Contemporary Justice Review
Vol. 8, No. 1, March 2005, pp. 75–89
Sir Thomas More’s Utopia and the
Transformation of England from
Absolute Monarchy to Egalitarian Society
W. B. Gerard & Eric Sterling
81000000esterlin@mail.aum.eduAuburn University MontgomeryDepartment of English and PhilosophyP. O. Box 244023MontgomeryAL 36124USAEricSterling2Original AGCJR104394.sgmTaylor & Francis Group LtdContemporary Justice Review.1080/1028258050004411928-2580 (5
andMarch Francisticleprint)/1477-2248 (online2005Ltd
)
In Utopia, Sir Thomas More presents to his readers an idealistic portrayal of a
nation employing an egalitarian government. Through his spokesperson, the
sagacious and welltraveled Raphael Hythloday, More describes and evaluates
Utopian politics and social values, including attitudes toward money, work, land
ownership, punishment of crime, and poverty. This essay examines parallels between
Utopian society and the sociopolitical structure in 16th-century England during the
reign of King Henry VIII. Through his description of Utopia, the reader may discern
More’s attitude toward contemporary political situations as well as social laws and
customs in Tudor England. The author writes, for instance, about the dangers of
enclosures (which inevitably led to poverty, unemployment, and crime), the
unfairness of capital punishment for theft, the problems that might ensue from
capitalism, and the inequitableness of the wide disparity that existed between the
wealthy and the poor. Although More writes about an idealistic and fictitious nation
(Utopia) and 16th-century England, his ideas transcend time and are thus valid in
today’s society.
Keywords: Egalitarian; Social Class; Government; Capital Punishment; Social
Reform; Utopia
Sir Thomas More’s Utopia (1516/1992) is a strange hybrid of genres: part fantastic
travelogue, part philosophical tract, part satire of contemporary English society, and
part vision of an ideal and egalitarian society. As holder of a series of political
offices, More was in a position to witness and evaluate first-hand the workings of
society and government, and saw its foibles with a proximate and objective eye. The
focus of this
W. B. Gerard, Ph.D., is an Assistant Professor in the Department of English and Philosophy at Auburn
University Montgomery (E-mail: wgerard@mail.aum.edu). Eric Sterling, Ph.D., is Distinguished Research
Professor of English at Auburn University Montgomery. Correspondence to: Eric Sterling, Auburn University
76 W. B. Gerard & E. Sterling
Montgomery, Department of English and Philosophy, P. O. Box 244023, Montgomery, AL 36124, USA. Email: esterlin@mail.aum.edu
ISSN 1028–2580 (print)/ISSN 1477–2248 (online) © 2005 Taylor & Francis Group Ltd
DOI: 10.1080/10282580500044119
study will be the Utopian political and social structures and their parallels in
16thcentury English society. This essay will include parallels and juxtapositions
between Utopia and England; in his treatise, More devotes Book I to Raphael
Hythloday’s discourse on the problems that pervade English society, while Book II
focuses on his relation of Utopia, an island whose political ideologies and social laws
he contrasts with those of England. Hythloday, who lived in Utopia for five years,
serves as More’s spokesperson in the text and speaks to the persona More, who
actually plays devil’s advocate to the traveler; thus, Hythloday—not the persona
More—speaks Thomas More’s mind about politics and society. By juxtaposing
Utopia and England, this study models More’s structure. More’s consideration of
Utopia as an ideal is evident in his original title, Concerning the Best State of a
Commonwealth and the New Island of Utopia. Of particular interest in this essay are
More’s discussions of Utopian domestic laws, money and land ownership,
institutions of political leadership, and international affairs. Radical in its day, the
satirical Utopia is a gesture of idealistic revolution that continues to reverberate in the
21st century.
In Utopia, More expresses a deep concern about the existence and the ramifications
of the large demarcation between the rich and the poor in English society by
satirizing the rich—and capitalism in general. Recognizing that people become
obsessed with acquiring possessions that connote their wealth, More suggests that
covetousness and pride signify a human—not merely a social—failing. Thomas I.
White (1989) asserts that in Utopia, More indicates:
[T]here is one primary source of social evil, and that is economic…. [P]ride is the main
factor responsible for economic injustice and for keeping 16th-century Europe from
reforming itself…. The attitude More decries requires other people and is always at
someone else’s expense. It is not just feeling good about yourself. It is feeling good
because you feel superior to someone else. (pp. 44–45, White’s italics)
In Book I, More, speaking through the voice of Hythloday, laments that members of
the upper class in England possess enormous wealth while those in the underclass
have precious little money and food, and sometimes even lack shelter. As Hythloday
informs More, “To make this hideous poverty worse, it exists side by side with
wanton luxury” (More, 1516/1992, p. 13).
Hythloday juxtaposes Utopian egalitarian society with England’s divisive social
structure, which consists of haves and have-nots. Henry VII was rather frugal, but
when Henry VIII ascended the throne upon the death of his father, he soon began to
squander the wealth of the nation, spending it on wars abroad, luxuries, and gifts to
members of the nobility. Meanwhile, thousands of citizens went hungry. Analyzing
More’s Utopia, former governor Mario M. Cuomo (1989) observes: “In Thomas
More’s vision of the just society, the wealth of the nation did not trickle down, the
way it did in Tudor England, if you can imagine such a ruthless system. Rather, it
was shared, with the spirit of a family sitting down to table together” (pp. 4–5).
