year (1515) was made Archdeacon of Chester, and\nin May of the next year (1516) Master of the Rolls.  In 1516 he was sent\nagain to the Low Countries, and More then went with him to Brussels,\nwhere they were in close companionship with Erasmus.\n\nMore's \"Utopia\" was written in Latin, and is in two parts, of which the\nsecond, describing the place ([Greek text]--or Nusquama, as he called it\nsometimes in his letters--\"Nowhere\"), was probably written towards the\nclose of 1515; the first part, introductory, early in 1516.  The book was\nfirst printed at Louvain, late in 1516, under the editorship of Erasmus,\nPeter Giles, and other of More's friends in Flanders.  It was then\nrevised by More, and printed by Frobenius at Basle in November, 1518.  It\nwas reprinted at Paris and Vienna, but was not printed in England during\nMore's lifetime.  Its first publication in this country was in the\nEnglish translation, made in Edward's VI.'s reign (1551) by Ralph\nRobinson.  It was translated with more literary skill by Gilbert Burnet,\nin 1684, soon after he had conducted the defence of his friend Lord\nWilliam Russell, attended his execution, vindicated his memory, and been\nspitefully deprived by James II. of his lectureship at St. Clement's.\nBurnet was drawn to the translation of \"Utopia\" by the same sense of\nunreason in high places that caused More to write the book.  Burnet's is\nthe translation given in this volume.\n\nThe name of the book has given an adjective to our language--we call an\nimpracticable scheme Utopian.  Yet, under the veil of a playful fiction,\nthe talk is intensely earnest, and abounds in practical suggestion.  It\nis the work of a scholarly and witty Englishman, who attacks in his own\nway the chief political and social evils of his time.  Beginning with\nfact, More tells how he was sent into Flanders with Cuthbert Tunstal,\n\"whom the king's majesty of late, to the great rejoicing of all men, did\nprefer to the office of Master of the Rolls;\" how the commissioners of\nCharles met them at Bruges, and presently returned to Brussels for\ninstructions; and how More then went to Antwerp, where he found a\npleasure in the society of Peter Giles which soothed his desire to see\nagain his wife and children, from whom he had been four months away.  Then\nfact slides into fiction with the finding of Raphael Hythloday (whose\nname, made of two Greek words [Greek text] and [Greek text], means\n\"knowing in trifles\"), a man who had been with Amerigo Vespucci in the\nthree last of the voyages to the new world lately discovered, of which\nthe account had been first printed in 1507, only nine years before Utopia\nwas written.\n\nDesignedly fantastic in suggestion of details, \"Utopia\" is the work of a\nscholar who had read Plato's \"Republic,\" and had his fancy quickened\nafter reading Plutarch's account of Spartan life under Lycurgus.  Beneath\nthe veil of an ideal communism, into which there has been worked some\nwitty extravagance, there lies a noble English argument.  Sometimes More\nputs the case as of France when he means England.  Sometimes there is\nironical praise of the good faith of Christian kings, saving the book\nfrom censure as a political attack on the policy of Henry VIII.  Erasmus\nwrote to a friend in 1517 that he should send for More's \"Utopia,\" if he\nhad not read it, and \"wished to see the true source of all political\nevils.\"  And to More Erasmus wrote of his book, \"A burgomaster of Antwerp\nis so pleased with it that he knows it all by heart.\"\n\nH. M.\n\n\n\n\nDISCOURSES OF RAPHAEL HYTHLODAY, OF THE BEST STATE OF A COMMONWEALTH\n\n\nHenry VIII., the unconquered King of England, a prince adorned with all\nthe virtues that become a great monarch, having some differences of no\nsmall consequence with Charles the most serene Prince of Castile, sent me\ninto Flanders, as his ambassador, for treating and composing matters\nbetween them.  I was colleague and companion to that incomparable man\nCuthbert Tonstal, whom the King, with such universal applause, lately\nmade Master of the Rolls; but of whom I will say nothing; not because I\nfear that the testimony of a friend will be suspected, but rather because\nhis learning and virtues are too great for me to do them justice, and so\nwell known, that they need not my commendations, unless I would,\naccording to the proverb, \"Show the sun with a lantern.\"  Those that were\nappointed by the Prince to treat with us, met us at Bruges, according to\nagreement; they were all worthy men.  The Margrave of Bruges was their\nhead, and the chief man among them; but he that was esteemed the wisest,\nand that spoke for the rest, was George Temse, the Provost of Casselsee:\nboth art and nature had concurred to make him eloquent: he was very\nlearned in the law; and, as he had a great capacity, so, by a long\npractice in affairs, he was very dexterous at unravelling them.  After we\nhad several times met, without coming to an agreement, they went to\nBrussels for some days, to know the Prince's pleasure; and, since our\nbusiness would admit it, I went to Antwerp.  While I was there, among\nmany that visited me, there was one that was more acceptable to me than\nany other, Peter Giles, born at Antwerp, who is a man of great honour,\nand of a good rank in his town, though less than he deserves; for I do\nnot know if there be anywhere to be found a more learned and a better\nbred young man; for as he is both a very worthy and a very knowing\nperson, so he is so civil to all men, so particularly kind to his\nfriends, and so full of candour and affection, that there is not,\nperhaps, above one or two anywhere to be found, that is in all respects\nso perfect a friend: he is extraordinarily modest, there is no artifice\nin him, and yet no man has more of a prudent simplicity.  His\nconversation was so pleasant and so innocently cheerful, that his company\nin a great measure lessened any longings to go back to my country, and to\nmy wife and children, which an absence of four months had quickened very\nmuch.  One day, as I was returning home from mass at St. Mary's, which is\nthe chief church, and the most frequented of any in Antwerp, I saw him,\nby accident, talking with a stranger, who seemed past the flower of his\nage; his face was tanned, he had a long beard, and his cloak was hanging\ncarelessly about him, so that, by his looks and habit, I concluded he was\na seaman.  As soon as Peter saw me, he came and saluted me, and as I was\nreturning his civility, he took me aside, and pointing to him with whom\nhe had been discoursing, he said, \"Do you see that man?  I was just\nthinking to bring him to you.\"  I answered, \"He should have been very\nwelcome on your account.\"  \"And on his own too,\" replied he, \"if you knew\nthe man, for there is none alive that can give so copious an account of\nunknown nations and countries as he can do, which I know you very much\ndesire.\"  \"Then,\" said I, \"I did not guess amiss, for at first sight I\ntook him for a seaman.\"  \"But you are much mistaken,\" said he, \"for he\nhas not sailed as a seaman, but as a traveller, or rather a philosopher.\nThis Raphael, who from his family carries the name of Hythloday, is not\nignorant of the Latin tongue, but is eminently learned in the Greek,\nhaving applied himself more particularly to that than to the former,\nbecause he had given himself much to philosophy, in which he knew that\nthe Romans have left us nothing that is valuable, except what is to be\nfound in Seneca and Cicero.  He is a Portuguese by birth, and was so\ndesirous of seeing the world, that he divided his estate among his\nbrothers, ran the same hazard as Americus Vesputius, and bore a share in\nthree of his four voyages that are now published; only he did not return\nwith him in his last, but obtained leave of him, almost by force, that he\nmight be one of those twenty-four who were left at the farthest place at\nwhich they touched in their last voyage to New Castile.  The leaving him\nthus did not a little gratify one that was more fond of travelling than\nof returning home to be buried in his own country; for he used often to\nsay, that the way to heaven was the same from all places, and he that had\nno grave had the heavens still over him.  Yet this disposition of mind\nhad cost him dear, if God had not been very gracious to him; for after\nhe, with five Castalians, had travelled over many countries, at last, by\nstrange good fortune, he got to Ceylon, and from thence to Calicut, where\nhe, very happily, found some Portuguese ships; and, beyond all men's\nexpectations, returned to his native country.\"  When Peter had said this\nto me, I thanked him for his kindness in intending to give me the\nacquaintance of a man whose conversation he knew would be so acceptable;\nand upon that Raphael and I embraced each other.  After those civilities\nwere past which are usual with strangers upon their first meeting, we all\nwent to my house, and entering into the garden, sat down on a green bank\nand entertained one another in discourse.  He told us that when Vesputius\nhad sailed away, he, and his companions that stayed behind in New\nCastile, by degrees insinuated themselves into the affections of the\npeople of the country, meeting often with them and treating them gently;\nand at last they not only lived among them without danger, but conversed\nfamiliarly with them, and got so far into the heart of a prince, whose\nname and country I have forgot, that he both furnished them plentifully\nwith all things necessary, and also with the conveniences of travelling,\nboth boats when they went by water, and waggons when they travelled over\nland: he sent with them a very faithful guide, who was to introduce and\nrecommend them to such other princes as they had a mind to see: and after\nmany days' journey, they came to towns, and cities, and to commonwealths,\nthat were both happily governed and well peopled.  Under the equator, and\nas far on both sides of it as the sun moves, there lay vast deserts that\nwere parched with the perpetual heat of the sun; the soil was withered,\nall things looked dismally, and all places were either quite uninhabited,\nor abounded with wild beasts and serpents, and some few men, that were\nneither less wild nor less cruel than the beasts themselves.  But, as\nthey went farther, a new scene opened, all things grew milder, the air\nless burning, the soil more verdant, and even the beasts were less wild:\nand, at last, there were nations, towns, and cities, that had not only\nmutual commerce among themselves and with their neighbours, but traded,\nboth by sea and land, to very remote countries.  There they found the\nconveniencies of seeing many countries on all hands, for no ship went any\nvoyage into which he and his companions were not very welcome.  The first\nvessels that they saw were flat-bottomed, their sails were made of reeds\nand wicker, woven close together, only some were of leather; but,\nafterwards, they found ships made with round keels and canvas sails, and\nin all respects like our ships, and the seamen understood both astronomy\nand navigation.  He got wonderfully into their favour by showing them the\nuse of the needle, of which till then they were utterly ignorant.  They\nsailed before with great caution, and only in summer time; but now they\ncount all seasons alike, trusting wholly to the loadstone, in which they\nare, perhaps, more secure than safe; so that there is reason to fear that\nthis discovery, which was thought would prove so much to their advantage,\nmay, by their imprudence, become an occasion of much mischief to them.\nBut it were too long to dwell on all that he told us he had observed in\nevery place, it would be too great a digression from our present purpose:\nwhatever is necessary to be told concerning those wise and prudent\ninstitutions which he observed among civilised nations, may perhaps be\nrelated by us on a more proper occasion.  We asked him many questions\nconcerning all these things, to which he answered very willingly; we made\nno inquiries after monsters, than which nothing is more common; for\neverywhere one may hear of ravenous dogs and wolves, and cruel\nmen-eaters, but it is not so easy to find states that are well and wisely\ngoverned.\n\nAs he told us of many things that were amiss in those new-discovered\ncountries, so he reckoned up not a few things, from which patterns might\nbe taken for correcting the errors of these nations among whom we live;\nof which an account may be given, as I have already promised, at some\nother time; for, at present, I intend only to relate those particulars\nthat he told us, of the manners and laws of the Utopians: but I will\nbegin with the occasion that led us to speak of that commonwealth.  After\nRaphael had discoursed with great judgment on the many errors that were\nboth among us and these nations, had treated of the wise institutions\nboth here and there, and had spoken as distinctly of the customs and\ngovernment of every nation through which he had past, as if he had spent\nhis whole life in it, Peter, being struck with admiration, said, \"I\nwonder, Raphael, how it comes that you enter into no king's service, for\nI am sure there are none to whom you would not be very acceptable; for\nyour learning and knowledge, both of men and things, is such, that you\nwould not only entertain them very pleasantly, but be of great use to\nthem, by the examples you could set before them, and the advices you\ncould give them; and by this means you would both serve your own\ninterest, and be of great use to all your friends.\"  \"As for my friends,\"\nanswered he, \"I need not be much concerned, having already done for them\nall that was incumbent on me; for when I was not only in good health, but\nfresh and young, I distributed that among my kindred and friends which\nother people do not part with till they are old and sick: when they then\nunwillingly give that which they can enjoy no longer themselves.  I think\nmy friends ought to rest contented with this, and not to expect that for\ntheir sakes I should enslave myself to any king whatsoever.\"  \"Soft and\nfair!\" said Peter; \"I do not mean that you should be a slave to any king,\nbut only that you should assist them and be useful to them.\"  \"The change\nof the word,\" said he, \"does not alter the matter.\"  \"But term it as you\nwill,\" replied Peter, \"I do not see any other way in which you can be so\nuseful, both in private to your friends and to the public, and by which\nyou can make your own condition happier.\"  \"Happier?\" answered Raphael,\n\"is that to be compassed in a way so abhorrent to my genius?  Now I live\nas I will, to which I believe, few courtiers can pretend; and there are\nso many that court the favour of great men, that there will be no great\nloss if they are not troubled either with me or with others of my\ntemper.\"  Upon this, said I, \"I perceive, Raphael, that you neither\ndesire wealth nor greatness; and, indeed, I value and admire such a man\nmuch more than I do any of the great men in the world.  Yet I think you\nwould do what would well become so generous and philosophical a soul as\nyours is, if you would apply your time and thoughts to public affairs,\neven though you may happen to find it a little uneasy to yourself; and\nthis you can never do with so much advantage as by being taken into the\ncouncil of some great prince and putting him on noble and worthy actions,\nwhich I know you would do if you were in such a post; for the springs\nboth of good and evil flow from the prince over a whole nation, as from a\nlasting fountain.  So much learning as you have, even without practice in\naffairs, or so great a practice as you have had, without any other\nlearning, would render you a very fit counsellor to any king whatsoever.\"\n\"You are doubly mistaken,\" said he, \"Mr. More, both in your opinion of me\nand in the judgment you make of things: for as I have not that capacity\nthat you fancy I have, so if I had it, the public would not be one jot\nthe better when I had sacrificed my quiet to it.  For most princes apply\nthemselves more to affairs of war than to the useful arts of peace; and\nin these I neither have any knowledge, nor do I much desire it; they are\ngenerally more set on acquiring new kingdoms, right or wrong, than on\ngoverning well those they possess: and, among the ministers of princes,\nthere are none that are not so wise as to need no assistance, or at\nleast, that do not think themselves so wise that they imagine they need\nnone; and if they court any, it is only those for whom the prince has\nmuch personal favour, whom by their fawning and flatteries they endeavour\nto fix to their own interests; and, indeed, nature has so made us, that\nwe all love to be flattered and to please ourselves with our own notions:\nthe old crow loves his young, and the ape her cubs.  Now if in such a\ncourt, made up of persons who envy all others and only admire themselves,\na person should but propose anything that he had either read in history\nor observed in his travels, the rest would think that the reputation of\ntheir wisdom would sink, and that their interests would be much depressed\nif they could not run it down: and, if all other things failed, then they\nwould fly to this, that such or such things pleased our ancestors, and it\nwere well for us if we could but match them.  They would set up their\nrest on such an answer, as a sufficient confutation of all that could be\nsaid, as if it were a great misfortune that any should be found wiser\nthan his ancestors.  But though they willingly let go all the good things\nthat were among those of former ages, yet, if better things are proposed,\nthey cover themselves obstinately with this excuse of reverence to past\ntimes.  I have met with these proud, morose, and absurd judgments of\nthings in many places, particularly once in England.\"  \"Were you ever\nthere?\" said I.  \"Yes, I was,\" answered he, \"and stayed some months\nthere, not long after the rebellion in the West was suppressed, with a\ngreat slaughter of the poor people that were engaged in it.\n\n\"I was then much obliged to that reverend prelate, John Morton,\nArchbishop of Canterbury, Cardinal, and Chancellor of England; a man,\"\nsaid he, \"Peter (for Mr. More knows well what he was), that was not less\nvenerable for his wisdom and virtues than for the high character he bore:\nhe was of a middle stature, not broken with age; his looks begot\nreverence rather than fear; his conversation was easy, but serious and\ngrave; he sometimes took pleasure to try the force of those that came as\nsuitors to him upon business by speaking sharply, though decently, to\nthem, and by that he discovered their spirit and presence of mind; with\nwhich he was much delighted when it did not grow up to impudence, as\nbearing a great resemblance to his own temper, and he looked on such\npersons as the fittest men for affairs.  He spoke both gracefully and\nweightily; he was eminently skilled in the law, had a vast understanding,\nand a prodigious memory; and those excellent talents with which nature\nhad furnished him were improved by study and experience.  When I was in\nEngland the King depended much on his counsels, and the Government seemed\nto be chiefly supported by him; for from his youth he had been all along\npractised in affairs; and, having passed through many traverses of\nfortune, he had, with great cost, acquired a vast stock of wisdom, which\nis not soon lost when it is purchased so dear.  One day, when I was\ndining with him, there happened to be at table one of the English\nlawyers, who took occasion to run out in a high commendation of the\nsevere execution of justice upon thieves, 'who,' as he said, 'were then\nhanged so fast that there were sometimes twenty on one gibbet!' and, upon\nthat, he said, 'he could not wonder enough how it came to pass that,\nsince so few escaped, there were yet so many thieves left, who were still\nrobbing in all places.'  Upon this, I (who took the boldness to speak\nfreely before the Cardinal) said, 'There was no reason to wonder at the\nmatter, since this way of punishing thieves was neither just in itself\nnor good for the public; for, as the severity was too great, so the\nremedy was not effectual; simple theft not being so great a crime that it\nought to cost a man his life; no punishment, how severe soever, being\nable to restrain those from robbing who can find out no other way of\nlivelihood.  In this,' said I, 'not only you in England, but a great part\nof the world, imitate some ill masters, that are readier to chastise\ntheir scholars than to teach them.  There are dreadful punishments\nenacted against thieves, but it were much better to make such good\nprovisions by which every man might be put in a method how to live, and\nso be preserved from the fatal necessity of stealing and of dying for\nit.'  'There has been care enough taken for that,' said he; 'there are\nmany handicrafts, and there is husbandry, by which they may make a shift\nto live, unless they have a greater mind to follow ill courses.'  'That\nwill not serve your turn,' said I, 'for many lose their limbs in civil or\nforeign wars, as lately in the Cornish rebellion, and some time ago in\nyour wars with France, who, being thus mutilated in the service of their\nking and country, can no more follow their old trades, and are too old to\nlearn new ones; but since wars are only accidental things, and have\nintervals, let us consider those things that fall out every day.  There\nis a great number of noblemen among you that are themselves as idle as\ndrones, that subsist on other men's labour, on the labour of their\ntenants, whom, to raise their revenues, they pare to the quick.  This,\nindeed, is the only instance of their frugality, for in all other things\nthey are prodigal, even to the beggaring of themselves; but, besides\nthis, they carry about with them a great number of idle fellows, who\nnever learned any art by which they may gain their living; and these, as\nsoon as either their lord dies, or they themselves fall sick, are turned\nout of doors; for your lords are readier to feed idle people than to take\ncare of the sick; and often the heir is not able to keep together so\ngreat a family as his predecessor did.  Now, when the stomachs of those\nthat are thus turned out of doors grow keen, they rob no less keenly; and\nwhat else can they do?  For when, by wandering about, they have worn out\nboth their health and their clothes, and are tattered, and look ghastly,\nmen of quality will not entertain them, and poor men dare not do it,\nknowing that one who has been bred up in idleness and pleasure, and who\nwas used to walk about with his sword and buckler, despising all the\nneighbourhood with an insolent scorn as far below him, is not fit for the\nspade and mattock; nor will he serve a poor man for so small a hire and\nin so low a diet as he can afford to give him.'  To this he answered,\n'This sort of men ought to be particularly cherished, for in them\nconsists the force of the armies for which we have occasion; since their\nbirth inspires them with a nobler sense of honour than is to be found\namong tradesmen or ploughmen.'  'You may as well say,' replied I, 'that\nyou must cherish thieves on the account of wars, for you will never want\nthe one as long as you have the other; and as robbers prove sometimes\ngallant soldiers, so soldiers often prove brave robbers, so near an\nalliance there is between those two sorts of life.  But this bad custom,\nso common among you, of keeping many servants, is not peculiar to this\nnation.  In France there is yet a more pestiferous sort of people, for\nthe whole country is full of soldiers, still kept up in time of peace (if\nsuch a state of a nation can be called a peace); and these are kept in\npay upon the same account that you plead for those idle retainers about\nnoblemen: this being a maxim of those pretended statesmen, that it is\nnecessary for the public safety to have a good body of veteran soldiers\never in readiness.  They think raw men are not to be depended on, and\nthey sometimes seek occasions for making war, that they may train up\ntheir soldiers in the art of cutting throats, or, as Sallust observed,\n\"for keeping their hands in use, that they may not grow dull by too long\nan intermission.\"  But France has learned to its cost how dangerous it is\nto feed such beasts.  The fate of the Romans, Carthaginians, and Syrians,\nand many other nations and cities, which were both overturned and quite\nruined by those standing armies, should make others wiser; and the folly\nof this maxim of the French appears plainly even from this, that their\ntrained soldiers often find your raw men prove too hard for them, of\nwhich I will not say much, lest you may think I flatter the English.\nEvery day's experience shows that the mechanics in the towns or the\nclowns in the country are not afraid of fighting with those idle\ngentlemen, if they are not disabled by some misfortune in their body or\ndispirited by extreme want; so that you need not fear that those well-\nshaped and strong men (for it is only such that noblemen love to keep\nabout them till they spoil them), who now grow feeble with ease and are\nsoftened with their effeminate manner of life, would be less fit for\naction if they were well bred and well employed.  And it seems very\nunreasonable that, for the prospect of a war, which you need never have\nbut when you please, you should maintain so many idle men, as will always\ndisturb you in time of peace, which is ever to be more considered than\nwar.  But I do not think that this necessity of stealing arises only from\nhence; there is another cause of it, more peculiar to England.'  'What is\nthat?' said the Cardinal: 'The increase of pasture,' said I, 'by which\nyour sheep, which are naturally mild, and easily kept in order, may be\nsaid now to devour men and unpeople, not only villages, but towns; for\nwherever it is found that the sheep of any soil yield a softer and richer\nwool than ordinary, there the nobility and gentry, and even those holy\nmen, the abbots! not contented with the old rents which their farms\nyielded, nor thinking it enough that they, living at their ease, do no\ngood to the public, resolve to do it hurt instead of good.  They stop the\ncourse of agriculture, destroying houses and towns, reserving only the\nchurches, and enclose grounds that they may lodge their sheep in them.  As\nif forests and parks had swallowed up too little of the land, those\nworthy countrymen turn the best inhabited places into solitudes; for when\nan insatiable wretch, who is a plague to his country, resolves to enclose\nmany thousand acres of ground, the owners, as well as tenants, are turned\nout of their possessions by trick or by main force, or, being wearied out\nby ill usage, they are forced to sell them; by which means those\nmiserable people, both men and women, married and unmarried, old and\nyoung, with their poor but numerous families (since country business\nrequires many hands), are all forced to change their seats, not knowing\nwhither to go; and they must sell, almost for nothing, their household\nstuff, which could not bring them much money, even though they might stay\nfor a buyer.  When that little money is at an end (for it will be soon\nspent), what is left for them to do but either to steal, and so to be\nhanged (God knows how justly!), or to go about and beg? and if they do\nthis they are put in prison as idle vagabonds, while they would willingly\nwork but can find none that will hire them; for there is no more occasion\nfor country labour, to which they have been bred, when there is no arable\nground left.  One shepherd can look after a flock, which will stock an\nextent of ground that would require many hands if it were to be ploughed\nand reaped.  This, likewise, in many places raises the price of corn.  The\nprice of wool is also so risen that the poor people, who were wont to\nmake cloth, are no more able to buy it; and this, likewise, makes many of\nthem idle: for since the increase of pasture God has punished the avarice\nof the owners by a rot among the sheep, which has destroyed vast numbers\nof them--to us it might have seemed more just had it fell on the owners\nthemselves.  But, suppose the sheep should increase ever so much, their\nprice is not likely to fall; since, though they cannot be called a\nmonopoly, because they are not engrossed by one person, yet they are in\nso few hands, and these are so rich, that, as they are not pressed to\nsell them sooner than they have a mind to it, so they never do it till\nthey have raised the price as high as possible.  And on the same account\nit is that the other kinds of cattle are so dear, because many villages\nbeing pulled down, and all country labour being much neglected, there are\nnone who make it their business to breed them.  The rich do not breed\ncattle as they do sheep, but buy them lean and at low prices; and, after\nthey have fattened them on their grounds, sell them again at high rates.\nAnd I do not think that all the inconveniences this will produce are yet\nobserved; for, as they sell the cattle dear, so, if they are consumed\nfaster than the breeding countries from which they are brought can afford\nthem, then the stock must decrease, and this must needs end in great\nscarcity; and by these means, this your island, which seemed as to this\nparticular the happiest in the world, will suffer much by the cursed\navarice of a few persons: besides this, the rising of corn makes all\npeople lessen their families as much as they can; and what can those who\nare dismissed by them do but either beg or rob?  