Notes on More’s Utopia #2

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By: A.B. Timothy

Discourses of Raphael Hythloday, Of the Best State of a Commonwealth (Cont.)

We continue reading the introduction on the sixth page of my copy, beginning with the words, “As he told us of many things that were amiss in those new- discovered countries…”

This section, given from the mouth of Raphael Hythloday (a man we know to be a fiction and thus his words may be rightly attributed to Thomas More), is a dialogue on questions about Hythloday’s credibility and reasoning. Both Thomas More, himself a character in the story, and his friend, Peter Giles, question the good philosopher on his lack of public service. After Hythloday tells them all there is to be told about the “Utopians” and their state, “from which patterns might be taken for correcting the errors of these nations among whom we live…”, More asks Hythloday why he has not taken this knowledge to a king so he might be hired as an advisor of sorts, or be given riches. Hythloday explains that he has already given away everything he had gathered as a younger man, so he would not have to deal with dividing his fortune among his friends as older men often must do. Hythloday goes on to explain that he has his reasons for not going to a king. He says that they are all too concerned with warring and taking more territory for their nation that they would not be, and are not, interested in bettering the governance they practice over the lands they already own. On top of this, Hythloday is not interested in playing politics with these princes nor the councilors who serve on their courts. Some would be jealous of his new ideas, and others would try to get on his good side. The politics of it all bore him, and he would rather spend his remaining time how he sees fit.

My takeaway is this: Thomas More lived in a time when fiction required a great deal of believability before people were willing to indulge in it and engage with the ideas it presented. Today, we only must worry about believable characters when writing our fiction. Whereas, in those days, they must make the whole fiction as plausible as possible. This dialogue, it seems then, is an answer to those ministers, lords, kings, and parliamentarians who, when reading the story, would ask, “Well, why have I never heard of this ‘Hythloday’ character?” Thomas is anticipating this question by essentially asking it himself, allowing his readers to continue to suspend their disbelief. He will get into greater detail in this next paragraph, where Hythloday goes over his fictional time in England that, conveniently enough, occurred during the First Cornish Rebellion.

This next dialogue, which lasts ten pages, explores Hythloday’s relationship with John Morton, Archbishop of Canterbury, Cardinal, and Chancellor of England. Hythloday is at dinner with the Chancellor and some of his friends when they are discussing the execution of thieves, boasting that “there were sometimes twenty on one gibbet!” (A gibbet is a place where they displayed criminals they had hanged.) Hythloday (More’s thoughts) rips into the men. All this death was nothing to boast about. It was not only unjust that they killed them for something as petty as theft, but also that they had gotten to the point where they felt they must steal. Hythloday goes on to describe how rough the people of England have it. Many veterans, having lost limbs in the Cornish Rebellion and in other conflicts fought with France, have been forced into poverty from their lack of ability to work. He then goes on a several-page-long side tangent talking about the morality of keeping a standing army, before returning to the root of the thievery problem.

This aside about standing soldiers kept by lords to enforce their borders and capture criminals comments on what becomes of these soldiers. Many of them are hard men from the aforementioned wars and thus are preferred by the lords of the land to protect their assets. This is good because it keeps them from thievery (and veterans often make very good thieves). But it is not good because only the best of the best get chosen to be these guards, leaving the rest of the veterans to fall into the ways of thieving poverty. These men aren’t even good to keep around as a standing army, as they get dull and soft during their time away from war. When they get soft and effeminate, they fall, often times to crime, just to get a thrill. These standing armies have also been a bad thing in the past, he mentions Rome, Carthage, and Syria, as examples of what having standing armies that grow soft can do to a nation. Then he turns back to poverty.

Hythloday argues that it is landlords who have been buying up villages just to knock them down, force their inhabitants into the cities, and build pastures for their massive flocks of sheep. There is rampant inflation, and these poor villagers, who did not have much money to begin with, found that their money lasted an even shorter time in the city. Ultimately, Hythloday recommends a return to the Rural lifestyle and the forced sale of many of these massive and unnecessary land plots, back to the people so they can live in an independent but ultimately more secure way. This will alleviate much of the thievery problem and help the citizens of their nation. A win-win that will end much of the unjust killing of criminals who, Hythloday claims, these very men created by their policies.