Furthermore, when writing about the huge demarcation between social classes, More
was, to some extent, thinking of Henry VIII’s and Cardinal Wolsey’s enormous
Contemporary Justice Review 77
castles—huge, spectacular, and ostentatious edifices that dwarf neighboring buildings
and reflect their pride, while countless English citizens went hungry and homeless.
John Guy notes that, from 1535, Henry “added over thirty residences to his stock in a
decade—he owned fifty houses at his death. But he spent a minimum of £40,000 at
Bridewell and New Hall alone before 1525, not counting furniture, tapestries, silver,
jewels, etc” (Guy, 1988, p. 99). It is, of course, ironic that Wolsey, a leading
clergyman, favored such ostentation, which clashed with his supposed mission of
Christian charity. This juxtaposition is unquestionably telling to More, his friend
Erasmus, and to other conscientious citizens of the Henrician Age.
Unlike the English, Utopians are not obsessed with or impressed by money or the
trappings of wealth. Hythloday mentions to More that Utopians “never do use money
among themselves, but keep it only for a contingency which may or may not actually
arise” (More, 1516/1992, p. 46). In contrast, he observes that in England “[h]uman
folly has made … [gold and silver] precious because they are rare” (p. 46). Whereas
Englishmen preoccupy themselves with “precious” metals, and would murder and
even risk their lives to obtain them, Utopians employ gold and silver for chamber
pots and stools, inhibiting the obsession with these metals by devaluing them. These
metals lack monetary worth to Utopians because they assign no value to them; as a
result, they do not murder or steal to obtain them. Hythloday comments:
[Utopians] are surprised that gold, a useless commodity in itself, is everywhere valued so
highly that man himself, who for his own purposes conferred this value on it, is far less
valuable. They do not understand why a dunderhead with no more brains than a post,
and who is about as depraved as he is foolish, should command a great many wise and
good people, simply because he happens to have a great pile of gold. Yet if this booby
should lose his money to the lowest rascal in his household … he would promptly
become one of the fellow’s scullions, as if he were personally attached to the coin, and a
mere appendage to it. Even more than this, the Utopians are appalled at those people
who practically worship a rich man. (More, 1516/1992, pp. 48–49)
Hythloday notes that when Utopians “have to part with these metals, which other
nations give up with as much agony as if they were being disemboweled, the
Utopians feel it no more than the loss of a penny” (p. 47). Utopians shun private
property; in fact, they do not even own houses, but rather rotate dwellings, based on a
lottery system, every decade. Hythloday states that in Utopia:
[V]irtue has its reward, yet everything is shared equally, and all men live in plenty. I
contrast them with the many other nations which are constantly passing new ordinances
and yet can never order their affairs satisfactorily…. When I consider all these things, I
become more sympathetic to Plato and do not wonder that he declined to make laws for
any people who refused to share their goods equally. (More, 1516/1992, p. 28)
Here More seems to be actively integrating Plato’s ideal into the (somewhat) realistic
16th-century setting of Utopia; Kevin Corrigan, in fact, sees Utopia as an answer to
Erasmus’s questioning the practicality of Plato (Corrigan, 1990).
An integral example of the unequal distribution of wealth in England involves land
ownership. Wealthy Englishmen in early Tudor England sought to increase their
substantial fortunes through the enclosure of land. Hythloday informs the persona
More that the practice of enclosure has cost many farmers and their employees their
jobs and livelihoods:
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[I]n whatever parts of the land the sheep yield the softest and most expensive wool, there
the nobility and gentry, yes, and even some abbots though otherwise holy men, are not
content with the old rents that the land yielded to their predecessors. Living in idleness
and luxury, without doing any good to society, no longer satisfies them; they have to do
positive evil. For they leave no land free for the plow: they enclose every acre for
pasture; they destroy houses and abolish towns, keeping only the churches, and those for
sheep-barns…. Thus one greedy, insatiable glutton, a frightful plague to his native
country, may enclose many thousand acres of land within a single hedge. The tenants are
dismissed and compelled, by trickery or brute force or constant harassment, to sell their
belongings. By hook or by crook these miserable people—men, women, husbands,
wives, orphans, widows, parents with little children, whole families (poor but numerous,
since farming requires many hands)—are forced to move out. They leave the only homes
familiar to them, and they can find no place to go. Since they cannot afford to wait for a
buyer, they sell for a pittance all their household goods. (More, 1516/1992, p. 12)
Many English farmers lost their farmland and were compelled to move. The
significant reduction in farmland caused by enclosures created a concomitant and
inevitable decline in harvested crops; this, in turn, caused an increase in the demand
for, and price of, the available food, putting it out of the reach of many poor families.
Furthermore, the land was now in the hands of fewer people (Hythloday calls this an
“oligopoly”; More, 1516/1992, p. 13), who waited for increased demand, and higher
prices, to sell— again victimizing the poor. Consequently, many poor people went
hungry and cold, and were forced, out of desperation, to steal in order to survive. By
enclosing land, members of the upper class in England created a socioeconomic as
well as a physical division between the classes.