And to this last a man\nof a great mind is much sooner drawn than to the former.  Luxury likewise\nbreaks in apace upon you to set forward your poverty and misery; there is\nan excessive vanity in apparel, and great cost in diet, and that not only\nin noblemen's families, but even among tradesmen, among the farmers\nthemselves, and among all ranks of persons.  You have also many infamous\nhouses, and, besides those that are known, the taverns and ale-houses are\nno better; add to these dice, cards, tables, football, tennis, and\nquoits, in which money runs fast away; and those that are initiated into\nthem must, in the conclusion, betake themselves to robbing for a supply.\nBanish these plagues, and give orders that those who have dispeopled so\nmuch soil may either rebuild the villages they have pulled down or let\nout their grounds to such as will do it; restrain those engrossings of\nthe rich, that are as bad almost as monopolies; leave fewer occasions to\nidleness; let agriculture be set up again, and the manufacture of the\nwool be regulated, that so there may be work found for those companies of\nidle people whom want forces to be thieves, or who now, being idle\nvagabonds or useless servants, will certainly grow thieves at last.  If\nyou do not find a remedy to these evils it is a vain thing to boast of\nyour severity in punishing theft, which, though it may have the\nappearance of justice, yet in itself is neither just nor convenient; for\nif you suffer your people to be ill-educated, and their manners to be\ncorrupted from their infancy, and then punish them for those crimes to\nwhich their first education disposed them, what else is to be concluded\nfrom this but that you first make thieves and then punish them?'\n\n\"While I was talking thus, the Counsellor, who was present, had prepared\nan answer, and had resolved to resume all I had said, according to the\nformality of a debate, in which things are generally repeated more\nfaithfully than they are answered, as if the chief trial to be made were\nof men's memories.  'You have talked prettily, for a stranger,' said he,\n'having heard of many things among us which you have not been able to\nconsider well; but I will make the whole matter plain to you, and will\nfirst repeat in order all that you have said; then I will show how much\nyour ignorance of our affairs has misled you; and will, in the last\nplace, answer all your arguments.  And, that I may begin where I\npromised, there were four things--'  'Hold your peace!' said the\nCardinal; 'this will take up too much time; therefore we will, at\npresent, ease you of the trouble of answering, and reserve it to our next\nmeeting, which shall be to-morrow, if Raphael's affairs and yours can\nadmit of it.  But, Raphael,' said he to me, 'I would gladly know upon\nwhat reason it is that you think theft ought not to be punished by death:\nwould you give way to it? or do you propose any other punishment that\nwill be more useful to the public? for, since death does not restrain\ntheft, if men thought their lives would be safe, what fear or force could\nrestrain ill men?  On the contrary, they would look on the mitigation of\nthe punishment as an invitation to commit more crimes.'  I answered, 'It\nseems to me a very unjust thing to take away a man's life for a little\nmoney, for nothing in the world can be of equal value with a man's life:\nand if it be said, \"that it is not for the money that one suffers, but\nfor his breaking the law,\" I must say, extreme justice is an extreme\ninjury: for we ought not to approve of those terrible laws that make the\nsmallest offences capital, nor of that opinion of the Stoics that makes\nall crimes equal; as if there were no difference to be made between the\nkilling a man and the taking his purse, between which, if we examine\nthings impartially, there is no likeness nor proportion.  God has\ncommanded us not to kill, and shall we kill so easily for a little money?\nBut if one shall say, that by that law we are only forbid to kill any\nexcept when the laws of the land allow of it, upon the same grounds, laws\nmay be made, in some cases, to allow of adultery and perjury: for God\nhaving taken from us the right of disposing either of our own or of other\npeople's lives, if it is pretended that the mutual consent of men in\nmaking laws can authorise man-slaughter in cases in which God has given\nus no example, that it frees people from the obligation of the divine\nlaw, and so makes murder a lawful action, what is this, but to give a\npreference to human laws before the divine? and, if this is once\nadmitted, by the same rule men may, in all other things, put what\nrestrictions they please upon the laws of God.  If, by the Mosaical law,\nthough it was rough and severe, as being a yoke laid on an obstinate and\nservile nation, men were only fined, and not put to death for theft, we\ncannot imagine, that in this new law of mercy, in which God treats us\nwith the tenderness of a father, He has given us a greater licence to\ncruelty than He did to the Jews.  Upon these reasons it is, that I think\nputting thieves to death is not lawful; and it is plain and obvious that\nit is absurd and of ill consequence to the commonwealth that a thief and\na murderer should be equally punished; for if a robber sees that his\ndanger is the same if he is convicted of theft as if he were guilty of\nmurder, this will naturally incite him to kill the person whom otherwise\nhe would only have robbed; since, if the punishment is the same, there is\nmore security, and less danger of discovery, when he that can best make\nit is put out of the way; so that terrifying thieves too much provokes\nthem to cruelty.\n\n\"But as to the question, 'What more convenient way of punishment can be\nfound?' I think it much easier to find out that than to invent anything\nthat is worse; why should we doubt but the way that was so long in use\namong the old Romans, who understood so well the arts of government, was\nvery proper for their punishment?  They condemned such as they found\nguilty of great crimes to work their whole lives in quarries, or to dig\nin mines with chains about them.  But the method that I liked best was\nthat which I observed in my travels in Persia, among the Polylerits, who\nare a considerable and well-governed people: they pay a yearly tribute to\nthe King of Persia, but in all other respects they are a free nation, and\ngoverned by their own laws: they lie far from the sea, and are environed\nwith hills; and, being contented with the productions of their own\ncountry, which is very fruitful, they have little commerce with any other\nnation; and as they, according to the genius of their country, have no\ninclination to enlarge their borders, so their mountains and the pension\nthey pay to the Persian, secure them from all invasions.  Thus they have\nno wars among them; they live rather conveniently than with splendour,\nand may be rather called a happy nation than either eminent or famous;\nfor I do not think that they are known, so much as by name, to any but\ntheir next neighbours.  Those that are found guilty of theft among them\nare bound to make restitution to the owner, and not, as it is in other\nplaces, to the prince, for they reckon that the prince has no more right\nto the stolen goods than the thief; but if that which was stolen is no\nmore in being, then the goods of the thieves are estimated, and\nrestitution being made out of them, the remainder is given to their wives\nand children; and they themselves are condemned to serve in the public\nworks, but are neither imprisoned nor chained, unless there happens to be\nsome extraordinary circumstance in their crimes.  They go about loose and\nfree, working for the public: if they are idle or backward to work they\nare whipped, but if they work hard they are well used and treated without\nany mark of reproach; only the lists of them are called always at night,\nand then they are shut up.  They suffer no other uneasiness but this of\nconstant labour; for, as they work for the public, so they are well\nentertained out of the public stock, which is done differently in\ndifferent places: in some places whatever is bestowed on them is raised\nby a charitable contribution; and, though this way may seem uncertain,\nyet so merciful are the inclinations of that people, that they are\nplentifully supplied by it; but in other places public revenues are set\naside for them, or there is a constant tax or poll-money raised for their\nmaintenance.  In some places they are set to no public work, but every\nprivate man that has occasion to hire workmen goes to the market-places\nand hires them of the public, a little lower than he would do a freeman.\nIf they go lazily about their task he may quicken them with the whip.  By\nthis means there is always some piece of work or other to be done by\nthem; and, besides their livelihood, they earn somewhat still to the\npublic.  They all wear a peculiar habit, of one certain colour, and their\nhair is cropped a little above their ears, and a piece of one of their\nears is cut off.  Their friends are allowed to give them either meat,\ndrink, or clothes, so they are of their proper colour; but it is death,\nboth to the giver and taker, if they give them money; nor is it less\npenal for any freeman to take money from them upon any account\nwhatsoever: and it is also death for any of these slaves (so they are\ncalled) to handle arms.  Those of every division of the country are\ndistinguished by a peculiar mark, which it is capital for them to lay\naside, to go out of their bounds, or to talk with a slave of another\njurisdiction, and the very attempt of an escape is no less penal than an\nescape itself.  It is death for any other slave to be accessory to it;\nand if a freeman engages in it he is condemned to slavery.  Those that\ndiscover it are rewarded--if freemen, in money; and if slaves, with\nliberty, together with a pardon for being accessory to it; that so they\nmight find their account rather in repenting of their engaging in such a\ndesign than in persisting in it.\n\n\"These are their laws and rules in relation to robbery, and it is obvious\nthat they are as advantageous as they are mild and gentle; since vice is\nnot only destroyed and men preserved, but they are treated in such a\nmanner as to make them see the necessity of being honest and of employing\nthe rest of their lives in repairing the injuries they had formerly done\nto society.  Nor is there any hazard of their falling back to their old\ncustoms; and so little do travellers apprehend mischief from them that\nthey generally make use of them for guides from one jurisdiction to\nanother; for there is nothing left them by which they can rob or be the\nbetter for it, since, as they are disarmed, so the very having of money\nis a sufficient conviction: and as they are certainly punished if\ndiscovered, so they cannot hope to escape; for their habit being in all\nthe parts of it different from what is commonly worn, they cannot fly\naway, unless they would go naked, and even then their cropped ear would\nbetray them.  The only danger to be feared from them is their conspiring\nagainst the government; but those of one division and neighbourhood can\ndo nothing to any purpose unless a general conspiracy were laid amongst\nall the slaves of the several jurisdictions, which cannot be done, since\nthey cannot meet or talk together; nor will any venture on a design where\nthe concealment would be so dangerous and the discovery so profitable.\nNone are quite hopeless of recovering their freedom, since by their\nobedience and patience, and by giving good grounds to believe that they\nwill change their manner of life for the future, they may expect at last\nto obtain their liberty, and some are every year restored to it upon the\ngood character that is given of them.  When I had related all this, I\nadded that I did not see why such a method might not be followed with\nmore advantage than could ever be expected from that severe justice which\nthe Counsellor magnified so much.  To this he answered, 'That it could\nnever take place in England without endangering the whole nation.'  As he\nsaid this he shook his head, made some grimaces, and held his peace,\nwhile all the company seemed of his opinion, except the Cardinal, who\nsaid, 'That it was not easy to form a judgment of its success, since it\nwas a method that never yet had been tried; but if,' said he, 'when\nsentence of death were passed upon a thief, the prince would reprieve him\nfor a while, and make the experiment upon him, denying him the privilege\nof a sanctuary; and then, if it had a good effect upon him, it might take\nplace; and, if it did not succeed, the worst would be to execute the\nsentence on the condemned persons at last; and I do not see,' added he,\n'why it would be either unjust, inconvenient, or at all dangerous to\nadmit of such a delay; in my opinion the vagabonds ought to be treated in\nthe same manner, against whom, though we have made many laws, yet we have\nnot been able to gain our end.'  When the Cardinal had done, they all\ncommended the motion, though they had despised it when it came from me,\nbut more particularly commended what related to the vagabonds, because it\nwas his own observation.\n\n\"I do not know whether it be worth while to tell what followed, for it\nwas very ridiculous; but I shall venture at it, for as it is not foreign\nto this matter, so some good use may be made of it.  There was a Jester\nstanding by, that counterfeited the fool so naturally that he seemed to\nbe really one; the jests which he offered were so cold and dull that we\nlaughed more at him than at them, yet sometimes he said, as it were by\nchance, things that were not unpleasant, so as to justify the old\nproverb, 'That he who throws the dice often, will sometimes have a lucky\nhit.'  When one of the company had said that I had taken care of the\nthieves, and the Cardinal had taken care of the vagabonds, so that there\nremained nothing but that some public provision might be made for the\npoor whom sickness or old age had disabled from labour, 'Leave that to\nme,' said the Fool, 'and I shall take care of them, for there is no sort\nof people whose sight I abhor more, having been so often vexed with them\nand with their sad complaints; but as dolefully soever as they have told\ntheir tale, they could never prevail so far as to draw one penny from me;\nfor either I had no mind to give them anything, or, when I had a mind to\ndo it, I had nothing to give them; and they now know me so well that they\nwill not lose their labour, but let me pass without giving me any\ntrouble, because they hope for nothing--no more, in faith, than if I were\na priest; but I would have a law made for sending all these beggars to\nmonasteries, the men to the Benedictines, to be made lay-brothers, and\nthe women to be nuns.'  The Cardinal smiled, and approved of it in jest,\nbut the rest liked it in earnest.  There was a divine present, who,\nthough he was a grave morose man, yet he was so pleased with this\nreflection that was made on the priests and the monks that he began to\nplay with the Fool, and said to him, 'This will not deliver you from all\nbeggars, except you take care of us Friars.'  'That is done already,'\nanswered the Fool, 'for the Cardinal has provided for you by what he\nproposed for restraining vagabonds and setting them to work, for I know\nno vagabonds like you.'  This was well entertained by the whole company,\nwho, looking at the Cardinal, perceived that he was not ill-pleased at\nit; only the Friar himself was vexed, as may be easily imagined, and fell\ninto such a passion that he could not forbear railing at the Fool, and\ncalling him knave, slanderer, backbiter, and son of perdition, and then\ncited some dreadful threatenings out of the Scriptures against him.  Now\nthe Jester thought he was in his element, and laid about him freely.\n'Good Friar,' said he, 'be not angry, for it is written, \"In patience\npossess your soul.\"'  The Friar answered (for I shall give you his own\nwords), 'I am not angry, you hangman; at least, I do not sin in it, for\nthe Psalmist says, \"Be ye angry and sin not.\"'  Upon this the Cardinal\nadmonished him gently, and wished him to govern his passions.  'No, my\nlord,' said he, 'I speak not but from a good zeal, which I ought to have,\nfor holy men have had a good zeal, as it is said, \"The zeal of thy house\nhath eaten me up;\" and we sing in our church that those who mocked Elisha\nas he went up to the house of God felt the effects of his zeal, which\nthat mocker, that rogue, that scoundrel, will perhaps feel.'  'You do\nthis, perhaps, with a good intention,' said the Cardinal, 'but, in my\nopinion, it were wiser in you, and perhaps better for you, not to engage\nin so ridiculous a contest with a Fool.'  'No, my lord,' answered he,\n'that were not wisely done, for Solomon, the wisest of men, said, \"Answer\na Fool according to his folly,\" which I now do, and show him the ditch\ninto which he will fall, if he is not aware of it; for if the many\nmockers of Elisha, who was but one bald man, felt the effect of his zeal,\nwhat will become of the mocker of so many Friars, among whom there are so\nmany bald men?  We have, likewise, a bull, by which all that jeer us are\nexcommunicated.'  When the Cardinal saw that there was no end of this\nmatter he made a sign to the Fool to withdraw, turned the discourse\nanother way, and soon after rose from the table, and, dismissing us, went\nto hear causes.\n\n\"Thus, Mr. More, I have run out into a tedious story, of the length of\nwhich I had been ashamed, if (as you earnestly begged it of me) I had not\nobserved you to hearken to it as if you had no mind to lose any part of\nit.  I might have contracted it, but I resolved to give it you at large,\nthat you might observe how those that despised what I had proposed, no\nsooner perceived that the Cardinal did not dislike it but presently\napproved of it, fawned so on him and flattered him to such a degree, that\nthey in good earnest applauded those things that he only liked in jest;\nand from hence you may gather how little courtiers would value either me\nor my counsels.\"\n\nTo this I answered, \"You have done me a great kindness in this relation;\nfor as everything has been related by you both wisely and pleasantly, so\nyou have made me imagine that I was in my own country and grown young\nagain, by recalling that good Cardinal to my thoughts, in whose family I\nwas bred from my childhood; and though you are, upon other accounts, very\ndear to me, yet you are the dearer because you honour his memory so much;\nbut, after all this, I cannot change my opinion, for I still think that\nif you could overcome that aversion which you have to the courts of\nprinces, you might, by the advice which it is in your power to give, do a\ngreat deal of good to mankind, and this is the chief design that every\ngood man ought to propose to himself in living; for your friend Plato\nthinks that nations will be happy when either philosophers become kings\nor kings become philosophers.  It is no wonder if we are so far from that\nhappiness while philosophers will not think it their duty to assist kings\nwith their counsels.\"  \"They are not so base-minded,\" said he, \"but that\nthey would willingly do it; many of them have already done it by their\nbooks, if those that are in power would but hearken to their good advice.\nBut Plato judged right, that except kings themselves became philosophers,\nthey who from their childhood are corrupted with false notions would\nnever fall in entirely with the counsels of philosophers, and this he\nhimself found to be true in the person of Dionysius.\n\n\"Do not you think that if I were about any king, proposing good laws to\nhim, and endeavouring to root out all the cursed seeds of evil that I\nfound in him, I should either be turned out of his court, or, at least,\nbe laughed at for my pains?  For instance, what could I signify if I were\nabout the King of France, and were called into his cabinet council, where\nseveral wise men, in his hearing, were proposing many expedients; as, by\nwhat arts and practices Milan may be kept, and Naples, that has so often\nslipped out of their hands, recovered; how the Venetians, and after them\nthe rest of Italy, may be subdued; and then how Flanders, Brabant, and\nall Burgundy, and some other kingdoms which he has swallowed already in\nhis designs, may be added to his empire?  One proposes a league with the\nVenetians, to be kept as long as he finds his account in it, and that he\nought to communicate counsels with them, and give them some share of the\nspoil till his success makes him need or fear them less, and then it will\nbe easily taken out of their hands; another proposes the hiring the\nGermans and the securing the Switzers by pensions; another proposes the\ngaining the Emperor by money, which is omnipotent with him; another\nproposes a peace with the King of Arragon, and, in order to cement it,\nthe yielding up the King of Navarre's pretensions; another thinks that\nthe Prince of Castile is to be wrought on by the hope of an alliance, and\nthat some of his courtiers are to be gained to the French faction by\npensions.  The hardest point of all is, what to do with England; a treaty\nof peace is to be set on foot, and, if their alliance is not to be\ndepended on, yet it is to be made as firm as possible, and they are to be\ncalled friends, but suspected as enemies: therefore the Scots are to be\nkept in readiness to be let loose upon England on every occasion; and\nsome banished nobleman is to be supported underhand (for by the League it\ncannot be done avowedly) who has a pretension to the crown, by which\nmeans that suspected prince may be kept in awe.  Now when things are in\nso great a fermentation, and so many gallant men are joining counsels how\nto carry on the war, if so mean a man as I should stand up and wish them\nto change all their counsels--to let Italy alone and stay at home, since\nthe kingdom of France was indeed greater than could be well governed by\none man; that therefore he ought not to think of adding others to it; and\nif, after this, I should propose to them the resolutions of the\nAchorians, a people that lie on the south-east of Utopia, who long ago\nengaged in war in order to add to the dominions of their prince another\nkingdom, to which he had some pretensions by an ancient alliance: this\nthey conquered, but found that the trouble of keeping it was equal to\nthat by which it was gained; that the conquered people were always either\nin rebellion or exposed to foreign invasions, while they were obliged to\nbe incessantly at war, either for or against them, and consequently could\nnever disband their army; that in the meantime they were oppressed with\ntaxes, their money went out of the kingdom, their blood was spilt for the\nglory of their king without procuring the least advantage to the people,\nwho received not the smallest benefit from it even in time of peace; and\nthat, their manners being corrupted by a long war, robbery and murders\neverywhere abounded, and their laws fell into contempt; while their king,\ndistracted with the care of two kingdoms, was the less able to apply his\nmind to the interest of either.  When they saw this, and that there would\nbe no end to these evils, they by joint counsels made an humble address\nto their king, desiring him to choose which of the two kingdoms he had\nthe greatest mind to keep, since he could not hold both; for they were\ntoo great a people to be governed by a divided king, since no man would\nwillingly have a groom that should be in common between him and another.\nUpon which the good prince was forced to quit his new kingdom to one of\nhis friends (who was not long after dethroned), and to be contented with\nhis old one.  To this I would add that after all those warlike attempts,\nthe vast confusions, and the consumption both of treasure and of people\nthat must follow them, perhaps upon some misfortune they might be forced\nto throw up all at last; therefore it seemed much more eligible that the\nking should improve his ancient kingdom all he could, and make it\nflourish as much as possible; that he should love his people, and be\nbeloved of them; that he should live among them, govern them gently and\nlet other kingdoms alone, since that which had fallen to his share was\nbig enough, if not too big, for him:--pray, how do you think would such a\nspeech as this be heard?\"\n\n\"I confess,\" said I, \"I think not very well.\"\n\n\"But what,\" said he, \"if I should sort with another kind of ministers,\nwhose chief contrivances and consultations were by what art the prince's\ntreasures might be increased? where one proposes raising the value of\nspecie when the king's debts are large, and lowering it when his revenues\nwere to come in, that so he might both pay much with a little, and in a\nlittle receive a great deal.  Another proposes a pretence of a war, that\nmoney might be raised in order to carry it on, and that a peace be\nconcluded as soon as that was done; and this with such appearances of\nreligion as might work on the people, and make them impute it to the\npiety of their prince, and to his tenderness for the lives of his\nsubjects.  A third offers some old musty laws that have been antiquated\nby a long disuse (and which, as they had been forgotten by all the\nsubjects, so they had also been broken by them), and proposes the levying\nthe penalties of these laws, that, as it would bring in a vast treasure,\nso there might be a very good pretence for it, since it would look like\nthe executing a law and the doing of justice.  A fourth proposes the\nprohibiting of many things under severe penalties, especially such as\nwere against the interest of the people, and then the dispensing with\nthese prohibitions, upon great compositions, to those who might find\ntheir advantage in breaking them.  This would serve two ends, both of\nthem acceptable to many; for as those whose avarice led them to\ntransgress would be severely fined, so the selling licences dear would\nlook as if a prince were tender of his people, and would not easily, or\nat low rates, dispense with anything that might be against the public\ngood.  Another proposes that the judges must be made sure, that they may\ndeclare always in favour of the prerogative; that they must be often sent\nfor to court, that the king may hear them argue those points in which he\nis concerned; since, how unjust soever any of his pretensions may be, yet\nstill some one or other of them, either out of contradiction to others,\nor the pride of singularity, or to make their court, would find out some\npretence or other to give the king a fair colour to carry the point.  For\nif the judges but differ in opinion, the clearest thing in the world is\nmade by that means disputable, and truth being once brought in question,\nthe king may then take advantage to expound the law for his own profit;\nwhile the judges that stand out will be brought over, either through fear\nor modesty; and they being thus gained, all of them may be sent to the\nBench to give sentence boldly as the king would have it; for fair\npretences will never be wanting when sentence is to be given in the\nprince's favour.  It will either be said that equity lies of his side, or\nsome words in the law will be found sounding that way, or some forced\nsense will be put on them; and, when all other things fail, the king's\nundoubted prerogative will be pretended, as that which is above all law,\nand to which a religious judge ought to have a special regard.  Thus all\nconsent to that maxim of Crassus, that a prince cannot have treasure\nenough, since he must maintain his armies out of it; that a king, even\nthough he would, can do nothing unjustly; that all property is in him,\nnot excepting the very persons of his subjects; and that no man has any\nother property but that which the king, out of his goodness, thinks fit\nto leave him.  And they think it is the prince's interest that there be\nas little of this left as may be, as if it were his advantage that his\npeople should have neither riches nor liberty, since these things make\nthem less easy and willing to submit to a cruel and unjust government.\nWhereas necessity and poverty blunts them, makes them patient, beats them\ndown, and breaks that height of spirit that might otherwise dispose them\nto rebel.  Now what if, after all these propositions were made, I should\nrise up and assert that such counsels were both unbecoming a king and\nmischievous to him; and that not only his honour, but his safety,\nconsisted more in his people's wealth than in his own; if I should show\nthat they choose a king for their own sake, and not for his; that, by his\ncare and endeavours, they may be both easy and safe; and that, therefore,\na prince ought to take more care of his people's happiness than of his\nown, as a shepherd is to take more care of his flock than of himself?  It\nis also certain that they are much mistaken that think the poverty of a\nnation is a mean of the public safety.  