Again, More is relaying his critiques of his own homeland, it seems, through a fictional surrogate in Hythloday. Some of these arguments appear to be progressive and almost socialist in places. This section is the first time we see one of Hythloday’s ideas, which is clearly influenced by his time in Utopia (No-Place). More is laying out an idealized vision for his home of England, how much of this More himself sees as feasible is yet to be seen.

Conclusion

I ended my reading on page 20 of the work as a whole, meaning I read 14 pages today. I am about 33% of the way through this section of discourses from Hythloday, after which, we will be getting into the vision of Utopia itself. If you want to read along, I would highly encourage it. I covered the first 6 pages of the work in my post yesterday. Go check those out and read along with a free PDF of the book from the internet. If this intrigues you and you feel inspired to go read some old literature, consider subscribing to my WordPress so you get emails whenever I post a new part of this series or any other I am currently working on. Or my Newsletter to get updates every week on Saturday.

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Notes on More’s Utopia #1

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By: A.B. Timothy

Discourses of Raphael Hythloday, Of the Best State of a Commonwealth

This first section begins with a great deal of people being introduced to the reader. King Henry VIII sent our author, Thomas More, to Flanders to be ambassador to Prince Charles. More was a companion to Cuthbert Tonstal, a recently named Master of the Rolls. It is clear that More holds Tonstal in very high esteem, as he says anything he would say about him would be like the proverb, “Show the sun with a lantern.” Almost a “you had to meet him” commendation. According to the introduction from the copy I have, Tonstal was a rising churchman, chancellor to the Archbishop of Canterbury (1515), later he was made Archdeacon of Chester before finally being made Master of the Rolls in 1516. Certainly, this is a man of great accomplishment. Next, we meet the Margrave of Bruges, who led the men appointed by Prince Charles to meet with More at Bruges. Even though he was not the leader, George Temse, Provost of Casselsee, “was esteemed wisest, and…spoke for the rest….” (More) He was also a man of law, much like More himself was, having studied law in London after leaving Oxford. After their meeting, the men left, back to Brussels to find out what the Prince wanted. More went to Antwerp and met with several visitors, among whom was Peter Giles, a man whom More cannot speak highly enough of. Such goodly was his company that it “lessened any longings to go back to [his] country and to [his] wife and children….”(See footnote 1) (This Peter fellow must have been quite the conversationalist.)

It was this Giles fellow who would introduce More to the roving Portuguese Philosopher called Raphael Hythloday, the very same spoken of in the title of this section. This man had traveled far and wide with an explorer of renown who is called Americus Vesputius in these pages, but we know better as Amerigo Vespucci, the explorer after whom the American Continents get their names. Having accompanied this great man on three of Vespucci’s four voyages, Hythloday chose, along with 23 other men, to remain ashore at the farthest place Vespucci would explore. However, Hythloday did not wish to die there, in some far off unknown corner of the world, and therefore set out with 5 men. They traveled through many countries before, by God’s grace, finding Portuguese ships to carry the philosopher home that he might return to his native country.

Note: Raphael Hythloday’s name means “knowing in trifles”. He is a fictional character, through whom Thomas More told the tale of his Utopia.

This philosopher is learned in Latin and Greek and has applied himself more to Greek because of his love of philosophy. More claims the Romans left no value in Philosophy, save Seneca and Cicero. I don’t know that I agree, but this belief, coming from More, makes sense given that the Renaissance was focused on a revival of Greek culture and philosophy, not Roman.

For the next few pages, Hythloday regales us with the story of his adventure. They travelled, furnished by some unnamed lord of some unnamed county, south, over the equator and down into another land. More uses a desert landscape as a sort of liminal transition place between civilized hubs. Perhaps the fantastical things seen by Hythloday as he continued south could be chalked up to heat stroke. There in the south, they found “nations, towns, and cities, that had not only mutual commerce among themselves and with their neighbors, but traded, both by sea and land, to very remote countries.” (More) At first, all they found were small, flat, perhaps fishing-style vessels, but then they found ships quite large and familiar to their cohort. Hythloday was welcomed quickly and warmly, for he taught these sailors, who already knew of Astronomy and navigation, the use of the “needle”, of which they were ignorant.