The unemployment of farmers was very upsetting to More personally, and when he
decided to relinquish some property after several of his barns had been burned down,
he told his wife that he would refuse to sell until his employees had secured other
employment (Turner, 1985, p. 137, n. 19). Because of the communal living
arrangement in Utopia, misappropriations of land, such as enclosures, never occur—
because Utopians not only respect the land but also shun private property. Hythloday
mentions that, in contrast to the insatiable greed for land in Western Europe, Utopians
do not wish to extend their “boundaries, for the inhabitants consider themselves good
tenants rather than landlords” (More, 1516/1992, p. 32). This comment reflects the
Utopian disdain for the coveting of private property and the ostentatious display of
material wealth. Riches become a burden in England because people felt compelled
to maintain their wealth and because, as Hythloday reports convincingly in Book I,
the upper class often increases their wealth at the expense of the underclass.
Hythloday mentions to More in Book I that in contrast to the monarchial capitalism
in Western Europe, Utopians hold that “everything is shared equally” (p. 28).
The communal environment in Utopia prevents such a division of classes and
ensures that everyone works and is treated equally. Furthermore, because everyone in
Utopia performs labor, the work is more widely distributed and the work day consists
of only six hours. Hythloday reports to More that because the work in Utopia is
performed by everyone, “no one has to exhaust himself with endless toil from early
morning to late at night, as if he were a beast of burden. Such wretchedness, really
worse than slavery, is the common lot of workmen in all countries, except Utopia”
(More, 1516/1992, p. 37). The communal working arrangement in Utopia both
eliminates idleness and divides the labor equitably so that no one works him- or
herself to death.
Contemporary Justice Review 79
In 16th-century England, however, because the rich did not work, the poor
compensated by laboring for more than twice as long. Hythloday comments that the
rich of the 16th century demonstrate no respect for work, the land, or the harvest
because they do not work in the fields (or at all), but rather live off the labor of the
underclass. Consequently, they indulge in lavish and wasteful activities, such as
feasts designed not as much for nourishment as for the ostentatious demonstration of
their wealth and largesse. The wealthy purchase significantly more than they and
their retainers could possibly eat, while many, including sometimes the servants of
the wealthy, lack sufficient food. The absence of communal living, along with the
fact that those who are idle live well while those who work diligently often go
hungry, creates a profound and tense separation between the wealthy and the poor in
England.
Equal treatment in Utopia extends past social class to gender, because women and
men both farm the land and work as equals. Hythloday says, “Agriculture is the one
occupation at which everyone works, men and women alike, with no exceptions….
Every person (and this includes women as well as men) learns a second trade, besides
agriculture” (More, 1516/1992, pp. 36–37). In fact, the treatment of women in Utopia
and in England parallels the treatment of the poor in these societies. Because Utopian
women share the labor with men and apparently are just as productive, they are
treated with more respect and dignity than their English counterparts. Instead of being
considered idle members of society who must be cared for (like children), Utopian
women represent an integral part of the workforce and the society in general.
Although there is no specific mention that they are granted equal rights, one must
remember that, although a visionary thinker, Thomas More was nonetheless a product
of, and therefore limited by, his cultural environment. Still, More was “in advance of
most, if not all, of his contemporaries in his attitude toward the education of women”
(Ridley, 1983, p. 125).
The idea of women sharing labor equally with men most probably would have
shocked More’s contemporary readers, particularly when they considered the
secondclass status of English women. The absence of women in the workforce in the
days of Henry VIII rendered them totally reliant on men for money and prevented
them from becoming considered productive members of the community—rather than
helpless and dependent second-class citizens. The inability of English women to
work, and thus to earn the recognition that they were integral and productive
members of their society, probably hindered them from receiving respect and social
rights.
Women are not the only ones receiving better treatment in Utopia than in England.
Because of the communal living ethos in Utopia, resources are allocated so that
everyone is cared for with dignity. In fact, the Utopians even attempt to ensure that
the underprivileged in other countries are also treated well: “One-seventh of their
cargo [exports] they freely give to the poor of the importing country” (More,
1516/1992, p. 45). Unlike in 16th-century England, where only the wealthy receive
good medical treatment, in Utopia every citizen is entitled to excellent medical care
in hospitals. Hythloday informs More that in Utopia:
[When] distributing food, first consideration goes to the sick, who are cared for in public
hospitals…. [T]he sick are carefully tended, and nothing is neglected in the way of
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medicine or diet which might cure them. Everything is done to mitigate the pain of those
who are suffering from incurable diseases. (More, 1516/1992, pp. 42, 60)
The elderly in Utopia are venerated rather than considered burdens to society.
Everyone in Utopia receives a decent house in which to live. Because of their
egalitarian social mores, Utopians do not determine who deserves entitlements
(which do not exist in any case) and who does not. The detestable manner in which
the disadvantaged were treated in England perhaps induced More to imagine a
humane and inclusive system.