Who quarrel more than beggars?\nwho does more earnestly long for a change than he that is uneasy in his\npresent circumstances? and who run to create confusions with so desperate\na boldness as those who, having nothing to lose, hope to gain by them?  If\na king should fall under such contempt or envy that he could not keep his\nsubjects in their duty but by oppression and ill usage, and by rendering\nthem poor and miserable, it were certainly better for him to quit his\nkingdom than to retain it by such methods as make him, while he keeps the\nname of authority, lose the majesty due to it.  Nor is it so becoming the\ndignity of a king to reign over beggars as over rich and happy subjects.\nAnd therefore Fabricius, a man of a noble and exalted temper, said 'he\nwould rather govern rich men than be rich himself; since for one man to\nabound in wealth and pleasure when all about him are mourning and\ngroaning, is to be a gaoler and not a king.'  He is an unskilful\nphysician that cannot cure one disease without casting his patient into\nanother.  So he that can find no other way for correcting the errors of\nhis people but by taking from them the conveniences of life, shows that\nhe knows not what it is to govern a free nation.  He himself ought rather\nto shake off his sloth, or to lay down his pride, for the contempt or\nhatred that his people have for him takes its rise from the vices in\nhimself.  Let him live upon what belongs to him without wronging others,\nand accommodate his expense to his revenue.  Let him punish crimes, and,\nby his wise conduct, let him endeavour to prevent them, rather than be\nsevere when he has suffered them to be too common.  Let him not rashly\nrevive laws that are abrogated by disuse, especially if they have been\nlong forgotten and never wanted.  And let him never take any penalty for\nthe breach of them to which a judge would not give way in a private man,\nbut would look on him as a crafty and unjust person for pretending to it.\nTo these things I would add that law among the Macarians--a people that\nlive not far from Utopia--by which their king, on the day on which he\nbegan to reign, is tied by an oath, confirmed by solemn sacrifices, never\nto have at once above a thousand pounds of gold in his treasures, or so\nmuch silver as is equal to that in value.  This law, they tell us, was\nmade by an excellent king who had more regard to the riches of his\ncountry than to his own wealth, and therefore provided against the\nheaping up of so much treasure as might impoverish the people.  He\nthought that moderate sum might be sufficient for any accident, if either\nthe king had occasion for it against the rebels, or the kingdom against\nthe invasion of an enemy; but that it was not enough to encourage a\nprince to invade other men's rights--a circumstance that was the chief\ncause of his making that law.  He also thought that it was a good\nprovision for that free circulation of money so necessary for the course\nof commerce and exchange.  And when a king must distribute all those\nextraordinary accessions that increase treasure beyond the due pitch, it\nmakes him less disposed to oppress his subjects.  Such a king as this\nwill be the terror of ill men, and will be beloved by all the good.\n\n\"If, I say, I should talk of these or such-like things to men that had\ntaken their bias another way, how deaf would they be to all I could say!\"\n\"No doubt, very deaf,\" answered I; \"and no wonder, for one is never to\noffer propositions or advice that we are certain will not be entertained.\nDiscourses so much out of the road could not avail anything, nor have any\neffect on men whose minds were prepossessed with different sentiments.\nThis philosophical way of speculation is not unpleasant among friends in\na free conversation; but there is no room for it in the courts of\nprinces, where great affairs are carried on by authority.\"  \"That is what\nI was saying,\" replied he, \"that there is no room for philosophy in the\ncourts of princes.\"  \"Yes, there is,\" said I, \"but not for this\nspeculative philosophy, that makes everything to be alike fitting at all\ntimes; but there is another philosophy that is more pliable, that knows\nits proper scene, accommodates itself to it, and teaches a man with\npropriety and decency to act that part which has fallen to his share.  If\nwhen one of Plautus' comedies is upon the stage, and a company of\nservants are acting their parts, you should come out in the garb of a\nphilosopher, and repeat, out of _Octavia_, a discourse of Seneca's to\nNero, would it not be better for you to say nothing than by mixing things\nof such different natures to make an impertinent tragi-comedy? for you\nspoil and corrupt the play that is in hand when you mix with it things of\nan opposite nature, even though they are much better.  Therefore go\nthrough with the play that is acting the best you can, and do not\nconfound it because another that is pleasanter comes into your thoughts.\nIt is even so in a commonwealth and in the councils of princes; if ill\nopinions cannot be quite rooted out, and you cannot cure some received\nvice according to your wishes, you must not, therefore, abandon the\ncommonwealth, for the same reasons as you should not forsake the ship in\na storm because you cannot command the winds.  You are not obliged to\nassault people with discourses that are out of their road, when you see\nthat their received notions must prevent your making an impression upon\nthem: you ought rather to cast about and to manage things with all the\ndexterity in your power, so that, if you are not able to make them go\nwell, they may be as little ill as possible; for, except all men were\ngood, everything cannot be right, and that is a blessing that I do not at\npresent hope to see.\"  \"According to your argument,\" answered he, \"all\nthat I could be able to do would be to preserve myself from being mad\nwhile I endeavoured to cure the madness of others; for, if I speak with,\nI must repeat what I have said to you; and as for lying, whether a\nphilosopher can do it or not I cannot tell: I am sure I cannot do it.  But\nthough these discourses may be uneasy and ungrateful to them, I do not\nsee why they should seem foolish or extravagant; indeed, if I should\neither propose such things as Plato has contrived in his 'Commonwealth,'\nor as the Utopians practise in theirs, though they might seem better, as\ncertainly they are, yet they are so different from our establishment,\nwhich is founded on property (there being no such thing among them), that\nI could not expect that it would have any effect on them.  But such\ndiscourses as mine, which only call past evils to mind and give warning\nof what may follow, leave nothing in them that is so absurd that they may\nnot be used at any time, for they can only be unpleasant to those who are\nresolved to run headlong the contrary way; and if we must let alone\neverything as absurd or extravagant--which, by reason of the wicked lives\nof many, may seem uncouth--we must, even among Christians, give over\npressing the greatest part of those things that Christ hath taught us,\nthough He has commanded us not to conceal them, but to proclaim on the\nhousetops that which He taught in secret.  The greatest parts of His\nprecepts are more opposite to the lives of the men of this age than any\npart of my discourse has been, but the preachers seem to have learned\nthat craft to which you advise me: for they, observing that the world\nwould not willingly suit their lives to the rules that Christ has given,\nhave fitted His doctrine, as if it had been a leaden rule, to their\nlives, that so, some way or other, they might agree with one another.  But\nI see no other effect of this compliance except it be that men become\nmore secure in their wickedness by it; and this is all the success that I\ncan have in a court, for I must always differ from the rest, and then I\nshall signify nothing; or, if I agree with them, I shall then only help\nforward their madness.  I do not comprehend what you mean by your\n'casting about,' or by 'the bending and handling things so dexterously\nthat, if they go not well, they may go as little ill as may be;' for in\ncourts they will not bear with a man's holding his peace or conniving at\nwhat others do: a man must barefacedly approve of the worst counsels and\nconsent to the blackest designs, so that he would pass for a spy, or,\npossibly, for a traitor, that did but coldly approve of such wicked\npractices; and therefore when a man is engaged in such a society, he will\nbe so far from being able to mend matters by his 'casting about,' as you\ncall it, that he will find no occasions of doing any good--the ill\ncompany will sooner corrupt him than be the better for him; or if,\nnotwithstanding all their ill company, he still remains steady and\ninnocent, yet their follies and knavery will be imputed to him; and, by\nmixing counsels with them, he must bear his share of all the blame that\nbelongs wholly to others.\n\n\"It was no ill simile by which Plato set forth the unreasonableness of a\nphilosopher's meddling with government.  'If a man,' says he, 'were to\nsee a great company run out every day into the rain and take delight in\nbeing wet--if he knew that it would be to no purpose for him to go and\npersuade them to return to their houses in order to avoid the storm, and\nthat all that could be expected by his going to speak to them would be\nthat he himself should be as wet as they, it would be best for him to\nkeep within doors, and, since he had not influence enough to correct\nother people's folly, to take care to preserve himself.'\n\n\"Though, to speak plainly my real sentiments, I must freely own that as\nlong as there is any property, and while money is the standard of all\nother things, I cannot think that a nation can be governed either justly\nor happily: not justly, because the best things will fall to the share of\nthe worst men; nor happily, because all things will be divided among a\nfew (and even these are not in all respects happy), the rest being left\nto be absolutely miserable.  Therefore, when I reflect on the wise and\ngood constitution of the Utopians, among whom all things are so well\ngoverned and with so few laws, where virtue hath its due reward, and yet\nthere is such an equality that every man lives in plenty--when I compare\nwith them so many other nations that are still making new laws, and yet\ncan never bring their constitution to a right regulation; where,\nnotwithstanding every one has his property, yet all the laws that they\ncan invent have not the power either to obtain or preserve it, or even to\nenable men certainly to distinguish what is their own from what is\nanother's, of which the many lawsuits that every day break out, and are\neternally depending, give too plain a demonstration--when, I say, I\nbalance all these things in my thoughts, I grow more favourable to Plato,\nand do not wonder that he resolved not to make any laws for such as would\nnot submit to a community of all things; for so wise a man could not but\nforesee that the setting all upon a level was the only way to make a\nnation happy; which cannot be obtained so long as there is property, for\nwhen every man draws to himself all that he can compass, by one title or\nanother, it must needs follow that, how plentiful soever a nation may be,\nyet a few dividing the wealth of it among themselves, the rest must fall\ninto indigence.  So that there will be two sorts of people among them,\nwho deserve that their fortunes should be interchanged--the former\nuseless, but wicked and ravenous; and the latter, who by their constant\nindustry serve the public more than themselves, sincere and modest\nmen--from whence I am persuaded that till property is taken away, there\ncan be no equitable or just distribution of things, nor can the world be\nhappily governed; for as long as that is maintained, the greatest and the\nfar best part of mankind, will be still oppressed with a load of cares\nand anxieties.  I confess, without taking it quite away, those pressures\nthat lie on a great part of mankind may be made lighter, but they can\nnever be quite removed; for if laws were made to determine at how great\nan extent in soil, and at how much money, every man must stop--to limit\nthe prince, that he might not grow too great; and to restrain the people,\nthat they might not become too insolent--and that none might factiously\naspire to public employments, which ought neither to be sold nor made\nburdensome by a great expense, since otherwise those that serve in them\nwould be tempted to reimburse themselves by cheats and violence, and it\nwould become necessary to find out rich men for undergoing those\nemployments, which ought rather to be trusted to the wise.  These laws, I\nsay, might have such effect as good diet and care might have on a sick\nman whose recovery is desperate; they might allay and mitigate the\ndisease, but it could never be quite healed, nor the body politic be\nbrought again to a good habit as long as property remains; and it will\nfall out, as in a complication of diseases, that by applying a remedy to\none sore you will provoke another, and that which removes the one ill\nsymptom produces others, while the strengthening one part of the body\nweakens the rest.\"  \"On the contrary,\" answered I, \"it seems to me that\nmen cannot live conveniently where all things are common.  How can there\nbe any plenty where every man will excuse himself from labour? for as the\nhope of gain doth not excite him, so the confidence that he has in other\nmen's industry may make him slothful.  If people come to be pinched with\nwant, and yet cannot dispose of anything as their own, what can follow\nupon this but perpetual sedition and bloodshed, especially when the\nreverence and authority due to magistrates falls to the ground? for I\ncannot imagine how that can be kept up among those that are in all things\nequal to one another.\"  \"I do not wonder,\" said he, \"that it appears so\nto you, since you have no notion, or at least no right one, of such a\nconstitution; but if you had been in Utopia with me, and had seen their\nlaws and rules, as I did, for the space of five years, in which I lived\namong them, and during which time I was so delighted with them that\nindeed I should never have left them if it had not been to make the\ndiscovery of that new world to the Europeans, you would then confess that\nyou had never seen a people so well constituted as they.\"  \"You will not\neasily persuade me,\" said Peter, \"that any nation in that new world is\nbetter governed than those among us; for as our understandings are not\nworse than theirs, so our government (if I mistake not) being more\nancient, a long practice has helped us to find out many conveniences of\nlife, and some happy chances have discovered other things to us which no\nman's understanding could ever have invented.\"  \"As for the antiquity\neither of their government or of ours,\" said he, \"you cannot pass a true\njudgment of it unless you had read their histories; for, if they are to\nbe believed, they had towns among them before these parts were so much as\ninhabited; and as for those discoveries that have been either hit on by\nchance or made by ingenious men, these might have happened there as well\nas here.  I do not deny but we are more ingenious than they are, but they\nexceed us much in industry and application.  They knew little concerning\nus before our arrival among them.  They call us all by a general name of\n'The nations that lie beyond the equinoctial line;' for their chronicle\nmentions a shipwreck that was made on their coast twelve hundred years\nago, and that some Romans and Egyptians that were in the ship, getting\nsafe ashore, spent the rest of their days amongst them; and such was\ntheir ingenuity that from this single opportunity they drew the advantage\nof learning from those unlooked-for guests, and acquired all the useful\narts that were then among the Romans, and which were known to these\nshipwrecked men; and by the hints that they gave them they themselves\nfound out even some of those arts which they could not fully explain, so\nhappily did they improve that accident of having some of our people cast\nupon their shore.  But if such an accident has at any time brought any\nfrom thence into Europe, we have been so far from improving it that we do\nnot so much as remember it, as, in aftertimes perhaps, it will be forgot\nby our people that I was ever there; for though they, from one such\naccident, made themselves masters of all the good inventions that were\namong us, yet I believe it would be long before we should learn or put in\npractice any of the good institutions that are among them.  And this is\nthe true cause of their being better governed and living happier than we,\nthough we come not short of them in point of understanding or outward\nadvantages.\"  Upon this I said to him, \"I earnestly beg you would\ndescribe that island very particularly to us; be not too short, but set\nout in order all things relating to their soil, their rivers, their\ntowns, their people, their manners, constitution, laws, and, in a word,\nall that you imagine we desire to know; and you may well imagine that we\ndesire to know everything concerning them of which we are hitherto\nignorant.\"  \"I will do it very willingly,\" said he, \"for I have digested\nthe whole matter carefully, but it will take up some time.\"  \"Let us go,\nthen,\" said I, \"first and dine, and then we shall have leisure enough.\"\nHe consented; we went in and dined, and after dinner came back and sat\ndown in the same place.  I ordered my servants to take care that none\nmight come and interrupt us, and both Peter and I desired Raphael to be\nas good as his word.  When he saw that we were very intent upon it he\npaused a little to recollect himself, and began in this manner:--\n\n\"The island of Utopia is in the middle two hundred miles broad, and holds\nalmost at the same breadth over a great part of it, but it grows narrower\ntowards both ends.  Its figure is not unlike a crescent.  Between its\nhorns the sea comes in eleven miles broad, and spreads itself into a\ngreat bay, which is environed with land to the compass of about five\nhundred miles, and is well secured from winds.  In this bay there is no\ngreat current; the whole coast is, as it were, one continued harbour,\nwhich gives all that live in the island great convenience for mutual\ncommerce.  But the entry into the bay, occasioned by rocks on the one\nhand and shallows on the other, is very dangerous.  In the middle of it\nthere is one single rock which appears above water, and may, therefore,\neasily be avoided; and on the top of it there is a tower, in which a\ngarrison is kept; the other rocks lie under water, and are very\ndangerous.  The channel is known only to the natives; so that if any\nstranger should enter into the bay without one of their pilots he would\nrun great danger of shipwreck.  For even they themselves could not pass\nit safe if some marks that are on the coast did not direct their way; and\nif these should be but a little shifted, any fleet that might come\nagainst them, how great soever it were, would be certainly lost.  On the\nother side of the island there are likewise many harbours; and the coast\nis so fortified, both by nature and art, that a small number of men can\nhinder the descent of a great army.  But they report (and there remains\ngood marks of it to make it credible) that this was no island at first,\nbut a part of the continent.  Utopus, that conquered it (whose name it\nstill carries, for Abraxa was its first name), brought the rude and\nuncivilised inhabitants into such a good government, and to that measure\nof politeness, that they now far excel all the rest of mankind.  Having\nsoon subdued them, he designed to separate them from the continent, and\nto bring the sea quite round them.  To accomplish this he ordered a deep\nchannel to be dug, fifteen miles long; and that the natives might not\nthink he treated them like slaves, he not only forced the inhabitants,\nbut also his own soldiers, to labour in carrying it on.  As he set a vast\nnumber of men to work, he, beyond all men's expectations, brought it to a\nspeedy conclusion.  And his neighbours, who at first laughed at the folly\nof the undertaking, no sooner saw it brought to perfection than they were\nstruck with admiration and terror.\n\n\"There are fifty-four cities in the island, all large and well built, the\nmanners, customs, and laws of which are the same, and they are all\ncontrived as near in the same manner as the ground on which they stand\nwill allow.  The nearest lie at least twenty-four miles' distance from\none another, and the most remote are not so far distant but that a man\ncan go on foot in one day from it to that which lies next it.  Every city\nsends three of their wisest senators once a year to Amaurot, to consult\nabout their common concerns; for that is the chief town of the island,\nbeing situated near the centre of it, so that it is the most convenient\nplace for their assemblies.  The jurisdiction of every city extends at\nleast twenty miles, and, where the towns lie wider, they have much more\nground.  No town desires to enlarge its bounds, for the people consider\nthemselves rather as tenants than landlords.  They have built, over all\nthe country, farmhouses for husbandmen, which are well contrived, and\nfurnished with all things necessary for country labour.  Inhabitants are\nsent, by turns, from the cities to dwell in them; no country family has\nfewer than forty men and women in it, besides two slaves.  There is a\nmaster and a mistress set over every family, and over thirty families\nthere is a magistrate.  Every year twenty of this family come back to the\ntown after they have stayed two years in the country, and in their room\nthere are other twenty sent from the town, that they may learn country\nwork from those that have been already one year in the country, as they\nmust teach those that come to them the next from the town.  By this means\nsuch as dwell in those country farms are never ignorant of agriculture,\nand so commit no errors which might otherwise be fatal and bring them\nunder a scarcity of corn.  But though there is every year such a shifting\nof the husbandmen to prevent any man being forced against his will to\nfollow that hard course of life too long, yet many among them take such\npleasure in it that they desire leave to continue in it many years.  These\nhusbandmen till the ground, breed cattle, hew wood, and convey it to the\ntowns either by land or water, as is most convenient.  They breed an\ninfinite multitude of chickens in a very curious manner; for the hens do\nnot sit and hatch them, but a vast number of eggs are laid in a gentle\nand equal heat in order to be hatched, and they are no sooner out of the\nshell, and able to stir about, but they seem to consider those that feed\nthem as their mothers, and follow them as other chickens do the hen that\nhatched them.  They breed very few horses, but those they have are full\nof mettle, and are kept only for exercising their youth in the art of\nsitting and riding them; for they do not put them to any work, either of\nploughing or carriage, in which they employ oxen.  For though their\nhorses are stronger, yet they find oxen can hold out longer; and as they\nare not subject to so many diseases, so they are kept upon a less charge\nand with less trouble.  And even when they are so worn out that they are\nno more fit for labour, they are good meat at last.  They sow no corn but\nthat which is to be their bread; for they drink either wine, cider or\nperry, and often water, sometimes boiled with honey or liquorice, with\nwhich they abound; and though they know exactly how much corn will serve\nevery town and all that tract of country which belongs to it, yet they\nsow much more and breed more cattle than are necessary for their\nconsumption, and they give that overplus of which they make no use to\ntheir neighbours.  When they want anything in the country which it does\nnot produce, they fetch that from the town, without carrying anything in\nexchange for it.  And the magistrates of the town take care to see it\ngiven them; for they meet generally in the town once a month, upon a\nfestival day.  When the time of harvest comes, the magistrates in the\ncountry send to those in the towns and let them know how many hands they\nwill need for reaping the harvest; and the number they call for being\nsent to them, they commonly despatch it all in one day.\n\n\n\nOF THEIR TOWNS, PARTICULARLY OF AMAUROT\n\n\n\"He that knows one of their towns knows them all--they are so like one\nanother, except where the situation makes some difference.  I shall\ntherefore describe one of them, and none is so proper as Amaurot; for as\nnone is more eminent (all the rest yielding in precedence to this,\nbecause it is the seat of their supreme council), so there was none of\nthem better known to me, I having lived five years all together in it.\n\n\"It lies upon the side of a hill, or, rather, a rising ground.  Its\nfigure is almost square, for from the one side of it, which shoots up\nalmost to the top of the hill, it runs down, in a descent for two miles,\nto the river Anider; but it is a little broader the other way that runs\nalong by the bank of that river.  The Anider rises about eighty miles\nabove Amaurot, in a small spring at first.  But other brooks falling into\nit, of which two are more considerable than the rest, as it runs by\nAmaurot it is grown half a mile broad; but, it still grows larger and\nlarger, till, after sixty miles' course below it, it is lost in the\nocean.  Between the town and the sea, and for some miles above the town,\nit ebbs and flows every six hours with a strong current.  The tide comes\nup about thirty miles so full that there is nothing but salt water in the\nriver, the fresh water being driven back with its force; and above that,\nfor some miles, the water is brackish; but a little higher, as it runs by\nthe town, it is quite fresh; and when the tide ebbs, it continues fresh\nall along to the sea.  There is a bridge cast over the river, not of\ntimber, but of fair stone, consisting of many stately arches; it lies at\nthat part of the town which is farthest from the sea, so that the ships,\nwithout any hindrance, lie all along the side of the town.  There is,\nlikewise, another river that runs by it, which, though it is not great,\nyet it runs pleasantly, for it rises out of the same hill on which the\ntown stands, and so runs down through it and falls into the Anider.  The\ninhabitants have fortified the fountain-head of this river, which springs\na little without the towns; that so, if they should happen to be\nbesieged, the enemy might not be able to stop or divert the course of the\nwater, nor poison it; from thence it is carried, in earthen pipes, to the\nlower streets.  And for those places of the town to which the water of\nthat small river cannot be conveyed, they have great cisterns for\nreceiving the rain-water, which supplies the want of the other.  The town\nis compassed with a high and thick wall, in which there are many towers\nand forts; there is also a broad and deep dry ditch, set thick with\nthorns, cast round three sides of the town, and the river is instead of a\nditch on the fourth side.  The streets are very convenient for all\ncarriage, and are well sheltered from the winds.  Their buildings are\ngood, and are so uniform that a whole side of a street looks like one\nhouse.  The streets are twenty feet broad; there lie gardens behind all\ntheir houses.  These are large, but enclosed with buildings, that on all\nhands face the streets, so that every house has both a door to the street\nand a back door to the garden.  Their doors have all two leaves, which,\nas they are easily opened, so they shut of their own accord; and, there\nbeing no property among them, every man may freely enter into any house\nwhatsoever.  At every ten years' end they shift their houses by lots.\nThey cultivate their gardens with great care, so that they have both\nvines, fruits, herbs, and flowers in them; and all is so well ordered and\nso finely kept that I never saw gardens anywhere that were both so\nfruitful and so beautiful as theirs.  And this humour of ordering their\ngardens so well is not only kept up by the pleasure they find in it, but\nalso by an emulation between the inhabitants of the several streets, who\nvie with each other.  And there is, indeed, nothing belonging to the\nwhole town that is both more useful and more pleasant.  So that he who\nfounded the town seems to have taken care of nothing more than of their\ngardens; for they say the whole scheme of the town was designed at first\nby Utopus, but he left all that belonged to the ornament and improvement\nof it to be added by those that should come after him, that being too\nmuch for one man to bring to perfection.  Their records, that contain the\nhistory of their town and State, are preserved with an exact care, and\nrun backwards seventeen hundred and sixty years.  From these it appears\nthat their houses were at first low and mean, like cottages, made of any\nsort of timber, and were built with mud walls and thatched with straw.