Note: The “needle” here is talking about a magnetic compass.

More and Giles asked Hythloday about the institutions and more noble things of the cities, but did not ask about monsters.

Conclusion

I have read and notated above 6 pages of the story proper. My E-Reader says I am about 8% of the way through the story as a whole, but that is only because I read the introduction yesterday, which I used for reference here today, but did not notate in its entirety. These six pages were a good introduction to the story and the device by which More intends to tell it at length. They are also about ten percent of the entire first-named section, “Discourses of Raphael Hythloday, Of the Best State of a Commonwealth.” I will likely read and notate the rest of this section and the book as a whole. I will see you all tomorrow with the next section.

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Building Creative Habits

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By: A.B. Timothy

What creative habits do you want to build? Have you always wanted to write a book? What about playing an instrument? Write a poem or a song? Whatever art is your passion, you should try and figure out a way to enjoy it and create a habit around it.

a woman lying on bed and holding an iphone

I have an easy time explaining habits around writing and how to build them, but even if you don’t write, you can still do a little bit every day and get better and better. For example, let’s say you love drawing, but you work a full-time job, are in school for engineering, and are also a family man or woman. “I have no time!” I hear you say. Yes, you do. Ask yourself this: Do I have time to watch television? Do I have time to scroll TikTok or Instagram Reels? Do I have time to argue with strangers on the internet regarding fruitless theological takes or politics (I’m looking in a mirror on this one)? If you answered yes to any of those, then you have time!

person writing illustration in spiral notebook

Take some of that time you spend engaging in less productive things, and reassign it to more productive and creative tasks. Maybe, while watching television with your husband or wife at the end of the night, doodle, or jot down the outline for a story you have been thinking about writing. This does not have to take away from your time spent with family by any means, but perhaps it can instead enhance it.

What’s the point? Good question. There is research that says those who think outside the box more often usually have a better mood and a better outlook on life.1

So do yourself a favor and engage in creativity; somehow, someway, you will thank yourself for it later.

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  1. Tan, Yi, et al. “Being Creative Makes You Happier: The Positive Effect of Creativity on Subjective Well-Being.” International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health, vol. 18, no. 14, 2021, p. 7244, https://doi.org/10.3390/ijerph18147244. Accessed 6 Jan. 2026. ↩︎

Handwriting the Bible #1

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By: A.B. Timothy

I have decided to undertake the task of handwriting my own copy of the Holy Bible. I have never undertaken such a large task and am excited by the opportunities it presents. At my current rate of about a half chapter every day, I will be done in 6 and 1/2 years. I may speed up as I continue, and there are shorter chapters and longer chapters, so my rate will vary over the course of the project.

I started with the Gospel according to Saint Matthew, which is a lot of genealogies, all those names and begats really helped me practice a lot of less-used words and letters in cursive.

Do you have any tips for handwriting? Have you ever tried doing something like this? What is the biggest handwritten project you’ve ever embarked on? Let’s talk about it in the comments below or over on X.

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An Assassin is Brought to Justice

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A Short Story by A.B. Timothy

The grass of the forest floor tickled the soles of Fenreir’s feet as he stalked his prey. These forests had been Fenreir’s home for decades now, and he had called a little village his home for almost as long. When they found out about his hunting skills, they quickly welcomed him into their fold. Now, as he aged, his skills had begun to wane, but he still insisted on carrying his own weight. He told the village priest that he would hunt until the day the gods hindered his movement. Unless he was unable to hoist himself from his bed in the morning, he would hunt and provide for this place that had sacrificed so much for him.

There was a great buck before him now, a male of the commonly hunted deer species in these parts. It was likely twice the size of Fenreir himself, and if he could take it down and bring it in, it would feed half the village. Other hunters had offered to attend him on these hunts, but he felt they were only trying to pity him. A decade before, he had taken apprentices and had taught them the ways of the hunt: how to stalk, how to read the forest, and how to kill, but now they wanted to pity the old man and help him when he was the only reason they knew their blackberries from the deathfruit.