This compassion toward the poor, infirm, and elderly differed markedly from the
harsh treatment received by these groups in England. In early Tudor England,
Thomas More was greatly disappointed by the cruelty and indifference exhibited
toward these groups. The poor were entitled to few rights and had no recourse when
mistreated by nobles and the wealthy. Unable to pay bills, they were thrown in jail
where, ironically, they were unable to work and earn money to pay their debts. The ill
and the elderly, like the poor, were considered burdens by the affluent and successful
facets of society.
Using the voice of Hythloday, More also mentions in Book I that those citizens
charged with crimes were also treated in a harsh and inhumane way. When John
Cardinal Morton ponders why so many people in England risk hanging by stealing,
even though many are caught, Hythloday attributes the great number of thieves to
poverty in England. He laments the cruel treatment and punishment of thieves,
considering capital punishment by hanging to be an excessive punishment:
[T]his way of punishing thieves goes beyond the call of justice, and is not, in any case,
for the public good. The penalty is too harsh in itself, yet it isn’t an effective deterrent.
Simple theft is not so great a crime that it ought to cost a man his head, yet no
punishment however severe can withhold a man from robbery when he has no other way
to eat…. Severe and terrible punishments are enacted against theft, when it would be
much better to enable every man to earn his own living, instead of being driven to the
awful necessity of stealing and then dying for it. (More, 1516/1992, pp. 9–10)
This point is significant because many in 16th-century England—wealthy nobles in
particular—falsely attributed thievery to a person’s moral failure or weakness of
character while ignoring the socioeconomic reasons responsible. Many thieves in
England were forced into crime and subsequently executed because they simply
could not afford food for themselves and for their families.
There is a desire to help and reform the few criminals in Utopia, not to destroy
them. In a communal society in which there exists no private property, there is no
desire for lucre, no competitive pride in attaining more than one needs. Hythloday
suggests restitution and hard labor as alternatives to capital punishment and indicates
that the thieves should be rehabilitated, not killed: “the aim of the punishment is to
destroy vices and save men. The criminals are treated so that they see the necessity of
being honest” (More, 1516/1992, pp. 16–17). More makes his position clear in the
text: it is absurd to murder someone as a punishment for stealing money, as human
life should not be equated with financial currency. Such harsh punishment for theft
would never be enacted by the Utopian government.
The insatiable thirst for wealth in England led in part to cruelty and unforgiving
attitudes toward crime. The penalty in Henry VIII’s England for theft was capital
Contemporary Justice Review 81
punishment, noteworthy because it was punitive, not rehabilitative, and there existed
no genuine desire by the wealthy to understand the cause of theft—only to punish the
crime and deter others. Hythloday observes that those in power wish to deter crime
by punishing it after the fact rather than attempting to understand the underlying
causes of crime, such as poverty and unemployment. A far more effective deterrent,
as Hythloday mentions to Morton and his advisors (or to their deaf ears), would be to
eliminate the problems that lead to poverty, hunger, homelessness, and
unemployment—the problems that cause people to steal. In England, theft was a
serious crime not because it was considered a heinous act but rather because those
with expensive and significant possessions wanted to secure their wealth. By
protecting their riches and severely punishing theft, they maintained the rigid
demarcations between social classes.
The poverty that led to rampant crime in England would never occur in Utopia;
because there is no wealth, there is virtually no crime. In addition, theft is virtually
nonexistent because everyone works and food is plentiful because of their communal
system. Hythloday mentions that in Utopia everyone has enough to eat because food
is free, and thus there is no gluttony or hoarding:
[T]he head of each household looks for what he or his family needs, and carries off what
he wants without any sort of payment or compensation. Why should anything be refused
him? There is plenty of everything, and no reason to fear that anyone will claim more
than he needs. Why would anyone be suspected of asking for more than is needed, when
everyone knows there will never be any shortage? Fear of want, no doubt, makes every
living creature greedy and avaricious—and, in addition, man develops these qualities out
of pride, pride which glories in putting down others by a superfluous display of
possessions. But this kind of vice has no place whatever in the Utopian way of life.
(More, 1516/1992, pp. 41–42)
Furthermore, people are not likely to waste food when they have a communal interest
in their agrarian society. All Utopians spend time working as farmers. They work in
rotating shifts, and when their shifts are done, they teach the next group of farmers
and subsequently can try a new trade. Having grown the food, Utopian citizens
naturally respect the crops that they have harvested and thus work to ensure that the
food is eaten, not wasted. Sharing the land and farming duties with their fellow
citizens invariably makes Utopians desirous of sharing the fruits of their labors. The
people consequently develop a healthy respect for the land and for work, and no one
steals to obtain food.
The institution of government in Utopia is vigorously democratic and has few
laws; the Utopians, being educated carefully in the common good, are to a great
extent selfgoverning. Hythloday states that “the wonderfully wise and sacred
institutions of the Utopians … are so well governed with so few laws” (More,
1516/1992, p. 28). Later, he reiterates that they “have very few laws, and their
training is such that they need no more” (p. 63). This suggests an earnest and
reciprocal respect between the Utopian government and its citizens, in contrast to the
often tumultuous domestic affairs of 16th-century England.
