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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 licence that is granted for travelling, and limits the time of
their return. They are furnished with a waggon and a slave, who
drives the oxen and looks after them; but, unless there are women
in the company, the waggon is sent back at the end of the journey
as a needless encumbrance. While they are on the road they carry
no provisions with them, yet they want for nothing, but are
everywhere treated as if they were at home. If they stay in any
place longer than a night, every one follows his proper occupation,
and is very well used by those of his own trade; but if any man
goes out of the city to which he belongs without leave, and is
found rambling without a passport, he is severely treated, he is
punished as a fugitive, and sent home disgracefully; and, if he
falls again into the like fault, is condemned to slavery. If any
man has a mind to travel only over the precinct of his own city, he
may freely do it, with his father's permission and his wife's
consent; but when he comes into any of the country houses, if he
expects to be entertained by them, he must labour with them and
conform to their rules; and if he does this, he may freely go over
the whole precinct, being then as useful to the city to which he
belongs as if he were still within it. Thus you see that there are
no idle persons among them, nor pretences of excusing any from
labour. There are no taverns, no alehouses, nor stews among them,
nor any other occasions of corrupting each other, of getting into
corners, or forming themselves into parties; all men live in full
view, so that all are obliged both to perform their ordinary task
and to employ themselves well in their spare hours; and it is
certain that a people thus ordered must live in great abundance of
all things, and these being equally distributed among them, no man
can want or be obliged to beg.
"In their great council at Amaurot, to which there are three sent
from every town once a year, they examine what towns abound in
provisions and what are under any scarcity, that so the one may be
furnished from the other; and this is done freely, without any sort
of exchange; for, according to their plenty or scarcity, they
supply or are supplied from one another, so that indeed the whole
island is, as it were, one family. When they have thus taken care
of their whole country, and laid up stores for two years (which
they do to prevent the ill consequences of an unfavourable season),
they order an exportation of the overplus, both of corn, honey,
wool, flax, wood, wax, tallow, leather, and cattle, which they send
out, commonly in great quantities, to other nations. They order a
seventh part of all these goods to be freely given to the poor of
the countries to which they send them, and sell the rest at
moderate rates; and by this exchange they not only bring back those
few things that they need at home (for, indeed, they scarce need
anything but iron), but likewise a great deal of gold and silver;
and by their driving this trade so long, it is not to be imagined
how vast a treasure they have got among them, so that now they do
not much care whether they sell off their merchandise for money in
hand or upon trust. A great part of their treasure is now in
bonds; but in all their contracts no private man stands bound, but
the writing runs in the name of the town; and the towns that owe
them money raise it from those private hands that owe it to them,
lay it up in their public chamber, or enjoy the profit of it till
the Utopians call for it; and they choose rather to let the
greatest part of it lie in their hands, who make advantage by it,
than to call for it themselves; but if they see that any of their
other neighbours stand more in need of it, then they call it in and
lend it to them. Whenever they are engaged in war, which is the
only occasion in which their treasure can be usefully employed,
they make use of it themselves; in great extremities or sudden
accidents they employ it in hiring foreign troops, whom they more
willingly expose to danger than their own people; they give them
great pay, knowing well that this will work even on their enemies;
that it will engage them either to betray their own side, or, at
least, to desert it; and that it is the best means of raising
mutual jealousies among them. For this end they have an incredible
treasure; but they do not keep it as a treasure, but in such a
manner as I am almost afraid to tell, lest you think it so
extravagant as to be hardly credible. This I have the more reason
to apprehend because, if I had not seen it myself, I could not have
been easily persuaded to have believed it upon any man's report.
"It is certain that all things appear incredible to us in
proportion as they differ from known 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 earring of gold, and make others wear a
chain or a coronet of the same metal; and thus they take care by
all possible means to render gold and silver of no esteem; and from
hence it is that while other nations part with their gold and
silver as unwillingly as if one tore out their bowels, those of
Utopia would look on their giving in all they possess of those
metals (when there were any use for them) but as the parting with a
trifle, or as we would esteem the loss of a penny! They find
pearls on their coasts, and diamonds and carbuncles on their rocks;
they do not look after them, but, if they find them by chance, they
polish them, and with them they adorn their children, who are
delighted with them, and glory in them during their childhood; but
when they grow to years, and see that none but children use such
baubles, they of their own accord, without being bid by their
parents, lay them aside, and would be as much ashamed to use them
afterwards as children among us, when they come to years, are of
their puppets and other toys.
