Utopia

“My job was simply to write down what I’d heard, which was perfectly easy—but my other commitments have left me less than no time to get this perfectly easy job done. I’ve been hard at work in the law courts, either at the Bar or on the Bench, either in civil or in criminal cases There’s always someone that has to be visited, either on business, or as a matter of courtesy. I’m out practically all day, dealing with other people—the rest of the day I spend with my family—so there’s no time left for me, that is, for my writing.”

Fictional correspondence forms an important part of More’s framing device for the dialogues in Books 1 and 2. In his letter to Peter Gilles, More sets up the basic conceit of his satirical novel: that he has simply recorded conversations in which the sailor Raphael Nonsenso related his social philosophy and tales of the island nation of Utopia. More’s explanation of his tardiness in setting these conversations into writing foreshadows an important theme: forms of social organization constrain and shape an individual’s choices and actions.

“But when I consider More’s quasi-pictorial treatment […] I sometimes get the sense I am living in Utopia. In fact, I honestly believe there’s more to be seen in his account of the island than Raphael himself can have seen during those five years he lived there.”

This quotation is from a fictional letter from More’s friend Peter Gilles to Jerome Busleiden, who was an official in the court of King Charles of the Netherlands. The inclusion of this and the other fictional letter helps frame More’s novel as a record of actual events. At the same time, this quotation indirectly points to the fictional or imaginary character of the narrative: Gilles claims to believe that there is more in More’s literary representation of Utopia than in Raphael’s direct experience of it. This alerts the reader to the imaginary or fantastical aspect of the narrative.

“This method of dealing with thieves is both unjust and undesirable. As a punishment it’s too severe, and as a deterrent it’s quite ineffective. Petty larceny isn’t bad enough to deserve the death penalty, and no penalty on earth will stop people from stealing, if it’s their only way of getting food. In this respect you English, like most other nations, remind me of incompetent schoolmasters, who prefer caning their pupils to teaching them. Instead of inflicting these horrible punishments, it would be far more to the point to provide everyone with some means of livelihood, so that nobody’s under the frightful necessity of becoming first a thief and then a corpse.” 

This passage occurs in the context of a conversation between Raphael and an English lawyer as the two dine with Cardinal Morton. Raphael offers the first indications of how he understands social ills and their solutions. The lawyer expresses confusion as to why the rate of thievery has not been reduced in England despite the severity and frequency of the penalty, execution by hanging. Raphael suggests that the prevalence of thievery reflects a problem within social organization rather than in the individual choices of those who steal. Thus, solving the problem demands a reorganization of society such that its causes are eliminated.

“Until you put these things right, you’re not entitled to boast of the justice meted out to thieves, for it’s a justice more specious than real or socially desirable. You allow these people to be brought up in the worst possible way, and systematically corrupted from their earliest years. Finally, when they grow up and commit the crimes that they were obviously destined to commit, ever since they were children, you start punishing them. In other words, you create thieves, and then you punish them for stealing!” 

Raphael further challenges the lawyer’s presumptions about the origins of crime and the justness of punishment. Because of the economic and legal conditions under which poor people live, they are “destined” to become criminals, Raphael claims. Perversely, criminals are produced by the very system of social organization that then demands they be punished—hardly justice in Raphael’s view. Since the social problem represented by thievery is the predictable result of forms of political and social organization that deny people the opportunity to provide for themselves by legal means, justice will not be done until the root causes of thievery are eliminated.

“God said, ‘Thou shalt not kill’—does the theft of a little money make it quite alright for us to do so? If it’s said that this commandment only applies to illegal killing, what’s to prevent human beings from similarly agreeing among themselves to legalize certain forms of rape, adultery, or perjury? Considering that God has forbidden us even to kill ourselves, can we really believe that purely human arrangements for the regulation of mutual slaughter are enough, without any divine authority, to exempt executioners from the sixth commandment? Isn’t that rather like saying that this particular commandment has no more validity than human laws allow it?—in which case the principle can be extended indefinitely…” 

After Cardinal Morton asks Raphael whether he believes that reducing the penalty for theft would encourage crime, Raphael responds by appealing to the cardinal’s religious beliefs. Executing a thief seems to break God’s prohibition against killing, one of the Ten Commandments that Catholics believe God handed down to Moses on Mt. Sinai (as described in the biblical book of Exodus). If society makes an exception in the case of thieves, this implies that human beings can decide when, how, and to what extend God’s commandments apply. This position opposes Catholic teaching, and Raphael’s implication is that if the cardinal is to be consistent in his beliefs, he ought to reject capital punishment entirely.

