UTOPIA by SIR THOMAS MORE

BOOK II: OF THE TRAVELLING OF THE UTOPIANS

IF any man has a mind to visit his friends that live in some other
town, or desires to travel and see the rest of the country, he
obtains leave very easily from the syphogrant and tranibors when
there is no particular occasion for him at home: such as travel,
carry with them a passport from the Prince, which both certifies
the license that is granted for travelling, and limits the time of
their return. They are furnished with a wagon, and a slave who
drives the oxen and looks after them; but unless there are women
in the company, the wagon is sent back at the end of the journey
as a needless encumbrance. While they are on the road, they carry
no provisions with them; yet they want nothing, but are everywhere
treated as if they were at home. If they stay in any place longer
than a night, everyone follows his proper occupation, and is very
well used by those of his own trade; but if any man goes out of
the city to which he belongs, without leave, and is found rambling
without a passport, he is severely treated, he is punished as a
fugitive, and sent home disgracefully; and if he falls again into
the like fault, is condemned to slavery. If any man has a mind to
travel only over the precinct of his own city, he may freely do
it, with his father's permission and his wife's consent; but when
he comes into any of the country houses, if he expects to be
entertained by them, he must labor with them and conform to their
rules: and if he does this, he may freely go over the whole
precinct; being thus as useful to the city to which he belongs, as
if he were still within it. Thus you see that there are no idle
persons among them, nor pretences of excusing any from labor.
There are no taverns, no alehouses nor stews among them; nor any
other occasions of corrupting each other, of getting into corners,
or forming themselves into parties: all men live in full view, so
that all are obliged, both to perform their ordinary tasks, and to
employ themselves well in their spare hours. And it is certain
that a people thus ordered must live in great abundance of all
things; and these being equally distributed among them, no man can
want, or be obliged to beg.

In their great Council at Amaurot, to which there are three sent
from every town once a year, they examine what towns abound in
provisions and what are under any scarcity, that so the one may be
furnished from the other; and this is done freely, without any
sort of exchange; for according to their plenty or scarcity they
supply or are supplied from one another; so that indeed the whole
island is, as it were, one family. When they have thus taken care
of their whole country, and laid up stores for two years, which
they do to prevent the ill-consequences of an unfavorable season,
they order an exportation of the overplus, of corn, honey, wool,
flax, wood, wax, tallow, leather, and cattle; which they send out
commonly in great quantities to other nations. They order a
seventh part of all these goods to be freely given to the poor of
the countries to which they send them, and sell the rest at
moderate rates. And by this exchange, they not only bring back
those few things that they need at home (for indeed they scarce
need anything but iron), but likewise a great deal of gold and
silver; and by their driving this trade so long, it is not to be
imagined how vast a treasure they have got among them: so that now
they do not much care whether they sell off their merchandise for
money in hand, or upon trust.

A great part of their treasure is now in bonds; but in all their
contracts no private man stands bound, but the writing runs in the
name of the town; and the towns that owe them money raise it from
those private hands that owe it to them, lay it Up in their public
chamber, or enjoy the profit of it till the Utopians call for it;
and they choose rather to let the greatest part of it lie in their
hands who make advantage by it, than to call for it themselves:
but if they see that any of their other neighbors stand more in
need of it, then they call it in and lend it to them: whenever
they are engaged in war, which is the only occasion in which their
treasure can be usefully employed, they make use of it themselves.
In great extremities or sudden accidents they employ it in hiring
foreign troops, whom they more willingly expose to danger than
their own people: they give them great pay, knowing well that this
will work even on their enemies, that it will engage them either
to betray their own side, or at least to desert it, and that it is
the best means of raising mutual jealousies among them: for this
end they have an incredible treasure; but they do not keep it as a
treasure, but in such a manner as I am almost afraid to tell, lest
you think it so extravagant, as to be hardly credible. This I have
the more reason to apprehend, because if I had not seen it myself,
I could not have been easily persuaded to have believed it upon
any man's report.

It is certain that all things appear incredible to us, in
proportion as they differ from our own customs. But one who can
judge aright will not wonder to find that, since their
constitution differs so much from ours, their value of gold and
silver should be measured by a very different standard; for since
they have no use for money among themselves, but keep it as a
provision against events which seldom happen, and between which
there are generally long intervening intervals, they value it no
farther than it deserves, that is, in proportion to its use. So
that it is plain they must prefer iron either to gold or silver;
for men can no more live without iron than without fire or water,
but nature has marked out no use for the other metals, so
essential as not easily to be dispensed with. The folly of men has
enhanced the value of gold and silver, because of their scarcity.
Whereas, on the contrary, it is their opinion that nature, as an
indulgent parent, has freely given us all the best things in great
abundance, such as water and earth, but has laid up and hid from
us the things that are vain and useless.