\nBut now their houses are three storeys high, the fronts of them are faced\neither with stone, plastering, or brick, and between the facings of their\nwalls they throw in their rubbish.  Their roofs are flat, and on them\nthey lay a sort of plaster, which costs very little, and yet is so\ntempered that it is not apt to take fire, and yet resists the weather\nmore than lead.  They have great quantities of glass among them, with\nwhich they glaze their windows; they use also in their windows a thin\nlinen cloth, that is so oiled or gummed that it both keeps out the wind\nand gives free admission to the light.\n\n\n\nOF THEIR MAGISTRATES\n\n\n\"Thirty families choose every year a magistrate, who was anciently called\nthe Syphogrant, but is now called the Philarch; and over every ten\nSyphogrants, with the families subject to them, there is another\nmagistrate, who was anciently called the Tranibore, but of late the\nArchphilarch.  All the Syphogrants, who are in number two hundred, choose\nthe Prince out of a list of four who are named by the people of the four\ndivisions of the city; but they take an oath, before they proceed to an\nelection, that they will choose him whom they think most fit for the\noffice: they give him their voices secretly, so that it is not known for\nwhom every one gives his suffrage.  The Prince is for life, unless he is\nremoved upon suspicion of some design to enslave the people.  The\nTranibors are new chosen every year, but yet they are, for the most part,\ncontinued; all their other magistrates are only annual.  The Tranibors\nmeet every third day, and oftener if necessary, and consult with the\nPrince either concerning the affairs of the State in general, or such\nprivate differences as may arise sometimes among the people, though that\nfalls out but seldom.  There are always two Syphogrants called into the\ncouncil chamber, and these are changed every day.  It is a fundamental\nrule of their government, that no conclusion can be made in anything that\nrelates to the public till it has been first debated three several days\nin their council.  It is death for any to meet and consult concerning the\nState, unless it be either in their ordinary council, or in the assembly\nof the whole body of the people.\n\n\"These things have been so provided among them that the Prince and the\nTranibors may not conspire together to change the government and enslave\nthe people; and therefore when anything of great importance is set on\nfoot, it is sent to the Syphogrants, who, after they have communicated it\nto the families that belong to their divisions, and have considered it\namong themselves, make report to the senate; and, upon great occasions,\nthe matter is referred to the council of the whole island.  One rule\nobserved in their council is, never to debate a thing on the same day in\nwhich it is first proposed; for that is always referred to the next\nmeeting, that so men may not rashly and in the heat of discourse engage\nthemselves too soon, which might bias them so much that, instead of\nconsulting the good of the public, they might rather study to support\ntheir first opinions, and by a perverse and preposterous sort of shame\nhazard their country rather than endanger their own reputation, or\nventure the being suspected to have wanted foresight in the expedients\nthat they at first proposed; and therefore, to prevent this, they take\ncare that they may rather be deliberate than sudden in their motions.\n\n\n\nOF THEIR TRADES, AND MANNER OF LIFE\n\n\n\"Agriculture is that which is so universally understood among them that\nno person, either man or woman, is ignorant of it; they are instructed in\nit from their childhood, partly by what they learn at school, and partly\nby practice, they being led out often into the fields about the town,\nwhere they not only see others at work but are likewise exercised in it\nthemselves.  Besides agriculture, which is so common to them all, every\nman has some peculiar trade to which he applies himself; such as the\nmanufacture of wool or flax, masonry, smith's work, or carpenter's work;\nfor there is no sort of trade that is in great esteem among them.\nThroughout the island they wear the same sort of clothes, without any\nother distinction except what is necessary to distinguish the two sexes\nand the married and unmarried.  The fashion never alters, and as it is\nneither disagreeable nor uneasy, so it is suited to the climate, and\ncalculated both for their summers and winters.  Every family makes their\nown clothes; but all among them, women as well as men, learn one or other\nof the trades formerly mentioned.  Women, for the most part, deal in wool\nand flax, which suit best with their weakness, leaving the ruder trades\nto the men.  The same trade generally passes down from father to son,\ninclinations often following descent: but if any man's genius lies\nanother way he is, by adoption, translated into a family that deals in\nthe trade to which he is inclined; and when that is to be done, care is\ntaken, not only by his father, but by the magistrate, that he may be put\nto a discreet and good man: and if, after a person has learned one trade,\nhe desires to acquire another, that is also allowed, and is managed in\nthe same manner as the former.  When he has learned both, he follows that\nwhich he likes best, unless the public has more occasion for the other.\n\nThe chief, and almost the only, business of the Syphogrants is to take\ncare that no man may live idle, but that every one may follow his trade\ndiligently; yet they do not wear themselves out with perpetual toil from\nmorning to night, as if they were beasts of burden, which as it is indeed\na heavy slavery, so it is everywhere the common course of life amongst\nall mechanics except the Utopians: but they, dividing the day and night\ninto twenty-four hours, appoint six of these for work, three of which are\nbefore dinner and three after; they then sup, and at eight o'clock,\ncounting from noon, go to bed and sleep eight hours: the rest of their\ntime, besides that taken up in work, eating, and sleeping, is left to\nevery man's discretion; yet they are not to abuse that interval to luxury\nand idleness, but must employ it in some proper exercise, according to\ntheir various inclinations, which is, for the most part, reading.  It is\nordinary to have public lectures every morning before daybreak, at which\nnone are obliged to appear but those who are marked out for literature;\nyet a great many, both men and women, of all ranks, go to hear lectures\nof one sort or other, according to their inclinations: but if others that\nare not made for contemplation, choose rather to employ themselves at\nthat time in their trades, as many of them do, they are not hindered, but\nare rather commended, as men that take care to serve their country.  After\nsupper they spend an hour in some diversion, in summer in their gardens,\nand in winter in the halls where they eat, where they entertain each\nother either with music or discourse.  They do not so much as know dice,\nor any such foolish and mischievous games.  They have, however, two sorts\nof games not unlike our chess; the one is between several numbers, in\nwhich one number, as it were, consumes another; the other resembles a\nbattle between the virtues and the vices, in which the enmity in the\nvices among themselves, and their agreement against virtue, is not\nunpleasantly represented; together with the special opposition between\nthe particular virtues and vices; as also the methods by which vice\neither openly assaults or secretly undermines virtue; and virtue, on the\nother hand, resists it.  But the time appointed for labour is to be\nnarrowly examined, otherwise you may imagine that since there are only\nsix hours appointed for work, they may fall under a scarcity of necessary\nprovisions: but it is so far from being true that this time is not\nsufficient for supplying them with plenty of all things, either necessary\nor convenient, that it is rather too much; and this you will easily\napprehend if you consider how great a part of all other nations is quite\nidle.  First, women generally do little, who are the half of mankind; and\nif some few women are diligent, their husbands are idle: then consider\nthe great company of idle priests, and of those that are called religious\nmen; add to these all rich men, chiefly those that have estates in land,\nwho are called noblemen and gentlemen, together with their families, made\nup of idle persons, that are kept more for show than use; add to these\nall those strong and lusty beggars that go about pretending some disease\nin excuse for their begging; and upon the whole account you will find\nthat the number of those by whose labours mankind is supplied is much\nless than you perhaps imagined: then consider how few of those that work\nare employed in labours that are of real service, for we, who measure all\nthings by money, give rise to many trades that are both vain and\nsuperfluous, and serve only to support riot and luxury: for if those who\nwork were employed only in such things as the conveniences of life\nrequire, there would be such an abundance of them that the prices of them\nwould so sink that tradesmen could not be maintained by their gains; if\nall those who labour about useless things were set to more profitable\nemployments, and if all they that languish out their lives in sloth and\nidleness (every one of whom consumes as much as any two of the men that\nare at work) were forced to labour, you may easily imagine that a small\nproportion of time would serve for doing all that is either necessary,\nprofitable, or pleasant to mankind, especially while pleasure is kept\nwithin its due bounds: this appears very plainly in Utopia; for there, in\na great city, and in all the territory that lies round it, you can scarce\nfind five hundred, either men or women, by their age and strength capable\nof labour, that are not engaged in it.  Even the Syphogrants, though\nexcused by the law, yet do not excuse themselves, but work, that by their\nexamples they may excite the industry of the rest of the people; the like\nexemption is allowed to those who, being recommended to the people by the\npriests, are, by the secret suffrages of the Syphogrants, privileged from\nlabour, that they may apply themselves wholly to study; and if any of\nthese fall short of those hopes that they seemed at first to give, they\nare obliged to return to work; and sometimes a mechanic that so employs\nhis leisure hours as to make a considerable advancement in learning is\neased from being a tradesman and ranked among their learned men.  Out of\nthese they choose their ambassadors, their priests, their Tranibors, and\nthe Prince himself, anciently called their Barzenes, but is called of\nlate their Ademus.\n\n\"And thus from the great numbers among them that are neither suffered to\nbe idle nor to be employed in any fruitless labour, you may easily make\nthe estimate how much may be done in those few hours in which they are\nobliged to labour.  But, besides all that has been already said, it is to\nbe considered that the needful arts among them are managed with less\nlabour than anywhere else.  The building or the repairing of houses among\nus employ many hands, because often a thriftless heir suffers a house\nthat his father built to fall into decay, so that his successor must, at\na great cost, repair that which he might have kept up with a small\ncharge; it frequently happens that the same house which one person built\nat a vast expense is neglected by another, who thinks he has a more\ndelicate sense of the beauties of architecture, and he, suffering it to\nfall to ruin, builds another at no less charge.  But among the Utopians\nall things are so regulated that men very seldom build upon a new piece\nof ground, and are not only very quick in repairing their houses, but\nshow their foresight in preventing their decay, so that their buildings\nare preserved very long with but very little labour, and thus the\nbuilders, to whom that care belongs, are often without employment, except\nthe hewing of timber and the squaring of stones, that the materials may\nbe in readiness for raising a building very suddenly when there is any\noccasion for it.  As to their clothes, observe how little work is spent\nin them; while they are at labour they are clothed with leather and\nskins, cut carelessly about them, which will last seven years, and when\nthey appear in public they put on an upper garment which hides the other;\nand these are all of one colour, and that is the natural colour of the\nwool.  As they need less woollen cloth than is used anywhere else, so\nthat which they make use of is much less costly; they use linen cloth\nmore, but that is prepared with less labour, and they value cloth only by\nthe whiteness of the linen or the cleanness of the wool, without much\nregard to the fineness of the thread.  While in other places four or five\nupper garments of woollen cloth of different colours, and as many vests\nof silk, will scarce serve one man, and while those that are nicer think\nten too few, every man there is content with one, which very often serves\nhim two years; nor is there anything that can tempt a man to desire more,\nfor if he had them he would neither be the, warmer nor would he make one\njot the better appearance for it.  And thus, since they are all employed\nin some useful labour, and since they content themselves with fewer\nthings, it falls out that there is a great abundance of all things among\nthem; so that it frequently happens that, for want of other work, vast\nnumbers are sent out to mend the highways; but when no public undertaking\nis to be performed, the hours of working are lessened.  The magistrates\nnever engage the people in unnecessary labour, since the chief end of the\nconstitution is to regulate labour by the necessities of the public, and\nto allow the people as much time as is necessary for the improvement of\ntheir minds, in which they think the happiness of life consists.\n\n\n\nOF THEIR TRAFFIC\n\n\n\"But it is now time to explain to you the mutual intercourse of this\npeople, their commerce, and the rules by which all things are distributed\namong them.\n\n\"As their cities are composed of families, so their families are made up\nof those that are nearly related to one another.  Their women, when they\ngrow up, are married out, but all the males, both children and\ngrand-children, live still in the same house, in great obedience to their\ncommon parent, unless age has weakened his understanding, and in that\ncase he that is next to him in age comes in his room; but lest any city\nshould become either too great, or by any accident be dispeopled,\nprovision is made that none of their cities may contain above six\nthousand families, besides those of the country around it.  No family may\nhave less than ten and more than sixteen persons in it, but there can be\nno determined number for the children under age; this rule is easily\nobserved by removing some of the children of a more fruitful couple to\nany other family that does not abound so much in them.  By the same rule\nthey supply cities that do not increase so fast from others that breed\nfaster; and if there is any increase over the whole island, then they\ndraw out a number of their citizens out of the several towns and send\nthem over to the neighbouring continent, where, if they find that the\ninhabitants have more soil than they can well cultivate, they fix a\ncolony, taking the inhabitants into their society if they are willing to\nlive with them; and where they do that of their own accord, they quickly\nenter into their method of life and conform to their rules, and this\nproves a happiness to both nations; for, according to their constitution,\nsuch care is taken of the soil that it becomes fruitful enough for both,\nthough it might be otherwise too narrow and barren for any one of them.\nBut if the natives refuse to conform themselves to their laws they drive\nthem out of those bounds which they mark out for themselves, and use\nforce if they resist, for they account it a very just cause of war for a\nnation to hinder others from possessing a part of that soil of which they\nmake no use, but which is suffered to lie idle and uncultivated, since\nevery man has, by the law of nature, a right to such a waste portion of\nthe earth as is necessary for his subsistence.  If an accident has so\nlessened the number of the inhabitants of any of their towns that it\ncannot be made up from the other towns of the island without diminishing\nthem too much (which is said to have fallen out but twice since they were\nfirst a people, when great numbers were carried off by the plague), the\nloss is then supplied by recalling as many as are wanted from their\ncolonies, for they will abandon these rather than suffer the towns in the\nisland to sink too low.\n\n\"But to return to their manner of living in society: the oldest man of\nevery family, as has been already said, is its governor; wives serve\ntheir husbands, and children their parents, and always the younger serves\nthe elder.  Every city is divided into four equal parts, and in the\nmiddle of each there is a market-place.  What is brought thither, and\nmanufactured by the several families, is carried from thence to houses\nappointed for that purpose, in which all things of a sort are laid by\nthemselves; and thither every father goes, and takes whatsoever he or his\nfamily stand in need of, without either paying for it or leaving anything\nin exchange.  There is no reason for giving a denial to any person, since\nthere is such plenty of everything among them; and there is no danger of\na man's asking for more than he needs; they have no inducements to do\nthis, since they are sure they shall always be supplied: it is the fear\nof want that makes any of the whole race of animals either greedy or\nravenous; but, besides fear, there is in man a pride that makes him fancy\nit a particular glory to excel others in pomp and excess; but by the laws\nof the Utopians, there is no room for this.  Near these markets there are\nothers for all sorts of provisions, where there are not only herbs,\nfruits, and bread, but also fish, fowl, and cattle.  There are also,\nwithout their towns, places appointed near some running water for killing\ntheir beasts and for washing away their filth, which is done by their\nslaves; for they suffer none of their citizens to kill their cattle,\nbecause they think that pity and good-nature, which are among the best of\nthose affections that are born with us, are much impaired by the\nbutchering of animals; nor do they suffer anything that is foul or\nunclean to be brought within their towns, lest the air should be infected\nby ill-smells, which might prejudice their health.  In every street there\nare great halls, that lie at an equal distance from each other,\ndistinguished by particular names.  The Syphogrants dwell in those that\nare set over thirty families, fifteen lying on one side of it, and as\nmany on the other.  In these halls they all meet and have their repasts;\nthe stewards of every one of them come to the market-place at an\nappointed hour, and according to the number of those that belong to the\nhall they carry home provisions.  But they take more care of their sick\nthan of any others; these are lodged and provided for in public\nhospitals.  They have belonging to every town four hospitals, that are\nbuilt without their walls, and are so large that they may pass for little\ntowns; by this means, if they had ever such a number of sick persons,\nthey could lodge them conveniently, and at such a distance that such of\nthem as are sick of infectious diseases may be kept so far from the rest\nthat there can be no danger of contagion.  The hospitals are furnished\nand stored with all things that are convenient for the ease and recovery\nof the sick; and those that are put in them are looked after with such\ntender and watchful care, and are so constantly attended by their skilful\nphysicians, that as none is sent to them against their will, so there is\nscarce one in a whole town that, if he should fall ill, would not choose\nrather to go thither than lie sick at home.\n\n\"After the steward of the hospitals has taken for the sick whatsoever the\nphysician prescribes, then the best things that are left in the market\nare distributed equally among the halls in proportion to their numbers;\nonly, in the first place, they serve the Prince, the Chief Priest, the\nTranibors, the Ambassadors, and strangers, if there are any, which,\nindeed, falls out but seldom, and for whom there are houses, well\nfurnished, particularly appointed for their reception when they come\namong them.  At the hours of dinner and supper the whole Syphogranty\nbeing called together by sound of trumpet, they meet and eat together,\nexcept only such as are in the hospitals or lie sick at home.  Yet, after\nthe halls are served, no man is hindered to carry provisions home from\nthe market-place, for they know that none does that but for some good\nreason; for though any that will may eat at home, yet none does it\nwillingly, since it is both ridiculous and foolish for any to give\nthemselves the trouble to make ready an ill dinner at home when there is\na much more plentiful one made ready for him so near hand.  All the\nuneasy and sordid services about these halls are performed by their\nslaves; but the dressing and cooking their meat, and the ordering their\ntables, belong only to the women, all those of every family taking it by\nturns.  They sit at three or more tables, according to their number; the\nmen sit towards the wall, and the women sit on the other side, that if\nany of them should be taken suddenly ill, which is no uncommon case\namongst women with child, she may, without disturbing the rest, rise and\ngo to the nurses' room (who are there with the sucking children), where\nthere is always clean water at hand and cradles, in which they may lay\nthe young children if there is occasion for it, and a fire, that they may\nshift and dress them before it.  Every child is nursed by its own mother\nif death or sickness does not intervene; and in that case the\nSyphogrants' wives find out a nurse quickly, which is no hard matter, for\nany one that can do it offers herself cheerfully; for as they are much\ninclined to that piece of mercy, so the child whom they nurse considers\nthe nurse as its mother.  All the children under five years old sit among\nthe nurses; the rest of the younger sort of both sexes, till they are fit\nfor marriage, either serve those that sit at table, or, if they are not\nstrong enough for that, stand by them in great silence and eat what is\ngiven them; nor have they any other formality of dining.  In the middle\nof the first table, which stands across the upper end of the hall, sit\nthe Syphogrant and his wife, for that is the chief and most conspicuous\nplace; next to him sit two of the most ancient, for there go always four\nto a mess.  If there is a temple within the Syphogranty, the Priest and\nhis wife sit with the Syphogrant above all the rest; next them there is a\nmixture of old and young, who are so placed that as the young are set\nnear others, so they are mixed with the more ancient; which, they say,\nwas appointed on this account: that the gravity of the old people, and\nthe reverence that is due to them, might restrain the younger from all\nindecent words and gestures.  Dishes are not served up to the whole table\nat first, but the best are first set before the old, whose seats are\ndistinguished from the young, and, after them, all the rest are served\nalike.  The old men distribute to the younger any curious meats that\nhappen to be set before them, if there is not such an abundance of them\nthat the whole company may be served alike.\n\n\"Thus old men are honoured with a particular respect, yet all the rest\nfare as well as they.  Both dinner and supper are begun with some lecture\nof morality that is read to them; but it is so short that it is not\ntedious nor uneasy to them to hear it.  From hence the old men take\noccasion to entertain those about them with some useful and pleasant\nenlargements; but they do not engross the whole discourse so to\nthemselves during their meals that the younger may not put in for a\nshare; on the contrary, they engage them to talk, that so they may, in\nthat free way of conversation, find out the force of every one's spirit\nand observe his temper.  They despatch their dinners quickly, but sit\nlong at supper, because they go to work after the one, and are to sleep\nafter the other, during which they think the stomach carries on the\nconcoction more vigorously.  They never sup without music, and there is\nalways fruit served up after meat; while they are at table some burn\nperfumes and sprinkle about fragrant ointments and sweet waters--in\nshort, they want nothing that may cheer up their spirits; they give\nthemselves a large allowance that way, and indulge themselves in all such\npleasures as are attended with no inconvenience.  Thus do those that are\nin the towns live together; but in the country, where they live at a\ngreat distance, every one eats at home, and no family wants any necessary\nsort of provision, for it is from them that provisions are sent unto\nthose that live in the towns.\n\n\n\nOF THE TRAVELLING OF THE UTOPIANS\n\n\nIf any man has a mind to visit his friends that live in some other town,\nor desires to travel and see the rest of the country, he obtains leave\nvery easily from the Syphogrant and Tranibors, when there is no\nparticular occasion for him at home.  Such as travel carry with them a\npassport from the Prince, which both certifies the licence that is\ngranted for travelling, and limits the time of their return.  They are\nfurnished with a waggon and a slave, who drives the oxen and looks after\nthem; but, unless there are women in the company, the waggon is sent back\nat the end of the journey as a needless encumbrance.  While they are on\nthe road they carry no provisions with them, yet they want for nothing,\nbut are everywhere treated as if they were at home.  If they stay in any\nplace longer than a night, every one follows his proper occupation, and\nis very well used by those of his own trade; but if any man goes out of\nthe city to which he belongs without leave, and is found rambling without\na passport, he is severely treated, he is punished as a fugitive, and\nsent home disgracefully; and, if he falls again into the like fault, is\ncondemned to slavery.  If any man has a mind to travel only over the\nprecinct of his own city, he may freely do it, with his father's\npermission and his wife's consent; but when he comes into any of the\ncountry houses, if he expects to be entertained by them, he must labour\nwith them and conform to their rules; and if he does this, he may freely\ngo over the whole precinct, being then as useful to the city to which he\nbelongs as if he were still within it.  Thus you see that there are no\nidle persons among them, nor pretences of excusing any from labour.  There\nare no taverns, no ale-houses, nor stews among them, nor any other\noccasions of corrupting each other, of getting into corners, or forming\nthemselves into parties; all men live in full view, so that all are\nobliged both to perform their ordinary task and to employ themselves well\nin their spare hours; and it is certain that a people thus ordered must\nlive in great abundance of all things, and these being equally\ndistributed among them, no man can want or be obliged to beg.\n\n\"In their great council at Amaurot, to which there are three sent from\nevery town once a year, they examine what towns abound in provisions and\nwhat are under any scarcity, that so the one may be furnished from the\nother; and this is done freely, without any sort of exchange; for,\naccording to their plenty or scarcity, they supply or are supplied from\none another, so that indeed the whole island is, as it were, one family.\nWhen they have thus taken care of their whole country, and laid up stores\nfor two years (which they do to prevent the ill consequences of an\nunfavourable season), they order an exportation of the overplus, both of\ncorn, honey, wool, flax, wood, wax, tallow, leather, and cattle, which\nthey send out, commonly in great quantities, to other nations.  They\norder a seventh part of all these goods to be freely given to the poor of\nthe countries to which they send them, and sell the rest at moderate\nrates; and by this exchange they not only bring back those few things\nthat they need at home (for, indeed, they scarce need anything but iron),\nbut likewise a great deal of gold and silver; and by their driving this\ntrade so long, it is not to be imagined how vast a treasure they have got\namong them, so that now they do not much care whether they sell off their\nmerchandise for money in hand or upon trust.  A great part of their\ntreasure is now in bonds; but in all their contracts no private man\nstands bound, but the writing runs in the name of the town; and the towns\nthat owe them money raise it from those private hands that owe it to\nthem, lay it up in their public chamber, or enjoy the profit of it till\nthe Utopians call for it; and they choose rather to let the greatest part\nof it lie in their hands, who make advantage by it, than to call for it\nthemselves; but if they see that any of their other neighbours stand more\nin need of it, then they call it in and lend it to them.  