ATHENIAN: Legal proceedings are our next topic; given the principles on which we are arranging our laws, they follow on naturally from the activities we have just been talking about. Of the offences which can give rise to these proceedings, some have been dealt with – those to do with farming and its related activities – but the most important have not yet been dealt with; it is these which follow next in order, and which we must now specify, specifying, for each particular offence, what penalty it should carry and exactly which court it should be assigned to.

CLEINIAS: Correct.

ATHENIAN: It is in a way something of a disgrace to be making laws at all for any of the things we are now about to make laws for – in a city like ours which will be well run, we maintain, and which will realise all the right conditions for the practice of human goodness. In such a city, the very idea that anyone could grow up and get involved in the worst villainies found in other cities, with the consequent requirement for us as lawgivers to forestall the appearance of any such person by means of threats, and, with a view to deterring them and punishing them if they do appear, make laws against them as if they were certain to do so – well, as I said, this is something of a disgrace. However, we are not the lawgivers of yesteryear, making laws, so the legend now runs, for heroes who were the children of gods; sprung from the gods themselves, they made laws for others of like origin. No, we are human beings, making laws, here and now, for the seed of human beings; it cannot be held against us if we are apprehensive that we might have among our citizens one of those ‘rogue beans’ which are by their nature so unyielding as to be incapable of being softened, and which can no more be softened by our laws, powerful as they are, than those seeds can be softened by fire.

The Laws was Plato's last and longest dialogue. Its fortunes have fluctuated. Like many readers since, Aristotle in Book 2 of his Politics treated it dismissively as a mere pendant to the Republic. But he also took it as the unacknowledged model for much of his sketch of an ideal polity in Books 7 and 8 of the treatise. And plenty of later thinkers have found engagement with the Laws important for their own projects in political theory, from Cicero in On Laws among the ancients to Montesquieu in The Spirit of the Laws among the moderns. The dialogue was not greatly read, nor (when read) appreciated, for much of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. But interest in it, indicated by the volume of associated scholarly publication, has been steadily rising over the last quarter of a century. The Laws is coming to be seen as ‘the first work of genuine political philosophy in the Western tradition’, and indeed as a multi-dimensional exercise in reflection on how such philosophising should be conducted.

First words

The dialogue begins with a question: ‘Is it a god, my friend, who in your view should take the credit for your legal arrangements? Or some human?’ As often in a Platonic dialogue, the opening words are designed to adumbrate some of the key preoccupations it will be pursuing. The very first word of the Greek text – θεός, ‘god’ – foreshadows the development of the theological and religious framework for all the substantive theorising that is to be developed. ‘Legal arrangements’ specifies the topic the participants to the discussion will explore. ‘My friends’ marks this as an encounter between individuals from different cities or countries who are bound by a tie of mutual hospitality (ξένοι, the word rendered here by ‘friends’, embraces both guests and hosts): as it will transpire, it is an encounter between two very different cultures, each of which will challenge the other's presuppositions.

The next few conversational moves establish that the location is the island of Crete (not the Athens usual in a Platonic dialogue), and that the visitor's Cretan addressee already has with him a companion from Sparta. It will take a couple of pages before it is established for the reader that the speaker of the opening sentence is from Athens (1.626d).

ATHENIAN: The next step, logically, is to draw up a list of festivals and, with oracular guidance from Delphi, to lay down in law which sacrifices (and to which gods) would have the greater merit and profit for the city when it is sacrificing; the precise occasions, however, and actual number of sacrifices, would be pretty much up to us, I dare say, to lay down in law.

CLEINIAS: I dare say, when it comes to the actual number.