If these metals were laid up in any tower in the kingdom, it would
raise a jealousy of the Prince and Senate, and give birth to that
foolish mistrust into which the people are apt to fall, a jealousy
of their intending to sacrifice the interest of the public to
their own private advantage. If they should work it into vessels
or any sort of plate, they fear that the people might grow too
fond of it, and so be unwilling to let the plate be run down if a
war made it necessary to employ it in paying their soldiers. To
prevent all these inconveniences, they have fallen upon an
expedient, which, as it agrees with their other policy, so is it
very different from ours, and will scarce gain belief among us,
who value gold so much and lay it up so carefully. They eat and
drink out of vessels of earth, or glass, which make an agreeable
appearance though formed of brittle materials: while they make
their chamber-pots and close-stools of gold and silver; and that
not only in their public halls, but in their private houses: of
the same metals they likewise make chains and fetters for their
slaves; to some of which, as a badge of infamy, they hang an ear-
ring of gold, and make others wear a chain or coronet of the same
metal; and thus they take care, by all possible means, to render
gold and silver of no esteem. And from hence it is that while
other nations part with their gold and silver as unwillingly as if
one tore out their bowels, those of Utopia would look on their
giving in all they possess of those (metals, when there was any
use for them) but as the parting with a trifle, or as we would
esteem the loss of a penny. They find pearls on their coast, and
diamonds and carbuncles on their rocks; they do not look after
them, but, if they find them by chance, they polish them, and with
them they adorn their children, who are delighted with them, and
glory in them during their childhood; but when they grow to years,
and see that none but children use such baubles, they of their own
accord, without being bid by their parents, lay them aside; and
would be as much ashamed to use them afterward as children among
us, when they come to years, are of their puppets and other toys.

I never saw a clearer instance of the opposite impressions that
different customs make on people, than I observed in the
ambassadors of the Anemolians, who came to Amaurot when I was
there. As they came to treat of affairs of great consequence, the
deputies from several towns met together to wait for their coming.
The ambassadors of the nations that lie near Utopia, knowing their
customs, and that fine clothes are in no esteem among them, that
silk is despised, and gold is a badge of infamy, used to come very
modestly clothed; but the Anemolians, lying more remote, and
having had little commerce with them, understanding that they were
coarsely clothed, and all in the same manner, took it for granted
that they had none of those fine things among them of which they
made no use; and they being a vainglorious rather than a wise
people, resolved to set themselves out with so much pomp, that
they should look like gods, and strike the eyes of the poor
Utopians with their splendor. Thus three ambassadors made their
entry with 100 attendants, all clad in garments of different
colors, and the greater part in silk; the ambassadors themselves,
who were of the nobility of their country, were in cloth-of-gold,
and adorned with massy chains, ear-rings, and rings of gold: their
caps were covered with bracelets set full of pearls and other
gems: in a word, they were set out with all those things that,
among the Utopians, were the badges of slavery, the marks of
infamy, or the playthings of children.

It was not unpleasant to see, on the one side, how they looked
big, when they compared their rich habits with the plain clothes
of the Utopians, who were come out in great numbers to see them
make their entry: and, on the other, to observe how much they were
mistaken in the impression which they hoped this pomp would have
made on them. It appeared so ridiculous a show to all that had
never stirred out of their country, and had not seen the customs
of other nations, that though they paid some reverence to those
that were the most meanly clad, as if they had been the
ambassadors, yet when they saw the ambassadors themselves, so full
of gold and chains, they looked upon them as slaves, and forbore
to treat them with reverence. You might have seen the children,
who were grown big enough to despise their playthings, and who had
thrown away their jewels, call to their mothers, push them gently,
and cry out, "See that great fool that wears pearls and gems, as
if he were yet a child." While their mothers very innocently
replied, "Hold your peace; this, I believe, is one of the
ambassador's fools." Others censured the fashion of their chains,
and observed that they were of no use; for they were too slight to
bind their slaves, who could easily break them; and besides hung
so loose about them that they thought it easy to throw them away,
and so get from them.