Whenever they\nare engaged in war, which is the only occasion in which their treasure\ncan be usefully employed, they make use of it themselves; in great\nextremities or sudden accidents they employ it in hiring foreign troops,\nwhom they more willingly expose to danger than their own people; they\ngive them great pay, knowing well that this will work even on their\nenemies; that it will engage them either to betray their own side, or, at\nleast, to desert it; and that it is the best means of raising mutual\njealousies among them.  For this end they have an incredible treasure;\nbut they do not keep it as a treasure, but in such a manner as I am\nalmost afraid to tell, lest you think it so extravagant as to be hardly\ncredible.  This I have the more reason to apprehend because, if I had not\nseen it myself, I could not have been easily persuaded to have believed\nit upon any man's report.\n\n\"It is certain that all things appear incredible to us in proportion as\nthey differ from known customs; but one who can judge aright will not\nwonder to find that, since their constitution differs so much from ours,\ntheir value of gold and silver should be measured by a very different\nstandard; for since they have no use for money among themselves, but keep\nit as a provision against events which seldom happen, and between which\nthere are generally long intervening intervals, they value it no farther\nthan it deserves--that is, in proportion to its use.  So that it is plain\nthey must prefer iron either to gold or silver, for men can no more live\nwithout iron than without fire or water; but Nature has marked out no use\nfor the other metals so essential as not easily to be dispensed with.  The\nfolly of men has enhanced the value of gold and silver because of their\nscarcity; whereas, on the contrary, it is their opinion that Nature, as\nan indulgent parent, has freely given us all the best things in great\nabundance, such as water and earth, but has laid up and hid from us the\nthings that are vain and useless.\n\n\"If these metals were laid up in any tower in the kingdom it would raise\na jealousy of the Prince and Senate, and give birth to that foolish\nmistrust into which the people are apt to fall--a jealousy of their\nintending to sacrifice the interest of the public to their own private\nadvantage.  If they should work it into vessels, or any sort of plate,\nthey fear that the people might grow too fond of it, and so be unwilling\nto let the plate be run down, if a war made it necessary, to employ it in\npaying their soldiers.  To prevent all these inconveniences they have\nfallen upon an expedient which, as it agrees with their other policy, so\nis it very different from ours, and will scarce gain belief among us who\nvalue gold so much, and lay it up so carefully.  They eat and drink out\nof vessels of earth or glass, which make an agreeable appearance, though\nformed of brittle materials; while they make their chamber-pots and close-\nstools of gold and silver, and that not only in their public halls but in\ntheir private houses.  Of the same metals they likewise make chains and\nfetters for their slaves, to some of which, as a badge of infamy, they\nhang an earring of gold, and make others wear a chain or a coronet of the\nsame metal; and thus they take care by all possible means to render gold\nand silver of no esteem; and from hence it is that while other nations\npart with their gold and silver as unwillingly as if one tore out their\nbowels, those of Utopia would look on their giving in all they possess of\nthose metals (when there were any use for them) but as the parting with a\ntrifle, or as we would esteem the loss of a penny!  They find pearls on\ntheir coasts, and diamonds and carbuncles on their rocks; they do not\nlook after them, but, if they find them by chance, they polish them, and\nwith them they adorn their children, who are delighted with them, and\nglory in them during their childhood; but when they grow to years, and\nsee that none but children use such baubles, they of their own accord,\nwithout being bid by their parents, lay them aside, and would be as much\nashamed to use them afterwards as children among us, when they come to\nyears, are of their puppets and other toys.\n\n\"I never saw a clearer instance of the opposite impressions that\ndifferent customs make on people than I observed in the ambassadors of\nthe Anemolians, who came to Amaurot when I was there.  As they came to\ntreat of affairs of great consequence, the deputies from several towns\nmet together to wait for their coming.  The ambassadors of the nations\nthat lie near Utopia, knowing their customs, and that fine clothes are in\nno esteem among them, that silk is despised, and gold is a badge of\ninfamy, used to come very modestly clothed; but the Anemolians, lying\nmore remote, and having had little commerce with them, understanding that\nthey were coarsely clothed, and all in the same manner, took it for\ngranted that they had none of those fine things among them of which they\nmade no use; and they, being a vainglorious rather than a wise people,\nresolved to set themselves out with so much pomp that they should look\nlike gods, and strike the eyes of the poor Utopians with their splendour.\nThus three ambassadors made their entry with a hundred attendants, all\nclad in garments of different colours, and the greater part in silk; the\nambassadors themselves, who were of the nobility of their country, were\nin cloth-of-gold, and adorned with massy chains, earrings and rings of\ngold; their caps were covered with bracelets set full of pearls and other\ngems--in a word, they were set out with all those things that among the\nUtopians were either the badges of slavery, the marks of infamy, or the\nplaythings of children.  It was not unpleasant to see, on the one side,\nhow they looked big, when they compared their rich habits with the plain\nclothes of the Utopians, who were come out in great numbers to see them\nmake their entry; and, on the other, to observe how much they were\nmistaken in the impression which they hoped this pomp would have made on\nthem.  It appeared so ridiculous a show to all that had never stirred out\nof their country, and had not seen the customs of other nations, that\nthough they paid some reverence to those that were the most meanly clad,\nas if they had been the ambassadors, yet when they saw the ambassadors\nthemselves so full of gold and chains, they looked upon them as slaves,\nand forbore to treat them with reverence.  You might have seen the\nchildren who were grown big enough to despise their playthings, and who\nhad thrown away their jewels, call to their mothers, push them gently,\nand cry out, 'See that great fool, that wears pearls and gems as if he\nwere yet a child!' while their mothers very innocently replied, 'Hold\nyour peace! this, I believe, is one of the ambassadors' fools.'  Others\ncensured the fashion of their chains, and observed, 'That they were of no\nuse, for they were too slight to bind their slaves, who could easily\nbreak them; and, besides, hung so loose about them that they thought it\neasy to throw their away, and so get from them.\"  But after the\nambassadors had stayed a day among them, and saw so vast a quantity of\ngold in their houses (which was as much despised by them as it was\nesteemed in other nations), and beheld more gold and silver in the chains\nand fetters of one slave than all their ornaments amounted to, their\nplumes fell, and they were ashamed of all that glory for which they had\nformed valued themselves, and accordingly laid it aside--a resolution\nthat they immediately took when, on their engaging in some free discourse\nwith the Utopians, they discovered their sense of such things and their\nother customs.  The Utopians wonder how any man should be so much taken\nwith the glaring doubtful lustre of a jewel or a stone, that can look up\nto a star or to the sun himself; or how any should value himself because\nhis cloth is made of a finer thread; for, how fine soever that thread may\nbe, it was once no better than the fleece of a sheep, and that sheep, was\na sheep still, for all its wearing it.  They wonder much to hear that\ngold, which in itself is so useless a thing, should be everywhere so much\nesteemed that even man, for whom it was made, and by whom it has its\nvalue, should yet be thought of less value than this metal; that a man of\nlead, who has no more sense than a log of wood, and is as bad as he is\nfoolish, should have many wise and good men to serve him, only because he\nhas a great heap of that metal; and that if it should happen that by some\naccident or trick of law (which, sometimes produces as great changes as\nchance itself) all this wealth should pass from the master to the meanest\nvarlet of his whole family, he himself would very soon become one of his\nservants, as if he were a thing that belonged to his wealth, and so were\nbound to follow its fortune!  But they much more admire and detest the\nfolly of those who, when they see a rich man, though they neither owe him\nanything, nor are in any sort dependent on his bounty, yet, merely\nbecause he is rich, give him little less than divine honours, even though\nthey know him to be so covetous and base-minded that, notwithstanding all\nhis wealth, he will not part with one farthing of it to them as long as\nhe lives!\n\n\"These and such like notions have that people imbibed, partly from their\neducation, being bred in a country whose customs and laws are opposite to\nall such foolish maxims, and partly from their learning and studies--for\nthough there are but few in any town that are so wholly excused from\nlabour as to give themselves entirely up to their studies (these being\nonly such persons as discover from their childhood an extraordinary\ncapacity and disposition for letters), yet their children and a great\npart of the nation, both men and women, are taught to spend those hours\nin which they are not obliged to work in reading; and this they do\nthrough the whole progress of life.  They have all their learning in\ntheir own tongue, which is both a copious and pleasant language, and in\nwhich a man can fully express his mind; it runs over a great tract of\nmany countries, but it is not equally pure in all places.  They had never\nso much as heard of the names of any of those philosophers that are so\nfamous in these parts of the world, before we went among them; and yet\nthey had made the same discoveries as the Greeks, both in music, logic,\narithmetic, and geometry.  But as they are almost in everything equal to\nthe ancient philosophers, so they far exceed our modern logicians for\nthey have never yet fallen upon the barbarous niceties that our youth are\nforced to learn in those trifling logical schools that are among us.  They\nare so far from minding chimeras and fantastical images made in the mind\nthat none of them could comprehend what we meant when we talked to them\nof a man in the abstract as common to all men in particular (so that\nthough we spoke of him as a thing that we could point at with our\nfingers, yet none of them could perceive him) and yet distinct from every\none, as if he were some monstrous Colossus or giant; yet, for all this\nignorance of these empty notions, they knew astronomy, and were perfectly\nacquainted with the motions of the heavenly bodies; and have many\ninstruments, well contrived and divided, by which they very accurately\ncompute the course and positions of the sun, moon, and stars.  But for\nthe cheat of divining by the stars, by their oppositions or conjunctions,\nit has not so much as entered into their thoughts.  They have a\nparticular sagacity, founded upon much observation, in judging of the\nweather, by which they know when they may look for rain, wind, or other\nalterations in the air; but as to the philosophy of these things, the\ncause of the saltness of the sea, of its ebbing and flowing, and of the\noriginal and nature both of the heavens and the earth, they dispute of\nthem partly as our ancient philosophers have done, and partly upon some\nnew hypothesis, in which, as they differ from them, so they do not in all\nthings agree among themselves.\n\n\"As to moral philosophy, they have the same disputes among them as we\nhave here.  They examine what are properly good, both for the body and\nthe mind; and whether any outward thing can be called truly _good_, or if\nthat term belong only to the endowments of the soul.  They inquire,\nlikewise, into the nature of virtue and pleasure.  But their chief\ndispute is concerning the happiness of a man, and wherein it\nconsists--whether in some one thing or in a great many.  They seem,\nindeed, more inclinable to that opinion that places, if not the whole,\nyet the chief part, of a man's happiness in pleasure; and, what may seem\nmore strange, they make use of arguments even from religion,\nnotwithstanding its severity and roughness, for the support of that\nopinion so indulgent to pleasure; for they never dispute concerning\nhappiness without fetching some arguments from the principles of religion\nas well as from natural reason, since without the former they reckon that\nall our inquiries after happiness must be but conjectural and defective.\n\n\"These are their religious principles:--That the soul of man is immortal,\nand that God of His goodness has designed that it should be happy; and\nthat He has, therefore, appointed rewards for good and virtuous actions,\nand punishments for vice, to be distributed after this life.  Though\nthese principles of religion are conveyed down among them by tradition,\nthey think that even reason itself determines a man to believe and\nacknowledge them; and freely confess that if these were taken away, no\nman would be so insensible as not to seek after pleasure by all possible\nmeans, lawful or unlawful, using only this caution--that a lesser\npleasure might not stand in the way of a greater, and that no pleasure\nought to be pursued that should draw a great deal of pain after it; for\nthey think it the maddest thing in the world to pursue virtue, that is a\nsour and difficult thing, and not only to renounce the pleasures of life,\nbut willingly to undergo much pain and trouble, if a man has no prospect\nof a reward.  And what reward can there be for one that has passed his\nwhole life, not only without pleasure, but in pain, if there is nothing\nto be expected after death?  Yet they do not place happiness in all sorts\nof pleasures, but only in those that in themselves are good and honest.\nThere is a party among them who place happiness in bare virtue; others\nthink that our natures are conducted by virtue to happiness, as that\nwhich is the chief good of man.  They define virtue thus--that it is a\nliving according to Nature, and think that we are made by God for that\nend; they believe that a man then follows the dictates of Nature when he\npursues or avoids things according to the direction of reason.  They say\nthat the first dictate of reason is the kindling in us a love and\nreverence for the Divine Majesty, to whom we owe both all that we have\nand, all that we can ever hope for.  In the next place, reason directs us\nto keep our minds as free from passion and as cheerful as we can, and\nthat we should consider ourselves as bound by the ties of good-nature and\nhumanity to use our utmost endeavours to help forward the happiness of\nall other persons; for there never was any man such a morose and severe\npursuer of virtue, such an enemy to pleasure, that though he set hard\nrules for men to undergo, much pain, many watchings, and other rigors,\nyet did not at the same time advise them to do all they could in order to\nrelieve and ease the miserable, and who did not represent gentleness and\ngood-nature as amiable dispositions.  And from thence they infer that if\na man ought to advance the welfare and comfort of the rest of mankind\n(there being no virtue more proper and peculiar to our nature than to\nease the miseries of others, to free from trouble and anxiety, in\nfurnishing them with the comforts of life, in which pleasure consists)\nNature much more vigorously leads them to do all this for himself.  A\nlife of pleasure is either a real evil, and in that case we ought not to\nassist others in their pursuit of it, but, on the contrary, to keep them\nfrom it all we can, as from that which is most hurtful and deadly; or if\nit is a good thing, so that we not only may but ought to help others to\nit, why, then, ought not a man to begin with himself? since no man can be\nmore bound to look after the good of another than after his own; for\nNature cannot direct us to be good and kind to others, and yet at the\nsame time to be unmerciful and cruel to ourselves.  Thus as they define\nvirtue to be living according to Nature, so they imagine that Nature\nprompts all people on to seek after pleasure as the end of all they do.\nThey also observe that in order to our supporting the pleasures of life,\nNature inclines us to enter into society; for there is no man so much\nraised above the rest of mankind as to be the only favourite of Nature,\nwho, on the contrary, seems to have placed on a level all those that\nbelong to the same species.  Upon this they infer that no man ought to\nseek his own conveniences so eagerly as to prejudice others; and\ntherefore they think that not only all agreements between private persons\nought to be observed, but likewise that all those laws ought to be kept\nwhich either a good prince has published in due form, or to which a\npeople that is neither oppressed with tyranny nor circumvented by fraud\nhas consented, for distributing those conveniences of life which afford\nus all our pleasures.\n\n\"They think it is an evidence of true wisdom for a man to pursue his own\nadvantage as far as the laws allow it, they account it piety to prefer\nthe public good to one's private concerns, but they think it unjust for a\nman to seek for pleasure by snatching another man's pleasures from him;\nand, on the contrary, they think it a sign of a gentle and good soul for\na man to dispense with his own advantage for the good of others, and that\nby this means a good man finds as much pleasure one way as he parts with\nanother; for as he may expect the like from others when he may come to\nneed it, so, if that should fail him, yet the sense of a good action, and\nthe reflections that he makes on the love and gratitude of those whom he\nhas so obliged, gives the mind more pleasure than the body could have\nfound in that from which it had restrained itself.  They are also\npersuaded that God will make up the loss of those small pleasures with a\nvast and endless joy, of which religion easily convinces a good soul.\n\n\"Thus, upon an inquiry into the whole matter, they reckon that all our\nactions, and even all our virtues, terminate in pleasure, as in our chief\nend and greatest happiness; and they call every motion or state, either\nof body or mind, in which Nature teaches us to delight, a pleasure.  Thus\nthey cautiously limit pleasure only to those appetites to which Nature\nleads us; for they say that Nature leads us only to those delights to\nwhich reason, as well as sense, carries us, and by which we neither\ninjure any other person nor lose the possession of greater pleasures, and\nof such as draw no troubles after them.  But they look upon those\ndelights which men by a foolish, though common, mistake call pleasure, as\nif they could change as easily the nature of things as the use of words,\nas things that greatly obstruct their real happiness, instead of\nadvancing it, because they so entirely possess the minds of those that\nare once captivated by them with a false notion of pleasure that there is\nno room left for pleasures of a truer or purer kind.\n\n\"There are many things that in themselves have nothing that is truly\ndelightful; on the contrary, they have a good deal of bitterness in them;\nand yet, from our perverse appetites after forbidden objects, are not\nonly ranked among the pleasures, but are made even the greatest designs,\nof life.  Among those who pursue these sophisticated pleasures they\nreckon such as I mentioned before, who think themselves really the better\nfor having fine clothes; in which they think they are doubly mistaken,\nboth in the opinion they have of their clothes, and in that they have of\nthemselves.  For if you consider the use of clothes, why should a fine\nthread be thought better than a coarse one?  And yet these men, as if\nthey had some real advantages beyond others, and did not owe them wholly\nto their mistakes, look big, seem to fancy themselves to be more\nvaluable, and imagine that a respect is due to them for the sake of a\nrich garment, to which they would not have pretended if they had been\nmore meanly clothed, and even resent it as an affront if that respect is\nnot paid them.  It is also a great folly to be taken with outward marks\nof respect, which signify nothing; for what true or real pleasure can one\nman find in another's standing bare or making legs to him?  Will the\nbending another man's knees give ease to yours? and will the head's being\nbare cure the madness of yours?  And yet it is wonderful to see how this\nfalse notion of pleasure bewitches many who delight themselves with the\nfancy of their nobility, and are pleased with this conceit--that they are\ndescended from ancestors who have been held for some successions rich,\nand who have had great possessions; for this is all that makes nobility\nat present.  Yet they do not think themselves a whit the less noble,\nthough their immediate parents have left none of this wealth to them, or\nthough they themselves have squandered it away.  The Utopians have no\nbetter opinion of those who are much taken with gems and precious stones,\nand who account it a degree of happiness next to a divine one if they can\npurchase one that is very extraordinary, especially if it be of that sort\nof stones that is then in greatest request, for the same sort is not at\nall times universally of the same value, nor will men buy it unless it be\ndismounted and taken out of the gold.  The jeweller is then made to give\ngood security, and required solemnly to swear that the stone is true,\nthat, by such an exact caution, a false one might not be bought instead\nof a true; though, if you were to examine it, your eye could find no\ndifference between the counterfeit and that which is true; so that they\nare all one to you, as much as if you were blind.  Or can it be thought\nthat they who heap up a useless mass of wealth, not for any use that it\nis to bring them, but merely to please themselves with the contemplation\nof it, enjoy any true pleasure in it?  The delight they find is only a\nfalse shadow of joy.  Those are no better whose error is somewhat\ndifferent from the former, and who hide it out of their fear of losing\nit; for what other name can fit the hiding it in the earth, or, rather,\nthe restoring it to it again, it being thus cut off from being useful\neither to its owner or to the rest of mankind?  And yet the owner, having\nhid it carefully, is glad, because he thinks he is now sure of it.  If it\nshould be stole, the owner, though he might live perhaps ten years after\nthe theft, of which he knew nothing, would find no difference between his\nhaving or losing it, for both ways it was equally useless to him.\n\n\"Among those foolish pursuers of pleasure they reckon all that delight in\nhunting, in fowling, or gaming, of whose madness they have only heard,\nfor they have no such things among them.  But they have asked us, 'What\nsort of pleasure is it that men can find in throwing the dice?' (for if\nthere were any pleasure in it, they think the doing it so often should\ngive one a surfeit of it); 'and what pleasure can one find in hearing the\nbarking and howling of dogs, which seem rather odious than pleasant\nsounds?'  Nor can they comprehend the pleasure of seeing dogs run after a\nhare, more than of seeing one dog run after another; for if the seeing\nthem run is that which gives the pleasure, you have the same\nentertainment to the eye on both these occasions, since that is the same\nin both cases.  But if the pleasure lies in seeing the hare killed and\ntorn by the dogs, this ought rather to stir pity, that a weak, harmless,\nand fearful hare should be devoured by strong, fierce, and cruel dogs.\nTherefore all this business of hunting is, among the Utopians, turned\nover to their butchers, and those, as has been already said, are all\nslaves, and they look on hunting as one of the basest parts of a\nbutcher's work, for they account it both more profitable and more decent\nto kill those beasts that are more necessary and useful to mankind,\nwhereas the killing and tearing of so small and miserable an animal can\nonly attract the huntsman with a false show of pleasure, from which he\ncan reap but small advantage.  They look on the desire of the bloodshed,\neven of beasts, as a mark of a mind that is already corrupted with\ncruelty, or that at least, by too frequent returns of so brutal a\npleasure, must degenerate into it.\n\n\"Thus though the rabble of mankind look upon these, and on innumerable\nother things of the same nature, as pleasures, the Utopians, on the\ncontrary, observing that there is nothing in them truly pleasant,\nconclude that they are not to be reckoned among pleasures; for though\nthese things may create some tickling in the senses (which seems to be a\ntrue notion of pleasure), yet they imagine that this does not arise from\nthe thing itself, but from a depraved custom, which may so vitiate a\nman's taste that bitter things may pass for sweet, as women with child\nthink pitch or tallow taste sweeter than honey; but as a man's sense,\nwhen corrupted either by a disease or some ill habit, does not change the\nnature of other things, so neither can it change the nature of pleasure.\n\n\"They reckon up several sorts of pleasures, which they call true ones;\nsome belong to the body, and others to the mind.  The pleasures of the\nmind lie in knowledge, and in that delight which the contemplation of\ntruth carries with it; to which they add the joyful reflections on a well-\nspent life, and the assured hopes of a future happiness.  They divide the\npleasures of the body into two sorts--the one is that which gives our\nsenses some real delight, and is performed either by recruiting Nature\nand supplying those parts which feed the internal heat of life by eating\nand drinking, or when Nature is eased of any surcharge that oppresses it,\nwhen we are relieved from sudden pain, or that which arises from\nsatisfying the appetite which Nature has wisely given to lead us to the\npropagation of the species.  There is another kind of pleasure that\narises neither from our receiving what the body requires, nor its being\nrelieved when overcharged, and yet, by a secret unseen virtue, affects\nthe senses, raises the passions, and strikes the mind with generous\nimpressions--this is, the pleasure that arises from music.  Another kind\nof bodily pleasure is that which results from an undisturbed and vigorous\nconstitution of body, when life and active spirits seem to actuate every\npart.  This lively health, when entirely free from all mixture of pain,\nof itself gives an inward pleasure, independent of all external objects\nof delight; and though this pleasure does not so powerfully affect us,\nnor act so strongly on the senses as some of the others, yet it may be\nesteemed as the greatest of all pleasures; and almost all the Utopians\nreckon it the foundation and basis of all the other joys of life, since\nthis alone makes the state of life easy and desirable, and when this is\nwanting, a man is really capable of no other pleasure.  They look upon\nfreedom from pain, if it does not rise from perfect health, to be a state\nof stupidity rather than of pleasure.  This subject has been very\nnarrowly canvassed among them, and it has been debated whether a firm and\nentire health could be called a pleasure or not.  Some have thought that\nthere was no pleasure but what was 'excited' by some sensible motion in\nthe body.  But this opinion has been long ago excluded from among them;\nso that now they almost universally agree that health is the greatest of\nall bodily pleasures; and that as there is a pain in sickness which is as\nopposite in its nature to pleasure as sickness itself is to health, so\nthey hold that health is accompanied with pleasure.  And if any should\nsay that sickness is not really pain, but that it only carries pain along\nwith it, they look upon that as a fetch of subtlety that does not much\nalter the matter.  It is all one, in their opinion, whether it be said\nthat health is in itself a pleasure, or that it begets a pleasure, as\nfire gives heat, so it be granted that all those whose health is entire\nhave a true pleasure in the enjoyment of it.  And they reason thus:--'What\nis the pleasure of eating, but that a man's health, which had been\nweakened, does, with the assistance of food, drive away hunger, and so\nrecruiting itself, recovers its former vigour?  