He raised his bow and drew back the fresh string on the old bow. His biceps tensed, and his brown eyes focused. His slim body tightened to steady his breathing for the killshot. The leaves of the bush he hid in did not so much as move in the wind as he loosed his fingers. The arrow flew true and pierced the chest of the great beast. Fenreir knew from experience that the buck was dead, even if that fact took several seconds to register in the brain of the great beast.

At that moment, a blood-curdling cry split the air from gods knew how far away. The hunter whipped around to look for the source of the sound; the knife slipped free from its sheath on his waist purely on instinct. When he saw no immediate danger, he looked up, through the canopy of the forest, back the way he had come, and saw a pillar of smoke rising high into the clouds.

The buck watched as his killer leaped from the bush and ran through the foliage away from the kill. He groaned and fell forward into the dirt as he died.

Fenreir was back on the outskirts of his village, Konray, and orbited the place he called home, looking for the danger. Finally, through an opening in the homes that let him see straight to the village center, he saw that the temple was burning and the priests were on the ground. The whole village center was filled with villagers. Fathers, mothers, children, holy men and women, and elders watched as a company of soldiers surrounded them and held them all at swordpoint.

“…my father!” The man who looked to be in charge of the lot of soldiers held a knife to the throat of their high priest. “He killed the man who allowed these pagan practices to persist in our Great God’s land. He killed the source of the mercy you benefited from so greatly.” Fenreir recognized the voice but thought it was wrong. This man was dead; the hunter knew that. Could this new man be related to that old voice?

“Tell me where he is, or all of your holy ones die with their pagan temple.” Fenreir had moved through the alleyways to get close enough to see the fear in the eyes of all the women and children. “Tell me!”

Fenreir recognized the garb of the soldiers. These were imperial men, soldiers from the capital itself. What were they doing out here?

Fenreir called out, stepping out of the shadows, “Stop! Don’t hurt the old man!” He realized he was speaking in the Imperial tongue, which none of the villagers even knew. That was probably why they weren’t responding to the demands of this nobleman.

“Rek orj, thun, ojkat!” the high priest told Fenreir. It meant, “Don’t concern yourself, old hunter, run!”

In their tongue, Fenreir told the priest, “I can’t do that.”

“You, hunter! You would take this old man’s place?” the nobleman demanded.

“Who are you looking for?” Fenreir asked the man, his hands raised as he continued to approach the man.

“Take those head coverings off, man, let me see your face.”

“It seems neither of us can get a straight answer from the other,” Fenreir said as he took off the coverings that covered his forehead and mouth while he hunted. A breeze caught his hair and blew away a bit of the sweat that had been coating his forehead.

The Nobleman threw away the elder, unharmed, Fenreir thought from the lack of blood, and pointed his sword at the hunter. “It’s you! I’ll kill you! Guard, give him your sword. I will not kill him unarmed like some filth-ridden assassin.”

One of the soldiers near them, with a confused look on his face, tossed Fenreir his sword. A few of the other guards had stepped forward to help their lord kill the old hunter. “Stay back!” The Nobleman insisted, “This kill is mine, just close ranks, ensure he does not run. Rats are known to run when their lives are in danger.”

“Who are you, boy, and why do you desire death?” Fenreir asked the noble.

“You don’t recognize me? They say I have my father’s eyes. Look into them and see if you find the eyes of the man you killed.” The Nobleman took a step forward and brought his blade down to strike at the older man.

Fenreir parried the strike and side-stepped another blow. The old hunter was trying to look into his opponent’s eyes. Could it be true? Could some poor orphan that he had made in his old life have found him all the way out here? Then Fenreir saw in the rage-filled eyes of the Nobleman the eyes of the old Emperor. That made him stumble. His sword was knocked aside, and he felt a gash open on his chest. He fell to his knees.

“Know me! Ye people, know your emperor. I am Jonathan the First of his name.” Emperor Jonathan picked up Fenreir’s weakening body by the hair. He dragged the old man before the villagers, who had treated him like family for decades. “I name this man, Fenreir the Subtle, assassin of the guild, slayer of my father, and reuiner of the Empire. Know you of his past! I demand that you know! Would any stand for this man?”