But after the ambassadors had stayed a day among them, and saw so
vast a quantity of gold in their houses, which was as much
despised by them as it was esteemed in other nations, and beheld
more gold and silver in the chains and fetters of one slave than
all their ornaments amounted to, their plumes fell, and they were
ashamed of all that glory for which they had formerly valued
themselves, and accordingly laid it aside; a resolution that they
immediately took, when on their engaging in some free discourse
with the Utopians, they discovered their sense of such things and
their other customs. The Utopians wonder how any man should be so
much taken with the glaring doubtful lustre of a jewel or a stone,
that can look up to a star or to the sun himself; or how any
should value himself because his cloth is made of a finer thread:
for how fine soever that thread may be, it was once no better than
the fleece of a sheep, and that sheep was a sheep still for all
its wearing it. They wonder much to hear that gold which in itself
is so useless a thing, should be everywhere so much esteemed, that
even men for whom it was made, and by whom it has its value,
should yet be thought of less value than this metal. That a man of
lead, who has no more sense than a log of wood, and is as bad as
he is foolish, should have many wise and good men to serve him,
only because he has a great heap of that metal; and that if it
should happen that by some accident or trick of law (which
sometimes produces as great changes as chance itself) all this
wealth should pass from the master to the meanest varlet of his
whole family, he himself would very soon become one of his
servants, as if he were a thing that belonged to his wealth, and
so were bound to follow its fortune. But they much more admire and
detest the folly of those who, when they see a rich man, though
they neither owe him anything nor are in any sort dependent on his
bounty, yet merely because he is rich give him little less than
divine honors, even though they know him to be so covetous and
base-minded that notwithstanding all his wealth he will not part
with one farthing of it to them as long as he lives.

These and such like notions has that people imbibed, partly from
their education, being bred in a country whose customs and laws
are opposite to all such foolish maxims, and partly from their
learning and studies; for though there are but few in any town
that are so wholly excused from labor as to give themselves
entirely up to their studies, these being only such persons as
discover from their childhood an extraordinary capacity and
disposition for letters; yet their children, and a great part of
the nation, both men and women, are taught to spend those hours in
which they are not obliged to work, in reading: and this they do
through the whole progress of life. They have all their learning
in their own tongue, which is both a copious and pleasant
language, and in which a man can fully express his mind. It runs
over a great tract of many countries, but it is not equally pure
in all places. They had never so much as heard of the names of any
of those philosophers that are so famous in these parts of the
world, before we went among them; and yet they had made the same
discoveries as the Greeks, in music, logic, arithmetic, and
geometry. But as they are almost in everything equal to the
ancient philosophers, so they far exceed our modern logicians; for
they have never yet fallen upon the barbarous niceties that our
youth are forced to learn in those trifling logical schools that
are among us; they are so far from minding chimeras, and
fantastical images made in the mind, that none of them could
comprehend what we meant when we talked to them of man in the
abstract, as common to all men in particular (so that though we
spoke of him as a thing that we could point at with our fingers,
yet none of them could perceive him), and yet distinct from
everyone, as if he were some monstrous Colossus or giant.

Yet for all this ignorance of these empty notions, they knew
astronomy, and were perfectly acquainted with the motions of the
heavenly bodies, and have many instruments, well contrived and
divided, by which they very accurately compute the course and
positions of the sun, moon, and stars. But for the cheat, of
divining by the stars by their oppositions or conjunctions, it has
not so much as entered into their thoughts. They have a particular
sagacity, founded upon much observation, in judging of the
weather, by which they know when they may look for rain, wind, or
other alterations in the air; but as to the philosophy of these
things, the causes of the saltness of the sea, of its ebbing and
flowing, and of the origin and nature both of the heavens and the
earth; they dispute of them, partly as our ancient philosophers
have done, and partly upon some new hypothesis, in which, as they
differ from them, so they do not in all things agree among
themselves.

As to moral philosophy, they have the same disputes among them as
we have here: they examine what are properly good both for the
body and the mind, and whether any outward thing can be called
truly good, or if that term belong only to the endowments of the
soul. They inquire likewise into the nature of virtue and
pleasure; but their chief dispute is concerning the happiness of a
man, and wherein it consists? Whether in some one thing, or in a
great many? They seem, indeed, more inclinable to that opinion
that places, if not the whole, yet the chief part of a man's
happiness in pleasure; and, what may seem more strange, they make
use of arguments even from religion, notwithstanding its severity
and roughness, for the support of that opinion so indulgent to
pleasure; for they never dispute concerning happiness without
fetching some arguments from the principles of religion, as well
as from natural reason, since without the former they reckon that
all our inquiries after happiness must be but conjectural and
defective.