The established laws of Utopia are designed to maintain a moral underpinning to
society—indeed, the strongest penalties reflect a concern with maintaining social
institutions. Premarital intercourse, for example, is severely punished, and the
perpetrators forbidden to marry for life; disgrace is heaped on the “household where
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the offence occurred” (More, 1516/1992, p. 60), as it reflects a lack of vigilance or,
even worse, apathy toward morality. Adultery is punished with “the strictest form of
slavery” (p. 62). Aside from these, “no other crimes carry fixed penalties; the senate
sets specific penalties for each particular misdeed, as it is considered atrocious or
venial” (p. 62). The administration of justice is adapted for a host of factors rather
than relying on the application of a basic, catch-all definition of a crime; this, in
combination with the lack of a potentially tainting precedent, seems to guarantee the
most appropriate punishment for each individual crime.
As a rule, the punishment of crime is left for the most local authority possible:
“Husbands chastise their wives and parents their children, unless the offense is so
serious that public punishment seems to be in the public interest” (More, 1516/1992,
p. 62). This approach emphasizes individual liberties and a decentralized
governmental authority but it also recognizes the ability of citizens schooled in
Utopian thought to be able to resolve problems responsibly on their own, much as
each is trained to fight if the country is invaded.
The Utopians’ view of the laws of other countries may be seen as indirect criticism
by More of English legal practice: “[E]ven with infinite volumes of laws and
interpretations” elsewhere in the world, the people “cannot manage their affairs
properly” (More, 1516/1992, p. 63). The Utopians (and any reasonable person, for
that matter) “think it completely unjust to bind man by laws that are too many to read
and too obscure for anyone to understand” (p. 63). To stress the disparity further,
Hythloday states that in Utopia, “each man … plead[s] his own case” (p. 63) and
“everyone is a legal expert” (p. 64); there are no lawyers in Utopia, while in 16thcentury England (and much of the world today), attorneys were a necessity when
navigating the courts. An additional implication of Utopia as a reflective model is
that countries that have many laws need them to maintain some sense of order
because their population has not been as well educated as the Utopians, either in an
intellectual or (more especially) a moral sense.
Representational government in Utopia is equally straightforward. Every year a
syphogrant is elected by every 30 households. Syphogrants are the active democratic
base of Utopian government, being elected annually and holding office “for a single
year only” (More, 1516/1992, p. 35). The “chief and almost the only business” of the
syphogrants, who make up the popular assembly, “is to manage matters so that no
one sits around in idleness, and assure that everyone works hard at his trade” (p. 37).
The absence of other matters from the syphogrant agenda is telling; as with the
scarcity of laws, the lack of powers given to public officials also implies a populace
ruled by prudent education and an interest in mutual well-being. The elimination of a
currencybased economy, and with it the potential abuses of greed and selfadvancement among rulers, no doubt plays a role in this scenario.
Syphogrants are also physically integrated with the populace, living in “spacious
halls” to which 30 families are assigned for meals over which they preside (More,
1516/ 1992, p. 42). Syphogrants are “by law free not to work; yet they don’t take
advantage of the privilege, preferring to set a good example to their fellow-citizens”
(p. 39). This is set in distinct contrast with the “large … part of the population in
other countries [that] exists without doing any work at all” (p. 38). Thus government
officials reinforce and perpetuate the egalitarianism evident in the economic structure
of Utopia, a stark contrast with English practice of More’s time.
Contemporary Justice Review 83
For every 10 syphogrants is a tranibor, which total 200 per city; they, in turn, elect
a prince. Tranibors form a senate, and a transparency of government workings is
suggested by the presence of two different syphogrants in the senate chamber every
day. The tranibors meet with the prince at least every other day and act as judiciary,
settling (rare) disputes between private parties, “acting as quickly as possible” (More,
1516/ 1992, p. 35). Along with the syphogrants, they are responsible for granting
citizens permission to travel, which they do “easily” (p. 44)—an indication, perhaps,
of an authority not overly enraptured with itself.
The Utopians’ procedure for addressing important issues parallels the hierarchy of
office and is equally rigorous in its democratic considerations, being “first laid before
the popular assembly of syphogrants” who “talk the matter over with the households
they represent, debate it with one another, then report their recommendation to the
senate” (More, 1516/1992, p. 36). An indication of the prudence of the Utopians (and
a reflection of the lack of it elsewhere) is the great care taken in the senate (and the
government as a whole) to treat issues at a remove from emotions that might obscure
their true value. This is enforced through careful analysis in the senate, where “no
decision can be made on a matter of public business unless it has been discussed in
the senate on three separate days”; this procedure is intended to eliminate the danger
of “foolish impulses” and “instead considering impartially the public good” (p. 36).
Utopian public officials act like the paragons of a culture where reason and
modesty are the highest virtues. A passion for power, for instance, is damning: “any
man who campaigns too eagerly for public office is sure to fail of that one, and of all
others as well” (More, 1516/1992, p. 63). This selectivity is reflected in the officials,
who are “never arrogant or unapproachable” and “because they never extort respect
from the people against their will, the people respect them spontaneously, as they
should” (p. 63). The atmosphere of egalitarianism that is shared between the officials
and people of Utopia is mutually enforcing: “the whole island is like a single family”
(p. 45).