And being thus refreshed\nit finds a pleasure in that conflict; and if the conflict is pleasure,\nthe victory must yet breed a greater pleasure, except we fancy that it\nbecomes stupid as soon as it has obtained that which it pursued, and so\nneither knows nor rejoices in its own welfare.'  If it is said that\nhealth cannot be felt, they absolutely deny it; for what man is in\nhealth, that does not perceive it when he is awake?  Is there any man\nthat is so dull and stupid as not to acknowledge that he feels a delight\nin health?  And what is delight but another name for pleasure?\n\n\"But, of all pleasures, they esteem those to be most valuable that lie in\nthe mind, the chief of which arise out of true virtue and the witness of\na good conscience.  They account health the chief pleasure that belongs\nto the body; for they think that the pleasure of eating and drinking, and\nall the other delights of sense, are only so far desirable as they give\nor maintain health; but they are not pleasant in themselves otherwise\nthan as they resist those impressions that our natural infirmities are\nstill making upon us.  For as a wise man desires rather to avoid diseases\nthan to take physic, and to be freed from pain rather than to find ease\nby remedies, so it is more desirable not to need this sort of pleasure\nthan to be obliged to indulge it.  If any man imagines that there is a\nreal happiness in these enjoyments, he must then confess that he would be\nthe happiest of all men if he were to lead his life in perpetual hunger,\nthirst, and itching, and, by consequence, in perpetual eating, drinking,\nand scratching himself; which any one may easily see would be not only a\nbase, but a miserable, state of a life.  These are, indeed, the lowest of\npleasures, and the least pure, for we can never relish them but when they\nare mixed with the contrary pains.  The pain of hunger must give us the\npleasure of eating, and here the pain out-balances the pleasure.  And as\nthe pain is more vehement, so it lasts much longer; for as it begins\nbefore the pleasure, so it does not cease but with the pleasure that\nextinguishes it, and both expire together.  They think, therefore, none\nof those pleasures are to be valued any further than as they are\nnecessary; yet they rejoice in them, and with due gratitude acknowledge\nthe tenderness of the great Author of Nature, who has planted in us\nappetites, by which those things that are necessary for our preservation\nare likewise made pleasant to us.  For how miserable a thing would life\nbe if those daily diseases of hunger and thirst were to be carried off by\nsuch bitter drugs as we must use for those diseases that return seldomer\nupon us!  And thus these pleasant, as well as proper, gifts of Nature\nmaintain the strength and the sprightliness of our bodies.\n\n\"They also entertain themselves with the other delights let in at their\neyes, their ears, and their nostrils as the pleasant relishes and\nseasoning of life, which Nature seems to have marked out peculiarly for\nman, since no other sort of animals contemplates the figure and beauty of\nthe universe, nor is delighted with smells any further than as they\ndistinguish meats by them; nor do they apprehend the concords or discords\nof sound.  Yet, in all pleasures whatsoever, they take care that a lesser\njoy does not hinder a greater, and that pleasure may never breed pain,\nwhich they think always follows dishonest pleasures.  But they think it\nmadness for a man to wear out the beauty of his face or the force of his\nnatural strength, to corrupt the sprightliness of his body by sloth and\nlaziness, or to waste it by fasting; that it is madness to weaken the\nstrength of his constitution and reject the other delights of life,\nunless by renouncing his own satisfaction he can either serve the public\nor promote the happiness of others, for which he expects a greater\nrecompense from God.  So that they look on such a course of life as the\nmark of a mind that is both cruel to itself and ungrateful to the Author\nof Nature, as if we would not be beholden to Him for His favours, and\ntherefore rejects all His blessings; as one who should afflict himself\nfor the empty shadow of virtue, or for no better end than to render\nhimself capable of bearing those misfortunes which possibly will never\nhappen.\n\n\"This is their notion of virtue and of pleasure: they think that no man's\nreason can carry him to a truer idea of them unless some discovery from\nheaven should inspire him with sublimer notions.  I have not now the\nleisure to examine whether they think right or wrong in this matter; nor\ndo I judge it necessary, for I have only undertaken to give you an\naccount of their constitution, but not to defend all their principles.  I\nam sure that whatever may be said of their notions, there is not in the\nwhole world either a better people or a happier government.  Their bodies\nare vigorous and lively; and though they are but of a middle stature, and\nhave neither the fruitfullest soil nor the purest air in the world; yet\nthey fortify themselves so well, by their temperate course of life,\nagainst the unhealthiness of their air, and by their industry they so\ncultivate their soil, that there is nowhere to be seen a greater\nincrease, both of corn and cattle, nor are there anywhere healthier men\nand freer from diseases; for one may there see reduced to practice not\nonly all the art that the husbandman employs in manuring and improving an\nill soil, but whole woods plucked up by the roots, and in other places\nnew ones planted, where there were none before.  Their principal motive\nfor this is the convenience of carriage, that their timber may be either\nnear their towns or growing on the banks of the sea, or of some rivers,\nso as to be floated to them; for it is a harder work to carry wood at any\ndistance over land than corn.  The people are industrious, apt to learn,\nas well as cheerful and pleasant, and none can endure more labour when it\nis necessary; but, except in that case, they love their ease.  They are\nunwearied pursuers of knowledge; for when we had given them some hints of\nthe learning and discipline of the Greeks, concerning whom we only\ninstructed them (for we know that there was nothing among the Romans,\nexcept their historians and their poets, that they would value much), it\nwas strange to see how eagerly they were set on learning that language:\nwe began to read a little of it to them, rather in compliance with their\nimportunity than out of any hopes of their reaping from it any great\nadvantage: but, after a very short trial, we found they made such\nprogress, that we saw our labour was like to be more successful than we\ncould have expected: they learned to write their characters and to\npronounce their language so exactly, had so quick an apprehension, they\nremembered it so faithfully, and became so ready and correct in the use\nof it, that it would have looked like a miracle if the greater part of\nthose whom we taught had not been men both of extraordinary capacity and\nof a fit age for instruction: they were, for the greatest part, chosen\nfrom among their learned men by their chief council, though some studied\nit of their own accord.  In three years' time they became masters of the\nwhole language, so that they read the best of the Greek authors very\nexactly.  I am, indeed, apt to think that they learned that language the\nmore easily from its having some relation to their own.  I believe that\nthey were a colony of the Greeks; for though their language comes nearer\nthe Persian, yet they retain many names, both for their towns and\nmagistrates, that are of Greek derivation.  I happened to carry a great\nmany books with me, instead of merchandise, when I sailed my fourth\nvoyage; for I was so far from thinking of soon coming back, that I rather\nthought never to have returned at all, and I gave them all my books,\namong which were many of Plato's and some of Aristotle's works: I had\nalso Theophrastus on Plants, which, to my great regret, was imperfect;\nfor having laid it carelessly by, while we were at sea, a monkey had\nseized upon it, and in many places torn out the leaves.  They have no\nbooks of grammar but Lascares, for I did not carry Theodorus with me; nor\nhave they any dictionaries but Hesichius and Dioscerides.  They esteem\nPlutarch highly, and were much taken with Lucian's wit and with his\npleasant way of writing.  As for the poets, they have Aristophanes,\nHomer, Euripides, and Sophocles of Aldus's edition; and for historians,\nThucydides, Herodotus, and Herodian.  One of my companions, Thricius\nApinatus, happened to carry with him some of Hippocrates's works and\nGalen's Microtechne, which they hold in great estimation; for though\nthere is no nation in the world that needs physic so little as they do,\nyet there is not any that honours it so much; they reckon the knowledge\nof it one of the pleasantest and most profitable parts of philosophy, by\nwhich, as they search into the secrets of nature, so they not only find\nthis study highly agreeable, but think that such inquiries are very\nacceptable to the Author of nature; and imagine, that as He, like the\ninventors of curious engines amongst mankind, has exposed this great\nmachine of the universe to the view of the only creatures capable of\ncontemplating it, so an exact and curious observer, who admires His\nworkmanship, is much more acceptable to Him than one of the herd, who,\nlike a beast incapable of reason, looks on this glorious scene with the\neyes of a dull and unconcerned spectator.\n\n\"The minds of the Utopians, when fenced with a love for learning, are\nvery ingenious in discovering all such arts as are necessary to carry it\nto perfection.  Two things they owe to us, the manufacture of paper and\nthe art of printing; yet they are not so entirely indebted to us for\nthese discoveries but that a great part of the invention was their own.\nWe showed them some books printed by Aldus, we explained to them the way\nof making paper and the mystery of printing; but, as we had never\npractised these arts, we described them in a crude and superficial\nmanner.  They seized the hints we gave them; and though at first they\ncould not arrive at perfection, yet by making many essays they at last\nfound out and corrected all their errors and conquered every difficulty.\nBefore this they only wrote on parchment, on reeds, or on the barks of\ntrees; but now they have established the manufactures of paper and set up\nprinting presses, so that, if they had but a good number of Greek\nauthors, they would be quickly supplied with many copies of them: at\npresent, though they have no more than those I have mentioned, yet, by\nseveral impressions, they have multiplied them into many thousands.  If\nany man was to go among them that had some extraordinary talent, or that\nby much travelling had observed the customs of many nations (which made\nus to be so well received), he would receive a hearty welcome, for they\nare very desirous to know the state of the whole world.  Very few go\namong them on the account of traffic; for what can a man carry to them\nbut iron, or gold, or silver? which merchants desire rather to export\nthan import to a strange country: and as for their exportation, they\nthink it better to manage that themselves than to leave it to foreigners,\nfor by this means, as they understand the state of the neighbouring\ncountries better, so they keep up the art of navigation which cannot be\nmaintained but by much practice.\n\n\n\nOF THEIR SLAVES, AND OF THEIR MARRIAGES\n\n\n\"They do not make slaves of prisoners of war, except those that are taken\nin battle, nor of the sons of their slaves, nor of those of other\nnations: the slaves among them are only such as are condemned to that\nstate of life for the commission of some crime, or, which is more common,\nsuch as their merchants find condemned to die in those parts to which\nthey trade, whom they sometimes redeem at low rates, and in other places\nhave them for nothing.  They are kept at perpetual labour, and are always\nchained, but with this difference, that their own natives are treated\nmuch worse than others: they are considered as more profligate than the\nrest, and since they could not be restrained by the advantages of so\nexcellent an education, are judged worthy of harder usage.  Another sort\nof slaves are the poor of the neighbouring countries, who offer of their\nown accord to come and serve them: they treat these better, and use them\nin all other respects as well as their own countrymen, except their\nimposing more labour upon them, which is no hard task to those that have\nbeen accustomed to it; and if any of these have a mind to go back to\ntheir own country, which, indeed, falls out but seldom, as they do not\nforce them to stay, so they do not send them away empty-handed.\n\n\"I have already told you with what care they look after their sick, so\nthat nothing is left undone that can contribute either to their case or\nhealth; and for those who are taken with fixed and incurable diseases,\nthey use all possible ways to cherish them and to make their lives as\ncomfortable as possible.  They visit them often and take great pains to\nmake their time pass off easily; but when any is taken with a torturing\nand lingering pain, so that there is no hope either of recovery or ease,\nthe priests and magistrates come and exhort them, that, since they are\nnow unable to go on with the business of life, are become a burden to\nthemselves and to all about them, and they have really out-lived\nthemselves, they should no longer nourish such a rooted distemper, but\nchoose rather to die since they cannot live but in much misery; being\nassured that if they thus deliver themselves from torture, or are willing\nthat others should do it, they shall be happy after death: since, by\ntheir acting thus, they lose none of the pleasures, but only the troubles\nof life, they think they behave not only reasonably but in a manner\nconsistent with religion and piety; because they follow the advice given\nthem by their priests, who are the expounders of the will of God.  Such\nas are wrought on by these persuasions either starve themselves of their\nown accord, or take opium, and by that means die without pain.  But no\nman is forced on this way of ending his life; and if they cannot be\npersuaded to it, this does not induce them to fail in their attendance\nand care of them: but as they believe that a voluntary death, when it is\nchosen upon such an authority, is very honourable, so if any man takes\naway his own life without the approbation of the priests and the senate,\nthey give him none of the honours of a decent funeral, but throw his body\ninto a ditch.\n\n\"Their women are not married before eighteen nor their men before two-and-\ntwenty, and if any of them run into forbidden embraces before marriage\nthey are severely punished, and the privilege of marriage is denied them\nunless they can obtain a special warrant from the Prince.  Such disorders\ncast a great reproach upon the master and mistress of the family in which\nthey happen, for it is supposed that they have failed in their duty.  The\nreason of punishing this so severely is, because they think that if they\nwere not strictly restrained from all vagrant appetites, very few would\nengage in a state in which they venture the quiet of their whole lives,\nby being confined to one person, and are obliged to endure all the\ninconveniences with which it is accompanied.  In choosing their wives\nthey use a method that would appear to us very absurd and ridiculous, but\nit is constantly observed among them, and is accounted perfectly\nconsistent with wisdom.  Before marriage some grave matron presents the\nbride, naked, whether she is a virgin or a widow, to the bridegroom, and\nafter that some grave man presents the bridegroom, naked, to the bride.\nWe, indeed, both laughed at this, and condemned it as very indecent.  But\nthey, on the other hand, wondered at the folly of the men of all other\nnations, who, if they are but to buy a horse of a small value, are so\ncautious that they will see every part of him, and take off both his\nsaddle and all his other tackle, that there may be no secret ulcer hid\nunder any of them, and that yet in the choice of a wife, on which depends\nthe happiness or unhappiness of the rest of his life, a man should\nventure upon trust, and only see about a handsbreadth of the face, all\nthe rest of the body being covered, under which may lie hid what may be\ncontagious as well as loathsome.  All men are not so wise as to choose a\nwoman only for her good qualities, and even wise men consider the body as\nthat which adds not a little to the mind, and it is certain there may be\nsome such deformity covered with clothes as may totally alienate a man\nfrom his wife, when it is too late to part with her; if such a thing is\ndiscovered after marriage a man has no remedy but patience; they,\ntherefore, think it is reasonable that there should be good provision\nmade against such mischievous frauds.\n\n\"There was so much the more reason for them to make a regulation in this\nmatter, because they are the only people of those parts that neither\nallow of polygamy nor of divorces, except in the case of adultery or\ninsufferable perverseness, for in these cases the Senate dissolves the\nmarriage and grants the injured person leave to marry again; but the\nguilty are made infamous and are never allowed the privilege of a second\nmarriage.  None are suffered to put away their wives against their wills,\nfrom any great calamity that may have fallen on their persons, for they\nlook on it as the height of cruelty and treachery to abandon either of\nthe married persons when they need most the tender care of their consort,\nand that chiefly in the case of old age, which, as it carries many\ndiseases along with it, so it is a disease of itself.  But it frequently\nfalls out that when a married couple do not well agree, they, by mutual\nconsent, separate, and find out other persons with whom they hope they\nmay live more happily; yet this is not done without obtaining leave of\nthe Senate, which never admits of a divorce but upon a strict inquiry\nmade, both by the senators and their wives, into the grounds upon which\nit is desired, and even when they are satisfied concerning the reasons of\nit they go on but slowly, for they imagine that too great easiness in\ngranting leave for new marriages would very much shake the kindness of\nmarried people.  They punish severely those that defile the marriage bed;\nif both parties are married they are divorced, and the injured persons\nmay marry one another, or whom they please, but the adulterer and the\nadulteress are condemned to slavery, yet if either of the injured persons\ncannot shake off the love of the married person they may live with them\nstill in that state, but they must follow them to that labour to which\nthe slaves are condemned, and sometimes the repentance of the condemned,\ntogether with the unshaken kindness of the innocent and injured person,\nhas prevailed so far with the Prince that he has taken off the sentence;\nbut those that relapse after they are once pardoned are punished with\ndeath.\n\n\"Their law does not determine the punishment for other crimes, but that\nis left to the Senate, to temper it according to the circumstances of the\nfact.  Husbands have power to correct their wives and parents to chastise\ntheir children, unless the fault is so great that a public punishment is\nthought necessary for striking terror into others.  For the most part\nslavery is the punishment even of the greatest crimes, for as that is no\nless terrible to the criminals themselves than death, so they think the\npreserving them in a state of servitude is more for the interest of the\ncommonwealth than killing them, since, as their labour is a greater\nbenefit to the public than their death could be, so the sight of their\nmisery is a more lasting terror to other men than that which would be\ngiven by their death.  If their slaves rebel, and will not bear their\nyoke and submit to the labour that is enjoined them, they are treated as\nwild beasts that cannot be kept in order, neither by a prison nor by\ntheir chains, and are at last put to death.  But those who bear their\npunishment patiently, and are so much wrought on by that pressure that\nlies so hard on them, that it appears they are really more troubled for\nthe crimes they have committed than for the miseries they suffer, are not\nout of hope, but that, at last, either the Prince will, by his\nprerogative, or the people, by their intercession, restore them again to\ntheir liberty, or, at least, very much mitigate their slavery.  He that\ntempts a married woman to adultery is no less severely punished than he\nthat commits it, for they believe that a deliberate design to commit a\ncrime is equal to the fact itself, since its not taking effect does not\nmake the person that miscarried in his attempt at all the less guilty.\n\n\"They take great pleasure in fools, and as it is thought a base and\nunbecoming thing to use them ill, so they do not think it amiss for\npeople to divert themselves with their folly; and, in their opinion, this\nis a great advantage to the fools themselves; for if men were so sullen\nand severe as not at all to please themselves with their ridiculous\nbehaviour and foolish sayings, which is all that they can do to recommend\nthemselves to others, it could not be expected that they would be so well\nprovided for nor so tenderly used as they must otherwise be.  If any man\nshould reproach another for his being misshaped or imperfect in any part\nof his body, it would not at all be thought a reflection on the person so\ntreated, but it would be accounted scandalous in him that had upbraided\nanother with what he could not help.  It is thought a sign of a sluggish\nand sordid mind not to preserve carefully one's natural beauty; but it is\nlikewise infamous among them to use paint.  They all see that no beauty\nrecommends a wife so much to her husband as the probity of her life and\nher obedience; for as some few are caught and held only by beauty, so all\nare attracted by the other excellences which charm all the world.\n\n\"As they fright men from committing crimes by punishments, so they invite\nthem to the love of virtue by public honours; therefore they erect\nstatues to the memories of such worthy men as have deserved well of their\ncountry, and set these in their market-places, both to perpetuate the\nremembrance of their actions and to be an incitement to their posterity\nto follow their example.\n\n\"If any man aspires to any office he is sure never to compass it.  They\nall live easily together, for none of the magistrates are either insolent\nor cruel to the people; they affect rather to be called fathers, and, by\nbeing really so, they well deserve the name; and the people pay them all\nthe marks of honour the more freely because none are exacted from them.\nThe Prince himself has no distinction, either of garments or of a crown;\nbut is only distinguished by a sheaf of corn carried before him; as the\nHigh Priest is also known by his being preceded by a person carrying a\nwax light.\n\n\"They have but few laws, and such is their constitution that they need\nnot many.  They very much condemn other nations whose laws, together with\nthe commentaries on them, swell up to so many volumes; for they think it\nan unreasonable thing to oblige men to obey a body of laws that are both\nof such a bulk, and so dark as not to be read and understood by every one\nof the subjects.\n\n\"They have no lawyers among them, for they consider them as a sort of\npeople whose profession it is to disguise matters and to wrest the laws,\nand, therefore, they think it is much better that every man should plead\nhis own cause, and trust it to the judge, as in other places the client\ntrusts it to a counsellor; by this means they both cut off many delays\nand find out truth more certainly; for after the parties have laid open\nthe merits of the cause, without those artifices which lawyers are apt to\nsuggest, the judge examines the whole matter, and supports the simplicity\nof such well-meaning persons, whom otherwise crafty men would be sure to\nrun down; and thus they avoid those evils which appear very remarkably\namong all those nations that labour under a vast load of laws.  Every one\nof them is skilled in their law; for, as it is a very short study, so the\nplainest meaning of which words are capable is always the sense of their\nlaws; and they argue thus: all laws are promulgated for this end, that\nevery man may know his duty; and, therefore, the plainest and most\nobvious sense of the words is that which ought to be put upon them, since\na more refined exposition cannot be easily comprehended, and would only\nserve to make the laws become useless to the greater part of mankind, and\nespecially to those who need most the direction of them; for it is all\none not to make a law at all or to couch it in such terms that, without a\nquick apprehension and much study, a man cannot find out the true meaning\nof it, since the generality of mankind are both so dull, and so much\nemployed in their several trades, that they have neither the leisure nor\nthe capacity requisite for such an inquiry.\n\n\"Some of their neighbours, who are masters of their own liberties (having\nlong ago, by the assistance of the Utopians, shaken off the yoke of\ntyranny, and being much taken with those virtues which they observe among\nthem), have come to desire that they would send magistrates to govern\nthem, some changing them every year, and others every five years; at the\nend of their government they bring them back to Utopia, with great\nexpressions of honour and esteem, and carry away others to govern in\ntheir stead.  In this they seem to have fallen upon a very good expedient\nfor their own happiness and safety; for since the good or ill condition\nof a nation depends so much upon their magistrates, they could not have\nmade a better choice than by pitching on men whom no advantages can bias;\nfor wealth is of no use to them, since they must so soon go back to their\nown country, and they, being strangers among them, are not engaged in any\nof their heats or animosities; and it is certain that when public\njudicatories are swayed, either by avarice or partial affections, there\nmust follow a dissolution of justice, the chief sinew of society.\n\n\"The Utopians call those nations that come and ask magistrates from them\nNeighbours; but those to whom they have been of more particular service,\nFriends; and as all other nations are perpetually either making leagues\nor breaking them, they never enter into an alliance with any state.  They\nthink leagues are useless things, and believe that if the common ties of\nhumanity do not knit men together, the faith of promises will have no\ngreat effect; and they are the more confirmed in this by what they see\namong the nations round about them, who are no strict observers of\nleagues and treaties.  We know how religiously they are observed in\nEurope, more particularly where the Christian doctrine is received, among\nwhom they are sacred and inviolable! which is partly owing to the justice\nand goodness of the princes themselves, and partly to the reverence they\npay to the popes, who, as they are the most religious observers of their\nown promises, so they exhort all other princes to perform theirs, and,\nwhen fainter methods do not prevail, they compel them to it by the\nseverity of the pastoral censure, and think that it would be the most\nindecent thing possible if men who are particularly distinguished by the\ntitle of 'The Faithful' should not religiously keep the faith of their\ntreaties.  But in that new-found world, which is not more distant from us\nin situation than the people are in their manners and course of life,\nthere is no trusting to leagues, even though they were made with all the\npomp of the most sacred ceremonies; on the contrary, they are on this\naccount the sooner broken, some slight pretence being found in the words\nof the treaties, which are purposely couched in such ambiguous terms that\nthey can never be so strictly bound but they will always find some\nloophole to escape at, and thus they break both their leagues and their\nfaith; and this is done with such impudence, that those very men who\nvalue themselves on having suggested these expedients to their princes\nwould, with a haughty scorn, declaim against such craft; or, to speak\nplainer, such fraud and deceit, if they found private men make use of it\nin their bargains, and would readily say that they deserved to be hanged.\n\n\"By this means it is that all sort of justice passes in the world for a\nlow-spirited and vulgar virtue, far below the dignity of royal\ngreatness--or at least there are set up two sorts of justice; the one is\nmean and creeps on the ground, and, therefore, becomes none but the lower\npart of mankind, and so must be kept in severely by many restraints, that\nit may not break out beyond the bounds that are set to it; the other is\nthe peculiar virtue of princes, which, as it is more majestic than that\nwhich becomes the rabble, so takes a freer compass, and thus lawful and\nunlawful are only measured by pleasure and interest.  These practices of\nthe princes that lie about Utopia, who make so little account of their\nfaith, seem to be the reasons that determine them to engage in no\nconfederacy.  