These are their religious principles, that the soul of man is
immortal, and that God of his goodness has designed that it should
be happy; and that he has therefore appointed rewards for good and
virtuous actions, and punishments for vice, to be distributed
after this life. Though these principles of religion are conveyed
down among them by tradition, they think that even reason itself
determines a man to believe and acknowledge them, and freely
confess that if these were taken away no man would be so
insensible as not to seek after pleasure by all possible means,
lawful or unlawful; using only this caution, that a lesser
pleasure might not stand in the way of a greater, and that no
pleasure ought to be pursued that should draw a great deal of pain
after it; for they think it the maddest thing in the world to
pursue virtue, that is a sour and difficult thing; and not only to
renounce the pleasures of life, but willingly to undergo much pain
and trouble, if a man has no prospect of a reward. And what reward
can there be for one that has passed his whole life, not only
without pleasure, but in pain, if there is nothing to be expected
after death? Yet they do not place happiness in all sorts of
pleasures, but only in those that in themselves are good and
honest.

There is a party among them who place happiness in bare virtue;
others think that our natures are conducted by virtue to
happiness, as that which is the chief good of man. They define
virtue thus, that it is a living according to nature, and think
that we are made by God for that end; they believe that a man then
follows the dictates of nature when he pursues or avoids things
according to the direction of reason; they say that the first
dictate of reason is the kindling in us of a love and reverence
for the Divine Majesty, to whom we owe both all that we have and
all that we can ever hope for. In the next place, reason directs
us to keep our minds as free from passion and as cheerful as we
can, and that we should consider ourselves as bound by the ties of
good-nature and humanity to use our utmost endeavors to help
forward the happiness of all other persons; for there never was
any man such a morose and severe pursuer of virtue, such an enemy
to pleasure, that though he set hard rules for men to undergo much
pain, many watchings, and other rigors, yet did not at the same
time advise them to do all they could, in order to relieve and
ease the miserable, and who did not represent gentleness and good-
nature as amiable dispositions. And from thence they infer that if
a man ought to advance the welfare and comfort of the rest of
mankind, there being no virtue more proper and peculiar to our
nature, than to ease the miseries of others, to free from trouble
and anxiety, in furnishing them with the comforts of life, in
which pleasure consists, nature much more vigorously leads them to
do all this for himself.

A life of pleasure is either a real evil, and in that case we
ought not to assist others in their pursuit of it, but on the
contrary, to keep them from it all we can, as from that which is
most hurtful and deadly; or if it is a good thing, so that we not
only may, but ought to help others to it, why, then, ought not a
man to begin with himself? Since no man can be more bound to look
after the good of another than after his own; for nature cannot
direct us to be good and kind to others, and yet at the same time
to be unmerciful and cruel to ourselves. Thus, as they define
virtue to be living according to nature, so they imagine that
nature prompts all people on to seek after pleasure, as the end of
all they do. They also observe that in order to our supporting the
pleasures of life, nature inclines us to enter into society; for
there is no man so much raised above the rest of mankind as to be
the only favorite of nature who, on the contrary, seems to have
placed on a level all those that belong to the same species. Upon
this they infer that no man ought to seek his own conveniences so
eagerly as to prejudice others; and therefore they think that not
only all agreements between private persons ought to be observed,
but likewise that all those laws ought to be kept, which either a
good prince has published in due form, or to which a people that
is neither oppressed with tyranny nor circumvented by fraud, has
consented, for distributing those conveniences of life which
afford us all our pleasures.

They think it is an evidence of true wisdom for a man to pursue
his own advantages as far as the laws allow it. They account it
piety to prefer the public good to one's private concerns; but
they think it unjust for a man to seek for pleasure by snatching
another man's pleasures from him. And on the contrary, they think
it a sign of a gentle and good soul, for a man to dispense with
his own advantage for the good of others; and that by this means a
good man finds as much pleasure one way as he parts with another;
for as he may expect the like from others when he may come to need
it, so if that should fail him, yet the sense of a good action,
and the reflections that he makes on the love and gratitude of
those whom he has so obliged, gives the mind more pleasure than
the body could have found in that from which it had restrained
itself. They are also persuaded that God will make up the loss of
those small pleasures, with a vast and endless joy, of which
religion easily convinces a good soul.