This political egalitarianism, and with it the description of the dignified and
responsible Utopian leaders, more than hints at a commentary on 16th-century
England, where the poor were virtually ignored by the government, large numbers of
people were politically disenfranchised, and favoritism was rampant from the local to
the national levels. Roger Schofield, for instance, notes:
[T]he privy council continued to reproach the commissioners for favouring themselves
and their friends, and accused them of a growing catalogue of malpractices, all of which
undermined the accuracy of the assessments and the yield of the subsidies to the crown
… [such as] conniving in a general bias in the assessments in the favour of the rich
whereby “heretofore persons of very great possessions and wealthe haue ben assessed at
very meane sommes, and persons of the meaner sorte haue ben enhanced to paye after
the vttermost value of their substance.” (Schofield, 1988, p. 239)
The domination of political matters by the wealthy in 16th-century England contrasts
markedly with the egalitarianism of More’s system, further suggesting Utopia as a
didactic text in its time.
The discussion of royal advisors in Utopia is particularly significant, since More
the author would become a frequent counsel to the crown in the 30 years before his
heroic and tragic defiance of it. Generally, politicians who advise the king to be
deceitful “think themselves clever fellows” (More, 1992, p. 65), but there is little
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specific mention of the prince’s counselors in Utopia, perhaps because counseling is
the purpose of the legislative bodies and not certain empowered individuals.
Didactic examples of hypothetical royal advisors, however, are found in
Hythloday’s discussion of an equally hypothetical French king, whose advisors
devise “a set of crafty machinations by which the king might keep hold of Milan”
(More, 1516/ 1992, p. 20). This is only part of that king’s “warmongering,” which
results in “many different nations … [being] kept in social turmoil” which will
“certainly exhaust his treasury and demoralize his people” (p. 20). Significant here is
the unmentioned—the loss of life among the country’s citizens, which Utopians
avoid at all costs. These hypothetical advisors also make devious suggestions about
raising money for the war, including the devaluation of currency and the revival of
old laws and fines. A historic parallel to such scheming can be found in Cardinal
Wolsey’s advocation of a war with France in 1511–1512, for example, which “can be
interpreted as the action of an evil counsellor who pandered to the king’s bad
inclinations” (Ridley, 1982, p. 41).
The lack of pretense of the ruling class and pervasive egalitarianism in Utopia is
reflected in Utopian views toward symbols of wealth such as costume. The Utopians
“are amazed at the foolishness of any man who considers himself a nobler fellow
because he wears clothing of specially fine wool” (More, 1516/1992, p. 48). Utopians
view the connection between wealth and power as fundamentally flawed, since they
see those who desire riches as “devotees of … false pleasure” (p. 52). Individuals
who focus on such a superficial quality instead of a more genuine and useful virtue
thus reveal themselves through their appearance.
The model of the Anemolian ambassadors, “rather more proud than wise” (More,
1516/1992, p. 47), seems to represent what More felt was a common quality of
superficiality among 16th-century courtiers. These Anemolians visited the Utopians
dressed “as resplendently as the very gods” (p. 47) in golden clothing and jewelry,
but were viewed by most Utopians as a “mark of disgrace” (p. 48). While this
perspective stems, of course, from the Utopians’ non-monetary society and use of
gold for the chains of slaves and other common purposes, it also applies
metaphorically to the impracticality of the Anemolians (and Renaissance English
courtiers), which emphasizes the superficial over the substantial.
The scarcity of references to the prince of Utopia in the text seems to be related to
the fundamentally (though not entirely) decentralized government, which places less
emphasis on a real and symbolic leader. The prince is elected by all 200 syphogrants
under morally meticulous circumstances. “They take an oath to choose the man they
think best qualified; and then by secret ballot they elect the prince from among four
men nominated by the people of the four sections of the city” (More, 1516/1992, p.
35). Perhaps in a nod to the practical need for an experienced chief executive, “the
prince holds office for life, unless he is suspected of aiming at tyranny” (p. 35). Yet
the text’s mention of the role of the prince is limited: he may pardon criminals and
slaves (though it is unclear whether he needs the consent of the senate or general
assembly to do so). The prince’s muted role is reflected in the minimal pomp
associated with his office. “Not even the prince is distinguished from his fellow
citizens by a robe or crown; he is known only by a sheaf of grain carried before him”
(p. 63). In many ways, the Utopian prince is the opposite of the rulers of Renaissance
Europe such as Henry VIII. Hythloday sets up a contrast in Part I, when he bemoans
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that kings are often “drenched … and infected with false values from boyhood on” (p.
20).
Because money is not used and symbols of wealth are looked down upon, Utopians
view the connection between power and wealth with ridicule and scorn. Likewise,
reason—in the absence of an overweening pride—dictates that obsequies associated
with differences in rank do not exist. In describing the Utopian hierarchy, Hythloday
asks: “What true and natural pleasure can you get from someone’s bent knee or bared
head?” (More, 1516/1992, p. 53).