"I never saw a clearer instance of the opposite impressions that
different customs make on people than I observed in the ambassadors
of the Anemolians, who came to Amaurot when I was there. As they
came to treat of affairs of great consequence, the deputies from
several towns met together to wait for their coming. The
ambassadors of the nations that lie near Utopia, knowing their
customs, and that fine clothes are in no esteem among them, that
silk is despised, and gold is a badge of infamy, 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 splendour. Thus three ambassadors made their entry with
a hundred attendants, all clad in garments of different colours,
and the greater part in silk; the ambassadors themselves, who were
of the nobility of their country, were in cloth-of-gold, and
adorned with massy chains, earrings and rings of gold; their caps
were covered with bracelets set full of pearls and other gems--in a
word, they were set out with all those things that among the
Utopians were either the badges of slavery, the marks of infamy, or
the playthings of children. It was not unpleasant to see, on the
one side, how they looked big, when they compared their rich habits
with the plain clothes of the Utopians, who were come out in great
numbers to see them make their entry; and, on the other, to observe
how much they were mistaken in the impression which they hoped this
pomp would have made on them. It appeared so ridiculous a show to
all that had never stirred out of their country, and had not seen
the customs of other nations, that though they paid some reverence
to those that were the most meanly clad, as if they had been the
ambassadors, yet when they saw the ambassadors themselves so full
of gold and chains, they looked upon them as slaves, and forbore to
treat them with reverence. You might have seen the children who
were grown big enough to despise their playthings, and who had
thrown away their jewels, call to their mothers, push them gently,
and cry out, 'See that great fool, that wears pearls and gems as if
he were yet a child!' while their mothers very innocently replied,
'Hold your peace! this, I believe, is one of the ambassadors'
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 their 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 formed 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
man, for whom it was made, and by whom it has its value, should yet
be thought of less value than this metal; that a man of lead, who
has no more sense than a log of wood, and is as bad as he is
foolish, should have many wise and good men to serve him, only
because he has a great heap of that metal; and that if it should
happen that by some accident or trick of law (which, sometimes
produces as great changes as chance itself) all this wealth should
pass from the master to the meanest varlet of his whole family, he
himself would very soon become one of his servants, as if he were a
thing that belonged to his wealth, and so were bound to follow its
fortune! But they much more admire and detest the folly of those
who, when they see a rich man, though they neither owe him
anything, nor are in any sort dependent on his bounty, yet, merely
because he is rich, give him little less than divine honours, even
though they know him to be so covetous and base-minded that,
notwithstanding all his wealth, he will not part with one farthing
of it to them as long as he lives!