Thus, upon an inquiry into the whole matter, they reckon that all
our actions, and even all our virtues, terminate in pleasure, as
in our chief end and greatest happiness; and they call every
motion or state, either of body or mind, in which nature teaches
us to delight, a pleasure. Thus they cautiously limit pleasure
only to those appetites to which nature leads us; for they say
that nature leads us only to those delights to which reason as
well as sense carries us, and by which we neither injure any other
person nor lose the possession of greater pleasures, and of such
as draw no troubles after them; but they look upon those delights
which men by a foolish though common mistake call pleasure, as if
they could change as easily the nature of things as the use of
words; as things that greatly obstruct their real happiness
instead of advancing it, because they so entirely possess the
minds of those that are once captivated by them with a false
notion of pleasure, that there is no room left for pleasures of a
truer or purer kind.

There are many things that in themselves have nothing that is
truly delightful; on the contrary, they have a good deal of
bitterness in them; and yet from our perverse appetites after
forbidden objects, are not only ranked among the pleasures, but
are made even the greatest designs of life. Among those who pursue
these sophisticated pleasures, they reckon such as I mentioned
before, who think themselves really the better for having fine
clothes; in which they think they are doubly mistaken, both in the
opinion that they have of their clothes, and in that they have of
themselves; for if you consider the use of clothes, why should a
fine thread be thought better than a coarse one? And yet these
men, as if they had some real advantages beyond others, and did
not owe them wholly to their mistakes, look big, seem to fancy
themselves to be more valuable, and imagine that a respect is due
to them for the sake of a rich garment, to which they would not
have pretended if they had been more meanly clothed; and even
resent it as an affront, if that respect is not paid them. It is
also a great folly to be taken with outward marks of respect,
which signify nothing: for what true or real pleasure can one man
find in another's standing bare, or making legs to him? Will the
bending another man's knees give ease to yours? And will the
head's being bare cure the madness of yours? And yet it is
wonderful to see how this false notion of pleasure bewitches many
who delight themselves with the fancy of their nobility, and are
pleased with this conceit, that they are descended from ancestors
who have been held for some successions rich, and who have had
great possessions; for this is all that makes nobility at present;
yet they do not think themselves a whit the less noble, though
their immediate parents have left none of this wealth to them, or
though they themselves have squandered it away.

The Utopians have no better opinion of those who are much taken
with gems and precious stones, and who account it a degree of
happiness, next to a divine one, if they can purchase one that is
very extraordinary; especially if it be of that sort of stones
that is then in greatest request; for the same sort is not at all
times universally of the same value; nor will men buy it unless it
be dismounted and taken out of the gold; the jeweller is then made
to give good security, and required solemnly to swear that the
stone is true, that by such an exact caution a false one might not
be bought instead of a true: though if you were to examine it,
your eye could find no difference between the counterfeit and that
which is true; so that they are all one to you as much as if you
were blind. Or can it be thought that they who heap up a useless
mass of wealth, not for any use that it is to bring them, but
merely to please themselves with the contemplation of it, enjoy
any true pleasure in it? The delight they find is only a false
shadow of joy. Those are no better whose error is somewhat
different from the former, and who hide it, out of their fear of
losing it; for what other name can fit the hiding it in the earth,
or rather the restoring it to it again, it being thus cut off from
being useful, either to its owner or to the rest of mankind? And
yet the owner having hid it carefully, is glad, because he thinks
he is now sure of it. If it should be stolen, the owner, though he
might live perhaps ten years after the theft, of which he knew
nothing, would find no difference between his having or losing it;
for both ways it was equally useless to him.

Among those foolish pursuers of pleasure they reckon all that
delight in hunting, in fowling, or gaming: of whose madness they
have only heard, for they have no such things among them. But they
have asked us, what sort of pleasure is it that men can find in
throwing the dice? For if there were any pleasure in it, they
think the doing of it so often should give one a surfeit of it:
and what pleasure can one find in hearing the barking and howling
of dogs, which seem rather odious than pleasant sounds? Nor can
they comprehend the pleasure of seeing dogs run after a hare, more
than of seeing one dog run after another; for if the seeing them
run is that which gives the pleasure, you have the same
entertainment to the eye on both these occasions, since that is
the same in both cases: but if the pleasure lies in seeing the
hare killed and torn by the dogs, this ought rather to stir pity,
that a weak, harmless and fearful hare should be devoured by
strong, fierce, and cruel dogs. Therefore all this business of
hunting is, among the Utopians, turned over to their butchers; and
those, as has been already said, are all slaves; and they look on
hunting as one of the basest parts of a butcher's work: for they
account it both more profitable and more decent to kill those
beasts that are more necessary and useful to mankind; whereas the
killing and tearing of so small and miserable an animal can only
attract the huntsman with a false show of pleasure, from which he
can reap but small advantage. They look on the desire of the
bloodshed, even of beasts, as a mark of a mind that is already
corrupted with cruelty, or that at least by the frequent returns
of so brutal a pleasure must degenerate into it.

