The Author’s Patriotism – A Rejected Proposal – The King’s Views on Politics and Learning
Only a profound devotion to the truth could persuade me to share this part of my story. It was often frustrating to see my beloved country treated with such ridicule by the King, and I frequently had to suppress my resentment. However, this monarch was so inquisitive about every detail of European life that it would have been ungrateful, and perhaps even dangerous, to refuse him. I must admit, however, that I skillfully avoided some of his more difficult questions, attempting to place my home country in the most favorable light possible. Like any loyal son, I wished to hide the flaws of my "political mother" and highlight only her virtues.
Despite my best efforts to impress him, the King’s secluded life meant he remained entirely ignorant of the customs of other nations. This lack of knowledge naturally produced certain prejudices and a narrow-mindedness from which we, in the more sophisticated countries of Europe, are fortunately free. It would be unfair, therefore, to judge the rest of mankind by the limited standards of such a remote prince.
To illustrate the consequences of this restricted education, I shall describe an incident that many may find hard to believe. Hoping to secure even greater favor with His Majesty, I told him of an extraordinary invention from three centuries ago: a special powder. I explained that even a tiny spark falling into a heap of this substance would cause a massive explosion, capable of tearing mountains apart and creating a noise louder than thunder.
I described how, when packed into hollow tubes of iron or brass, this powder could drive heavy lead balls with such violence that nothing could withstand their impact. These machines could destroy entire ranks of an army, batter the strongest walls to the ground, and sink ships carrying a thousand men. I even detailed how we used these "cannons" to rip up the streets of besieged cities, blowing houses to pieces and scattering deadly metal fragments in every direction. I offered to provide the King with the secret formula for this powder and to instruct his workmen on how to build these engines. I suggested that with only twenty or thirty such tubes, he could destroy the strongest town in his empire or crush any rebellion in a matter of hours.
The King was struck with absolute horror. He was amazed that an "impotent and grovelling insect" (his own words for me) could entertain such inhumane ideas. He seemed appalled that I could describe such scenes of blood and desolation with such indifference. He declared that some evil genius, an enemy to mankind, must have been the first inventor of such a thing. As for himself, although he loved new discoveries in science, he insisted he would rather lose half his kingdom than possess such a terrible secret. He commanded me, on pain of death, never to mention it again.
It is a strange result of narrow principles! Here was a prince with every quality that commands respect—wisdom, learning, and a deep love for his subjects—yet he allowed a needless moral "scruple" to prevent him from becoming the absolute master of his people's lives and fortunes. I do not say this to insult him, but it is clear that the Brobdingnagians have not yet turned politics into a science as we have in Europe.
I remember once mentioning to the King that thousands of books had been written in England about the art of government. This gave him a very poor opinion of our intelligence. He despised all political mystery and intrigue. To him, the art of governing was confined within the narrow bounds of common sense, justice, and the speedy determination of legal cases. He famously remarked that "whoever could make two ears of corn, or two blades of grass, to grow upon a spot of ground where only one grew before, would deserve better of mankind than the whole race of politicians put together."
The learning of these people is quite limited, consisting only of morality, history, poetry, and mathematics. However, they apply mathematics solely to practical things, such as improving agriculture and mechanical arts. As for abstract ideas and complex philosophies, they simply cannot grasp them. Their laws are even simpler; no law is allowed to exceed twenty-two words in length—the number of letters in their alphabet. They are written in such plain terms that there is only one possible interpretation. In fact, writing a commentary or a legal explanation of any law is considered a serious crime.
Their libraries are not vast, as they value quality over quantity. The King’s library, the largest in the kingdom, contains only about a thousand volumes. I was given permission to borrow what I pleased. To facilitate my reading, the Queen’s carpenter built a kind of twenty-five-foot-high ladder. When I wanted to read a giant folio, the book was leaned against the wall. I would climb to the top step and walk back and forth across the page, following the lines of text, gradually descending until I reached the bottom. Then, I would climb back up to begin the next page.
Their writing style is clear and simple, avoiding unnecessary words. I was particularly amused by an old moral treatise belonging to Glumdalclitch’s governess. The author argued that nature had become weak in these modern ages and could now only produce "small" humans compared to the giants of ancient times. He claimed that the very laws of nature required humans to be larger and more robust, so as not to be killed by a falling tile or a stone thrown by a boy. I found it fascinating that the habit of complaining about nature is as universal among giants as it is among us.
Finally, regarding their military, the King’s army consists of a militia—tradesmen and farmers led by the nobility. Although they are well-disciplined, I saw little merit in it; after all, every soldier is simply a tenant serving his landlord. Nevertheless, the sight of their cavalry was magnificent. I once saw six thousand horsemen draw their swords at once; the reflection of the sun on their blades looked like ten thousand flashes of lightning darting across the sky. Despite their isolation, they maintain this militia because of their history. In the past, they suffered from civil wars between the King, the nobility, and the people—a disease to which the whole race of mankind seems subject. Fortunately, those days are long gone, and the kingdom now lives in a state of well-ordered peace.