ATHENIAN: Then let the actual number be where we begin. Let us have no fewer than 365 of these festivals, so that there may always be one of the officials performing sacrifice to one of the gods or guardian spirits, for the benefit of the city and the citizens themselves and their possessions. On these occasions, the interpreters, priests and priestesses, and seers shall come together, with the guardians of the law, and set out arrangements for those details which the lawgiver is, of necessity, obliged to omit. What is more, this very question – what has been omitted – should be a matter for these same people to decide. And what the law will lay down is that there are to be twelve festivals, to the twelve gods after whom each of the tribes is named; that they are to perform monthly sacrifices to each of these gods; and that they are to allocate choruses and musical competitions, and athletic competitions, with an eye to what is appropriate both to the gods themselves and to the various seasons; and that they are to allocate women's festivals – both those which should properly be held without men present, and those which need not be.

Then there's the question of the gods below, and the gods whom we ought to call heavenly, and which of the rites associated with them must be kept separate and not mingled with the others; these they must assign to the twelfth month, the month of Pluto, as the law requires. And being people of a warlike disposition, they must not take exception to a god of this character, but must honour him as someone who is at all times a very good thing for the human race, since for soul and body (as I cannot emphasise too strongly), union is in no way a better thing than separation.

ATHENIAN: The next point to consider here, by the looks of it, is whether this is the only good – this insight into our natures – to be found in the correct use of wine in company, or whether there is some other great benefit which merits serious attention. What do we say about that? Yes, there is a great benefit – or so our argument appears to suggest. As for where the benefit is and what form it takes, well, we need to listen to the argument with great care. We don't want to be tripped up by it somehow.

CLEINIAS: Go ahead.

ATHENIAN: Very well. What I'd like to do is remind you just what we say correct education is, since this activity, properly managed, is in fact a safeguard of education, I now venture to suggest.

CLEINIAS: A large claim.

ATHENIAN: Well, I maintain that with children, their first childish perception is pleasure and pain, and that it is in these that goodness and badness first make their appearance in the soul. As for wisdom and true opinions which can be relied on, well, you're lucky if they make their appearance even in old age – certainly the person who has acquired them, and all the good things that go with them, is a complete human being. Now education, I maintain, is this goodness as it is making its first appearance in children; if pleasure, friendship, pain, and hatred arise in the proper way in the souls of those who cannot as yet grasp the reason for them, and if, when they do grasp the reason, their feelings are consonant with that reason because they have been correctly trained by the appropriate habits, then this consonance is in general called human goodness, while the part of it which has had a proper upbringing where pleasure and pain are concerned, so that, from the very beginning to the very end, they hate what they should hate and love what they should love – well, separate off this part in your account and give it the name ‘education’, and in my opinion at least you will be giving it the right name.

CLEINIAS: Yes, my friend. The things you said earlier about education seemed to us to be correct – and the same goes for the things you've just been saying.

ATHENIAN: Well, all that discussion just about brings us on to the establishment of public offices in your city.

CLEINIAS: Yes, that is what comes next.

ATHENIAN: There are in fact two dimensions to the ordering of a political system: first, the establishing of offices and the people who are going to hold them; how many of them should there be, and how should appointments to them be made? After that, each office must be given its own particular laws – whatever laws, in number and character, are the right ones for it to have. But hang on a minute – before we make our selection, there's an observation we need to make which is not without some bearing on the subject.

CLEINIAS: What observation is that?

ATHENIAN: This. It's obvious to anyone, I suppose, this kind of thing, but lawgiving is a serious business, so if a city which has been well catered for appoints unsuitable officials to supervise laws that are well framed, not only does it get no advantage from them, well framed as they are – not to mention exposing the city to complete ridicule – but, broadly speaking, by far the greatest injuries and violence in cities arise from this cause.

CLEINIAS: That goes without saying.

ATHENIAN: In which case, my friend, let's pay a bit of attention to this point and its bearing on the political system and city we're now talking about. You can see for a start that the correct way for people to approach the responsibilities of office is for them to have been thoroughly tested – not just the men themselves, but their families as well – from childhood right up to their selection; and then secondly, that the people who are going to make the selection must in their turn have been brought up in the ways of the law, well educated in the likes and dislikes which give them the ability to choose or reject those who, in either case, deserve it. But this is a problem for people who have only just come together, with no knowledge of one another, and (so far) no education; how could they possibly select magistrates without making a mess of it?