Thus, though the rabble of mankind look upon these, and on
innumerable other things of the same nature, as pleasures, the
Utopians, on the contrary, observing that there is nothing in them
truly pleasant, conclude that they are not to be reckoned among
pleasures: for though these things may create some tickling in the
senses (which seems to be a true notion of pleasure), yet they
imagine that this does not arise from the thing itself, but from a
depraved custom, which may so vitiate a man's taste, that bitter
things may pass for sweet; as women with child think pitch or
tallow tastes sweeter than honey; but as a man's sense when
corrupted, either by a disease or some ill habit, does not change
the nature of other things, so neither can it change the nature of
pleasure.

They reckon up several sorts of pleasures, which they call true
ones: some belong to the body and others to the mind. The
pleasures of the mind lie in knowledge, and in that delight which
the contemplation of truth carries with it; to which they add the
joyful reflections on a well-spent life, and the assured hopes of
a future happiness. They divide the pleasures of the body into two
sorts; the one is that which gives our senses some real delight,
and is performed, either by recruiting nature, and supplying those
parts which feed the internal heat of life by eating and drinking;
or when nature is eased of any surcharge that oppresses it; when
we are relieved from sudden pain, or that which arises from
satisfying the appetite which nature has wisely given to lead us
to the propagation of the species. There is another kind of
pleasure that arises neither from our receiving what the body
requires nor its being relieved when overcharged, and yet by a
secret, unseen virtue affects the senses, raises the passions, and
strikes the mind with generous impressions; this is the pleasure
that arises from music. Another kind of bodily pleasure is that
which results from an undisturbed and vigorous constitution of
body, when life and active spirits seem to actuate every part.
This lively health, when entirely free from all mixture of pain,
of itself gives an inward pleasure, independent of all external
objects of delight; and though this pleasure does not so
powerfully affect us, nor act so strongly on the senses as some of
the others, yet it may be esteemed as the greatest of all
pleasures, and almost all the Utopians reckon it the foundation
and basis of all the other joys of life; since this alone makes
the state of life easy and desirable; and when this is wanting, a
man is really capable of no other pleasure. They look upon freedom
from pain, if it does not rise from perfect health, to be a state
of stupidity rather than of pleasure.

This subject has been very narrowly canvassed among them; and it
has been debated whether a firm and entire health could be called
a pleasure or not? Some have thought that there was no pleasure
but what was excited by some sensible motion in the body. But this
opinion has been long ago excluded from among them, so that now
they almost universally agree that health is the greatest of all
bodily pleasures; and that as there is a pain in sickness, which
is as opposite in its nature to pleasure as sickness itself is to
health, so they hold that health is accompanied with pleasure: and
if any should say that sickness is not really pain, but that it
only carries pain along with it, they look upon that as a fetch of
subtilty, that does not much alter the matter. It is all one, in
their opinion, whether it be said that health is in itself a
pleasure, or that it begets a pleasure, as fire gives heat; so it
be granted, that all those whose health is entire have a true
pleasure in the enjoyment of it: and they reason thus--what is the
pleasure of eating, but that a man's health which had been
weakened, does, with the assistance of food, drive away hunger,
and so recruiting itself recovers its former vigor? And being thus
refreshed, it finds a pleasure in that conflict; and if the
conflict is pleasure, the victory must yet breed a greater
pleasure, except we fancy that it becomes stupid as soon as it has
obtained that which it pursued, and so neither knows nor rejoices
in its own welfare. If it is said that health cannot be felt, they
absolutely deny it; for what man is in health that does not
perceive it when he is awake? Is there any man that is so dull and
stupid as not to acknowledge that he feels a delight in health?
And what is delight but another name for pleasure?