Perhaps they would change their mind if they lived among\nus; but yet, though treaties were more religiously observed, they would\nstill dislike the custom of making them, since the world has taken up a\nfalse maxim upon it, as if there were no tie of nature uniting one nation\nto another, only separated perhaps by a mountain or a river, and that all\nwere born in a state of hostility, and so might lawfully do all that\nmischief to their neighbours against which there is no provision made by\ntreaties; and that when treaties are made they do not cut off the enmity\nor restrain the licence of preying upon each other, if, by the\nunskilfulness of wording them, there are not effectual provisoes made\nagainst them; they, on the other hand, judge that no man is to be\nesteemed our enemy that has never injured us, and that the partnership of\nhuman nature is instead of a league; and that kindness and good nature\nunite men more effectually and with greater strength than any agreements\nwhatsoever, since thereby the engagements of men's hearts become stronger\nthan the bond and obligation of words.\n\n\n\nOF THEIR MILITARY DISCIPLINE\n\n\nThey detest war as a very brutal thing, and which, to the reproach of\nhuman nature, is more practised by men than by any sort of beasts.  They,\nin opposition to the sentiments of almost all other nations, think that\nthere is nothing more inglorious than that glory that is gained by war;\nand therefore, though they accustom themselves daily to military\nexercises and the discipline of war, in which not only their men, but\ntheir women likewise, are trained up, that, in cases of necessity, they\nmay not be quite useless, yet they do not rashly engage in war, unless it\nbe either to defend themselves or their friends from any unjust\naggressors, or, out of good nature or in compassion, assist an oppressed\nnation in shaking off the yoke of tyranny.  They, indeed, help their\nfriends not only in defensive but also in offensive wars; but they never\ndo that unless they had been consulted before the breach was made, and,\nbeing satisfied with the grounds on which they went, they had found that\nall demands of reparation were rejected, so that a war was unavoidable.\nThis they think to be not only just when one neighbour makes an inroad on\nanother by public order, and carries away the spoils, but when the\nmerchants of one country are oppressed in another, either under pretence\nof some unjust laws, or by the perverse wresting of good ones.  This they\ncount a juster cause of war than the other, because those injuries are\ndone under some colour of laws.  This was the only ground of that war in\nwhich they engaged with the Nephelogetes against the Aleopolitanes, a\nlittle before our time; for the merchants of the former having, as they\nthought, met with great injustice among the latter, which (whether it was\nin itself right or wrong) drew on a terrible war, in which many of their\nneighbours were engaged; and their keenness in carrying it on being\nsupported by their strength in maintaining it, it not only shook some\nvery flourishing states and very much afflicted others, but, after a\nseries of much mischief ended in the entire conquest and slavery of the\nAleopolitanes, who, though before the war they were in all respects much\nsuperior to the Nephelogetes, were yet subdued; but, though the Utopians\nhad assisted them in the war, yet they pretended to no share of the\nspoil.\n\n\"But, though they so vigorously assist their friends in obtaining\nreparation for the injuries they have received in affairs of this nature,\nyet, if any such frauds were committed against themselves, provided no\nviolence was done to their persons, they would only, on their being\nrefused satisfaction, forbear trading with such a people.  This is not\nbecause they consider their neighbours more than their own citizens; but,\nsince their neighbours trade every one upon his own stock, fraud is a\nmore sensible injury to them than it is to the Utopians, among whom the\npublic, in such a case, only suffers, as they expect no thing in return\nfor the merchandise they export but that in which they so much abound,\nand is of little use to them, the loss does not much affect them.  They\nthink, therefore, it would be too severe to revenge a loss attended with\nso little inconvenience, either to their lives or their subsistence, with\nthe death of many persons; but if any of their people are either killed\nor wounded wrongfully, whether it be done by public authority, or only by\nprivate men, as soon as they hear of it they send ambassadors, and demand\nthat the guilty persons may be delivered up to them, and if that is\ndenied, they declare war; but if it be complied with, the offenders are\ncondemned either to death or slavery.\n\n\"They would be both troubled and ashamed of a bloody victory over their\nenemies; and think it would be as foolish a purchase as to buy the most\nvaluable goods at too high a rate.  And in no victory do they glory so\nmuch as in that which is gained by dexterity and good conduct without\nbloodshed.  In such cases they appoint public triumphs, and erect\ntrophies to the honour of those who have succeeded; for then do they\nreckon that a man acts suitably to his nature, when he conquers his enemy\nin such a way as that no other creature but a man could be capable of,\nand that is by the strength of his understanding.  Bears, lions, boars,\nwolves, and dogs, and all other animals, employ their bodily force one\nagainst another, in which, as many of them are superior to men, both in\nstrength and fierceness, so they are all subdued by his reason and\nunderstanding.\n\n\"The only design of the Utopians in war is to obtain that by force which,\nif it had been granted them in time, would have prevented the war; or, if\nthat cannot be done, to take so severe a revenge on those that have\ninjured them that they may be terrified from doing the like for the time\nto come.  By these ends they measure all their designs, and manage them\nso, that it is visible that the appetite of fame or vainglory does not\nwork so much on there as a just care of their own security.\n\n\"As soon as they declare war, they take care to have a great many\nschedules, that are sealed with their common seal, affixed in the most\nconspicuous places of their enemies' country.  This is carried secretly,\nand done in many places all at once.  In these they promise great rewards\nto such as shall kill the prince, and lesser in proportion to such as\nshall kill any other persons who are those on whom, next to the prince\nhimself, they cast the chief balance of the war.  And they double the sum\nto him that, instead of killing the person so marked out, shall take him\nalive, and put him in their hands.  They offer not only indemnity, but\nrewards, to such of the persons themselves that are so marked, if they\nwill act against their countrymen.  By this means those that are named in\ntheir schedules become not only distrustful of their fellow-citizens, but\nare jealous of one another, and are much distracted by fear and danger;\nfor it has often fallen out that many of them, and even the prince\nhimself, have been betrayed, by those in whom they have trusted most; for\nthe rewards that the Utopians offer are so immeasurably great, that there\nis no sort of crime to which men cannot be drawn by them.  They consider\nthe risk that those run who undertake such services, and offer a\nrecompense proportioned to the danger--not only a vast deal of gold, but\ngreat revenues in lands, that lie among other nations that are their\nfriends, where they may go and enjoy them very securely; and they observe\nthe promises they make of their kind most religiously.  They very much\napprove of this way of corrupting their enemies, though it appears to\nothers to be base and cruel; but they look on it as a wise course, to\nmake an end of what would be otherwise a long war, without so much as\nhazarding one battle to decide it.  They think it likewise an act of\nmercy and love to mankind to prevent the great slaughter of those that\nmust otherwise be killed in the progress of the war, both on their own\nside and on that of their enemies, by the death of a few that are most\nguilty; and that in so doing they are kind even to their enemies, and\npity them no less than their own people, as knowing that the greater part\nof them do not engage in the war of their own accord, but are driven into\nit by the passions of their prince.\n\n\"If this method does not succeed with them, then they sow seeds of\ncontention among their enemies, and animate the prince's brother, or some\nof the nobility, to aspire to the crown.  If they cannot disunite them by\ndomestic broils, then they engage their neighbours against them, and make\nthem set on foot some old pretensions, which are never wanting to princes\nwhen they have occasion for them.  These they plentifully supply with\nmoney, though but very sparingly with any auxiliary troops; for they are\nso tender of their own people that they would not willingly exchange one\nof them, even with the prince of their enemies' country.\n\n\"But as they keep their gold and silver only for such an occasion, so,\nwhen that offers itself, they easily part with it; since it would be no\nconvenience to them, though they should reserve nothing of it to\nthemselves.  For besides the wealth that they have among them at home,\nthey have a vast treasure abroad; many nations round about them being\ndeep in their debt: so that they hire soldiers from all places for\ncarrying on their wars; but chiefly from the Zapolets, who live five\nhundred miles east of Utopia.  They are a rude, wild, and fierce nation,\nwho delight in the woods and rocks, among which they were born and bred\nup.  They are hardened both against heat, cold, and labour, and know\nnothing of the delicacies of life.  They do not apply themselves to\nagriculture, nor do they care either for their houses or their clothes:\ncattle is all that they look after; and for the greatest part they live\neither by hunting or upon rapine; and are made, as it were, only for war.\nThey watch all opportunities of engaging in it, and very readily embrace\nsuch as are offered them.  Great numbers of them will frequently go out,\nand offer themselves for a very low pay, to serve any that will employ\nthem: they know none of the arts of life, but those that lead to the\ntaking it away; they serve those that hire them, both with much courage\nand great fidelity; but will not engage to serve for any determined time,\nand agree upon such terms, that the next day they may go over to the\nenemies of those whom they serve if they offer them a greater\nencouragement; and will, perhaps, return to them the day after that upon\na higher advance of their pay.  There are few wars in which they make not\na considerable part of the armies of both sides: so it often falls out\nthat they who are related, and were hired in the same country, and so\nhave lived long and familiarly together, forgetting both their relations\nand former friendship, kill one another upon no other consideration than\nthat of being hired to it for a little money by princes of different\ninterests; and such a regard have they for money that they are easily\nwrought on by the difference of one penny a day to change sides.  So\nentirely does their avarice influence them; and yet this money, which\nthey value so highly, is of little use to them; for what they purchase\nthus with their blood they quickly waste on luxury, which among them is\nbut of a poor and miserable form.\n\n\"This nation serves the Utopians against all people whatsoever, for they\npay higher than any other.  The Utopians hold this for a maxim, that as\nthey seek out the best sort of men for their own use at home, so they\nmake use of this worst sort of men for the consumption of war; and\ntherefore they hire them with the offers of vast rewards to expose\nthemselves to all sorts of hazards, out of which the greater part never\nreturns to claim their promises; yet they make them good most religiously\nto such as escape.  This animates them to adventure again, whenever there\nis occasion for it; for the Utopians are not at all troubled how many of\nthese happen to be killed, and reckon it a service done to mankind if\nthey could be a means to deliver the world from such a lewd and vicious\nsort of people, that seem to have run together, as to the drain of human\nnature.  Next to these, they are served in their wars with those upon\nwhose account they undertake them, and with the auxiliary troops of their\nother friends, to whom they join a few of their own people, and send some\nman of eminent and approved virtue to command in chief.  There are two\nsent with him, who, during his command, are but private men, but the\nfirst is to succeed him if he should happen to be either killed or taken;\nand, in case of the like misfortune to him, the third comes in his place;\nand thus they provide against all events, that such accidents as may\nbefall their generals may not endanger their armies.  When they draw out\ntroops of their own people, they take such out of every city as freely\noffer themselves, for none are forced to go against their wills, since\nthey think that if any man is pressed that wants courage, he will not\nonly act faintly, but by his cowardice dishearten others.  But if an\ninvasion is made on their country, they make use of such men, if they\nhave good bodies, though they are not brave; and either put them aboard\ntheir ships, or place them on the walls of their towns, that being so\nposted, they may find no opportunity of flying away; and thus either\nshame, the heat of action, or the impossibility of flying, bears down\ntheir cowardice; they often make a virtue of necessity, and behave\nthemselves well, because nothing else is left them.  But as they force no\nman to go into any foreign war against his will, so they do not hinder\nthose women who are willing to go along with their husbands; on the\ncontrary, they encourage and praise them, and they stand often next their\nhusbands in the front of the army.  They also place together those who\nare related, parents, and children, kindred, and those that are mutually\nallied, near one another; that those whom nature has inspired with the\ngreatest zeal for assisting one another may be the nearest and readiest\nto do it; and it is matter of great reproach if husband or wife survive\none another, or if a child survives his parent, and therefore when they\ncome to be engaged in action, they continue to fight to the last man, if\ntheir enemies stand before them: and as they use all prudent methods to\navoid the endangering their own men, and if it is possible let all the\naction and danger fall upon the troops that they hire, so if it becomes\nnecessary for themselves to engage, they then charge with as much courage\nas they avoided it before with prudence: nor is it a fierce charge at\nfirst, but it increases by degrees; and as they continue in action, they\ngrow more obstinate, and press harder upon the enemy, insomuch that they\nwill much sooner die than give ground; for the certainty that their\nchildren will be well looked after when they are dead frees them from all\nthat anxiety concerning them which often masters men of great courage;\nand thus they are animated by a noble and invincible resolution.  Their\nskill in military affairs increases their courage: and the wise\nsentiments which, according to the laws of their country, are instilled\ninto them in their education, give additional vigour to their minds: for\nas they do not undervalue life so as prodigally to throw it away, they\nare not so indecently fond of it as to preserve it by base and unbecoming\nmethods.  In the greatest heat of action the bravest of their youth, who\nhave devoted themselves to that service, single out the general of their\nenemies, set on him either openly or by ambuscade; pursue him everywhere,\nand when spent and wearied out, are relieved by others, who never give\nover the pursuit, either attacking him with close weapons when they can\nget near him, or with those which wound at a distance, when others get in\nbetween them.  So that, unless he secures himself by flight, they seldom\nfail at last to kill or to take him prisoner.  When they have obtained a\nvictory, they kill as few as possible, and are much more bent on taking\nmany prisoners than on killing those that fly before them.  Nor do they\never let their men so loose in the pursuit of their enemies as not to\nretain an entire body still in order; so that if they have been forced to\nengage the last of their battalions before they could gain the day, they\nwill rather let their enemies all escape than pursue them when their own\narmy is in disorder; remembering well what has often fallen out to\nthemselves, that when the main body of their army has been quite defeated\nand broken, when their enemies, imagining the victory obtained, have let\nthemselves loose into an irregular pursuit, a few of them that lay for a\nreserve, waiting a fit opportunity, have fallen on them in their chase,\nand when straggling in disorder, and apprehensive of no danger, but\ncounting the day their own, have turned the whole action, and, wresting\nout of their hands a victory that seemed certain and undoubted, while the\nvanquished have suddenly become victorious.\n\n\"It is hard to tell whether they are more dexterous in laying or avoiding\nambushes.  They sometimes seem to fly when it is far from their thoughts;\nand when they intend to give ground, they do it so that it is very hard\nto find out their design.  If they see they are ill posted, or are like\nto be overpowered by numbers, they then either march off in the night\nwith great silence, or by some stratagem delude their enemies.  If they\nretire in the day-time, they do it in such order that it is no less\ndangerous to fall upon them in a retreat than in a march.  They fortify\ntheir camps with a deep and large trench; and throw up the earth that is\ndug out of it for a wall; nor do they employ only their slaves in this,\nbut the whole army works at it, except those that are then upon the\nguard; so that when so many hands are at work, a great line and a strong\nfortification is finished in so short a time that it is scarce credible.\nTheir armour is very strong for defence, and yet is not so heavy as to\nmake them uneasy in their marches; they can even swim with it.  All that\nare trained up to war practise swimming.  Both horse and foot make great\nuse of arrows, and are very expert.  They have no swords, but fight with\na pole-axe that is both sharp and heavy, by which they thrust or strike\ndown an enemy.  They are very good at finding out warlike machines, and\ndisguise them so well that the enemy does not perceive them till he feels\nthe use of them; so that he cannot prepare such a defence as would render\nthem useless; the chief consideration had in the making them is that they\nmay be easily carried and managed.\n\n\"If they agree to a truce, they observe it so religiously that no\nprovocations will make them break it.  They never lay their enemies'\ncountry waste nor burn their corn, and even in their marches they take\nall possible care that neither horse nor foot may tread it down, for they\ndo not know but that they may have use for it themselves.  They hurt no\nman whom they find disarmed, unless he is a spy.  When a town is\nsurrendered to them, they take it into their protection; and when they\ncarry a place by storm they never plunder it, but put those only to the\nsword that oppose the rendering of it up, and make the rest of the\ngarrison slaves, but for the other inhabitants, they do them no hurt; and\nif any of them had advised a surrender, they give them good rewards out\nof the estates of those that they condemn, and distribute the rest among\ntheir auxiliary troops, but they themselves take no share of the spoil.\n\n\"When a war is ended, they do not oblige their friends to reimburse their\nexpenses; but they obtain them of the conquered, either in money, which\nthey keep for the next occasion, or in lands, out of which a constant\nrevenue is to be paid them; by many increases the revenue which they draw\nout from several countries on such occasions is now risen to above\n700,000 ducats a year.  They send some of their own people to receive\nthese revenues, who have orders to live magnificently and like princes,\nby which means they consume much of it upon the place; and either bring\nover the rest to Utopia or lend it to that nation in which it lies.  This\nthey most commonly do, unless some great occasion, which falls out but\nvery seldom, should oblige them to call for it all.  It is out of these\nlands that they assign rewards to such as they encourage to adventure on\ndesperate attempts.  If any prince that engages in war with them is\nmaking preparations for invading their country, they prevent him, and\nmake his country the seat of the war; for they do not willingly suffer\nany war to break in upon their island; and if that should happen, they\nwould only defend themselves by their own people; but would not call for\nauxiliary troops to their assistance.\n\n\n\nOF THE RELIGIONS OF THE UTOPIANS\n\n\n\"There are several sorts of religions, not only in different parts of the\nisland, but even in every town; some worshipping the sun, others the moon\nor one of the planets.  Some worship such men as have been eminent in\nformer times for virtue or glory, not only as ordinary deities, but as\nthe supreme god.  Yet the greater and wiser sort of them worship none of\nthese, but adore one eternal, invisible, infinite, and incomprehensible\nDeity; as a Being that is far above all our apprehensions, that is spread\nover the whole universe, not by His bulk, but by His power and virtue;\nHim they call the Father of All, and acknowledge that the beginnings, the\nincrease, the progress, the vicissitudes, and the end of all things come\nonly from Him; nor do they offer divine honours to any but to Him alone.\nAnd, indeed, though they differ concerning other things, yet all agree in\nthis: that they think there is one Supreme Being that made and governs\nthe world, whom they call, in the language of their country, Mithras.\nThey differ in this: that one thinks the god whom he worships is this\nSupreme Being, and another thinks that his idol is that god; but they all\nagree in one principle, that whoever is this Supreme Being, He is also\nthat great essence to whose glory and majesty all honours are ascribed by\nthe consent of all nations.\n\n\"By degrees they fall off from the various superstitions that are among\nthem, and grow up to that one religion that is the best and most in\nrequest; and there is no doubt to be made, but that all the others had\nvanished long ago, if some of those who advised them to lay aside their\nsuperstitions had not met with some unhappy accidents, which, being\nconsidered as inflicted by heaven, made them afraid that the god whose\nworship had like to have been abandoned had interposed and revenged\nthemselves on those who despised their authority.\n\n\"After they had heard from us an account of the doctrine, the course of\nlife, and the miracles of Christ, and of the wonderful constancy of so\nmany martyrs, whose blood, so willingly offered up by them, was the chief\noccasion of spreading their religion over a vast number of nations, it is\nnot to be imagined how inclined they were to receive it.  I shall not\ndetermine whether this proceeded from any secret inspiration of God, or\nwhether it was because it seemed so favourable to that community of\ngoods, which is an opinion so particular as well as so dear to them;\nsince they perceived that Christ and His followers lived by that rule,\nand that it was still kept up in some communities among the sincerest\nsort of Christians.  From whichsoever of these motives it might be, true\nit is, that many of them came over to our religion, and were initiated\ninto it by baptism.  But as two of our number were dead, so none of the\nfour that survived were in priests' orders, we, therefore, could only\nbaptise them, so that, to our great regret, they could not partake of the\nother sacraments, that can only be administered by priests, but they are\ninstructed concerning them and long most vehemently for them.  They have\nhad great disputes among themselves, whether one chosen by them to be a\npriest would not be thereby qualified to do all the things that belong to\nthat character, even though he had no authority derived from the Pope,\nand they seemed to be resolved to choose some for that employment, but\nthey had not done it when I left them.\n\n\"Those among them that have not received our religion do not fright any\nfrom it, and use none ill that goes over to it, so that all the while I\nwas there one man was only punished on this occasion.  He being newly\nbaptised did, notwithstanding all that we could say to the contrary,\ndispute publicly concerning the Christian religion, with more zeal than\ndiscretion, and with so much heat, that he not only preferred our worship\nto theirs, but condemned all their rites as profane, and cried out\nagainst all that adhered to them as impious and sacrilegious persons,\nthat were to be damned to everlasting burnings.  Upon his having\nfrequently preached in this manner he was seized, and after trial he was\ncondemned to banishment, not for having disparaged their religion, but\nfor his inflaming the people to sedition; for this is one of their most\nancient laws, that no man ought to be punished for his religion.  At the\nfirst constitution of their government, Utopus having understood that\nbefore his coming among them the old inhabitants had been engaged in\ngreat quarrels concerning religion, by which they were so divided among\nthemselves, that he found it an easy thing to conquer them, since,\ninstead of uniting their forces against him, every different party in\nreligion fought by themselves.  After he had subdued them he made a law\nthat every man might be of what religion he pleased, and might endeavour\nto draw others to it by the force of argument and by amicable and modest\nways, but without bitterness against those of other opinions; but that he\nought to use no other force but that of persuasion, and was neither to\nmix with it reproaches nor violence; and such as did otherwise were to be\ncondemned to banishment or slavery.\n\n\"This law was made by Utopus, not only for preserving the public peace,\nwhich he saw suffered much by daily contentions and irreconcilable heats,\nbut because he thought the interest of religion itself required it.  He\njudged it not fit to determine anything rashly; and seemed to doubt\nwhether those different forms of religion might not all come from God,\nwho might inspire man in a different manner, and be pleased with this\nvariety; he therefore thought it indecent and foolish for any man to\nthreaten and terrify another to make him believe what did not appear to\nhim to be true.  And supposing that only one religion was really true,\nand the rest false, he imagined that the native force of truth would at\nlast break forth and shine bright, if supported only by the strength of\nargument, and attended to with a gentle and unprejudiced mind; while, on\nthe other hand, if such debates were carried on with violence and\ntumults, as the most wicked are always the most obstinate, so the best\nand most holy religion might be choked with superstition, as corn is with\nbriars and thorns; he therefore left men wholly to their liberty, that\nthey might be free to believe as they should see cause; only he made a\nsolemn and severe law against such as should so far degenerate from the\ndignity of human nature, as to think that our souls died with our bodies,\nor that the world was governed by chance, without a wise overruling\nProvidence: for they all formerly believed that there was a state of\nrewards and punishments to the good and bad after this life; and they now\nlook on those that think otherwise as scarce fit to be counted men, since\nthey degrade so noble a being as the soul, and reckon it no better than a\nbeast's: thus they are far from looking on such men as fit for human\nsociety, or to be citizens of a well-ordered commonwealth; since a man of\nsuch principles must needs, as oft as he dares do it, despise all their\nlaws and customs: for there is no doubt to be made, that a man who is\nafraid of nothing but the law, and apprehends nothing after death, will\nnot scruple to break through all the laws of his country, either by fraud\nor force, when by this means he may satisfy his appetites.  They never\nraise any that hold these maxims, either to honours or offices, nor\nemploy them in any public trust, but despise them, as men of base and\nsordid minds.  Yet they do not punish them, because they lay this down as\na maxim, that a man cannot make himself believe anything he pleases; nor\ndo they drive any to dissemble their thoughts by threatenings, so that\nmen are not tempted to lie or disguise their opinions; which being a sort\nof fraud, is abhorred by the Utopians: they take care indeed to prevent\ntheir disputing in defence of these opinions, especially before the\ncommon people: but they suffer, and even encourage them to dispute\nconcerning them in private with their priest, and other grave men, being\nconfident that they will be cured of those mad opinions by having reason\nlaid before them.  