ATHENIAN: After cases of assault, let us have a once-for-all statement of the general principle relating to violence, as follows: no one is to take away or drive off anything belonging to anybody else, or even make use of any of his neighbour's possessions without the owner's consent, since that is the kind of behaviour which has been, which is, and which always will be at the root of all the evils we have been talking about. Apart from those, the most serious offences are undisciplined acts of aggression on the part of the young – most seriously against temples, especially holy places which are public, or held in joint ownership by members of a tribe or something of that sort. Offences against private shrines and tombs come second, and are second in point of severity. Against parents, third, any act of aggression other than those described earlier. The fourth kind of aggression is when someone, out of contempt for the magistrates, drives off or takes away, or uses, something of theirs, without their consent. Fifth, any violation of the rights of any individual citizen which demands legal redress. We must publish legislation to cover each of these offences.

For temple robbery, either with violence or by stealth, it has been stated, in general terms, what the penalty should be. But for all those offences against the gods, which a person commits by word or deed, in his speech or actions, the statement of the penalty should be preceded by some words of positive encouragement. Let them be as follows: nobody who believes that the gods exist, as the laws require, has ever intentionally performed an impious action or breathed a word contrary to law. No, people do these things in one of three frames of mind: either lacking the belief I mentioned; or second, believing that there are gods, but that they care nothing for human beings; or third, that they are easily won over by inducements in the form of sacrifice and prayer.

CLEINIAS: How, in that case, should we deal with them? How talk to them?

ATHENIAN: Well, no offence, but let's first listen to them, to the lighthearted and contemptuous things I'm prepared to bet they say about us.

My dear Peter Giles, I am almost ashamed to be sending you after nearly a year this little book about the Utopian commonwealth, which I'm sure you expected in less than six weeks. For, as you were well aware, I faced no problem in finding my materials, and had no reason to ponder the arrangement of them. All I had to do was repeat what you and I together heard Raphael relate. Hence there was no occasion for me to labour over the style, since what he said, being extempore and informal, couldn't be couched in fancy terms. And besides, as you know, he is a man not so well versed in Latin as in Greek; so that my language would be nearer the truth, the closer it approached to his casual simplicity. Truth in fact is the only thing at which I should aim and do aim in writing this book.

I confess, my dear Peter, that having all these materials ready to hand left hardly anything at all for me to do. Otherwise, thinking through this topic from the beginning and disposing it in proper order might have demanded no little time and work, even if one were not entirely deficient in talent and learning. And then if the matter had to be set forth with eloquence, not just factually, there is no way I could have done that, however hard I worked, for however long a time. But now when I was relieved of all these concerns, over which I could have sweated forever, there was nothing for me to do but simply write down what I had heard. Well, little as it was, that task was rendered almost impossible by my many other obligations. Most of my day is given to the law – pleading some cases, hearing others, arbitrating others, and deciding still others. I pay a courtesy call to one man and visit another on business; and so almost all day I'm out dealing with other people, and the rest of the day I give over to my family and household; and then for myself – that is, my studies – there's nothing left.

THOMAS MORE TO HIS FRIEND PETER GILES, WARMEST GREETINGS

My dear Peter, I was absolutely delighted with the judgement of that very sharp fellow you recall, who posed this dilemma regarding my Utopia: if the story is offered as fact (says he) then I see a number of absurdities in it; but if it is fiction, then I think More's usual good judgement is wanting in some matters. I'm very much obliged to this man, whoever he may be (I suspect he is learned, and I see he's a friend). His frank judgement gratified me more than any other reaction I've seen since my book appeared. First of all, led on by fondness either for me or for the work itself, he did not give up in the middle, but read my book all the way through. And he didn't read carelessly or quickly, as priests read the divine office – those who read it at all – but slowly and carefully in order to consider the different points thoughtfully. Then, having selected certain elements to criticise, and not very many of them, he says that he approves, not rashly but deliberately, of all the rest. Finally, he implies in his very words of criticism higher praise than those who set out to compliment the book on purpose. For he shows clearly how well he thinks of me when he expresses disappointment in a passage that is not as precise as it should be – whereas I would think myself lucky if I had been able to set down just a few things out of many that were not altogether absurd.