But of all pleasures, they esteem those to be most valuable that
lie in the mind, the chief of which arises out of true virtue, and
the witnesses of a good conscience. They account health the chief
pleasure that belongs to the body; for they think that the
pleasure of eating and drinking, and all the other delights of
sense, are only so far desirable as they give or maintain health.
But they are not pleasant in themselves, otherwise than as they
resist those impressions that our natural infirmities are still
making upon us: for as a wise man desires rather to avoid diseases
than to take physic, and to be freed from pain, rather than to
find ease by remedies; so it is more desirable not to need this
sort of pleasure, than to be obliged to indulge it. If any man
imagines that there is a real happiness in these enjoyments, he
must then confess that he would be the happiest of all men if he
were to lead his life in perpetual hunger, thirst, and itching,
and by consequence in perpetual eating, drinking, and scratching
himself; which anyone may easily see would be not only a base but
a miserable state of life. These are indeed the lowest of
pleasures, and the least pure; for we can never relish them, but
when they are mixed with the contrary pains. The pain of hunger
must give us the pleasure of eating; and here the pain out-
balances the pleasure; and as the pain is more vehement, so it
lasts much longer; for as it begins before the pleasure, so it
does not cease but with the pleasure that extinguishes it, and
both expire together.

They think, therefore, none of those pleasures is to be valued any
further than as it is necessary; yet they rejoice in them, and
with due gratitude acknowledge the tenderness of the great Author
of nature, who has planted in us appetites, by which those things
that are necessary for our preservation are likewise made pleasant
to us. For how miserable a thing would life be, if those daily
diseases of hunger and thirst were to be carried off by such
bitter drugs as we must use for those diseases that return
seldomer upon us? And thus these pleasant as well as proper gifts
of nature maintain the strength and the sprightliness of our
bodies.

They also entertain themselves with the other delights let in at
their eyes, their ears, and their nostrils, as the pleasant
relishes and seasonings of life, which nature seems to have marked
out peculiarly for man; since no other sort of animals
contemplates the figure and beauty of the universe; nor is
delighted with smells, any further than as they distinguish meats
by them; nor do they apprehend the concords or discords of sound;
yet in all pleasures whatsoever they take care that a lesser joy
does not hinder a greater, and that pleasure may never breed pain,
which they think always follows dishonest pleasures. But they
think it madness for a man to wear out the beauty of his face, or
the force of his natural strength; to corrupt the sprightliness of
his body by sloth and laziness, or to waste it by fasting; that it
is madness to weaken the strength of his constitution, and reject
the other delights of life; unless by renouncing his own
satisfaction, he can either serve the public or promote the
happiness of others, for which he expects a greater recompense

from God. So that they look on such a course of life as the mark
of a mind that is both cruel to itself, and ungrateful to the
Author of nature, as if we would not be beholden to Him for His
favors, and therefore reject all His blessings; as one who should
afflict himself for the empty shadow of virtue; or for no better
end than to render himself capable of bearing those misfortunes
which possibly will never happen.

This is their notion of virtue and of pleasure; they think that no
man's reason can carry him to a truer idea of them, unless some
discovery from heaven should inspire him with sublimer notions. I
have not now the leisure to examine whether they think right or
wrong in this matter: nor do I judge it necessary, for I have only
undertaken to give you an account of their constitution, but not
to defend all their principles. I am sure, that whatsoever may be
said of their notions, there is not in the whole world either a
better people or a happier government: their bodies are vigorous
and lively; and though they are but of a middle stature, and have
neither the fruitfullest soil nor the purest air in the world, yet
they fortify themselves so well by their temperate course of life,
against the unhealthiness of their air, and by their industry they
so cultivate their soil, that there is nowhere to be seen a
greater increase both of corn and cattle, nor are there anywhere
healthier men and freer from diseases: for one may there see
reduced to practice, not only all the arts that the husbandman
employs in manuring and improving an ill soil, but whole woods
plucked up by the roots, and in other places new ones planted,
where there were none before.