“To start with, most kings are more interested in the science of war—which I don’t know anything about and don’t want to—than in useful peacetime techniques. They’re far more interested, by hook or by crook, to acquire new kingdoms than to govern their existing ones properly. Besides, privy councilors are either too wise to need, or too conceited to take advice from anyone else—though of course they’re always prepared to suck up to the king’s special favorites by agreeing with the silliest things they say. After all, it’s a natural instinct to be charmed by one’s own productions That’s why raven chicks are such a delight to their parents and mother apes find their babies exquisitely beautiful.” 

When Gilles and then More suggest that Raphael has a duty to offer his expertise in matters of government at the court of a king, Raphael rejects the idea. Having traveled the world, Raphael has extensive knowledge of politics and economics and could certainly help a king solve various social problems in his kingdom (such as crime and poverty). For his advice to be heeded, however, kings and their advisors would have to be receptive to it. Raphael thinks this unlikely, if not impossible. Kings are preoccupied with war and the acquisition of wealth, and councilors are too concerned with their position and reputation. They are more apt to follow whatever course they themselves have devised than to listen to reason, due to their vain self-love. Raphael thus suggests that pride and greed impede good governance.

“There’s nothing majestic about ruling a nation of beggars—true majesty consists in ruling the rich and prosperous. That’s what the admirable character Fabricius meant when he said he’d rather govern rich men than be one. Certainly a man who enjoys a life of luxury while everyone else is moaning and groaning round him can hardly be called a king—he’s more like a gaoler.”

After discussing various deceptive and exploitive tactics that a king could use to enhance his wealth and raise an army, Raphael offers these critical remarks. The ideal king seeks to promote the well-being, happiness, and prosperity of his people. Kings driven by ambition and greed, however, tend to devise ways to extract wealth from their people and render them submissive. This is not a just ruler, but a captor, in Raphael’s view. The ideal of Fabricius, an ancient Roman statesman famed for his contempt for riches, is more desirable in a king than lust for power and wealth.

“If you can’t completely eradicate wrong ideas, or deal with inveterate vices as effectively as you could wish, that’s no reason for turning your back on public life altogether. You wouldn’t abandon a ship just because you couldn’t control the winds.

On the other hand, it’s no use attempting to put across entirely new ideas, which will obviously carry no weight with those who are prejudiced against them. You must go to work indirectly. You must handle everything as tactfully as you can, and what you can’t put right you must try to make as little wrong as possible.”

More criticizes Raphael’s all-or-nothing approach to public life, perhaps offering us a brief glimpse into his own approach to advising Henry VIII. More offers a more moderate approach to improving government. He suggests that incremental reforms should not be abandoned simply because they fall short of perfection.

“Though, to tell you the truth, my dear More, I don’t see how you can ever get any real justice or prosperity, so long as there’s private property, and everything’s judged in terms of money—unless you consider it just for the worst sort of people to have the best living conditions, or unless you’re prepared to call a country prosperous, in which all the wealth is owned by a tiny minority—who aren’t entirely happy even so, while everyone else is simply miserable.” 

Rejecting More’s argument for incremental moderate reforms, Raphael articulates his commitment to radical social, political, and economic change. The root of most social problems is the existence of private property, he claims. Where private property exists, it necessitates that individuals pursue private interests and all but guarantees that the least scrupulous and fair-minded people will become the richest and most powerful.

“On the strength of our first meeting, they immediately adopted all the best ideas that Europe has produced—but I doubt if we’d be quite so quick to take over any of their arraignments which are better than ours. And that’s the main reason, I think, why although they’ve got no more intelligence or natural resources than we have, they’re so much ahead of us politically and economically.” 

More insists to Raphael that a communist system would never succeed, as it would result in massive shortages in goods. But Raphael proclaims that Utopia’s communist system is superior to all other governments in the world and suffers no such shortages. The Utopians have achieved such a well-organized and prosperous society in no small part because they embrace the intellectual and cultural humility that European monarchs and statesmen lack, in Raphael’s view. The Utopians are willing to adopt the practices of any culture, provided they think these practices the best for facilitating prosperity and happiness in their society.

“Laws of that type would certainly relieve the symptoms, just as a chronic invalid gets some benefit from constant medical attention. But there’s no hope of a cure, so long as private property continues. If you try to treat an outbreak in one part of the body politic, you merely exacerbate the symptoms elsewhere. What’s medicine for some people is poison for others—because you can never pay Paul without robbing Peter.” 