"These and such like notions have that people imbibed, partly from
their education, being bred in a country whose customs and laws are
opposite to all such foolish maxims, and partly from their learning
and studies--for though there are but few in any town that are so
wholly excused from labour as to give themselves entirely up to
their studies (these being only such persons as discover from their
childhood an extraordinary capacity and disposition for letters),
yet their children and a great part of the nation, both men and
women, are taught to spend those hours in which they are not
obliged to work in reading; and this they do through the whole
progress of life. They have all their learning in their own
tongue, which is both a copious and pleasant language, and in which
a man can fully express his mind; it runs over a great tract of
many countries, but it is not equally pure in all places. They had
never so much as heard of the names of any of those philosophers
that are so famous in these parts of the world, before we went
among them; and yet they had made the same discoveries as the
Greeks, both in music, logic, arithmetic, and geometry. But as
they are almost in everything equal to the ancient philosophers, so
they far exceed our modern logicians for they have never yet fallen
upon the barbarous niceties that our youth are forced to learn in
those trifling logical schools that are among us. They are so far
from minding chimeras and fantastical images made in the mind that
none of them could comprehend what we meant when we talked to them
of a man in the abstract as common to all men in particular (so
that though we spoke of him as a thing that we could point at with
our fingers, yet none of them could perceive him) and yet distinct
from every one, as if he were some monstrous Colossus or giant;
yet, for all this ignorance of these empty notions, they knew
astronomy, and were perfectly acquainted with the motions of the
heavenly bodies; and have many instruments, well contrived and
divided, by which they very accurately compute the course and
positions of the sun, moon, and stars. But for the cheat of
divining by the stars, by their oppositions or conjunctions, it has
not so much as entered into their thoughts. They have a particular
sagacity, founded upon much observation, in judging of the weather,
by which they know when they may look for rain, wind, or other
alterations in the air; but as to the philosophy of these things,
the cause of the saltness of the sea, of its ebbing and flowing,
and of the original and nature both of the heavens and the earth,
they dispute of them partly as our ancient philosophers have done,
and partly upon some new hypothesis, in which, as they differ from
them, so they do not in all things agree among themselves.
"As to moral philosophy, they have the same disputes among them as
we have here. They examine what are properly good, both for the
body and the mind; and whether any outward thing can be called
truly GOOD, or if that term belong only to the endowments of the
soul. They inquire, likewise, into the nature of virtue and
pleasure. But their chief dispute is concerning the happiness of a
man, and wherein it consists--whether in some one thing or in a
great many. They seem, indeed, more inclinable to that opinion
that places, if not the whole, yet the chief part, of a man's
happiness in pleasure; and, what may seem more strange, they make
use of arguments even from religion, notwithstanding its severity
and roughness, for the support of that opinion so indulgent to
pleasure; for they never dispute concerning happiness without
fetching some arguments from the principles of religion as well as
from natural reason, since without the former they reckon that all
our inquiries after happiness must be but conjectural and
defective.
"These are their religious principles:- That the soul of man is
immortal, and that God of His goodness has designed that it should
be happy; and that He has, therefore, appointed rewards for good
and virtuous actions, and punishments for vice, to be distributed
after this life. Though these principles of religion are conveyed
down among them by tradition, they think that even reason itself
determines a man to believe and acknowledge them; and freely
confess that if these were taken away, no man would be so
insensible as not to seek after pleasure by all possible means,
lawful or unlawful, using only this caution--that a lesser pleasure
might not stand in the way of a greater, and that no pleasure ought
to be pursued that should draw a great deal of pain after it; for
they think it the maddest thing in the world to pursue virtue, that
is a sour and difficult thing, and not only to renounce the
pleasures of life, but willingly to undergo much pain and trouble,
if a man has no prospect of a reward. And what reward can there be
for one that has passed his whole life, not only without pleasure,
but in pain, if there is nothing to be expected after death? Yet
they do not place happiness in all sorts of pleasures, but only in
those that in themselves are good and honest. There is a party
among them who place happiness in bare virtue; others think that
our natures are conducted by virtue to happiness, as that which is
the chief good of man. They define virtue thus--that it is a
living according to Nature, and think that we are made by God for
that end; they believe that a man then follows the dictates of
Nature when he pursues or avoids things according to the direction
of reason. They say that the first dictate of reason is the
kindling in us a love and reverence for the Divine Majesty, to whom
we owe both all that we have and, all that we can ever hope for.
In the next place, reason directs us to keep our minds as free from
passion and as cheerful as we can, and that we should consider
ourselves as bound by the ties of good-nature and humanity to use
our utmost endeavours to help forward the happiness of all other
persons; for there never was any man such a morose and severe
pursuer of virtue, such an enemy to pleasure, that though he set
hard rules for men to undergo, much pain, many watchings, and other
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 favourite
of Nature, who, on the contrary, seems to have placed on a level
all those that belong to the same species. Upon this they infer
that no man ought to seek his own conveniences so eagerly as to
prejudice others; and therefore they think that not only all
agreements between private persons ought to be observed, but
likewise that all those laws ought to be kept which either a good
prince has published in due form, or to which a people that is
neither oppressed with tyranny nor circumvented by fraud has
consented, for distributing those conveniences of life which afford
us all our pleasures.