“Fenreir, do you deny any of this?” asked the village elder.

The old assassin weakly shook his head. “I cannot.” Fenreir remembered it now. His last kill was over three decades ago. The Emperor of the Silver Throne. The only witness was the man’s son. That boy must have made him and spent his life hunting him.

“I speak for my people, my lord; we did not know of this man’s treachery. Do with him what you will, we will not resist you.”

“So, you savages do speak!” The man pointed at the gathered villagers and commanded his soldiers, saying, “Kill them all and make sure Fenreir can see each die. The Empire will no longer suffer the pagan to live.”

Fenreir felt his lifeblood seeping out onto the dirt. He would die with his people. “Oh, no, you don’t,” Emperor Jonathan hoisted the dying man back to his feet. After the horrors subsided and all the village had been slaughtered before the assassin, Emperor Jonathan spoke, “Look at them all, look at their innocent pagan blood, know, assassin, that this blood is on your hands. Now, with your final thoughts being the knowledge of the cost of your murderous ways, go and be with them in the fires of eternal damnation.”

Fenreir felt a sharp pain in his scalp as his hair was given to someone else to hold. The Emperor stepped in front of his father’s assassin. No more words were spoken, and the last sight that Fenreir beheld was that of his old life catching up to him.

January Goals!

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2026 has just begun! Let’s set some goals, shall we?

Social Media Goals

Novel Goals

> X Growth
I intend to reach 220 Followers on X before the end of the month. I am at 190 currently.
> A Weekly Short Story
I plan to edit or write a short story at least once a week to release alongside my Newsletter.
> A Weekly Newsletter
I plan to put out a weekly Newsletter covering what I wrote for my blog that week and what I did in pursuit of my creative goals that week.
> Daily Motivational/Non-fiction blogs
I plan on putting out 4 or 5 blogs every week discussing writing, editing, and life.		The Shards of Arthur’s Shield <
█░░░░░░░ 12%
My goal for January regarding this novel is to have the whole of it edited to my standards so I can send it off to a professional editor by the end of the month.
The Early Years of a Great Mage <
I will be placing this on the back burner until I have TSOAS off to a pro-editor.
Brothers’ Feud <
I will be placing this on the back burner until I have TSOAS off to a pro-editor.

How’s it going?

January is just beginning, but with December behind me and the whole of 2026 before me? I am feeling hopeful for the first time in a long time. Please pray for me if you are a praying kind of person.

It’s all about sticking to it! Feel free to subscribe to this blog to see how my works progress, and also send your email my way so I can get you added to the weekly newsletter.

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The Great Flood (Netflix, 2025) A Review

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By: A.B. Timothy

The Great Flood, a Korean Sci-Fi Drama released by Netflix in 2025, is a story about what it means to be human, quite literally. The premise is that of a catastrophic flood caused by an asteroid impact, wiping out humanity. With our species’s last breath, we attempt to bring life to our successors aboard a spaceship designed to survive us and continue after we are gone.

The cast is studded with Korean stars. The lead male character, a security agent sent to secure the protagonist, is Park Hae-soo of Squid Game fame. The leading lady here is also no slouch, as Kim Da-mi is no stranger to the Korean film industry, appearing in many major movies and TV shows before this one. They both really let it shine here. They beautifully portray the tragic humanity of their situation without letting their stardom be the focus.

In all, I give this movie an 8/10. The Sci-Fi nature, and the twist that pulls from greats like Edge of Tomorrow, and Doctor Who, while giving it a new life with a fresh and timely Sci-Fi twist.

Acting
91%
Story
87%
Originality
65%
Characters
72%

If you have no issue watching a Subtitled Korean Sci-Fi Drama that will make you ask questions you may have never known could even be asked, The Great Flood is your next film!

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I have returned! It’s a Christmas Miracle.