Still, if I in my turn can deal as frankly with him as he with me, I don't see why he should think himself so acute (or, as the Greeks say, so ‘sharp-sighted’) just because he has noted some absurdities in the institutions of the Utopians, or caught me putting forth some not sufficiently practical ideas about the constitution of a republic. Aren't there any absurdities elsewhere in the world? And did any one of all the philosophers who have offered a pattern of a society, a ruler, or a private household set down everything so well that nothing ought to be changed?

The island of the Utopians is two hundred miles across in the middle part, where it is widest, and nowhere much narrower than this except towards the two ends, where it gradually tapers. These ends, curved round as if completing a circle five hundred miles in circumference, make the island crescent-shaped, like a new moon. Between the horns of the crescent, which are about eleven miles apart, the sea enters and spreads into a broad bay. Being sheltered from the wind by the surrounding land, the bay is not rough, but placid and smooth instead, like a big lake. Thus nearly the whole inner coast is one great harbour, across which ships pass in every direction, to the great advantage of the people. What with shallows on one side and rocks on the other, the mouth of the bay is perilous. Near mid-channel, there is one reef that rises above the water, and so presents no danger in itself; a tower has been built on top of it, and a garrison is kept there. Since the other rocks lie under the water, they are very dangerous. The channels are known only to the Utopians, so hardly any strangers enter the bay without one of their pilots; and even they themselves could not enter safely if they did not direct their course by some landmarks on the coast. Should these landmarks be shifted about, the Utopians could easily lure to destruction an enemy fleet, however big it was.

On the outer side of the island, harbours are found not infrequently; but everywhere the coast is rugged by nature, and so well fortified that a few defenders could beat off the attack of a strong force. They say (and the appearance of the place confirms this) that their land was not always surrounded by the sea. But Utopus, who conquered the country and gave it his name (for it had previously been called Abraxa), and who brought its rude, uncouth inhabitants to such a high level of culture and humanity that they now surpass almost every other people, also changed its geography. After winning the victory at his first assault, he had a channel cut fifteen miles wide where the land joined the continent, and thus caused the sea to flow around the country.

Appearing by fortunate happenstance on the 500th anniversary of the initial publication of More's masterpiece, this third edition of the Cambridge Texts Utopia (first edition 1989) was undertaken to update the editorial apparatus – ‘Introduction’, ‘Suggestions for further reading’, footnotes – in the light of scholarship published since the appearance of the second edition (2002) and also in response to my more recent thoughts on the best way of presenting this endlessly provocative and enigmatic little work of sixteenth-century Latin humanism to twenty-first-century English readers. But while there are changes to the editorial appurtenances, the translations of the texts they support – that of Utopia itself and of the ancillary materials from the first four editions of the work (1516–18) – are unchanged from the 2002 edition. That edition incorporated the extensive changes to the Robert M. Adams translation that were made for the 1995 Latin–English edition of Utopia that I prepared with the late Professor Adams and, after failing health forced him to withdraw from the project, with Clarence H. Miller. Especially since the latter edition had become standard for most purposes, it seemed desirable to incorporate the reworked translation into the Cambridge Texts edition, and without further revisions. For the same reason, the present edition exactly reproduces the 2002 version of the translation.