"They think it is an evidence of true wisdom for a man to pursue
his own advantage 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 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 stole, the
owner, though he might live perhaps ten years after the theft, of
which he knew nothing, would find no difference between his having
or losing it, for both ways it was equally useless to him.
"Among those foolish pursuers of pleasure they reckon all that
delight in hunting, in fowling, or gaming, of whose madness they
have only heard, for they have no such things among them. But they
have asked us, 'What sort of pleasure is it that men can find in
throwing the dice?' (for if there were any pleasure in it, they
think the doing 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 too frequent returns of so brutal a pleasure,
must degenerate into it.
"Thus though the rabble of mankind look upon these, and on
innumerable other things of the same nature, as pleasures, the
Utopians, on the contrary, observing that there is nothing in them
truly pleasant, conclude that they are not to be reckoned among
pleasures; for though these things may create some tickling in the
senses (which seems to be a true notion of pleasure), yet they
imagine that this does not arise from the thing itself, but from a
depraved custom, which may so vitiate a man's taste that bitter
things may pass for sweet, as women with child think pitch or
tallow taste sweeter than honey; but as a man's sense, when
corrupted either by a disease or some ill habit., does not change
the nature of other things, so neither can it change the nature of
pleasure.
"They reckon up several sorts of pleasures, which they call true
ones; some belong to the body, and others to the mind. The
pleasures of the mind lie in knowledge, and in that delight which
the contemplation of truth carries with it; to which they add the
joyful reflections on a well-spent life, and the assured hopes of a
future happiness. They divide the pleasures of the body into two
sorts--the one is that which gives our senses some real delight,
and is performed either by recruiting Nature and supplying those
parts which feed the internal heat of life by eating and drinking,
or when Nature is eased of any surcharge that oppresses it, when we
are relieved from sudden pain, or that which arises from satisfying
the appetite which Nature has wisely given to lead us to the
propagation of the species. There is another kind of pleasure that
arises neither from our receiving what the body requires, nor its
being relieved when overcharged, and yet, by a secret unseen
virtue, affects the senses, raises the passions, and strikes the
mind with generous impressions--this is, the pleasure that arises
from music. Another kind of bodily pleasure is that which results
from an undisturbed and vigorous constitution of body, when life
and active spirits seem to actuate every part. This lively health,
when entirely free from all mixture of pain, of itself gives an
inward pleasure, independent of all external objects of delight;
and though this pleasure does not so powerfully affect us, nor act
so strongly on the senses as some of the others, yet it may be
esteemed as the greatest of all pleasures; and almost all the
Utopians reckon it the foundation and basis of all the other joys
of life, since this alone makes the state of life easy and
desirable, and when this is wanting, a man is really capable of no
other pleasure. They look upon freedom from pain, if it does not
rise from perfect health, to be a state of stupidity rather than of
pleasure. This subject has been very narrowly canvassed among
them, and it has been debated whether a firm and entire health
could be called a pleasure or not. Some have thought that there
was no pleasure but what was 'excited' by some sensible motion in
the body. But this opinion has been long ago excluded from among
them; so that now they almost universally agree that health is the
greatest of all bodily pleasures; and that as there is a pain in
sickness which is as opposite in its nature to pleasure as sickness
itself is to health, so they hold that health is accompanied with
pleasure. And if any should say that sickness is not really pain,
but that it only carries pain along with it, they look upon that as
a fetch of subtlety that does not much alter the matter. It is all
one, in their opinion, whether it be said that health is in itself
a pleasure, or that it begets a pleasure, as fire gives heat, so it
be granted that all those whose health is entire have a true
pleasure in the enjoyment of it. And they reason thus:- 'What is
the pleasure of eating, but that a man's health, which had been
weakened, does, with the assistance of food, drive away hunger, and
so recruiting itself, recovers its former vigour? And being thus
refreshed it finds a pleasure in that conflict; and if the conflict
is pleasure, the victory must yet breed a greater pleasure, except
we fancy that it becomes stupid as soon as it has obtained that
which it pursued, and so neither knows nor rejoices in its own
welfare.' If it is said that health cannot be felt, they
absolutely deny it; for what man is in health, that does not
perceive it when he is awake? Is there any man that is so dull and
stupid as not to acknowledge that he feels a delight in health?