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By: A.B. Timothy

I, Alfredo Timotheous Benedito, have returned from the long winter of the heart to continue blogging here on WordPress. On December 1st of 2025, I was in a very bad car accident and have lost my ability to drive at all because of insurance reasons. This stranded me at home and sent me on a spiral mentally. I have only recently begun to claw my way out of that dark place with reviews. I wrote a review for my friend’s book “Fortis: The Return of the Vulture King,” and have partially written a review for “Avatar: Fire and Ash which I intend to finish tomorrow. I also intend this Saturday to be the return of my weekly newsletter.

Fortis: The Return of the Vulture King, a Review

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By: A.B. Timothy

Fortis: The Return of the Vulture King, by C.K. Kesterson, is a book filled with vibrant fantasy, explosive fight scenes, and relatable characters who feel real. Whether you are looking to buy a clean adventure book for a middle-grade reader in your life, or you are looking for an easy-to-follow, fun adventure to go on, this book is for you.

Kesterson does an amazing job writing boys who feel true to life. I remember what it was like being a tween and feel as though both Lucian and Tomas embody those memories with ease. C.K. Kesterson clearly draws on his experiences as a father to put his sons in the story, giving us compelling, if sometimes less than intelligent, characters. Granted, knowing how I was as a young boy, the lack of intelligence makes the experience that much more authentic sometimes.

The companions who come alongside the heroes throughout the story are very well written and true. They don’t just automatically go along with what the boys say because the boys are the main characters, and the plot demands it. They push back when two random children show up on their doorstep and try to get help from them.

The villain of the story, the titular “Vulture King”, is suitable for a middle-grade fantasy story. You will not see the depths of Jordan’s “Dark One” or the imbecility of Wiley Coyote, but you will also never feel safe in the presence of the villain, which is perfect.

I highly recommend this book for parents looking for a clean adventure for their children to read that isn’t one of the classics from the 20th century.

The Dreaming Pianist

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A Short Story written by Logan Peterson

Edited by A.B. Timothy

(For context: This was written by a man in the First Person Perspective of a young female character. This is about two characters from the Historical Fiction W.I.P., Cornelius: The Son of Peter.)

I sat at the piano, as I had every day for the last few months, typing the notes of this newly imported song. A boy I liked had come home from one of his adventures on the sea with his father singing it, and I begged my pastor, in secret, of course, if he would write to the composer and get a copy. Dueil Angoisseux, written by Christine de Pisan, was such a beautifully haunting song. Another plus to it was that Claes Cornelissen had seemed to memorize all of it during his recent time in France. That boy could make a sparrow faint with his tenor voice; no wonder Pastor was so anguished when he stepped down from the boy’s chorus to be his father’s first mate.

I wished I could go on these wonderful adventures and see the world… but my father was only a baker, and I, a poor baker’s daughter. Maybe he’ll take me on his ship and on an adventure, one day, after we are married and I’ve had our daughter, Elissa, and a son for his name’s sake. Then we’ll grow old together and… Then I heard him.

As I sat there, playing the beautiful notes and moving with the melody as it moved my mind from sorrow to love and back again, I heard him. A door shut at the end of a hall, and footsteps in time with the song. As if he’d been singing the entire song so far, Claes’s tenor voice rang down the hall, filling my ears with the hauntingly beautiful French lyrics: 

“Princes, priez à Dieu qui bien briefment,
Me doint la mort, s’autrement secourir…”

He continued the chorus even as I trailed off. My fingers were frozen from sheer enrapturement. My mother and everyone else I know would tell me I am too young to be in love, but how could I not be with a voice so sweet and inviting? How could I not fall for a man who so neatly embodied the knightly myth at such a young age? Fierce and adventurous but simultaneously gentlemanly and kind. I stood from the piano and turned to him. He’d just recently turned fourteen, and I had done the same. His beautiful tenor left the room with a resonance I felt down my spine.

I took a step towards him and he towards me as we sang the last line together.

“Et si ne puis ne garir ne morir.”

He pulled me into an embrace and bent his face down to mine. I closed my eyes and felt his lips on mine…

“Margaret!” I shot up in bed at the sound of my voice being called. “Margaret, are you napping again?” My mother opened the door to my room and caught me on my bed with bed hair. “Girl, get up, you can’t go and see that Cornelissen boy looking like a sleeping troll now, can ye? Besides, you need to help your father with the final loaves for the day before you can go anywhere.”