In its original form, the Adams translation appeared in the Norton Critical Edition of Utopia that Adams published in 1975 (second edition 1992). I remain grateful to the late John Benedict, Vice President and Editor of W. W. Norton and Company, who secured the blessing of that estimable firm on the incorporation of a revised version of the translation into the Cambridge Texts edition. For that edition, Adams also made new translations of some of the ancillary letters and poems. I prepared the editorial materials, and Adams and I vetted each other's work.

The many 1995 revisions to the translation were almost all made for the sake of greater accuracy. Adams, who was a wonderful stylist, was sometimes inclined to sacrifice accuracy to grace; nor did he claim to be a Neo-Latin scholar.

The word ‘utopia’ entered the world with the publication of More's little book, in December 1516: it was coined by fusing the Greek adverb ou – ‘not’ – with the noun topos – ‘place’ – and giving the resulting compound a Latin ending. Within the book's fiction, ‘Noplace’ is a newly discovered island somewhere in the New World. The meaning that ‘utopia’ has come to have as a common noun – a perfect society, or a literary account of one – seems authorised by the full title of the book, which is (translating from the Latin) ‘On the Best State of a Commonwealth and on the New Island of Utopia’. The same Hellenist readers who recognised the etymology of ‘Utopia’ would also have found this meaning suggested by the fact that the word puns on another Greek compound, eutopia – ‘happy’ or ‘fortunate’ place.

When we begin to read the book itself, though, the plausible supposition that Utopia is a utopia is rapidly called into question. First, the explorer whose account of the new island the book purports to record turns out to be named ‘Hythloday’ – another Greek compound, signifying ‘nonsense peddler’. Second, the introductory, scene-setting pages are followed not by an account of Utopia but by a lengthy debate on whether or not it is worthwhile for Hythloday to enter practical politics by joining a king's council. Within this debate is another, recounted by Hythloday, on the problem of theft in More's England. Apart from a comic postlude to the latter one, these two debates seem entirely serious, and they are powerfully written: but what are they doing in a book on the ideal commonwealth? And when, at the beginning of the second part (or ‘Book’) of Utopia, we at last reach Hythloday's account of the new island, it is still not clear that we've reached eutopia.

The commonwealth of Utopia turns out to be a highly attractive place in some ways, but a highly unattractive one in others. No one goes hungry there, no one is homeless. The commonwealth is strikingly egalitarian. On the other hand, personal freedom is restricted in ways large and small.

The most invincible King of England, Henry, the eighth of that name, a prince adorned with the royal accomplishments beyond any other, had recently some differences of no slight import with Charles, the most serene Prince of Castile, and sent me into Flanders as his spokesman to discuss and settle them. I was companion and associate to that incomparable man Cuthbert Tunstall, whom the king has recently created Master of the Rolls, to everyone's enormous satisfaction. I will say nothing in praise of this man, not because I fear the judgement of a friend might be questioned, but because his integrity and learning are greater than I can describe and too well known everywhere to need my commendation – unless I would, according to the proverb, ‘show the sun with a lantern’.

Those appointed by the prince to deal with us, all excellent men, met us at Bruges by pre-arrangement. Their head man and leader was the Mayor of Bruges, a most distinguished person. But their main speaker and guiding spirit was Georges de Themsecke, the Provost of Cassel, a man eloquent by nature as well as by training, also very learned in the law, and most skilful in diplomatic affairs through his ability and long practice. After we had met several times, certain points remained on which we could not come to agreement; so they adjourned the meeting and went to Brussels for some days to learn their prince's pleasure.

Meanwhile, since my business required it, I went to Antwerp. Of those who visited me while I was there, no one was more welcome to me than Peter Giles. He was a native of Antwerp, a man of high reputation, already appointed to a good position and worthy of the very best: I hardly know whether the young man is distinguished more in learning or in character. Apart from being cultured, virtuous and courteous to all, with his intimates he is so open-hearted, affectionate, loyal and sincere that you would be hard-pressed to find another man anywhere whom you would think comparable to him in all the points of friendship. No one is more modest or more frank; no one better combines simplicity with wisdom.