And what is delight but another name for pleasure?
"But, of all pleasures, they esteem those to be most valuable that
lie in the mind, the chief of which arise out of true virtue and
the witness of a good conscience. They account health the chief
pleasure that belongs to the body; for they think that the pleasure
of eating and drinking, and all the other delights of sense, are
only so far desirable as they give or maintain health; but they are
not pleasant in themselves otherwise than as they resist those
impressions that our natural infirmities are still making upon us.
For as a wise man desires rather to avoid diseases than to take
physic, and to be freed from pain rather than to find ease by
remedies, so it is more desirable not to need this sort of pleasure
than to be obliged to indulge it. If any man imagines that there
is a real happiness in these enjoyments, he must then confess that
he would be the happiest of all men if he were to lead his life in
perpetual hunger, thirst, and itching, and, by consequence, in
perpetual eating, drinking, and scratching himself; which any one
may easily see would be not only a base, but a miserable, state of
a life. These are, indeed, the lowest of pleasures, and the least
pure, for we can never relish them but when they are mixed with the
contrary pains. The pain of hunger must give us the pleasure of
eating, and here the pain out-balances the pleasure. And as the
pain is more vehement, so it lasts much longer; for as it begins
before the pleasure, so it does not cease but with the pleasure
that extinguishes it, and both expire together. They think,
therefore, none of those pleasures are to be valued any further
than as they are necessary; yet they rejoice in them, and with due
gratitude acknowledge the tenderness of the great Author of Nature,
who has planted in us appetites, by which those things that are
necessary for our preservation are likewise made pleasant to us.
For how miserable a thing would life be if those daily diseases of
hunger and thirst were to be carried off by such bitter drugs as we
must use for those diseases that return seldomer upon us! And thus
these pleasant, as well as proper, gifts of Nature maintain the
strength and the sprightliness of our bodies.
"They also entertain themselves with the other delights let in at
their eyes, their ears, and their nostrils as the pleasant relishes
and seasoning 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 favours, and therefore rejects all
His blessings; as one who should afflict himself for the empty
shadow of virtue, or for no better end than to render himself
capable of bearing those misfortunes which possibly will never
happen.
"This is their notion of virtue and of pleasure: they think that
no man's reason can carry him to a truer idea of them unless some
discovery from heaven should inspire him with sublimer notions. I
have not now the leisure to examine whether they think right or
wrong in this matter; nor do I judge it necessary, for I have only
undertaken to give you an account of their constitution, but not to
defend all their principles. I am sure that whatever may be said
of their notions, there is not in the whole world either a better
people or a happier government. Their bodies are vigorous and
lively; and though they are but of a middle stature, and have
neither the fruitfullest soil nor the purest air in the world; yet
they fortify themselves so well, by their temperate course of life,
against the unhealthiness of their air, and by their industry they
so cultivate their soil, that there is nowhere to be seen a greater
increase, both of corn and cattle, nor are there anywhere healthier
men and freer from diseases; for one may there see reduced to
practice not only all the art that the husbandman employs in
manuring and improving an ill soil, but whole woods plucked up by
the roots, and in other places new ones planted, where there were
none before. Their principal motive for this is the convenience of
carriage, that their timber may be either near their towns or
growing on the banks of the sea, or of some rivers, so as to be
floated to them; for it is a harder work to carry wood at any
distance over land than corn. The people are industrious, apt to
learn, as well as cheerful and pleasant, and none can endure more
labour when it is necessary; but, except in that case, they love
their ease. They are unwearied pursuers of knowledge; for when we
had given them some hints of the learning and discipline of the
Greeks, concerning whom we only instructed them (for we know that
there was nothing among the Romans, except their historians and
their poets, that they would value much), it was strange to see how
eagerly they were set on learning that language: we began to read
a little of it to them, rather in compliance with their importunity
than out of any hopes of their reaping from it any great advantage:
but, after a very short trial, we found they made such progress,
that we saw our labour was like to be more successful than we could
have expected: they learned to write their characters and to
pronounce their language so exactly, had so quick an apprehension,
they remembered it so faithfully, and became so ready and correct
in the use of it, that it would have looked like a miracle if the
greater part of those whom we taught had not been men both of
extraordinary capacity and of a fit age for instruction: they
were, for the greatest part, chosen from among their learned men by
their chief council, though some studied it of their own accord.