Reason further dictates that Utopians should not sacrifice their lives in war. The
Utopians see war as a necessary evil among humanity, but strenuously distance
themselves from it in every way possible. “While other nations are constantly making
treaties, breaking them and renewing them,” Hythloday observes, “the Utopians
never make treaties at all.” The Utopians, who recognize the common bonds forged
between men by nature, do not understand how “mere words” (p. 64) could serve as a
viable replacement. The commentary sarcastically compares the Utopian skepticism
of treaties to Europe’s dependence on them; there, “the dignity of treaties is
everywhere kept sacred and inviolable” (More, 1516/1992, p. 64). Europe maintains
such integrity, Hythloday continues sardonically (somewhat in contradiction with his
own disinterest in being a royal advisor in Book I), because of the “just and virtuous”
kings as well as the “reverence and fear” (p. 64) inspired by the “ruling Popes” (p.
65).
Unlike most other countries, imagined and real, Utopia is fundamentally against
the concept of war, despising it as “an activity fit only for beasts.” The juxtaposition
is heightened in contrasting core values; for instance, the Utopians “think nothing so
inglorious as the glory won in battle.” They “only go to war for good reasons,” the
protection of themselves or their allies, or the “liberation of others from oppression.”
This reasoning is due to “human sympathy,” presenting itself as an opposing rationale
to human pride, which is conversely quick to take injury and find a pretext for war
(More, 1516/1992, p. 66).
So strong is this human sympathy and so weak the interest in money among
Utopians, that even if they are cheated by another country, “if no bodily harm is
done,” they simply cut off “trade relations until restitution is made” (More,
1516/1992, p. 66). To the Utopians, attempting to correct the situation by force is
ridiculous, as it affects “neither the life nor livelihood of its own people” and it would
be “cruel to avenge by the death of many soldiers” (p. 67).
The pretexts for war were different in 16th-century Europe. In 1511–1512, Henry
VIII, for instance, “wanted a war with France in which he could win glory on the
battlefield and regain the crown of France” (Ridley, 1982, p. 40). English nobles also
“wished to distinguish themselves in battles with France, as their ancestors had done”
(Ridley, 1982, p. 41). Henry and the English were not alone, of course: the Christian
humanists of the Renaissance—More included—generally denounced the “bootless,
pestilential, and scandalous war among European states” (Scarisbrick, 1968, p. 22).
Realistically, the Utopians accept the inevitability of armed conflict between
nations. They attempt to avoid actual fighting by offering rewards for the capture of
enemy leaders and assassination, which “elsewhere in the world … is condemned as
the cruel villainy of a degenerate mind.” The Utopian justification, however, is
ironically humane: “through the sacrifice of a few guilty men … the lives of many
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innocent persons who would have died in battle” are spared. The Utopians are aware
that “common people do not go to war of their own accord, but are driven to it by the
madness of their rulers” (More, 1516/1992, p. 68). Aside from being essentially
humane and practical, this perspective recognizes the interest of the “common man”
to be at variance with his ruler, a point infrequently acknowledged (and possibly
outright dangerous) in More’s time.
If war itself is unavoidable, the Utopians “send money very freely, but commit
their own citizens only sparingly” (More, 1516/1992, p. 68). As they “keep their gold
and silver for the purpose of war alone” (p. 68), they attempt to bribe elements of the
opposing side and hire mercenaries, in particular the crude and ruthless Zapoletes,
who, having no civilization of their own to speak of, “offer themselves for cheap hire
to anyone in need of warriors” (p. 69). [In many ways the greedy Zapoletes, who
survive in their own country “by hunting and stealing” (p. 68), form a moral polar
opposite to the Utopians and seem especially suited to be their mercenaries, since war
is considered morally reprehensible as well.]
The Utopians will also use as “auxiliaries” the soldiers of nations they have
assisted in battle and other allies. Last to fight are their own people: both sexes “carry
on a vigorous military training” (More, 1516/1992, p. 66), though “[o]nly volunteers
are sent to fight abroad” (p. 69). The Utopians “hold their own people dear, and value
them so highly that they would not exchange one of their citizens for an enemy’s
king” (p. 68). The state protects its own populace first and foremost, a seemingly
reasonable policy, as its welfare depends upon its people, yet rarely practiced.
The Utopians are “not only troubled but ashamed when their forces gain a bloody
victory,” since it indicates a failure of subterfuge, but more importantly a loss of
innocent persons on both sides. In contrast, if they “overcome the enemy by skill and
cunning, they exult mightily.” The Utopian values of humanity and intelligence are
reflected in this celebration of “a victory achieved by strength of understanding”
(More, 1516/1992, p. 67)—the language here paralleling another kind of strength of
more dubious efficacy.
As conquerors, the Utopians exercise reason and restraint. A Utopian victory
“never ends in a massacre, for they would much rather take prisoners than cut
throats” (More, 1516/1992, p. 70). They “enslave prisoners of war only if they are
captured in wars fought by the Utopians themselves” (p. 59), more for didactic
purposes than an exercise in vengeance. They observe a truce “religiously, and will
not break it even if provoked” (p. 71). As in their domestic practices, the Utopians are
rigorously pragmatic and (perhaps unreasonably) unemotional; this may be attributed
to their education.
From a 16th-century European perspective, perhaps the most paradoxical and
absurd is the Utopian international practice of “borrowed governors.” Some
neighboring countries, which have benefited from alliance with the Utopians, “have
made a practice of asking the Utopians to rule over them.” These governors hold
several advantages over those native to the countries: they serve terms of only one or
five years, so they cannot become despots, they “cannot be tempted by money”
because Utopia has no monetary system, and they “have no partisan or factional
feelings” so can be as close to ideal rulers as humanly possible (More, 1516/1992, p.