There are many among them that run far to the other\nextreme, though it is neither thought an ill nor unreasonable opinion,\nand therefore is not at all discouraged.  They think that the souls of\nbeasts are immortal, though far inferior to the dignity of the human\nsoul, and not capable of so great a happiness.  They are almost all of\nthem very firmly persuaded that good men will be infinitely happy in\nanother state: so that though they are compassionate to all that are\nsick, yet they lament no man's death, except they see him loath to part\nwith life; for they look on this as a very ill presage, as if the soul,\nconscious to itself of guilt, and quite hopeless, was afraid to leave the\nbody, from some secret hints of approaching misery.  They think that such\na man's appearance before God cannot be acceptable to Him, who being\ncalled on, does not go out cheerfully, but is backward and unwilling, and\nis as it were dragged to it.  They are struck with horror when they see\nany die in this manner, and carry them out in silence and with sorrow,\nand praying God that He would be merciful to the errors of the departed\nsoul, they lay the body in the ground: but when any die cheerfully, and\nfull of hope, they do not mourn for them, but sing hymns when they carry\nout their bodies, and commending their souls very earnestly to God: their\nwhole behaviour is then rather grave than sad, they burn the body, and\nset up a pillar where the pile was made, with an inscription to the\nhonour of the deceased.  When they come from the funeral, they discourse\nof his good life, and worthy actions, but speak of nothing oftener and\nwith more pleasure than of his serenity at the hour of death.  They think\nsuch respect paid to the memory of good men is both the greatest\nincitement to engage others to follow their example, and the most\nacceptable worship that can be offered them; for they believe that though\nby the imperfection of human sight they are invisible to us, yet they are\npresent among us, and hear those discourses that pass concerning\nthemselves.  They believe it inconsistent with the happiness of departed\nsouls not to be at liberty to be where they will: and do not imagine them\ncapable of the ingratitude of not desiring to see those friends with whom\nthey lived on earth in the strictest bonds of love and kindness: besides,\nthey are persuaded that good men, after death, have these affections; and\nall other good dispositions increased rather than diminished, and\ntherefore conclude that they are still among the living, and observe all\nthey say or do.  From hence they engage in all their affairs with the\ngreater confidence of success, as trusting to their protection; while\nthis opinion of the presence of their ancestors is a restraint that\nprevents their engaging in ill designs.\n\n\"They despise and laugh at auguries, and the other vain and superstitious\nways of divination, so much observed among other nations; but have great\nreverence for such miracles as cannot flow from any of the powers of\nnature, and look on them as effects and indications of the presence of\nthe Supreme Being, of which they say many instances have occurred among\nthem; and that sometimes their public prayers, which upon great and\ndangerous occasions they have solemnly put up to God, with assured\nconfidence of being heard, have been answered in a miraculous manner.\n\n\"They think the contemplating God in His works, and the adoring Him for\nthem, is a very acceptable piece of worship to Him.\n\n\"There are many among them that upon a motive of religion neglect\nlearning, and apply themselves to no sort of study; nor do they allow\nthemselves any leisure time, but are perpetually employed, believing that\nby the good things that a man does he secures to himself that happiness\nthat comes after death.  Some of these visit the sick; others mend\nhighways, cleanse ditches, repair bridges, or dig turf, gravel, or stone.\nOthers fell and cleave timber, and bring wood, corn, and other\nnecessaries, on carts, into their towns; nor do these only serve the\npublic, but they serve even private men, more than the slaves themselves\ndo: for if there is anywhere a rough, hard, and sordid piece of work to\nbe done, from which many are frightened by the labour and loathsomeness\nof it, if not the despair of accomplishing it, they cheerfully, and of\ntheir own accord, take that to their share; and by that means, as they\nease others very much, so they afflict themselves, and spend their whole\nlife in hard labour: and yet they do not value themselves upon this, nor\nlessen other people's credit to raise their own; but by their stooping to\nsuch servile employments they are so far from being despised, that they\nare so much the more esteemed by the whole nation.\n\n\"Of these there are two sorts: some live unmarried and chaste, and\nabstain from eating any sort of flesh; and thus weaning themselves from\nall the pleasures of the present life, which they account hurtful, they\npursue, even by the hardest and painfullest methods possible, that\nblessedness which they hope for hereafter; and the nearer they approach\nto it, they are the more cheerful and earnest in their endeavours after\nit.  Another sort of them is less willing to put themselves to much toil,\nand therefore prefer a married state to a single one; and as they do not\ndeny themselves the pleasure of it, so they think the begetting of\nchildren is a debt which they owe to human nature, and to their country;\nnor do they avoid any pleasure that does not hinder labour; and therefore\neat flesh so much the more willingly, as they find that by this means\nthey are the more able to work: the Utopians look upon these as the wiser\nsect, but they esteem the others as the most holy.  They would indeed\nlaugh at any man who, from the principles of reason, would prefer an\nunmarried state to a married, or a life of labour to an easy life: but\nthey reverence and admire such as do it from the motives of religion.\nThere is nothing in which they are more cautious than in giving their\nopinion positively concerning any sort of religion.  The men that lead\nthose severe lives are called in the language of their country\nBrutheskas, which answers to those we call Religious Orders.\n\n\"Their priests are men of eminent piety, and therefore they are but few,\nfor there are only thirteen in every town, one for every temple; but when\nthey go to war, seven of these go out with their forces, and seven others\nare chosen to supply their room in their absence; but these enter again\nupon their employments when they return; and those who served in their\nabsence, attend upon the high priest, till vacancies fall by death; for\nthere is one set over the rest.  They are chosen by the people as the\nother magistrates are, by suffrages given in secret, for preventing of\nfactions: and when they are chosen, they are consecrated by the college\nof priests.  The care of all sacred things, the worship of God, and an\ninspection into the manners of the people, are committed to them.  It is\na reproach to a man to be sent for by any of them, or for them to speak\nto him in secret, for that always gives some suspicion: all that is\nincumbent on them is only to exhort and admonish the people; for the\npower of correcting and punishing ill men belongs wholly to the Prince,\nand to the other magistrates: the severest thing that the priest does is\nthe excluding those that are desperately wicked from joining in their\nworship: there is not any sort of punishment more dreaded by them than\nthis, for as it loads them with infamy, so it fills them with secret\nhorrors, such is their reverence to their religion; nor will their bodies\nbe long exempted from their share of trouble; for if they do not very\nquickly satisfy the priests of the truth of their repentance, they are\nseized on by the Senate, and punished for their impiety.  The education\nof youth belongs to the priests, yet they do not take so much care of\ninstructing them in letters, as in forming their minds and manners\naright; they use all possible methods to infuse, very early, into the\ntender and flexible minds of children, such opinions as are both good in\nthemselves and will be useful to their country, for when deep impressions\nof these things are made at that age, they follow men through the whole\ncourse of their lives, and conduce much to preserve the peace of the\ngovernment, which suffers by nothing more than by vices that rise out of\nill opinions.  The wives of their priests are the most extraordinary\nwomen of the whole country; sometimes the women themselves are made\npriests, though that falls out but seldom, nor are any but ancient widows\nchosen into that order.\n\n\"None of the magistrates have greater honour paid them than is paid the\npriests; and if they should happen to commit any crime, they would not be\nquestioned for it; their punishment is left to God, and to their own\nconsciences; for they do not think it lawful to lay hands on any man, how\nwicked soever he is, that has been in a peculiar manner dedicated to God;\nnor do they find any great inconvenience in this, both because they have\nso few priests, and because these are chosen with much caution, so that\nit must be a very unusual thing to find one who, merely out of regard to\nhis virtue, and for his being esteemed a singularly good man, was raised\nup to so great a dignity, degenerate into corruption and vice; and if\nsuch a thing should fall out, for man is a changeable creature, yet,\nthere being few priests, and these having no authority but what rises out\nof the respect that is paid them, nothing of great consequence to the\npublic can proceed from the indemnity that the priests enjoy.\n\n\"They have, indeed, very few of them, lest greater numbers sharing in the\nsame honour might make the dignity of that order, which they esteem so\nhighly, to sink in its reputation; they also think it difficult to find\nout many of such an exalted pitch of goodness as to be equal to that\ndignity, which demands the exercise of more than ordinary virtues.  Nor\nare the priests in greater veneration among them than they are among\ntheir neighbouring nations, as you may imagine by that which I think\ngives occasion for it.\n\n\"When the Utopians engage in battle, the priests who accompany them to\nthe war, apparelled in their sacred vestments, kneel down during the\naction (in a place not far from the field), and, lifting up their hands\nto heaven, pray, first for peace, and then for victory to their own side,\nand particularly that it may be gained without the effusion of much blood\non either side; and when the victory turns to their side, they run in\namong their own men to restrain their fury; and if any of their enemies\nsee them or call to them, they are preserved by that means; and such as\ncan come so near them as to touch their garments have not only their\nlives, but their fortunes secured to them; it is upon this account that\nall the nations round about consider them so much, and treat them with\nsuch reverence, that they have been often no less able to preserve their\nown people from the fury of their enemies than to save their enemies from\ntheir rage; for it has sometimes fallen out, that when their armies have\nbeen in disorder and forced to fly, so that their enemies were running\nupon the slaughter and spoil, the priests by interposing have separated\nthem from one another, and stopped the effusion of more blood; so that,\nby their mediation, a peace has been concluded on very reasonable terms;\nnor is there any nation about them so fierce, cruel, or barbarous, as not\nto look upon their persons as sacred and inviolable.\n\n\"The first and the last day of the month, and of the year, is a festival;\nthey measure their months by the course of the moon, and their years by\nthe course of the sun: the first days are called in their language the\nCynemernes, and the last the Trapemernes, which answers in our language,\nto the festival that begins or ends the season.\n\n\"They have magnificent temples, that are not only nobly built, but\nextremely spacious, which is the more necessary as they have so few of\nthem; they are a little dark within, which proceeds not from any error in\nthe architecture, but is done with design; for their priests think that\ntoo much light dissipates the thoughts, and that a more moderate degree\nof it both recollects the mind and raises devotion.  Though there are\nmany different forms of religion among them, yet all these, how various\nsoever, agree in the main point, which is the worshipping the Divine\nEssence; and, therefore, there is nothing to be seen or heard in their\ntemples in which the several persuasions among them may not agree; for\nevery sect performs those rites that are peculiar to it in their private\nhouses, nor is there anything in the public worship that contradicts the\nparticular ways of those different sects.  There are no images for God in\ntheir temples, so that every one may represent Him to his thoughts\naccording to the way of his religion; nor do they call this one God by\nany other name but that of Mithras, which is the common name by which\nthey all express the Divine Essence, whatsoever otherwise they think it\nto be; nor are there any prayers among them but such as every one of them\nmay use without prejudice to his own opinion.\n\n\"They meet in their temples on the evening of the festival that concludes\na season, and not having yet broke their fast, they thank God for their\ngood success during that year or month which is then at an end; and the\nnext day, being that which begins the new season, they meet early in\ntheir temples, to pray for the happy progress of all their affairs during\nthat period upon which they then enter.  In the festival which concludes\nthe period, before they go to the temple, both wives and children fall on\ntheir knees before their husbands or parents and confess everything in\nwhich they have either erred or failed in their duty, and beg pardon for\nit.  Thus all little discontents in families are removed, that they may\noffer up their devotions with a pure and serene mind; for they hold it a\ngreat impiety to enter upon them with disturbed thoughts, or with a\nconsciousness of their bearing hatred or anger in their hearts to any\nperson whatsoever; and think that they should become liable to severe\npunishments if they presumed to offer sacrifices without cleansing their\nhearts, and reconciling all their differences.  In the temples the two\nsexes are separated, the men go to the right hand, and the women to the\nleft; and the males and females all place themselves before the head and\nmaster or mistress of the family to which they belong, so that those who\nhave the government of them at home may see their deportment in public.\nAnd they intermingle them so, that the younger and the older may be set\nby one another; for if the younger sort were all set together, they\nwould, perhaps, trifle away that time too much in which they ought to\nbeget in themselves that religious dread of the Supreme Being which is\nthe greatest and almost the only incitement to virtue.\n\n\"They offer up no living creature in sacrifice, nor do they think it\nsuitable to the Divine Being, from whose bounty it is that these\ncreatures have derived their lives, to take pleasure in their deaths, or\nthe offering up their blood.  They burn incense and other sweet odours,\nand have a great number of wax lights during their worship, not out of\nany imagination that such oblations can add anything to the divine nature\n(which even prayers cannot do), but as it is a harmless and pure way of\nworshipping God; so they think those sweet savours and lights, together\nwith some other ceremonies, by a secret and unaccountable virtue, elevate\nmen's souls, and inflame them with greater energy and cheerfulness during\nthe divine worship.\n\n\"All the people appear in the temples in white garments; but the priest's\nvestments are parti-coloured, and both the work and colours are\nwonderful.  They are made of no rich materials, for they are neither\nembroidered nor set with precious stones; but are composed of the plumes\nof several birds, laid together with so much art, and so neatly, that the\ntrue value of them is far beyond the costliest materials.  They say, that\nin the ordering and placing those plumes some dark mysteries are\nrepresented, which pass down among their priests in a secret tradition\nconcerning them; and that they are as hieroglyphics, putting them in mind\nof the blessing that they have received from God, and of their duties,\nboth to Him and to their neighbours.  As soon as the priest appears in\nthose ornaments, they all fall prostrate on the ground, with so much\nreverence and so deep a silence, that such as look on cannot but be\nstruck with it, as if it were the effect of the appearance of a deity.\nAfter they have been for some time in this posture, they all stand up,\nupon a sign given by the priest, and sing hymns to the honour of God,\nsome musical instruments playing all the while.  These are quite of\nanother form than those used among us; but, as many of them are much\nsweeter than ours, so others are made use of by us.  Yet in one thing\nthey very much exceed us: all their music, both vocal and instrumental,\nis adapted to imitate and express the passions, and is so happily suited\nto every occasion, that, whether the subject of the hymn be cheerful, or\nformed to soothe or trouble the mind, or to express grief or remorse, the\nmusic takes the impression of whatever is represented, affects and\nkindles the passions, and works the sentiments deep into the hearts of\nthe hearers.  When this is done, both priests and people offer up very\nsolemn prayers to God in a set form of words; and these are so composed,\nthat whatsoever is pronounced by the whole assembly may be likewise\napplied by every man in particular to his own condition.  In these they\nacknowledge God to be the author and governor of the world, and the\nfountain of all the good they receive, and therefore offer up to him\ntheir thanksgiving; and, in particular, bless him for His goodness in\nordering it so, that they are born under the happiest government in the\nworld, and are of a religion which they hope is the truest of all others;\nbut, if they are mistaken, and if there is either a better government, or\na religion more acceptable to God, they implore His goodness to let them\nknow it, vowing that they resolve to follow him whithersoever he leads\nthem; but if their government is the best, and their religion the truest,\nthen they pray that He may fortify them in it, and bring all the world\nboth to the same rules of life, and to the same opinions concerning\nHimself, unless, according to the unsearchableness of His mind, He is\npleased with a variety of religions.  Then they pray that God may give\nthem an easy passage at last to Himself, not presuming to set limits to\nHim, how early or late it should be; but, if it may be wished for without\nderogating from His supreme authority, they desire to be quickly\ndelivered, and to be taken to Himself, though by the most terrible kind\nof death, rather than to be detained long from seeing Him by the most\nprosperous course of life.  When this prayer is ended, they all fall down\nagain upon the ground; and, after a little while, they rise up, go home\nto dinner, and spend the rest of the day in diversion or military\nexercises.\n\n\"Thus have I described to you, as particularly as I could, the\nConstitution of that commonwealth, which I do not only think the best in\nthe world, but indeed the only commonwealth that truly deserves that\nname.  In all other places it is visible that, while people talk of a\ncommonwealth, every man only seeks his own wealth; but there, where no\nman has any property, all men zealously pursue the good of the public,\nand, indeed, it is no wonder to see men act so differently, for in other\ncommonwealths every man knows that, unless he provides for himself, how\nflourishing soever the commonwealth may be, he must die of hunger, so\nthat he sees the necessity of preferring his own concerns to the public;\nbut in Utopia, where every man has a right to everything, they all know\nthat if care is taken to keep the public stores full no private man can\nwant anything; for among them there is no unequal distribution, so that\nno man is poor, none in necessity, and though no man has anything, yet\nthey are all rich; for what can make a man so rich as to lead a serene\nand cheerful life, free from anxieties; neither apprehending want\nhimself, nor vexed with the endless complaints of his wife?  He is not\nafraid of the misery of his children, nor is he contriving how to raise a\nportion for his daughters; but is secure in this, that both he and his\nwife, his children and grand-children, to as many generations as he can\nfancy, will all live both plentifully and happily; since, among them,\nthere is no less care taken of those who were once engaged in labour, but\ngrow afterwards unable to follow it, than there is, elsewhere, of these\nthat continue still employed.  I would gladly hear any man compare the\njustice that is among them with that of all other nations; among whom,\nmay I perish, if I see anything that looks either like justice or equity;\nfor what justice is there in this: that a nobleman, a goldsmith, a\nbanker, or any other man, that either does nothing at all, or, at best,\nis employed in things that are of no use to the public, should live in\ngreat luxury and splendour upon what is so ill acquired, and a mean man,\na carter, a smith, or a ploughman, that works harder even than the beasts\nthemselves, and is employed in labours so necessary, that no commonwealth\ncould hold out a year without them, can only earn so poor a livelihood\nand must lead so miserable a life, that the condition of the beasts is\nmuch better than theirs?  For as the beasts do not work so constantly, so\nthey feed almost as well, and with more pleasure, and have no anxiety\nabout what is to come, whilst these men are depressed by a barren and\nfruitless employment, and tormented with the apprehensions of want in\ntheir old age; since that which they get by their daily labour does but\nmaintain them at present, and is consumed as fast as it comes in, there\nis no overplus left to lay up for old age.\n\n\"Is not that government both unjust and ungrateful, that is so prodigal\nof its favours to those that are called gentlemen, or goldsmiths, or such\nothers who are idle, or live either by flattery or by contriving the arts\nof vain pleasure, and, on the other hand, takes no care of those of a\nmeaner sort, such as ploughmen, colliers, and smiths, without whom it\ncould not subsist?  But after the public has reaped all the advantage of\ntheir service, and they come to be oppressed with age, sickness, and\nwant, all their labours and the good they have done is forgotten, and all\nthe recompense given them is that they are left to die in great misery.\nThe richer sort are often endeavouring to bring the hire of labourers\nlower, not only by their fraudulent practices, but by the laws which they\nprocure to be made to that effect, so that though it is a thing most\nunjust in itself to give such small rewards to those who deserve so well\nof the public, yet they have given those hardships the name and colour of\njustice, by procuring laws to be made for regulating them.\n\n\"Therefore I must say that, as I hope for mercy, I can have no other\nnotion of all the other governments that I see or know, than that they\nare a conspiracy of the rich, who, on pretence of managing the public,\nonly pursue their private ends, and devise all the ways and arts they can\nfind out; first, that they may, without danger, preserve all that they\nhave so ill-acquired, and then, that they may engage the poor to toil and\nlabour for them at as low rates as possible, and oppress them as much as\nthey please; and if they can but prevail to get these contrivances\nestablished by the show of public authority, which is considered as the\nrepresentative of the whole people, then they are accounted laws; yet\nthese wicked men, after they have, by a most insatiable covetousness,\ndivided that among themselves with which all the rest might have been\nwell supplied, are far from that happiness that is enjoyed among the\nUtopians; for the use as well as the desire of money being extinguished,\nmuch anxiety and great occasions of mischief is cut off with it, and who\ndoes not see that the frauds, thefts, robberies, quarrels, tumults,\ncontentions, seditions, murders, treacheries, and witchcrafts, which are,\nindeed, rather punished than restrained by the severities of law, would\nall fall off, if money were not any more valued by the world?  Men's\nfears, solicitudes, cares, labours, and watchings would all perish in the\nsame moment with the value of money; even poverty itself, for the relief\nof which money seems most necessary, would fall.  But, in order to the\napprehending this aright, take one instance:--\n\n\"Consider any year, that has been so unfruitful that many thousands have\ndied of hunger; and yet if, at the end of that year, a survey was made of\nthe granaries of all the rich men that have hoarded up the corn, it would\nbe found that there was enough among them to have prevented all that\nconsumption of men that perished in misery; and that, if it had been\ndistributed among them, none would have felt the terrible effects of that\nscarcity: so easy a thing would it be to supply all the necessities of\nlife, if that blessed thing called money, which is pretended to be\ninvented for procuring them was not really the only thing that obstructed\ntheir being procured!\n\n\"I do not doubt but rich men are sensible of this, and that they well\nknow how much a greater happiness it is to want nothing necessary, than\nto abound in many superfluities; and to be rescued out of so much misery,\nthan to abound with so much wealth: and I cannot think but the sense of\nevery man's interest, added to the authority of Christ's commands, who,\nas He was infinitely wise, knew what was best, and was not less good in\ndiscovering it to us, would have drawn all the world over to the laws of\nthe Utopians, if pride, that plague of human nature, that source of so\nmuch misery, did not hinder it; for this vice does not measure happiness\nso much by its own conveniences, as by the miseries of others; and would\nnot be satisfied with being thought a goddess, if none were left that\nwere miserable, over whom she might insult.  Pride thinks its own\nhappiness shines the brighter, by comparing it with the misfortunes of\nother persons; that by displaying its own wealth they may feel their\npoverty the more sensibly.  This is that infernal serpent that creeps\ninto the breasts of mortals, and possesses them too much to be easily\ndrawn out; and, therefore, I am glad that the Utopians have fallen upon\nthis form of government, in which I wish that all the world could be so\nwise as to imitate them; for they have, indeed, laid down such a scheme\nand foundation of policy, that as men live happily under it, so it is\nlike to be of great continuance; for they having rooted out of the minds\nof their people all the seeds, both of ambition and faction, there is no\ndanger of any commotions at home; which alone has been the ruin of many\nstates that seemed otherwise to be well secured; but as long as they live\nin peace at home, and are governed by such good laws, the envy of all\ntheir neighbouring princes, who have often, though in vain, attempted\ntheir ruin, will never be able to put their state into any commotion or\ndisorder.\"\n\nWhen Raphael had thus made an end of speaking, though many things\noccurred to me, both concerning the manners and laws of that people, that\nseemed very absurd, as well in their way of making war, as in their\nnotions of religion and divine matters--together with several other\nparticulars, but chiefly what seemed the foundation of all the rest,\ntheir living in common, without the use of money, by which all nobility,\nmagnificence, splendour, and majesty, which, according to the common\nopinion, are the true ornaments of a nation, would be quite taken\naway--yet since I perceived that Raphael was weary, and was not sure\nwhether he could easily bear contradiction, remembering that he had taken\nnotice of some, who seemed to think they were bound in honour to support\nthe credit of their own wisdom, by finding out something to censure in\nall other men's inventions, besides their own, I only commended their\nConstitution, and the account he had given of it in general; and so,\ntaking him by the hand, carried him to supper, and told him I would find\nout some other time for examining this subject more particularly, and for\ndiscoursing more copiously upon it.  And, indeed, I shall be glad to\nembrace an opportunity of doing it.  In the meanwhile, though it must be\nconfessed that he is both a very learned man and a person who has\nobtained a great knowledge of the world, I cannot perfectly agree to\neverything he has related.  However, there are many things in the\ncommonwealth of Utopia that I rather wish, than hope, to see followed in\nour governments."