In three years' time they became masters of the whole language, so
that they read the best of the Greek authors very exactly. I am,
indeed, apt to think that they learned that language the more
easily from its having some relation to their own. I believe that
they were a colony of the Greeks; for though their language comes
nearer the Persian, yet they retain many names, both for their
towns and magistrates, that are of Greek derivation. I happened to
carry a great many books with me, instead of merchandise, when I
sailed my fourth voyage; for I was so far from thinking of soon
coming back, that I rather thought never to have returned at all,
and I gave them all my books, among which were many of Plato's and
some of Aristotle's works: I had also Theophrastus on Plants,
which, to my great regret, was imperfect; for having laid it
carelessly by, while we were at sea, a monkey had seized upon it,
and in many places torn out the leaves. They have no books of
grammar but Lascares, for I did not carry Theodorus with me; nor
have they any dictionaries but Hesichius and Dioscerides. They
esteem Plutarch highly, and were much taken with Lucian's wit and
with his pleasant way of writing. As for the poets, they have
Aristophanes, Homer, Euripides, and Sophocles of Aldus's edition;
and for historians, Thucydides, Herodotus, and Herodian. One of my
companions, Thricius Apinatus, happened to carry with him some of
Hippocrates's works and Galen's Microtechne, which they hold in
great estimation; for though there is no nation in the world that
needs physic so little as they do, yet there is not any that
honours it so much; they reckon the knowledge of it one of the
pleasantest and most profitable parts of philosophy, by which, as
they search into the secrets of nature, so they not only find this
study highly agreeable, but think that such inquiries are very
acceptable to the Author of nature; and imagine, that as He, like
the inventors of curious engines amongst mankind, has exposed this
great machine of the universe to the view of the only creatures
capable of contemplating it, so an exact and curious observer, who
admires His workmanship, is much more acceptable to Him than one of
the herd, who, like a beast incapable of reason, looks on this
glorious scene with the eyes of a dull and unconcerned spectator.
"The minds of the Utopians, when fenced with a love for learning,
are very ingenious in discovering all such arts as are necessary to
carry it to perfection. Two things they owe to us, the manufacture
of paper and the art of printing; yet they are not so entirely
indebted to us for these discoveries but that a great part of the
invention was their own. We showed them some books printed by
Aldus, we explained to them the way of making paper and the mystery
of printing; but, as we had never practised these arts, we
described them in a crude and superficial manner. They seized the
hints we gave them; and though at first they could not arrive at
perfection, yet by making many essays they at last found out and
corrected all their errors and conquered every difficulty. Before
this they only wrote on parchment, on reeds, or on the barks of
trees; but now they have established the manufactures of paper and
set up printing presses, so that, if they had but a good number of
Greek authors, they would be quickly supplied with many copies of
them: at present, though they have no more than those I have
mentioned, yet, by several impressions, they have multiplied them
into many thousands. If any man was to go among them that had some
extraordinary talent, or that by much travelling had observed the
customs of many nations (which made us to be so well received), he
would receive a hearty welcome, for they are very desirous to know
the state of the whole world. Very few go among them on the
account of traffic; for what can a man carry to them but iron, or
gold, or silver? which merchants desire rather to export than
import to a strange country: and as for their exportation, they
think it better to manage that themselves than to leave it to
foreigners, for by this means, as they understand the state of the
neighbouring countries better, so they keep up the art of
navigation which cannot be maintained but by much practice.
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