64).
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Central to the irony of this concept is the implication that a ruler with no forehand
knowledge of a country is preferable to one who was born there and who may claim a
family history of leadership. Unstated, but still important, are the lack of nationalistic
tendencies—and thus the potential for dangerous aggression—in the borrowed
governor. In fact, the institution is very “Utopian” in itself: nationalists could quickly
condemn a foreign ruler simply for being foreign and engineer a revolt. In a sense,
the practice of the borrowed governor requires the same degree of unemotional
appreciation of personal freedom as the Utopians themselves practice.
Although More portrays Utopia as an ideal society because of its egalitarian
economy and government, considerate social practices, and temperate officials, the
author realized that in reality such an existence is impossible to create. Thus More
calls the island Utopia, Greek for “no place”—the only location where an ideal
society could exist. More juxtaposed Utopia with England to accentuate the
sociopolitical shortcomings of the latter but to do so openly was impossible; others
had been punished for criticizing King Henry VIII. As a means of protection, he
created Hythloday as his spokesperson and concocted the persona More as the one
who listens and occasionally objects to Hythloday’s critique of England; in fact, the
name Hythloday, which means “nonsense,” enhances the fantasy element. Thus,
More cultivated a distance between himself and his criticism of England’s
government and social structure. The author also increases this distance, says Andrew
M. McLean, when Hythloday “recounts previous conversations in the household of
John Cardinal Morton when he was Lord Chancellor of England. This removes
Hythloday’s criticism of English society to a previous era” (McLean, 1988, p. 94).
More’s need to protect himself manifests a problem that inhibited social reform in
England: it was difficult to influence social change when people lacked free speech.
More also realized that the prospects for social reform in England were small because
it would be difficult to introduce positive and egalitarian changes to the sociopolitical
system when the powerful and wealthy, who would have the most to lose from such
reform, would not willingly relinquish what they had attained. As Alistair Fox and
John Guy correctly note, “the interests of the ruler potentially conflict with those of
the ruled, hence councillors cannot equate the res privata of the prince with the
common profit” (Fox & Guy, 1986, p. 131). Nonetheless, More believed so strongly
in the ideals espoused in Utopia that he published them, hoping that he would
influence his readers to reform English society.
Sir Thomas More’s Utopia is an important sociopolitical treatise, not only a
perceptive historical document but also a treatise on human behavior that transcends
time. The validity of the dangers of the capricious or ego-building war that More
wrote about remains: the questionable justification for the U.S. invasion of Iraq is
only one example. The un-Utopian preoccupation with gold and silver is still
manifest, as a quick glance at any high-class periodical will reveal. Though
ostensibly more democratic, rational governments often seem to respond more to the
sway of the powerful than the majority, as can be seen in the U.S. reduction of
environmental standards. And, in some respects, social obligations to the poor and
elderly are deteriorating in some Western countries as funding is siphoned off for
other purposes.
Another glaring similarity involves the wide disparity between the rich and the
poor in the United States today. Jill Barad, former CEO of Mattel, was running the
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company so poorly that Mattel paid her $40 million to leave the business. This
example of corporate largesse reveals the huge pay gap between upper management
and average workers in America. In Japan, CEOs do not make significantly more
money than their employees (a situation closer to Utopia’s equality), as opposed to
CEOs in the United States, where executives are paid outrageous salaries. In addition,
workers at corporations such as MCI Worldcom and Enron invested in company
stock for their retirement— encouraged by upper management—and lost their entire
retirement accounts when fraud perpetuated by the same upper management caused
the companies’ financial collapse. Now, like the poor in 16th-century England, they
have to continue working for many additional years before they can retire.
Finally, examples of unconscionable lavishness remain (much like those provided
by Wolsey and Henry): on a well-documented shopping spree, former Tyco CEO
Dennis Kozlowski purchased a shower curtain for $6,000, an umbrella stand for
$15,000, and a waste basket for over $1,000. His yacht, for which he paid $20
million, required $700,000 in annual upkeep. The infamous party he threw on the
island of Sardinia to celebrate his wife’s birthday included yacht races, a short
$250,000 appearance by Jimmy Buffett, and an ice sculpture replica of
Michelangelo’s David which very creatively dispensed vodka. Half of the party’s
cost of $2.1 million was charged to Tyco shareholders. This cost of $28,000 per guest
was roughly the salary of a typical Tyco employee, who would have had to work 75
years to earn as much money as Kozlowski paid for this birthday party.
Equipped with modern technology—computers which can access faraway libraries,
cell phones which permit absolute spontaneity of communication, and a host of other
marvels—citizens of the 21st century find it easy to believe themselves superior to
their forebears of a half-millennium ago, when even literacy was uncommon and
communication and travel slow and sporadic. Yet More’s Utopia serves to remind us
that many of the injustices present in 16th-century English society persist beneath this
shiny modern veneer—common human foibles of greed and pride. Conscience and
persistence are required to vanquish them.
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