Their principal motive for this is the convenience of carriage,
that their timber may be either near their towns or growing on the
banks of the sea or of some rivers, so as to be floated to them;
for it is a harder work to carry wood at any distance over land,
than corn. The people are industrious, apt to learn, as well as
cheerful and pleasant; and none can endure more labor, when it is
necessary; but except in that case they love their ease. They are
unwearied pursuers of knowledge; for when we had given them some
hints of the learning and discipline of the Greeks, concerning
whom we only instructed them (for we know that there was nothing
among the Romans, except their historians and their poets, that
they would value much), it was strange to see how eagerly they
were set on learning that language. We began to read a little of
it to them, rather in compliance with their importunity, than out
of any hopes of their reaping from it any great advantage. But
after a very short trial, we found they made such progress, that
we saw our labor was like to be more successful than we could have
expected. They learned to write their characters and to pronounce
their language so exactly, had so quick an apprehension, they
remembered it so faithfully, and became so ready and correct in
the use of it, that it would have looked like a miracle if the
greater part of those whom we taught had not been men both of
extraordinary capacity and of a fit age for instruction. They were
for the greatest part chosen from among their learned men, by
their chief Council, though some studied it of their own accord.
In three years' time they became masters of the whole language, so
that they read the best of the Greek authors very exactly. I am
indeed apt to think that they learned that language the more
easily, from its having some relation to their own. I believe that
they were a colony of the Greeks; for though their language comes
nearer the Persian, yet they retain many names, both for their
towns and magistrates, that are of Greek derivation.

I happened to carry a great many books with me, instead of
merchandise, when I sailed my fourth voyage; for I was so far from
thinking of soon coming back, that I rather thought never to have
returned at all, and I gave them all my books, among which were
many of Plato's and some of Aristotle's works. I had also
Theophrastus "On Plants," which, to my great regret, was
imperfect; for having laid it carelessly by, while we were at sea,
a monkey had seized upon it, and in many places torn out the
leaves. They have no books of grammar but Lascares, for I did not
carry Theodorus with me; nor have they any dictionaries but
Hesichius and Dioscorides. They esteem Plutarch highly, and were
much taken with Lucian's wit and with his pleasant way of writing.
As for the poets, they have Aristophanes, Homer, Euripides, and
Sophocles of Aldus's edition; and for historians Thucydides,
Herodotus, and Herodian. One of my companions, Thricius Apinatus,
happened to carry with him some of Hippocrates's works, and
Galen's "Microtechne," which they hold in great estimation; for
though there is no nation in the world that needs physic so little
as they do, yet there is not any that honors it so much: they
reckon the knowledge of it one of the pleasantest and most
profitable parts of philosophy, by which, as they search into the
secrets of nature, so they not only find this study highly
agreeable, but think that such inquiries are very acceptable to
the Author of nature; and imagine that as He, like the inventors
of curious engines among mankind, has exposed this great machine
of the universe to the view of the only creatures capable of
contemplating it, so an exact and curious observer, who admires
His workmanship, is much more acceptable to Him than one of the
herd, who, like a beast incapable of reason, looks on this
glorious scene with the eyes of a dull and unconcerned spectator.

The minds of the Utopians, when fenced with a love for learning,
are very ingenious in discovering all such arts as are necessary
to carry it to perfection. Two things they owe to us, the
manufacture of paper and the art of printing: yet they are not so
entirely indebted to us for these discoveries but that a great
part of the invention was their own. We showed them some books
printed by Aldus, we explained to them the way of making paper,
and the mystery of printing; but as we had never practised these
arts, we described them in a crude and superficial manner. They
seized the hints we gave them, and though at first they could not
arrive at perfection, yet by making many essays they at last found
out and corrected all their errors, and conquered every
difficulty. Before this they only wrote on parchment, on reeds, or
on the bark of trees; but now they have established the
manufacture of paper, and set up printing-presses, so that if they
had but a good number of Greek authors they would be quickly
supplied with many copies of them: at present, though they have no
more than those I have mentioned, yet by several impressions they
have multiplied them into many thousands .

If any man was to go among them that had some extraordinary
talent, or that by much travelling had observed the customs of
many nations (which made us to be so well received), he would
receive a hearty welcome; for they are very desirous to know the
state of the whole world. Very few go among them on the account of
traffic, for what can a man carry to them but iron or gold or
silver, which merchants desire rather to export than import to a
strange country: and as for their exportation, they think it
better to manage that themselves than to leave it to foreigners,
for by this means, as they understand the state of the neighboring
countries better, so they keep up the art of navigation, which
cannot be maintained but by much practice.


1901. New York: Ideal Commonwealths. P.F. Collier & Son. The
Colonial Press. This book is in the public domain, released
July 1993 by the Internet Wiretap. Prepared by Kirk Crady
(kcrady@polaris.cv.nrao.edu) from scanner output provided by
Internet Wiretap.

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