Raphael continues his extended attack on incremental reform. Here, More employs one of the most frequent metaphors of the novel, that of medicine and disease. Raphael argues that piecemeal, moderate reforms (such as those More seems to advocate throughout the dialogue) are directed at the symptoms of deeper problems of social organization. To “cure” social diseases, one must treat their causes, not their symptoms. Thus, a more radical form of social reorganization is necessary in which private property, and the vices and social ills it encourages, is eliminated.

“There are fifty-four splendid big towns on the island, all with the same language, laws, customs, and institutions. They’re all built on the same plan, and, so far as the sites will allow, they all look exactly alike. The minimum distance between the towns is twenty-four miles, and the maximum, no more than a day’s walk.” 

After his initial description of Utopia’s geography, Raphael gives an account of Utopia’s cities. Immediately, More impresses upon the audience the centrality of rational planning in Utopia. Utopia’s cities do not develop spontaneously, in pursuit of profits and expanding markets, but are organized after a standard model to meet the needs of its citizens.

“But here’s a point that requires special attention, or you’re liable to get the wrong idea. Since they only work a six-hour day, you may think there must be a shortage of essential goods. On the contrary, those six hours are enough, and more than enough to produce plenty of everything that’s needed for a comfortable life. And you’ll understand why it is, if you reckon up how large a proportion of the population in other countries is totally unemployed.” 

Contrary to More’s claim that communism would inevitably lead to shortages, Raphael describes Utopians as working fewer hours while being more productive. The main idea expressed here is that a planned economy is inherently more rational than a “free” or market economy. Because the Utopian government requires full employment of able-bodied individuals and organizes its economy around the fulfillment of basic human needs rather than profits, Utopians enjoy shorter work hours while managing to produce more than enough to sustain their society.

“Each household, as I said, comes under the authority of the oldest male. Wives are subservient to their husbands, children to their parents, and younger people generally to their elders.” 

In his description of the Utopian cities, Raphael describes the basic unit of social organization as the “household.” Households consist of between 10 and 16 adults and any number of children. Although Utopian society is in many ways depicted as radically different from that of Renaissance Europe, the household bears a strong resemblance to the patriarchal nuclear family: men rule over women, elders over youths, adults over children. No justification of this arrangement is offered from the Utopian perspective. The Utopians (and evidently More) simply understand this power dynamic as totally natural and desirable.

“No living creature is naturally greedy, except from fear of want—or in the case of human beings, from vanity, the notion that you’re better than people if you can display more superfluous property than they can. But there’s no scope for that sort of thing in Utopia.” 

In Utopia food, clothes, and other goods are distributed without any form of payment. Whenever these items are needed in a household, the male leader simply goes to the shopping center and requests them. There is no question of people becoming greedy and demanding more than they need. Greed is not hardwired into animals but is a function of scarcity and vanity, Raphael insists. Since there are no shortages in Utopia, and nothing to gain through displays of wealth, there is no risk of greed becoming a widespread, socially disruptive vice.

“Everyone has his eye on you, so you’re practically forced to get on with your job.” 

As has often been observed of modern communist nations, Utopia imposes strict limitations on individual freedom. A culture of surveillance is required for Utopia’s vast social engineering and economic planning to be effective. Aware that they could be reported to state authorities for failing to report to work or traveling outside their city without permission, citizens fall into line and maintain the Utopian status quo.

“In the meantime silver and gold, the raw materials of money, get no more respect from anyone than they deserve—which is obviously far less than that of iron. Without iron human life is simply impossible, just as it is without fire or water—but we could easily do without silver and gold, if it weren’t for the idiotic concept of scarcity-value. And yet kind Mother Nature has deliberately placed all her greatest blessings, like earth, air, and water, right under our noses, and tucked away out of sight the things that are no use to us.” 

With all their needs met by the state, Utopians have no need of gold or silver currency, Raphael explains. This simplifies and restores their relationship to nature. Rather than giving things an abstract monetary value, Utopians simply value natural resources for their use-value. For that reason, they see precious metals as quite worthless. As Raphael explains later, the Utopians nurture this contempt for gold and silver by using these materials to make chamber-pots and shackles for slaves.

“They have very few laws, because, with their social system, very few laws are required. Indeed, one of their great complaints against other countries is that, although they’ve already got books and books of laws and interpretations of laws, they never seem to have enough. For, according to the Utopians, it’s quite unjust for anyone to be bound by a legal code which is too long for an ordinary person to read right through, or too difficult to understand.” 

The abolition of private property eliminates the need for complex laws in Utopia. Since everyone has all that they need, no one has any motivation for crimes such as theft or fraud. Thus, the abolition of private property leads to a more just legal system in the eyes of the Utopians, since no one is held responsible for laws that they do not have enough time or education to understand.

“They think no one should be regarded as an enemy who hasn’t done you any harm. Human nature constitutes a treaty in itself, and human beings are far more effectively united by kindness than contracts, and feelings than by words.”

In their dealings with foreign nations, Utopians reject the notion of international treaties. As soon as these are drafted, the Utopians believe, kings are already attempting to find loopholes that they can abuse to their benefit. As Raphael describes, Utopians recognize that the basic presumption of such treaties and contracts is that human beings are naturally enemies and competitors. Because they have no interest in property or glory, Utopians see all human beings as natural allies.

“But when we told them about Christ, His teaching, His character, His miracles, and the no less miraculous devotion of all the martyrs who, by voluntarily shedding their blood, converted so many nations to the Christian faith, you’ve no idea how easy it was to convert them. Perhaps they were unconsciously influenced by some divine inspiration, or perhaps it was because Christianity seemed to very like their own principal religion—though I should imagine they were also considerably affected by the information that Christ prescribed of His own disciples a communist way of life, which is still practiced today in the most truly Christian communities.” 

Many Utopian practices—such as euthanasia—are clearly at odds with More’s Catholic faith. Still, More entertains the view that communism is not only compatible with Christianity but essential to it. In this passage Raphael claims that the main reason Utopians are apt to convert to Christianity is that they see their communist way of life as reflected in Christ’s teaching and the practices of early Christian communities.

“Utopos made this law, not only to preserve peace, which he saw being completely destroyed by endless disputes and implacable feuds, but also because he thought it was in the best interests of religion itself. He didn’t presume to say which creed was right. Apparently he considered it possible that God made different people believe different things, because He wanted to be worshipped in many different ways. But he evidently was quite certain that it was stupid and arrogant to bully everyone into adopting one’s own particular creed. It seemed to him perfectly obvious that, even if there was one true religion, and all the rest were nonsense, truth would eventually prevail of its own accord—as long as the matter was discussed calmly and reasonably.”

Religious toleration among various Utopian sects is a bedrock cultural value and legal principle of Utopia, Raphael explains. Utopos laid down this law for two reasons. The first reason is practical: Religious conflict makes populations divided and unable to unite to resist their enemies (in fact, Raphael explains, this is how Utopos was able to conquer the lands that became Utopia). In addition, Utopos argues that religious tolerance is more logically compatible with divine providence than religious intolerance. Where religious controversy is discussed calmly and rationally, the true faith will eventually become clear to all.

“O God, I acknowledge Thee to be my creator, my governor, and the source of all good things. I thank Thee for all They blessings, but especially for letting my live in the happiest possible society, and practise what I hope is the truest religion. If I am wrong, and if some other religion or social system would be better and more acceptable to Thee, I pray Thee in Thy goodness to let me know it, for I am ready to follow wherever Thou shalt lead me.” 

As he describes the religious ceremonies of Utopia, Raphael relates the Utopian priest’s closing prayer. The priest expresses sentiments that Raphael previously described as essential to Utopia’s prosperity (Book 1, Page 46). Unlike many religious traditions, an openness to revising its traditions is an essential element of Utopian religion. This is evident in the priest’s request to God. If there is a better religion or way of life, the priest entreats God to reveal it to the Utopian people.

“Nobody owns anything, but everyone is rich—for what greater wealth can there be than cheerfulness, peace of mind, and freedom from anxiety?” 

In capitalist societies private property is typically justified by appealing to the value of individual liberty. Being maximally free, individuals can amass great wealth and do as they wish with it. Such pursuit is their right as free citizens. The flip side of this form of social organization is a great deal of material and social precarity for those without wealth. Unsure of their financial stability or the future of their children, individuals in capitalist societies are legally and politically “free” but beset by anxiety and adversity. In the Utopian system, Raphael suggests, we find a genuine concept of freedom and wealth. It is only in a world without private property that we can be truly wealthy, as we and our neighbors are guaranteed to have everything we need. While this restricts us in matters of individual choice, it frees us from the precarity and instability of life in a capitalist system.

“In fact, when I consider any social system that prevails in the modern world, I can’t, so help me God, see it as anything but a conspiracy of the rich to advance their own interests under the pretext of organizing a society.” 

Raphael offers a clear critique of extant political and social organization. Given the importance of private property in capitalist societies, the wealthy classes hold undue influence over government. Because of this, Raphael argues that in the vast majority of social systems, action undertaken to organize society is really just a rationalization of the interests of the rich. These amount to a “conspiracy” since they obscure the true interests at work in governmental efforts to organize law, economics, and culture.